#she is so unsettling he’s gonna fall so in love with her

[eclipsewxtch]

writing timebomb in character is cool and all but also? making them act like regular young adults/teenagers is hilarious.

i mean—ekko is traumatized, hypervigilant, minorly paranoid, a tad bit narcissistic (that’s just a headcanon that’s somewhat accepted by the fandom based off the game and some of his voice notes yall not the show) & jinx is emotionally stunted, has a codependent bond w her father figure, has various mental illnesses that give her hallucinations and mild psychosis, no impulse control, suicidal thoughts, hypervigilance, hyperactivity, delusion, nightmares, and rapid speaking patterns…

but making them have wildly uncomfortable interactions that stem from ‘i have no friends’ jinx and ‘how do i interact w u???’ ekko. truly the funniest thing.

that little sad man is trying. so hard. he rlly is. is this a slow burn? yeah. are there still soft moments? also yeah. i’m not a monster. that being said sometimes ur gonna look at them n go. ‘this is ur version of slow burn eclipse?’ and considering how many ‘one step forward, two steps back’ situations they have the answer is yes.

[theonottsbxtch]

LOVE - LOCKED | FC43

an: this is based off of this request and i hope you like it bc i had sm fun writing a romantic slightly angsty thing i cant wait to hear what y'all thin, i also think it may be slightly rushed tho so lol ALSO LOL WE'RE GONNA PRETEND CARLOS IS YOUNGER IN THIS BC I NEEDED HER TO BE HIS OLDER SISTER

summary: carlos' sister has lived her life completely separated from him and their family name, instead she went and made a name for herself in the tennis world - she likes her life like that. that is until she meets franco colapinto

wc: 8.7k

The roar of engines, even from a distance, unsettled her.

They reminded her of the long days her father and brother spent in garages, the low rumble of motors and sharp tang of fuel in the air. Those were the hours she’d spend alone, working on her serve in the empty court across town, each hit ricocheting off the walls with a hollow, lonely echo. Her own choice, of course. She’d had no interest in the world of carbon fibre and grease, no desire to be the girl who simply tagged along, her name always in her brother’s shadow.

Now, years later, she’d become someone entirely on her own terms. A name people knew on its own — Vázquez de Castro — a name that meant something outside of her family, outside of her brother’s fame.

She slipped her phone into her bag and looked around the chaotic pit lane. Journalists, engineers, teams in matching shirts, faces alight with anticipation for the weekend's race. She knew she’d stand out here; her face might be familiar, but she was a stranger in this world.

The hum of voices around her faded as she felt his gaze. She’d been hoping to move through unnoticed, just a face in a sea of faces, but there he was: tall, familiar, unmistakably Carlos. His brow furrowed in surprise as he caught sight of her, his quick steps carrying him closer before she had a chance to dodge. She braced herself, turning to him with a calm that she didn’t quite feel.

“No aquí,” she murmured, her voice low, hoping that would be enough to keep curious ears at bay.

He paused, just a moment, his expression softening in understanding, and he tilted his head, his face somewhere between a grin and a frown. “You came.”

It wasn’t an accusation exactly — more surprise than anything. But she couldn’t miss the faint hope in his eyes, as if he thought she might be here to see him, to share a piece of his world after all this time. She let his words linger for a beat before she replied, her tone steady.

“I was invited,” she said, giving a slight shrug, “by Fernando.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the green and silver canopy, keeping her tone casual, but she saw his shoulders fall ever so slightly.

He nodded, glancing away for a moment, his jaw set. “Right. Fernando.”

There was something she wanted to say, something to soften the look in his eyes, but the pit lane was crowded, the eyes and cameras trained on every inch of the paddock sharper than she’d ever expected. They’d notice anything. And the last thing she wanted was for the papers to start spinning stories, putting her under a headline right next to him.

She touched his arm briefly. “Te hablo en el hotel. I’ll speak to you at the hotel.”

As she made her way toward the exit, ready to slip back into the background and disappear, she heard a voice calling out just over the rumble of engines and chatter.

“¡La princesa española!”

The words were unmistakable, lilting and clear, even with the crowd and machinery all around. The Spanish Princess. The nickname made her falter. It was something she sometimes heard on the tennis courts in Madrid or whispered by fans in distant cities when she played in international tournaments. But here? She scanned the area, puzzled at who would recognise her in this world of racing.

When she turned, her eyes met those of someone unfamiliar yet striking. He was tall, with an easy, disarming smile, his race suit gleaming with the bright, bold colours of his team’s livery. He looked young, not much older than she was, but he carried himself with that unmistakable energy she’d seen in rising stars before. The rookie, she realised, though she hadn’t kept up enough to know his name.

He held her gaze a moment too long, that same smile lingering as he approached, his eyes sparking with something between amusement and curiosity. She felt herself tense, almost involuntarily, her instinct telling her to slip away, to avoid whatever came next.

“Es realmente la princesa española,” he said, his tone playful yet certain.

Then it hit her.

Franco.

That was his name.

Franco’s grin widened as he closed the distance between them, his eyes bright with an almost boyish enthusiasm. “Soy un gran admirador de tu trabajo,” he said, his Argentine accent softening his words. “I’ve watched almost all your matches — I love the way you play.”

She blinked, taken aback. This wasn’t the usual kind of recognition she got, especially not here. She could count on one hand how many times she’d been recognised in public. She looked at him, trying to reconcile this confident young driver with the earnest fan in front of her.

“¿Me conoces?” The question slipped out before she could think, her voice tinged with disbelief.

He raised an eyebrow, his smile never faltering. “¿Quién no te conoce?” he replied, with a touch of humour. “La princesa española, queen of the clay court, unstoppable backhand — yeah, I know you.”

There was something genuine in his tone, something that set him apart from the usual strangers who said they knew her. 

And before she could stop herself, she found herself almost smiling. She cleared her throat, searching for a response, but her mind was blank. What could she say? That she knew nothing of him, or any of these people — that she had only set foot here today by chance?

She settled for a simple, “Gracias.”

Franco’s curiosity didn’t waver. He leaned in slightly, folding his arms with an amused glint in his eyes. “So, what brings la princesa española to the F1 paddock?”

She shrugged lightly, careful not to reveal too much. “I’m here as one of Fernando Alonso’s guests. Aston Martin.” She left it at that, hoping he wouldn’t dig further. Noticing that she looked a bit like another driver on the paddock. Thankfully, he didn’t.

His grin only grew wider, and she had the feeling that her mystery intrigued him. “Well then, if you’re one of Fernando’s guests, that means you’re not tied to my team,” he said with a glint of mischief. “Come with me — I’ll give you a tour of my garage. It’ll be like… a private tour.”

She hesitated, her gaze shifting back toward the exit, where she’d planned to slip out and leave all of this behind. If she went with him, there was a chance people would recognise her, start to connect her with her brother’s world. She’d spent her whole career carefully avoiding this — the headlines, the whispers, the inevitable questions about why she’d chosen such a different path. But the look on his face, that open, boyish enthusiasm, was hard to resist.

She let out a sigh, then looked up at him with a sudden, defiant glimmer in her eye. “Screw it. ¿Por qué no?”

His whole face lit up. She could practically see the excitement radiating off him as he extended his hand, his confidence a little too easy, a little too certain. She eyed his hand for a moment before raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms.

“Modales,” she chided, her tone playful. “I’ve known you for five minutes. We’re not dating.”

“Yet,” he replied without missing a beat, a spark in his eyes.

Despite herself, she smiled, a real one, something she hadn’t felt since stepping into the paddock that day.

He led her through the bustling paddock with an easy confidence, weaving between crew members, equipment, and cameras as if none of it could touch him. She was impressed, though she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying so. The chaos of the pit lane, the narrow spaces and the clang of metal, all seemed to bend around him.

When they reached his team’s garage, he stopped by a young assistant stationed just outside, who looked at them with curious eyes.

“Do me a favour,” he said, barely containing his grin, “and grab a VIP lanyard for Williams’ guests, will you?”

The assistant glanced at her, his eyes widening slightly in recognition before he nodded and ducked away, returning a moment later with a crisp, team-branded lanyard. Franco took it with a pleased smile, then held out his hand for hers. She unclipped the Aston Martin lanyard from her neck and handed it over, watching with a mix of surprise and amusement as he replaced it with the one from his own team.

“There,” he said, adjusting the lanyard’s position with exaggerated care. “Now you’re officially part of the team.”

She couldn’t hold back her smirk. “You know, I don’t think lanyards change allegiances so easily.”

“Maybe not. But I do think it’s an improvement.” He winked, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Besides, the only lanyard you should be wearing here is mine.”

She laughed, caught off guard by his unfiltered charm, as he held out his arm with an exaggerated flourish. “And now, mi princesa, a grand tour.”

He led her into the garage, his tone switching between informative and teasing as he explained the various stations. “Over here, we have the engineering bay — where the magic of data happens.” He gestured toward a row of monitors displaying endless streams of numbers. “And these guys in the corner? They’re the wizards of aerodynamics. Make a mess, they won’t let you forget it.”

As they moved through each section, he offered her a glimpse into the world of F1, his energy and excitement almost contagious. She watched him with quiet intrigue; he seemed to belong here completely, as if he thrived in the chaos and intensity of it all.

“Now, over here,” he continued, leaning a bit closer to her as they approached a sleek wall of tires and tools, “this is where I go for my pre-race pep talks. I think it helps the tires, too.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You talk to the tires?”

“Only on occasion,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “And they listen. Or at least, I hope they do.” He grinned again, that glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Besides, they never talk back.”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, but there was a smile in it, one she couldn’t quite suppress. He was disarming, funny in a way that felt refreshingly different from the sharp, serious world she’d known. He noticed the hint of a smile and held her gaze, leaning in just slightly.

Before she could say anything else, Franco led her deeper into the garage, weaving through the maze of tools, car parts, and engineers, who looked up now and then with curious glances. She followed, intrigued despite herself, and finally, unable to keep silent, asked, “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said, shooting her a look over his shoulder that was both charming and infuriatingly vague.

He stopped in front of a nondescript door tucked away from the bustle of the main garage. She glanced around, realising they were in the private part of the team’s area. He opened the door to his driver room, gesturing for her to step inside. The room was small but comfortable, filled with team memorabilia, spare racing gloves, and a neat rack of team-branded clothes. Before she could take it all in, he went over to a stack of neatly folded shirts and pulled one from the pile.

He turned back to her, holding up the shirt with a proud smile. “Here,” he said, offering it to her. “Wear this tomorrow.”

She raised an eyebrow, glancing between him and the shirt with mock scepticism. “Bold of you to assume I’d wear your merch.”

His grin only widened. “I think you’d look great in it,” he said, undeterred. “Besides, it’d be an honour to have la princesa española in my colours.”

She took the shirt, running her fingers over the soft fabric, and met his gaze with a slight smirk. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good enough for me,” he replied, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. He looked like he wanted to say more, but just then, his phone buzzed on the nearby table, and he glanced at it with a slight frown before pocketing it again.

“So,” he continued, his tone shifting to something a little more casual, “what are you doing for dinner?”

The question surprised her. She hadn’t planned on lingering much longer after her brother’s race prep finished. She hadn’t planned on any of this, really. But he was watching her expectantly, and for a moment, she let herself consider it.

“Dinner?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion. “You’re not very subtle, are you?”

“Not at all,” he admitted with a grin. “What do you say? Let me take you out. I promise I’m as good at picking places to eat as I am at tours.”

She couldn’t resist a small laugh. “Alright,” she said, glancing up at him with an easy smile. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

He opened his mouth to say something more, but just then, a voice called out from down the hallway. “Franco man, we’ve been looking all around for you!” A team manager appeared in the doorway, looking equal parts exasperated and amused.

Franco sighed, flashing her an apologetic look as he straightened. “Duty calls,” he muttered with a smirk. He lingered a moment, as if reluctant to leave, then glanced back at her with a warm smile.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said, feeling a thrill she hadn’t expected. “See you tonight.”

He nodded, his grin returning full force, then turned to follow the manager out, giving her a final, backward glance that lingered just a second too long.

Back in her hotel room, she brushed a final touch of mascara over her lashes and glanced at her phone, where a text from Franco glowed on the screen.

Franco: “Ready whenever you are. No rush. See you soon :)”

She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Tonight felt surprisingly… normal. Like she was just someone getting ready for a date, no stakes attached. She straightened her dress, checked her reflection, and took a steadying breath.

A soft knock at her door snapped her from her thoughts, and she felt a small flutter of excitement, assuming it was him. But when she opened the door, her breath caught.

Her brother stood there, his expression a mixture of confusion and something she couldn’t quite read. She masked her surprise quickly, stepping aside to let him in, though her voice was firm. “I can talk for a bit, but I have plans tonight.”

“With Franco?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, caught off guard. “How did you know?”

He gave a soft, humourless laugh, crossing his arms. “I saw you two in the paddock,” he said. “And I overheard him talking about it in the garage. Apparently, he couldn’t stop telling anyone who’d listen about his ‘date with la princesa de España.’” He looked at her, and his voice softened. “So why is it you have no problem being seen with him, but not with your own brother?”

His question hung heavily in the air, the familiar tension between them settling back into place. She took a breath, struggling for the right words. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be seen with him — it was the weight of everything that came with it. The press, the fans, the inevitable comparisons. She could already see the headlines if they were spotted together, her name placed directly beside his, stripping away the hard-won independence she’d fought for.

She sighed, glancing at him. “It’s not… about you,” she said carefully. “It’s just… everything that comes with it. You know how it is.”

He shook his head, looking slightly hurt. “I don’t know, actually. I’ve always thought we were supposed to be in this together. But I feel like… I don’t know, like you’re just trying to run from anything that connects us.”

She sighed, leaning against the doorframe, her voice dropping to something softer, more serious. “It’s not that I don’t want to be seen with you,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I just don’t want to be known as Carlos’ sister everywhere I go. I’ve worked hard to build my own name, my own career, and sometimes… being around you, it overshadows that.”

Her brother studied her, his face a mix of understanding and something else, a flash of protective instinct. “You know, if you date Franco, you’ll just end up being known as his girlfriend,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “It’s just a date, Carlos. Nothing more.”

He shrugged, his mouth quirking in a small smile. “Yeah, well, with him, nothing ever stays ‘just’ anything. Just saying.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a warmth behind it. “Thanks for the concern, but I’ll be fine.”

They shared a quiet moment of understanding before she gently nudged him toward the door. “Go get some rest. And good luck tomorrow. I’ll be cheering from the sidelines.”

The evening was soft and cool, the sky painted in shades of violet and indigo as the city stretched out below them. The balcony they’d stepped onto was tucked away from the bustling noise of the hotel, private and intimate, offering only the sounds of the night breeze and the occasional far-off hum of the city.

Franco had arranged it all—quiet, serene, away from prying eyes. The dinner was simple but elegant: a few delicate dishes of fresh seafood, wine that wasn’t too heavy, just enough to let the conversation flow freely. It was just the two of them, and she realised as she stood there, her hand brushing the railing, how rare that felt.

She’d worn a dress that was understated, yet elegant—a deep midnight blue that mirrored the evening sky, the fabric light enough to catch the breeze. She hadn’t given it much thought; it wasn’t for anyone but herself. But when Franco first saw her, the look in his eyes told her that, maybe, it had been the right choice after all.

His gaze lifted from the table where he had been adjusting the wine glasses, and the moment he saw her, the words spilled out before he could even stop them.

“Dios mío, qué hermosa estás.” His voice was low, his gaze sweeping over her with a mixture of surprise and admiration.

She felt her cheeks flush, the compliment unexpected but not unwelcome. She had been nervous about the evening, unsure of what this was or what it would become. But his words, simple and sincere, relaxed something inside her.

“Gracias,” she replied with a small smile, feeling the warmth in her chest spread, her eyes meeting his.

He stood up, taking a small step toward her as if to take in the full picture, his gaze never leaving her face. “I swear,” he continued, his voice filled with genuine awe, “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re even more stunning than earlier. It's like... you're glowing.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “I think you’re just being kind.”

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head as he closed the distance between them. “I’m not the kind of guy to throw compliments around just to be polite. Te ves increíble, you look incredible.”

After a decent amount of eating, a stretched out silence, Franco spoke up. “So,” he began, his voice casual but warm, “what’s it like to be the la princesa española outside of tennis?”

She raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of her wine. “I don’t really think of myself as that,” she said lightly. “It’s just a nickname.”

“I don’t know,” he teased. “I think it suits you. You have a... regal air about you.” His eyes glinted with mischief as he added, “I’m sure you’d never get away with being late for anything. Everyone would just wait for the princess to show up.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. “You really are persistent with those compliments, aren’t you?”

“Solo con la verdad,” he said with a grin, leaning back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself.

The evening unfolded easily after that. They spoke about everything and nothing: about their childhoods, what had brought them to this point in their careers, how it felt to always be in the spotlight. She told him stories from her tennis matches, and he shared wild tales of racing, of the constant pressure and adrenaline.

But it was the quieter moments, the small pauses between their words, that felt the most significant. When he leaned in to pass her the bottle of wine, their hands brushed, and the air seemed to thicken for a moment. His gaze lingered a bit longer than it needed to, and she noticed the subtle way his smile softened when their eyes met. She wasn’t used to this — this ease, this comfort that felt so unforced — but it was exactly what she hadn’t realised she’d been searching for.

“You know,” Franco said, his tone thoughtful, “I can’t remember the last time I had a night like this. Just—” He waved his hand toward the view, the quiet that surrounded them. “It’s nice. To not be rushing off to something. No cameras, no expectations.”

She looked out over the balcony at the skyline, the city lights twinkling in the distance. “I know what you mean. There’s always so much noise, so many people trying to pull you in different directions. It’s rare to just… be.” She turned to look at him, her voice lowering slightly. “It’s a little surreal, actually.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, there was a silence between them that felt like a shared understanding. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he looked at her, his expression genuine. “I’m glad you’re here with me tonight. I’m glad I got to spend this time with you.”

Her heart did a little flip at the sincerity in his voice. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from the evening, but this — this felt right.

“So,” he continued, his voice lightening again, “any chance I can convince you to wear my team’s shirt tomorrow?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he said with a wink, “but only because I know you’d look amazing in it.”

She rolled her eyes but could feel the warmth in her chest spread. “I’ll think about it,” she teased, mirroring his playful tone.

The conversation drifted back to lighter topics, the evening unfolding with ease as the world seemed to blur around them. As the night deepened, they shared stories, laughter, and quiet glances that spoke volumes. It wasn’t the fireworks, the grand gestures of a first date. But it was something else — something that felt like a beginning.

When the last of the wine was finished, and the candles flickered low, Franco stood, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. He didn’t say anything at first, but his eyes told her everything. His fingers brushed against hers, and she didn’t pull away.

As the night grew later, the air around them cooled, and they moved to the edge of the balcony, gazing out over the city. The quiet was comforting, the soft hum of distant traffic the only sound breaking the stillness between them.

She let out a small sigh, her mind wandering, and with it, the weight of everything that had brought her to this moment. She looked up at him, caught in the calm but uncertain about what this night might mean.

"Well, this has been lovely," she said, her voice light but tinged with something else. "But, just so you know… this is probably going to be our only date."

His eyebrows furrowed, his smile faltering for just a fraction of a second. “Why?” he asked, his tone suddenly laced with concern. “Have I done something wrong?”

She met his gaze, her chest tight for reasons she couldn’t quite place. There was no logical reason for her to feel that way — he had been nothing but kind, charming, and genuine all night. But there was still that lingering sense of hesitation, a wall she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to tear down.

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head as if to reassure him. “You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just… I don’t know if I can do this.”

He looked at her for a long moment, studying her face. The playful glint in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something softer, something quieter, as if he were trying to understand her better.

“I’m not really a person who runs from things," she said, her voice lowering slightly, unsure how to put her thoughts into words. “But there are parts of my life I’m... careful about. I can’t help but keep them to myself.”

She hesitated, feeling a strange tug in her chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, she found herself wanting to share something personal, something she had hidden away. She took a breath and let it slip out before she could second-guess herself.

“I have a brother,” she began, looking out at the city below them, trying to steady her voice. “He’s a Formula 1 driver.”

Franco froze, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Wait... what?”

She glanced at him, a slight laugh escaping her lips at the look of genuine surprise on his face. “Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Carlos.”

He blinked, his surprise turning into a quiet sense of disbelief. “Carlos Sainz?” He repeated her brother’s name, almost as if he were trying to process it. “I had no idea…”

She looked at him, a slight sadness settling in her chest. “Most people don’t,” she said, her voice quiet now. “I never tell anyone. I’ve worked my entire life to be known for me—for what I do, not because of who I’m related to. I don’t want to live in someone’s shadow.”

Franco didn’t say anything at first, letting the silence stretch out between them. He was thinking, she could tell. It was as though he were weighing her words, weighing the tension in her tone. Then, slowly, he spoke, his voice steady but sincere.

“With me, you wouldn't,” he said, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that took her by surprise. “You wouldn’t be in anyone’s shadow. Not if you didn’t want to be.”

She was quiet for a long moment, his words sinking in. Part of her wanted to dismiss it, wanted to keep pushing away the idea of anyone in her life stepping into that shadow. But there was something in his eyes—something honest and unwavering—that made her hesitate. He wasn’t offering her fame or status. He was offering her something far simpler. The space to be herself.

Then, he said something that made her heart skip a beat.

“I’ll be your WAG,” he said, his voice surprisingly matter-of-fact, his smile just a little crooked.

She laughed, a quick, startled sound. “What?” she teased, shaking her head. “Are you serious? ‘WAG’—really?”

He leaned in slightly, the smile still on his face but his eyes unflinching. “En serio. I’m serious.” he added with a little more emphasis, the words flowing naturally from him.

Her laughter died down, replaced by a brief, curious silence. She was still processing his words, still trying to understand how it had escalated from a simple dinner to this.

“You’re joking,” she said softly, unsure whether to laugh or take him seriously.

“No,” he7 replied, his voice now calm, almost earnest. “I’m not. Look, I get it. The whole ‘WAG’ thing... it sounds ridiculous, I know. But the way I see it, we’d be a team. You’d have my back, and I’d have yours. No shadows, no expectations, just us. What we make of it.”

She took a step back, crossing her arms as she considered what he was saying. The idea of it felt foreign, a little intimidating, but something about it also felt right in a way she hadn’t expected. No grand gestures, no drama. Just… us, as he’d said.

“Don’t you think I’d look good in a sponsored Channel crop top?” he joked, and the thought of it made her laugh.

Before she could stop it, however, her mind flashed to her brother, to the years of keeping her life private, to the way she had fought so hard to remain in the background of her family’s legacy. And yet here was Franco, offering something different. He wasn’t asking her to be a part of his world—he was offering her a partnership, an equal footing.

For the first time that evening, she allowed herself to truly think about what that might mean. To be seen, not as someone’s sister or someone’s girlfriend, but just as herself.

“Maybe... maybe it’s not such a bad idea,” she said quietly, her voice uncertain but filled with a growing sense of possibility.

Franco looked at her, a quiet confidence in his eyes. “Entonces, we’ll figure it out together. No shadows. Just us.”

“Just us.”

“You better wear my shirt tomorrow,” he said, his voice teasing but hopeful.

She smirked, folding her arms across her chest as she looked at him. “I’ll think about it.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. “You better. I’ll be watching.”

She laughed, shaking her head at his persistence. “We’ll see.”

The next morning arrived with the usual rush, the anticipation of race day filling the air. She woke up to a sunlit room and a few messages on her phone, the familiar bustle of the paddock already beginning to take shape outside her window. As she moved around the room, preparing for the day ahead, her mind wandered back to the previous evening.

She stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair back into a sleek ponytail, glancing over her outfit choices. She’d packed a nice pair of fitted trousers and a smart blouse for the day. But then, as she opened her suitcase to grab something, she saw it—the shirt.

It was sitting on top of her suitcase, folded neatly, the soft fabric of his team’s shirt catching the light. The sight of it made her pause. She could feel a flutter of uncertainty in her chest as she stared at the shirt. It wasn’t like her to let herself be swayed by someone else’s request. But something about Franco, about the way he’d looked at her, made her reconsider.

She bit her lip, considering her options. The shirt was casual, simple, but it also felt like a statement. She could wear it for him, just this once, maybe just to see how it felt. There was no harm in that, right?

She grabbed the shirt, examining it for a moment. It was an understated design—his team’s logo in the corner, a soft fabric, nothing too flashy. It wasn’t the sort of thing she would normally wear, but for some reason, she felt drawn to it. And then it hit her—maybe it wasn’t about the shirt at all. It was about the confidence to wear it, to stand beside him and let the world see her as she was, without hesitation.

She had a moment of inspiration.

Instead of simply slipping it on with jeans like she’d imagined, she decided to give it a bit of a twist. She styled it with an oversized blazer, the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off the shirt underneath, and a pair of high-waisted pants. The look was effortlessly cool, edgy, but still very much her. She paired it with a pair of sleek, minimalist sneakers, and, just before she finished, added a bold red lip to complete the ensemble.

When she looked in the mirror, she felt a sense of pride. It was a simple shirt, yes, but it was her way of wearing it. And somehow, it made her feel like she was making her own mark, not hiding behind anyone else’s expectations.

She grabbed her phone, checking the time, then sent Franco a quick message.

“I thought about it. I’ll wear the shirt. But only because it goes with my outfit.”

She added a playful winking emoji before hitting send, knowing that he’d appreciate the humour in it.

The morning was just beginning to pick up its pace as she finished getting ready. The weight of the day’s events, the race, the energy of the paddock, all began to settle in. But for the first time in a while, she felt a small sense of excitement, an eagerness she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t about the race itself, but about the people she was meeting, the connections she was making, and—perhaps most unexpectedly—what might lie ahead with Franco.

She was just about to head out of her hotel room when there was a knock on the door. She knew that knock—steady and familiar. Taking a deep breath, she opened it to find her brother standing there, his usual calm exterior softened by a quiet intensity in his gaze.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice low, his eyes searching hers.

She nodded, stepping back to let him in. She could tell he was a bit surprised when he saw the shirt she was wearing—the shirt of a rival team. He glanced at it, one brow raised slightly, but he didn’t comment, just closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall.

He took a deep breath, as if he’d been building up to this. “Are you… thinking of seeing him again?”

There was something tentative in the way he asked, a kind of brotherly concern that she hadn’t seen in a long time. She shrugged, trying to keep her tone casual. “Maybe. I’m considering it.”

He nodded slowly, looking away for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then, almost hesitantly, he said, “Why are you okay with being seen with him, and not with me?”

The question landed heavily between them, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to answer. She looked at him, seeing the vulnerability in his expression, the unspoken hurt in his eyes. It was rare for him to open up like this, to say exactly what was on his mind. She let out a long breath, searching for the right words.

“It’s different,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Different how?” he pressed, his tone gentle but persistent.

She met his gaze, feeling a lump rise in her throat. She hadn’t realised just how much this division had affected them both, how much it lingered in moments like these. “I never felt like I was a part of your world,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “It wasn’t just about you. It was Dad, too. He… he made it clear that I wasn’t cut out to be a part of it. I wasn’t… enough. Not like you.”

He looked at her, the quiet hurt in his eyes turning into something deeper, something sadder. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

She gave him a small, sad smile. “How could you? You were busy making him proud. And you were great at it. I always saw how he looked at you, how proud he was of everything you were doing. He saw you as this… continuation of him, of his legacy. But me… I was never part of that.”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he processed her words. “I never wanted it to be that way. I thought you just didn’t care about what we were doing. I thought you were happy doing your own thing.”

“I am,” she said, and she meant it. “Tennis is my world; it’s where I feel strong, where I feel like I belong. But… it didn’t come without sacrifices. I grew up watching you and Dad bond over racing, and it was like there was this door between us that was shut for good. I could watch, but I couldn’t be a part of it.”

There was a long pause, her brother absorbing her words, the weight of years of misunderstanding settling between them.

“I wish I’d known,” he said finally, his voice soft, tinged with regret. “I thought… I thought you didn’t want to be a part of it. I thought it didn’t matter to you if Dad and I had that bond. But I get it now. I see what it must’ve felt like, standing on the outside.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken years filling the space between them. And then he added, “You know, you don’t have to keep yourself hidden to be in my life, right? I get it now. But it doesn’t have to be like that.”

Her throat tightened, a wave of unexpected emotion rising within her. She’d spent so long feeling like an outsider in her own family, so sure that her brother had never noticed. But now, here he was, standing in front of her, wanting to bridge that gap.

“It’s hard to just undo it all,” she admitted. “Sometimes, it feels easier to just… stay on my own path. To keep these things separate.”

He nodded, understanding. “But if you’re thinking of seeing Franco… letting yourself be part of his world… doesn’t it mean you’re ready to be seen? To be yourself, even in places that are unfamiliar?”

She considered this, his words striking a chord deep within her. He wasn’t wrong. She’d spent so long hiding parts of herself, keeping herself separate to avoid comparison or judgement. But with Franco, she hadn’t felt the same need. For once, she had felt like she could be herself—no shadows, no expectations.

“I think… I just want to find something that’s mine,” she said finally. “A space where I’m not just ‘your sister,’ where I don’t have to carry someone else’s legacy.”

Her brother gave her a soft, understanding look. “You’ve already done that. You are more than just my sister. You’ve made a name for yourself that has nothing to do with anyone else. You’re not living in anyone’s shadow… but if you ever want to step into our world—my world—I’d like to be part of yours too. Just… let me be there for you, even if it’s only sometimes.”

She nodded, feeling a sense of warmth, a sense of connection that hadn’t been there before. Maybe there was room for both worlds, after all. For the first time, she felt like she didn’t have to choose.

“I’ll think about it,” she said softly, echoing her words from last night.

He smiled, a hint of relief in his eyes. “I hope you do.”

With that, he gave her a quick, reassuring squeeze on her shoulder, a wordless acknowledgment of the unspoken bond they shared. And as he left, she felt a sense of closure, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to keep running from her family’s legacy to be seen as her own person. She could walk her own path, even if it sometimes crossed into theirs.

She arrived at the paddock a little while later, weaving her way through the bustle of race day, her heart beating a little faster than usual. Wearing Franco’s shirt under her blazer felt like a small, bold choice—one that had her both excited and slightly nervous. She walked through the crowd until she reached his team’s garage, where the energy was already crackling with anticipation.

As soon as she stepped in, Franco spotted her from across the garage. His face lit up the second he saw her, and he immediately started making his way toward her. When he was close enough, he lowered his voice and said in Spanish, a playful gleam in his eyes, “Wait here for just a second. Don’t move.”

Before she could respond, he turned and jogged back toward his driver’s room, leaving her standing in the middle of the garage, a little bewildered but smiling to herself. She watched as he disappeared into the room, curious about whatever he was planning. Within a moment, he was back, holding a bouquet of flowers—a mix of deep red roses and bright sunflowers, their colours vivid against the greys and metallics of the garage.

“For you,” he said, handing them over with a grin, his accent warm and lilting. His eyes softened as he added, “To celebrate your first race day as my guest.”

She took the bouquet, feeling a rush of warmth as she held the flowers. “You know, you didn’t have to do this,” she said, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips. “I’m just here as… well, just as me.”

“And I think that’s worth celebrating,” he replied smoothly, his gaze locked on hers with unmistakable admiration. “Besides, you didn’t say no to the shirt, so I think I’m allowed a little celebration, no?”

She laughed, her cheeks warming as she looked down at the bouquet. “Alright, fine. You win. Thank you—they’re beautiful.”

Franco glanced around the garage, then leaned in slightly, dropping his voice to a playful murmur. “You know, you’re even more beautiful than I remember from last night. I thought maybe I was exaggerating, but… no. I wasn’t.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. “Careful, or I’ll start to think you’re trying to distract me from the race.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, chuckling. Then, as if struck by a sudden idea, he looked around the garage again and spotted one of his engineers nearby. Franco gestured to the man, who quickly nodded, understanding exactly what Franco was after.

The engineer handed him a headset, and Franco turned back to her, holding it up. “Here—so you can listen in and watch from inside the garage. You’ll get the best seat here.”

She blinked, surprised by the gesture. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You’ll get to hear all the comms, see how it all works up close. Plus”—he leaned in, his voice low—“you’ll have an excuse to stay around here.”

She shook her head with a smirk, taking the headset from him. “Alright. But only because you’ve convinced me with flowers and shameless flattery.”

“Good,” he replied, his grin widening as he watched her settle the headset over her ears. “I’ll keep it coming if it means you stay.”

As the team began their pre-race preparations, Franco showed her the best spot to watch from, and he took a few moments to explain some of the technical details. She found herself captivated, not just by the race, but by the way he was so eager to share his world with her. His enthusiasm was infectious, and despite herself, she felt the thrill of race day in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

Before he had to step away to start his own warm-up routine, he gave her one last look, his gaze holding a touch of that familiar mischievous glint. “Enjoy the show, princesa. And don’t go falling in love with the cars now—they’re not as charming as I am.”

She laughed, giving him a playful shove. “No promises.”

Franco winked, backing away with a grin as he joined the other drivers and team members preparing for the race. She stayed in the garage, feeling the weight of the headset and bouquet in her hands, both of them symbols of the way her world had shifted in just a few days.

As she watched him walk away, his words echoing in her ears, she realised just how different today felt. For the first time, she wasn’t just watching as an outsider; she was here, part of the energy, sharing a moment in his world, just as he’d promised. And maybe—just maybe—she was finally ready to be a part of something new.

The race was intense, the roar of engines filling the air as she watched Franco’s car weave through the track, making his way up from P16 to P12, gaining positions one by one with determined precision. Her heart raced with every turn, every overtake. She’d never felt the thrill of Formula One from this close before, and she found herself completely absorbed, balancing her attention between the live race and the screens in the garage that tracked every driver’s progress.

And then, in the final laps, her eyes moved to another part of the screen—a familiar car that was in the lead. A red car. Her brother was out front, defending his position with expert skill, pushing with everything he had toward the finish line. She held her breath, fingers tightening around the edges of the headset as she watched the seconds count down. When he crossed the finish line in first place, a feeling she hadn’t expected washed over her—pride, pure and radiant, filled her chest. She found herself clapping, cheering, a bright smile spreading across her face.

Franco, having just finished his own race and done the mandatory weigh-in and debrief with his engineers, finally found her in the garage. He looked exhausted but happy, his face still flushed from the adrenaline of the race. When he walked over, he paused, noticing the way her eyes were glued to the screen as her brother celebrated his victory, lifting his fists in the air in triumph.

“You’re glowing,” Franco murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched her reaction.

She blinked, glancing back at him and realising how giddy she must look. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think it would feel like this. I’m just… so happy for him.” Her voice was breathless, filled with a genuine joy she couldn’t hide.

He chuckled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “Then you should go to him. He’s probably waiting for you.”

She shook her head, hesitating, her gaze flickering back to the screen. “No, I couldn’t. I don’t… I don’t belong over there, with everyone. That’s his world.”

Franco tilted his head, giving her a knowing look. “Maybe that’s true most days. But today, you belong there just as much as anyone else. He’s your brother. Go celebrate with him. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

She bit her lip, uncertainty still holding her back. “I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

“Start with congratulations,” Franco said, flashing her a gentle, reassuring grin. “Trust me, it’ll be enough.”

He gestured toward the edge of the garage, where the barriers separated the track from the paddock. After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded, taking a shaky breath as he guided her forward. The crowd around them was roaring with excitement as her brother’s car was pulled into parc fermé, fans and teammates celebrating around him. She could feel her heart pounding, each step filling her with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness.

At the barrier, Franco gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Go on. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

With that, he released her hand, and she took a step forward, catching sight of her brother through the haze of people and cameras. He was laughing, practically glowing as he embraced his team, still basking in the thrill of his victory. And then, as if sensing her, he turned and saw her standing there, just beyond the barrier.

His expression softened, and a smile broke across his face, one that was filled with surprise and unmistakable happiness. Without a moment’s hesitation, he made his way over, reaching out to pull her into a tight, heartfelt hug. She hugged him back, feeling the last remnants of the old distance between them dissolve as she held her brother close, finally sharing in his moment.

When they pulled apart, he looked at her, pride shining in his eyes. “You came,” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet gratitude. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

She laughed softly, tears threatening to sting her eyes. “I wouldn’t have missed it. I’m so proud of you.”

He grinned, leaning in to press a quick, brotherly kiss to her forehead. “Thank you. It means a lot that you’re here. Really.”

As the team around them cheered and the cameras continued to flash, she felt the enormity of the moment—a sense of belonging, not just as a tennis player, or his sister, but as herself.

She grinned at her brother, reaching up to ruffle his hair in a rare show of sibling affection. “Te quiero mucho, hermanito,” she said, her voice filled with warmth and pride. “I’m so proud of you, you know that?”

His smile softened, and he looked at her with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. “Te quiero también,” he replied, wrapping her in one last quick hug. “Thank you for being here. Really.”

The moment was brief but profound, a quiet reassurance that, despite the different worlds they had each chosen, they were still connected. He glanced back toward his team, who were waving him over for post-race celebrations and interviews.

“I have to go,” he said, releasing her. “But I’ll see you later?”

“Of course,” she replied, giving him a nod and a small wave as he returned to his crew. She watched him for a moment longer, feeling a sense of pride she hadn’t felt in years—one that was entirely unclouded by the complexities of the past. Then she turned and made her way back toward Franco’s garage, her heart still racing from the intense energy of the day.

When she found him, Franco was waiting near the garage entrance, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a proud smile lighting up his face as he saw her approach.

“You did it,” he said softly, admiration in his eyes. “You finally let yourself be a part of all this.”

As she reached Franco, he turned to face her, his expression softening with a mixture of pride and relief as he took her hands in his. Her heart pounded, the intensity of the day lingering between them like a magnetic pull. She gazed up at him, her breath catching as she saw the warmth in his eyes—the genuine care and admiration there, as if he saw every part of her that she had worked so hard to keep separate.

Without a word, she stepped closer, her hand moving up to rest gently against his cheek. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze searching hers, as if waiting for her to close the last small gap between them. Finally, she leaned up, closing her eyes as her lips met his in a slow, lingering kiss.

The world around them seemed to dissolve, the roar of the crowd and bustle of the paddock fading as the kiss deepened. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer, his touch both steady and tender. She felt the warmth of him seep into her, grounding her in the moment, and she responded instinctively, fingers threading through his hair as he held her tighter. There was a gentleness in his touch, but an undeniable passion too, a desire that built slowly between them.

Time slipped away as they shared this unguarded moment, the boundaries she had set for herself crumbling with every heartbeat. She could feel the strength in his arms, the quiet reassurance he offered, and a warmth that sparked through her, as if he was silently promising that he would be there, no matter what.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing a little harder, their foreheads touching as they lingered close, unwilling to step away. Franco’s thumb traced a gentle line along her jaw as he looked into her eyes, his gaze filled with an affection so deep that it nearly overwhelmed her. “I needed that push,” she murmured against his lips.

His arms came around her, but he laughed as he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Come on,” he said with a teasing glint, “the cameras have probably caught enough kissing for one day.”

She chuckled, letting him lead her back toward the quiet of his garage, away from the noise and eyes of the crowd. For the first time, she felt an undeniable sense of belonging—not just to the world she had worked so hard to create for herself, but to this moment, with him, with her family. She’d finally allowed herself to be part of it all, and it felt right in a way she hadn’t expected.

the end.

[loved-reid]

You’re Cute…Yet Irritating [s.r]

Post prison!Spencer Reid x sunshine!fem!reader

Summary: She’s always humming a tune, dancing, or tapping her fingers. And Spencer can’t stand it.

Warnings: Angst with happy ending, irritated Spencer, crying, self doubt, rude comments, self hatred, etc.

Note: I always fidget and I thought this would be cute! Let me know what y’all think!!

Sorry for any errors! I didn’t re-read it! :)

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

2,745 times

And yes, he was unfortunately counting.

He bet she didn’t even know she was doing it, the repetitive rhythm of her finger nails on the desk. Files piled it, almost all the time, and Spencer always had to walk by with his fist in his mouth to prevent himself from organizing it the way he liked.

He was going to be honest, he kind of missed having that feeling, the urge to clean or organize. It told him, in a way, that his old self was still with him, and that little thing gave him hope that he so tightly held onto.

But his old self was able to focus. His old self was able to dig himself into file folders and never be able to leave, yet the tapping.

Spencer couldn’t take it.

His eye twitched every time she breathed particularly loud, his lips pursed when her foot started tapping on the floor, and, worst of all, his head shuttered when her dang finger nails tapped on the desk’s top.

He hated the noise.

And it surprised him that he did, it was such a little thing that was apparently going unnoticed by everyone else. But he just couldn’t focus on his work with the practical racket that was doing on next to him.

He wasn’t gonna lie, he almost got up just then to go ask Hotch for a desk rearrangement. But he knew that his boss would suspect something and either tease him about it or shake his head about how ridiculous it was.

Spencer agreed as well. He couldn’t change seats just because the woman next to him was tapping her fingers.

Gosh, even thinking it sounded absurd.

But he couldn’t help but imagine silence.

Silence while his brain could process things.

Spencer could’ve lost it when she started humming a soft tune. She seemed to have a new one in her head every day, each time she sat down, tea in hand, she hummed a different song than yesterday.

He couldn’t quite pin point which one it was, but he didn’t dare to continue thinking to figure it out.

His head turned toward her, hoping she’d notice his glare but she didn’t, she’s still stuck on the file she was looking at.

“Quit that, will ya?”

Her head snapped up at the sudden outburst, surprise reflecting in her eyes yet he spotted confusion.

How was she confused to the constant annoying tapping she was doing? And the humming? Spencer was slowly loosing his mind.

He took a deep breath to prevent from lashing out, his hand coming out and wiggling his fingers toward hers.

“T-the tapping, it’s irritating. Quit it please.”

Her face dropped from surprised to hurt, and Spencer somehow hated that it was quiet as soon as he said something.

“Right. Sorry,” she whispered so softly Spencer almost couldn’t hear her. She tried to add a little chuckle at the end of her murmur, yet her voice cracked against her own accord.

He watched her fingers stop, instead clenching them in a fist tightly.

Spencer should’ve been glad that the silence he so wanted was granted, but something unsettling brewed in his chest at her facial expression, her now glossy eyes staring at her computer screen. He also noticed her other hand that wasn’t holding the folder was digging into her thigh to prevent it from bouncing out of anxiety.

He didn’t know the feeling, regret, maybe, but all Spencer knew was that he wished he hadn’t said those words.

But he didn’t want to say sorry, something inside him prevented him from doing it. Maybe he was selfish because he ignored the regret in him and took the opportunity to have the ability to focus once more.

“I can’t help, falling in love with you,” she hummed softly, just under her breath as she stirred her favorite tea in the mug the next morning.

Spencer had to admit, he missed her singing in the morning. It reminded him that through all the terrible cases they’ve experienced, there was still happiness in the world, still hope, and she clearly found it through music.

But the pounding headache that didn’t go away that day prevented him from being kind.

So he couldn’t dare to show his wishes of her singing more often, heck no. And the more he thought about it the more irritating it became. He became hyper focused on the breath before each sentence she sang, the cinnamon toothpaste blaring his nose. She was also slightly off pitch every couple seconds, and she sang a couple words wrong.

It got worse when she took forever to mix her tea, blocking his path towards the coffee machine.

He huffed, ignoring the way she flinched. “Move, will ya? There’s people who actually want to do their job and not sing songs about sunshine and rainbows; just please let me get some coffee.”

Her once upwards lips turned down, the light in her eyes going out. She cleared her throat. “Right, s-sorry.”

Spencer couldn’t help it. The comment spat out before he could control it. “S-sorry,” he mimicked. “You do know confidence is a key to this job, right? Quit the childish stuttering it’s infuriating.”

He didn’t see her reaction, but if he did he would see glossy eyes and a facial expression that represented a shattered heart.

She raced out of the room, tea discarded on the counter and beelined towards the bathrooms. She quickly fumbled with the lock. It echoed throughout the bathroom, somehow making her emotions worsen. The tears went full force, a sob covered by her hands surrounding her.

His words kept repeating themselves in her head, telling her that she wasn’t good enough for the job.

Why even apply? He was clearly smarter than her and took things more seriously. What was she thinking? Coming into a field like this and humming and singing all the time? Who does that?

She could feel her makeup smearing, and her black fingers rubbing her cheeks confirmed her suspicions.

She never knew Spencer’s problem with her. Every moment she recalled every encounter, hoping not to come across a moment where she offended him. And she never did.

But now she knew. It was her humming, her tapping, her singing, her stuttering.

She wasn’t good enough to be here.

The thought made her cry harder, the type of sob where your breath catches in your throat, your vision blurry as your chest aches.

A soft knock on the stall door made her both flinch hardly and gasp at the same time.

A throat was cleared, an awkward moment of silence shoving its way between them.

“Can I come in?”

The voice on the other side wasn’t one she expected. Her heart started going on its own path, thumping quickly within her chest.

Her hand moved on its own accord, though hesitantly, and opened the lock.

Spencer’s hand came into view, opening the door and entering himself, closing and locking the door behind him.

Something about him being so close, the door locked, and them being in a place just for one person made her already beating heart pound harder.

His features, no doubt, were beautiful. His nose was like a button, eyes like chocolate in fresh cookies, lips soft and full like a blooming flower.

His hair, oh his hair. It was like a soft blanket she wanted to nestle her fingers onto, pulling at the roots until he let out a satisfying noise-

No.

He hurt her. The words he said. She was upset. He doesn’t like her.

Then why was he having such an effect on her?

Him clearing his throat once more caught her out of her thoughts, eyes meeting his.

“I wanted to say sorry. For what I said,” he whispered, and she noticed his fingers playing with each other. “It wasn’t nice nor professional. And I don’t mean any of it.”

His apology was simple and sincere, eyes somehow widening while gazing at her. (Or were his eyes always like that? Full and desperate?)

“And in case you were wondering, you’re lovely at your job,” he sounded like he was rambling again, but he also seemed desperate to get the words out. “Your singing brings happiness to the place. You’re more than good enough to be here. And I’m sorry I made you doubt your amazing abilities.”

She felt a soft smile come to her lips, cheeks reddening at his complements. She wiped her nose. “Really?”

He nodded, leaning down and grabbing some toilet paper to wipe her cheeks.

Instead of simply giving it to her, he wiped them himself, wiping the damage he did to her away on his own. “I mean it with my whole heart.”

Her heart warmed.

“Thank you Spencer,” she whispered shyly.

He gave her a toothless smile, opening his arms for a hug from her.

Her heart pounded, knowing he barely let anyone touch him, but stepped towards him nonetheless.

Her arms went underneath his blazer, on top of his dress shirt (causing him to shiver) and laying her head on his chest.

He embraced her back, far too tall to be over her shoulder so he rested his chin on her head, shampoo filling his nose.

They stayed like that for a couple moments before pulling back to look at each other.

His eyes met hers, emotions swirling around, like they were trying to tell him something.

If it was a warning or an invitation Spencer didn’t know, but he leaned forward to find out, nose brushing hers.

Her lips parted, causing his eyes to shoot downward at the movement.

He gave her a moment to push away, to shove him out of the stall for even thinking she had any interest on him.

The rejection never came.

He finally planted his mouth on hers, her hands shooting to his hair to pull at his roots, a small groan leaving his lips.

His lips tasted like coffee and something truly Spencer.

Whatever it was pulled her in more, craving the taste of his mouth.

They finally pulled away, breath fanning each other’s faces. She was the one who laughed first against his lips, and he copied her before kissing her once again.

Sure, she was irritating at times, but she was cute, he’d give her that.

[leah-lover]

A person more than an athlete. Nika mühl x reader

Love always had a way of consuming you. Whether it was your friendships, relationships with your parents, your friends, or even your romantic relationships, you felt the love in every part of your body. You loved deeply and wholeheartedly.

You were also a dedicated person. You gave your career all you had which in turn got you a championship in your freshman year.

Women's sports were trending, and you were on top of the pyramid. From sponsorship deals, to ads, interviews, and magazine shoots, you were everywhere. The spotlight didn't mean much to you though. All you cared about was the sleeping body next to you.

Nika was to you the prettiest girl in the world. For her you would absolutely do anything.

“ Good morning.” You whisper into her ear before you kiss her shoulder. “ Morning.” she responds, shifting to lay on her back.

You two start kissing. The kisses were short and sweet which left you needing much more. “ Baby I am gonna be late for class.” She says after pulling out.

“ But…” you start to protest before she cuts you off. “ Babe I still have to go all the way to my room, get ready and go to class. We will finish this later okay?” She says before getting out of bed. You sigh loudly as she wears her shirt and gets her stuff. “ I love you “ you say although what you say isn't clear because your face is hidden by a pillow. “ I love you too. I will see you in practice.” she says before she leaves.

The rest of the day went as usual. You got ready for class, which you attended. You then changed into your huskies' track suit and went to the gym.

You started out training all right. You did your activation, some shooting drills, lifted some weights and got some cardio done.

You didn't talk nika during all of this because coach geno sat you all down in the first session of the year and said. “ You all are UConn players now, you have a big legacy to follow. You need to focus, work hard and train hard, and while you are part of this team relationships with your teammates are absolutely forbidden.” However, you couldn't help but fall in love with the Croatian international, she captured your heart more than basketball everdid.

You thought something was up when the coach asked nika to go to his office for a chat but you didn't give it much thought instead you hung out with Paige and Kk. You didn't see nika leave because you were too busy learning a new dance with Paige.

“ Hey, can you give me a minute?” said the coach to you.

You then enter his office with an unsettling feeling in your stomach.

“What's up coach? “ you say as you dit opposite his desk.

“ Look, I am gonna be as straight with you as I was with nika. You heard what I said the very first time you came to this gym. And you know what is gonna happen now.”

“ Coach with all do respect you can't do this. We are good assets to this team and we have been performing well. We won a whole championship last year while being together.”

“ I'm afraid it is not up for questioning. You will terminate this relationship. You agreed to this when you first signed the contract with us. The contract stated that inter team relationships are forbidden. Plus Nina already agreed to it.”

You didn't know how you got out of that office or how you walked across campus to your dorm. All you knew was that Nika and you were done.

You opened your door, got in and sat on the floor as soon as you closed it. You started to uncontrollably sob. That's when you feel familiar hands wrap around you. Her smell and her touch were comforting.

“ I love you so much.” she whispered in your ear. You could feel her tears on your cheeks.

“ he said you agreed to the bullshit he said.” you say wiping your tears.

“ I couldn't not agree. If he cuts me from the team I am done. I have to go back home and all of this will be for nothing.”

“ We can keep it a secret again. I don't want to live without you.”

“ Baby, if he catches us again we can't come back from it. I love you so much baby but I can't.”

You kiss each other multiple times while holding one another on the floor of your dorm. Nika then leaves and you stay on the floor heartbroken for a long time.

You flipped a switch as soon as she left the door knowing that you aren't gonna wake up next to her, sleep next to her, kiss her, or be inside her.

The next day at training was miserable to say the least. You didn't sleep the night before, you didn't smile, or talk to anybody. Your performance displayed your sadness. You were missing easy shots, and you clearly weren't focused. You didnt talk to nika or look at her. You started like that for 2 weeks you didnt talk to anybody, all you thought about was how much you modded her touch.

“ baby please don't do this.” said nika to you one the way to practice. “ We need to talk.” she says before she pulled you into the medic’s room.

As soon as she closed the door, she pinned you to the wall and started kissing you. You missed the taste of her lips, the weight of her hands on your waist, the way her hands rubbed you sides and her tongue swiped across your.

“ i missed you so fucking much.” she says after pulling out.

“ I am not whole without you. I can't do anything without you. I missed you so much.” you say before kissing her again. You were hungry for her, you needed her more than anything in the world.

“ I don't like this without you. Would you please come back to me?.” she asks while swiping her thumb on your cheek.

“ if it cost me my life to be with you again.” you respond.

'I love you baby.’ she adds.

“ I love you more than you will ever know.” you respond.

[unriding]

FLUFFTOBER DAY 19 — GHOSTS. ghost! hayato suo x f!readerﾉ sfw + fluff ﾉ no other warnings ﾉ link to october masterlist!

you seem to be the only one who doesn’t mind the ghost that’s trailing behind you. your friends want to hire someone to get rid of him, but you’re weirdly defensive over what’s supposed to be haunting you.

“I t-think something’s here.”

If you had heard these words come out of your friend’s mouth only a couple months ago, you’d probably feel some sort of dread or… fear. Anything else aside from endearment, at least. Instead, the confirmation that he’s still here with you only warms your heart and brings a smile to your face- much to her alarm.

“Oh, it’s okay,” you try to give her a reassuring smile, but it only seems to unsettle her even further. “Don’t worry about it. He’s the nice ghost I was telling you guys about.”

That’s right- they had genuinely chalked that up to a dragged out joke of yours this entire time. She almost wants to kick herself for being the first one to have to find out that his presence is, in fact, real. Very, very real.

“…Nice?” She’s hiding behind you now, clinging onto your jacket as some sort of safety precaution, you think. “You’re sure, right? One hundred percent sure…? That he’s.. a friendly ghost?”

“Mhm, I’m sure.” She isn’t quite sure why you look like you’re about to laugh in such a situation, but decides against bringing it up now. “We can leave in a second anyways. I just need to grab my wallet.”

This seems to relieve her, even if only a little.

“I swear he’s nice though, so you don’t need be so scared. Right?” You call out to whatever is lurking in the room, and something on your desk starts to roll. Your friend jerks her head fast enough to see that it’s a pen.

A red pen. Oh. How scary. It falls onto the floor with a light tap- his way of saying ‘yes,’ you’ve learned.

Your friend latches onto your arm with a nervous whine, and you laugh a bit. “You’ll hurry, right? Please?” Her voice drops to a low whisper, in case he can hear her. “I don’t want to stay near him any longer….”

A small frown tugs at your lips. Maybe this kind of thing was scarier for other people. You’re so used to him that it doesn’t really make sense to you anymore. “It’s okay,” you pat your friend’s head- the same way someone would comfort their dog. “I like him a lot. It’s nice to have him around, especially when it gets stormy. I’ve always been really scared of those— the thunder and stuff.”

She gives you a nod of agreement a bit too quickly, and you know she’s just agreeing so the two of you can get out of here faster. “I guessed his name a couple weeks ago,” you continue talking about him anyway, rummaging through your drawers to fish out your wallet, “but it took me a really long time to figure it out.”

“I wrote it down letter by letter, and he would move something when I landed on the right one.”

“O-oh… and..? His name is….?”

She wants to know if he’s an infamous ghost. Maybe it’ll confirm if he’s an evil one (she’s sure he is).

“Suo. That’s what we settled on, and that’s the name he responds to. Though I want to guess the other part of his name soon..” you say through a soft smile, as if telling your friend about finding love for the first time. “Ah. Found it. We can leave now.”

The name alone sends a violent shiver down her spine- goosebumps prickling her skin and it’s enough to make her just want to leave and never come back. “Let’s go then,” she grabs your arm, maybe a bit too roughly for Suo’s liking because you wince, and the light above the two of you flickers once.

A warning.

She ignores it somehow. “We shouldn’t be here any longer. And you too. He’s gonna start messing with your hea-”

A book on your desk crashes onto the floor, and her eyes go wide. A second warning, this time to keep her mouth shut.

“Come on already- h-hurry!” She’s tugging harder now- doesn’t listen when you tell her to loosen up the grip on your arm because it’s starting to hurt you.

Suo doesn’t seem to like that either, because the lights flicker much more violently this time. One, two, then three times before shutting off entirely, leaving you two alone in the dark and it falls eerily silent the next second.

“Ah..” you laugh sheepishly, hand gingerly rubbing at your arm. “Well, he’s mad now, so..”

dividers by @adornedwithlight

[ldrfanatic]

r9 for mattheo riddle pls🙏

shakin', pacin', I just need you

mattheo riddle x fem!hufflepuff!reader

r9 - "for you I would fall from grace, just to touch your face"

gonna be at the dentist office w my bf for the next three to four hours so I'm gonna try and clear out my requests <3

lowkey I was praying someone would request this for mattheo

part two anyone?

y'all I could not find where I wrote down my mattheo taglist so if you wanna be added please please PLEASE comment on this post so I can start a new one thanksss

slytherin boys works

"y/n are you even listening to me?"

the voice of hannah abbot, a fellow hufflepuff, tore your eyes from your only slytherin friend albeit reluctantly. when you finally looked towards your friend, her mouth was turned up into a disapproving frown.

"no. I know you think he's your friend, but he's not."

she wasn't entirely wrong. afterall, you couldn't honestly say that you'd exchanged more than a few words with the boy, though it wasn't for lack of opportunity. he'd approached you on more than one occasion but neither of you ever seemed to actually speak.

really, it was because mattheo felt stumped by you. he'd spent a lot of time with different girls while he'd been at hogwarts. but when he tried to approach you, he fumbled. every. single. time. that was how he first knew you were special.

the kind of girl that made him want to face his father's wrath even though he knew that liking you would be more than enough for a crucio.

between your friends, his family, and his inability to articulate his thoughts around you, mattheo never really got the chance to talk to you.

that is, until now.

somehow, by the grace of the universe, snape had paired you with him for the d.a.d.a. project studying boggarts. you touched on them briefly in your third year but due to lupin's condition, didn't get the chance to finish them. for once, mattheo actually wanted to do schoolwork and do well on this project so you didn't resent him for a bad grade.

as class was dismissed, a hand softly grabbed your wrist.

"wait."

it was mattheo. he was actually speaking words to you rather than just sitting there and staring. it was almost unsettling if anything.

"d'you maybe wanna meet in the library after classes and..."

you smiled sweetly and nodded.

"are you sure you can handle it riddle? don't you have to be talking to someone to study with them?"

there was a teasing tone in your voice which caused mattheo's face to bloom and pink to tinge over the tips of his ears. suddenly, like a switch had flipped, a cocky smile took over his face.

"i can't help it if you take my breath away. maybe you just bring out the best in me like that."

caught off by his banter and yet undeterred, you continued.

"well we all know that you're at your best when you shut up."

you spoke the words with a teasing smile. his jaw fell promptly open at your words, completely surprised that a hufflepuff would say something like that. while mattheo attempted to collect himself, you shoved your dark arts textbook into your satchel and swung it up onto your shoulder.

"the library. tonight. 5pm sharp. don't be late riddle."

five o'clock could not come fast enough. potions with professor scalby was simply exhausting. she was a kind enough women which was a nice change from professor snape after she'd taken over the class following his promotion to d.a.d.a., but the woman had a love for potions that you could safely say no one else in the class really shared. unless you counted hermione granger, a sweet enough gryffindor also in your year.

by the time that scalby finished gushing about the amortentia your class would attempt to brew next week, you were sure you'd aged an entire year in this class alone.

finally, after what seemed like an eternity, class was dismissed. you quickly packed your books away and scurried off to the library, arriving a decent few minutes before mattheo sauntered in with an otherworldly confused look on his face.

"sorry i'm a little late. i got lost."

he spoke to you in a deep yet gentle rumble that had your heart beating a little faster in your chest. it was hard not to notice the way that he gawked at the old century library which was probably your favorite collection of books in the whole world.

"have you never been here before?"

mattheo's dark curls bounced atop his head as he shook it slowly. he looked down at his large hands with what appeared to be shame.

"i've never really taken an interest in school before."

wanting to make him feel better you gently bumped your shoulder into his as the two of you walked back towards the study tables.

"you're taking an interest now."

"in you."

his words made the both of you settle into a thick silence. though it was hard not to notice his lingered stares across the great hall or after a slytherin-hufflepuff match, it was the first time that he'd spoken words aloud that alluded to his feelings for you, and it seemed to catch the both of you off guard.

after a moment's pause, mattheo spoke again.

"i-uh, i don't know why i said that i'm sorry."

you reached your hand out from across the table where the two of you had settled down and grasped his hand in yours. you flashed him a reassuring smile.

"don't be."

abruptly, mattheo let out a strangled noise of frustration and tugged at his hair with his fingers.

"i can't do this anymore."

your heart thumped so quickly against your ribcage, you feared it might stop beating altogether.

"can't do what anymore?"

"this, y/n. i can't keep posing that i want to be your friend and do friendly things together like study at the library."

now your heart was breaking. hannah was right. mattheo riddle was not your friend and-- oh. mattheo riddle was not done speaking.

"i can't keep pretending when i want to be so much more than friends with you. when i want to do very not friendly things with you. to you. when i feel like throwing these books on the floor and yanking you across this table and pressing every part of your body against every part of mine."

instead of doing that, he stood from his seat and knelt in front of you. it felt weird to have the son of the dark lord on his knees in front of you all but begging you to be his girlfriend.

"i know i'm not the chosen one or anything and i'm never gonna be the good guy. but damnit if i have to stay away from you any longer i don't think i could stand it."

his confession stunned you into silence. how the hell could yoou possibly respond to that?

"say something, please."

a hopeful look had taken over his features. his brown eyes sparkled under the dim library lights.

"i don't care that you're not the protagonist mattheo. i would fall from grace for you."

---

<taglist>

@blobsblobician @helendeath

07.07.2024

[hitlikehammers]

Steddie Missed Connection AU

feat. Craigslist-trawling-wingwoman!Robin + earnest-LA-transplant!Steve + rockstar!Eddie ✨ inspired by this actual Craigslist love story

It’s always about a 50/50 shot when Robin starts making her little back-of-the-throat squealing noises. Up to a certain pitch, Steve could pretend he had his AirPods on noise cancellation mode.

Once she reached fire-alarm-screeching levels, it overrode the settings and boom: he lost his fall guy.

Thanks, Apple.

But that’s where they are, and the squealing plus the screen in her hands, plus the way her leg’s bouncing against the table they’re both sitting at—which would have overrrode Steve’s AirPod excuse in about a minute because she’s gonna start splashing his glass of orange juice in a hot second—but all of it lumped together?

He’s lucky he’s retained his athletic reflexes post-high school—maybe only because of being joined-at-the-hip with this particular platonic soulmate, really—because by the time she’s swinging her iPad from its case to plop right down in front of him?

At least he’s quick enough to save his overnight oats from becoming aluminum-flavored when she drops the goddamn thing down without warning—caseless, the heathen—and makes indecipherable noises Steve thinks he’s maybe only heard at the zoo as she taps her nail with an migraine-inducing click on the screen.

Steve…supposes this means he’s obligated to look.

He sighs, fully expecting a dumb meme or a ‘cute TikTok’ because he knows who he fucking lives with; he reaches across the table and unfolds his glasses—really, assaulting him with this before he can even get his contacts in…

And it’s a…webpage. Like: just a webpage. A boring webpage, even. Definitely not matching up with the…squealing and table-sized earthquake of bouncing knees. He squints, tries to make it make sense.

Oh. Wow. He didn’t…

Steve did not actually know Craigslist still existed, let alone that people still used it. He was pretty sure the things for sale were always just kidnapping plots with extra steps, and then also that finding a person you walked past that one time was an FYP problem to solve. But.

Here, in front of him, in black and white and honestly like no other color:

Steve squints; it was posted this morning, but only just. Like 4am. So the last afternoon for there to be a one o’clock hour was—

Yesterday.

His yesterday was uneventful. Went shopping with Robs. Filled up the freezer and overbought shit again so they had a kind of massive and wholly mismatched dinner with the leftovers nearly popping open the fridge door. Can’t take the Midwesterner out of the man or woman, apparently.

Definitely nothing like the day this poor soul on a maybe-less-dead-than-presumed website had had. But Steve won’t pretend his heart doesn’t clench a little when he finishes reading because…it’s cheesy.

But Steve’s always been into that romantic…stuff.

“That’s very sweet,” he lands on commenting before passing the tablet back to Robin, who’s staring at him with frankly terrifying eyes. Like: lost-your-fucking-mind eyes.

“Steven.”

“What?”

“Steven.”

“Robin.”

He won’t even pretend he doesn’t jump with the metal slams on the wood where Robin narrowly misses flipping his bowl of sadly-abandoned oats with her iPad again when she slaps it down in from of him and points frantically yet again.

“Look at the location.”

Steve tilts his head.

Oh. He’d just looked at the time. And it’s not like the location in the title was…unique on its own.

“Huh,” he huffs with a shrug when he sees their part of the city listed in the main link up top. “Coinkydink.”

Robin’s growl starts deep, like a diaphragmatic thrum and Steve would be terrified of her if she were anyone else.

As it is: he’s only mildly unsettled. Specifically because the growl rumbles so…long.

Like at least a minute before she screams bloody fucking murder:

“My hair was in the buns!”

And the way she screeches it, and the maniacal twitch of those eyes…she’s saying more than those words, with those words.

Which means Steve has to put in effort to follow her coded message style of communicating, fucking hell. He hasn’t even eaten his breakfast.

He tries to think it through, at least manages to down his glass of OJ so it can’t be a sacrifice to flying iPads when he thinks he…

“Wait.”

Steve frowns. Robin just blinks.

“You don’t,” he shakes his head, or starts to, it’s a slow motion thing; “you don’t like honestly think,” but even as he’s saying it, the look in her eyes starts to make sense, and answers for him:

“This is not about me.”

Because: seriously.

“We were laughing!” Robin is immediate with her rebuttal, still in her screeching era. “No one else was there!”

“Because we specifically time our shopping for when people are at lunch on a weekday,” Steve counters quick, tries to cut her off at the pass; “a statistically slow window of opportunity for us to debate the list!”

“We write the list to avoid debating,” Robin answers in a more sedate, be reasonable now, dingus tone before she shakes her head and scowls and:

“Stop distracting me!”

Yep, back to the screeching.

“Why were you even on that fucking site?” Steve sighs as he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair.

“Steven,” Robin says again in that fucking tone that always means he’s missing the biggest, far-more-important point but does jack shit to help him find it.

“Robina.”

“Not my name, eww.”

“Well, now you know how I feel when you make up a middle name for me,” Steve sticks his tongue out very maturely to her scrunched up face: “they’re never even nice ones,” he adds, because they’re really not; “and I do know that was your next move so,” he smacks his hands opposite the screen on the table in front of him in victory as he crows:

“Denied.”

“This isn’t basketball,” Robin’s working her tongue around her lips inside her mouth, which is always deadly foreshadowing; “you didn’t block my shot or whatever—“

“Didn’t I?” Steve pushes because, well, one, he did, and two, the original conversation was absurd even for them.

“Maybe it was so empty because his security was there.”

Steve frowns. The tone’s too…even. No. No: too haughty.

“The fuck does that mean?”

“I said he looked like a rockstar,” she leans to grab back her tablet and poke near the top, obviously switching browser tabs: “so I did some digging.”

“Robin, what city do we live in?” Steve asks as she works, because yes, Steve remembers seeing a very hot fucking dude staring less in their direction than looking dumbstruck-lost as hell, and he’d considered walking over to ask if he needed help—Midwestern transplant to the bone—which was accompanied by the stray I’d fuck that gorgeous toothpick silly, but in the paper product aisle, like on the 48-count pack of Charmin, he looks soft under all that leather—then both thoughts were swiftly abandoned when the toothpick’s eyes met Steve’s and Steve maybe had to force himself to finish laughing at a joke he can’t remember now, that Robin told, because his skin felt like it was burning a little except the sun had poked behind a cloud, and his throat, it had like, it had just, it—

It just felt…weird.

He does remember that.

“But we don’t see rockstars every day,” which is fair, their neighborhood in particular is less music biz than others.

“Plus, look at this!”

Then she’s shoving the iPad back in front of Steve: it’s a TMZ shot or some other pap photo that’s more than half blur. It is indeed the parking lot at their Costco. And it does…feature a toothpick-esque figure looking similar to the one Steve remembers, but it’s more from the back than the side. And like, anyone can wear that much black in the summer. It’s a free country.

“And look at him!”

She split-screens to a Wikipedia article about a band even Steve’s heard of, if not for listening to them himself. It…he glances at the paparazzi shot.

Lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin Sighted Getting Groceries Just Like Normal People in Mar—

And then he looks back to the wiki: okay. Same band name. The guy with the guitar in the photo looks…

He has the same hair.

“Don’t tell me it’s just coincidence.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“It is just coincidence.”

“Steve.”

Steve feels his face sour.

“I know that tone,” because he does. It never leads to things he enjoys.

“You’ve thought about him.”

“He was gorgeous,” Steve thinks he surprises her with his honesty but like, what does he have to gain by lying? Plus:

“LA’s is like the plastic surgery capital of the fucking world, it’d be kinda sad if a lot of people generally weren’t pretty.”

“He wasn’t that kind of pretty.”

And fuck if they don’t share a brain cell; fuck if she doesn’t see right through him.

“And that’s not why you’ve been thinking about him.”

And fuck if she doesn’t know Steve, far too well.

“I never once said I’d been thinking about,” he hears the words and knows they’re weak, goddamnit.

“You never had to,” Robin smiles a little and taps an annoying finger at the screen again, that’a somehow flipped right back to the Craigslist ad thingy.

And she’s actually not entirely right, because he hadn’t thought much about the gorgeous toothpick man with curls Steve wanted to be smothered by, suffocate in like a pillow. But when he did?

He’d thought most about how he looked soft, on the inside. Thought wild and idiotic things like maybe his soft could match Steve’s soft when no one else’s ever had and he was always left bruised for it, more than once near-unhealable, and maybe they could, like, if their softnesses matched, then like—

Something.

But Steve always comes on too strong, wants too much, hopes to hard and way too fast, though this shit might take the cake, there: so it was idiotic and he’d left that train of thought to derail on its own and—

Did that come on too strong?

His gaze snags on the words, those exact words up on the screen and he’s very tempted to start growling deep in the pit of his stomach, take a cue from Robin’s absurdity.

“Don’t you have a class to get to?” Steve asks, looking pointedly at the clock on the microwave: he knows she does. Pottery making. For self-edification.

She scowls but looks—swears colorfully because it’s later than she thought as she jumps up and goes to presumably…do whatever she does in the bathroom to get ready to leave and look her lesbian-luring best before she gets smattered in wet clay.

Steve remains unclear on whether that look’s more or less attractive to the specific ladies she’s trying to bait.

Either way: it prompts Robin to drop her one-woman campaign insisting Steve’s soulmate of the romantic flavor is calling our desperately into the void of the internet. But it also, however, has the…side-effect of making the time itself an obvious thing. 11:09.

Rob’s gonna take the car, she’s got…supplies and stuff.

Why that’s important is…lost on him.

He could debase himself and brave the bus, if he got off at Washington and—

What the fuck.

What. The. Fuck.

Steve very forcefully shoves Robin’s iPad back across the table and doesn’t think about anything, especially not the numbers, like the number 214, like two hours and fourteen minutes until—

Steve nearly chokes himself on his fucking spoon with how violently he shoves it, full of oats, between his lips. As if he can shut his brain up as easy as he can his mouth.

It…actually kinda works. He might have chipped a tooth.

——————

In the end, Steve is proud of himself for being reasonable and having standards. He doesn’t take a fucking bus to meet a stranger in a Costco parking lot, Jesus Christ. Come on.

He books an Uber.

(And yes, he and Robin agreed no solo Ubers for a month to save up to have the air conditioner looked at before it copped out on them because their landlord only gave a shit if it was dead-dead and yes, maybe she’d gone so far as to put their account on a hold you had to call and remove to avoid temptation—though of the two of them, she definitely had the bigger problem—but little did she think on the fact that while you had to link a phone number, you could just use Google Voice and make a new account and no, Steve’s not insane, or a hopeless romantic, or almost-asking-for-heartbreak-on-the-regular, thank you very much.

He is resourceful. And it’s only like $15 with tip. It’s a quick ride.)

He asks to be dropped near the back of the lot, and takes the walk up slow. Almost goes the long way, straight into the store. Almost turns back entirely.

But then he sees those curls.

And his throat does the…the weird tight thing for no fucking reason, and his feet don’t ask permission to walk in the direction of the man standing…less dumbstruck, now. Even from the back it’s clear.

Now: he’s waiting.

Steve can barely breathe, can’t fucking swallow for the state of his throat, but his feet still aren’t waiting for permission, so it’s only fucking seconds before he’s close enough to catch a whiff of cologne and then—

“Sorry,” Steve ducks around the man from behind and reaches out automatically to steady him when he startles. “Hey, sorry, you just looked like maybe you were looking for something?” Steve smiles as open, as reassuring as he knows. “Just wanted to check if you needed any help.”

Keep it casual, Steve, keep it fucking friendly and extra polite and—

“Oh my god.”

The guy barely breathes it out, his eyes so wide, and Steve doesn’t know why he hasn’t moved his hand from the guy’s arm but Steve can feel the electric current that runs through him, like the finest grade of trembling. And electricity, right, it travels. Conducts.

In case you felt your heart skip just one beat, didn’t even have to full-on stop—

And even that proximity to this man is nothing compared to hearing his voice, low and a little syrupy even as he stares in shock, in disbelief—and oh. Oh, but what was it the guy had written in his post? About feeling the earth move a little, or like, rewiring your cells just for meeting eyes?

Steve, he’s…

Yeah. Yeah.

Okay.

“You’re here.”

Steve blinks, rocked back to the moment to deal with the new tilt of the globe and the spontaneous realignment of his insides later. This guy’s looking at Steve like he’s unbelievable, like he’s miraculous, like he’s…

Sunshine.

“I’m here?” Steve asks, a little breathy, a little curious.

“I,” the guy swallows, lips shiny as he bites at them, fucking adorable; “I saw you, umm, yesterday and I maybe, well, possibly I wrote some,” he fumbles and sounds like he’s building up to eventual hysterics, so Steve acts wholly on instinct and reaches further now to catch at both his hands.

“Relax,” Steve breathes out with a smile, and doesn’t overthink smoothing his thumbs over the guy’s knuckles, just in case it soothes him.

“My friend,” Steve lets go with one hand and grabs his phone to show the page he’d loaded on the ride here; “she was convinced it was you, about me. I wasn’t, so,” he shakes his head quick when something falls in the guy’s face, something dims: oh, umm, no.

He cannot have that.

“Not trying to catch you out or something,” Steve exhales it warm, as reassuring as he can, with his whole chest as he grabs the guy’s hands in both his own again—since he seemed to not mind; “just,” and Steve shrugs even as he smiles a little, less self-deprecating with it than he’d probably have landed on if the guy hadn’t reacted to Steve’s hands on his by clinging back so tight:

“Just a little hard to believe, is all.”

The man barely lets the words settle before his jaw drops almost comically and he demands, high-pitched and somehow still rumbling, something commanding in it nonetheless:

“How?”

Like it’s unimaginable. Like Steve reading that post and walking into this lot and striding up to a perfect stranger—who may or may not be very famous but that’s actually not even a little bit of the point—but a stranger who would want to see him—

But then Steve’s meeting the guy’s eyes again; hadn’t wholly realized he’d been staring at their hands more than anything. Those eyes are like the night sky, swirling and endless and sparking in the right slant of light, and Steve feels them like a welcome, like a cushion of the stars, like a safe landing in a chaotic universe.

He doesn’t even know this man.

But he thinks…yesterday. Yesterday, his heart didn’t stop, not like this guy had written, but Steve understands now what it did do instead, the thing he did remember, the tightness in his throat: his heart didn’t stop.

It just surged upward and took up residence to pound at his trachea where it tripped instead. Which is kinda where he’s back to right now.

“Could I,” the guy’s voice is rough, shaky, and so is he, Steve feels it where he’s still got his hand gripped firm; “would it be too much to ask if I could hug you?”

And he huffs a breath, and it sounds too….too small, like he’s afraid or ashamed and it pings something hateful, but so much more protective in Steve’s blood just to hear it as he confesses on a end of an exhale:

“I just want to know if you’re real.”

And Steve didn’t grow up a hugger, but he sure as shit’s grown into one; he’d be one of those people standing in the city with a ‘Free Hugs’ sign without much convincing. But this guy.

This man in front of him who may or may not be famous, is definitely a stranger either way save that he poured out some lines on the internet that maybe exceeded the term ‘heartfelt’ by a mile, who may or may not be standing in here, inside this moment, for something like fate because…Steve did feel it.

Maybe he didn’t think twice about the immensity it could have, not in the moment, because he’d been shopping, and Robin’s story was funny and maybe he was just struck by his luck in living a life with his platonic soulmate and knowing joy; surely your heart can trip for that and just because it never had before, just because it did this one first time when he crossed eyes with a genuinely beautiful man who left Steve with half-a-second’s certainty that looking any longer would flay wide this unknown person’s soul for Steve to sift through: but Steve felt things like that easy, always had. Romanticized nothings like it was a profession.

But it never hit like this had, has—is—before, if indeed this is actually anything—

And Steve’s heart is still tripping but it’s back in his chest, and he knows it because where he’s pressed against this guy’s kinda-gasping chest, now, close and tight? Maybe Steve’s never paid attention before, or maybe Steve’s just never…touched like this before, even if all they’re doing is hugging in a fucking parking lot.

But.

He’s pressed there and his heart’s tripping in his chest and he knows it wholly and fully because he can feel this man’s heartbeat next to his own—and where it should be a battle, because it’s pounding, both of them are, one side literally against the other?

It feels like a caress. It feels like, like…

Steve closes his eyes tight because they start to sting with the single word it feels like: impossible, absurd, but…

Here he is. He’s never felt someone’s heartbeat pressed up against his own before. Definitely never felt—never dreamt—that it could feel like it fits.

He leans back when he thinks he’s got a hold on the hopelessness of his tender-hearted absurdity, but the guy is staring at him already when he does and suddenly Steve’s got a handle on absolutely nothing except his pulse jackrabbiting some more but then also feeling…like it lost something. Like it’s not complete.

And the man, he’s staring with those eyes so wide again but now it’s like he’s…it’s kinda like he knows. He knows his eyes are going to let Steve flay him wide open.

It’s like he’s begging Steve to…look. To look and less to take, and more to…have.

Maybe, maybe to keep?

And…how?

“Do you feel it?” the guy whispers, those deep dark eyes so big: just these vulnerable, bleeding hearts on main. “Even just—“ he tries to walk back, to open it all up wider, desperate and hopeful and Steve hears all of it because it’s all written in the same key as all that Steve knows, all that Steve is. Somehow.

Somehow.

So Steve blinks, too many times before he grabs the man harder and drags him in again to hold, hold, hold until the heartbeat on either side of Steve’s ribs is reaching for the other, touching. Until they’re holding on, too, and once they do, then he can whisper, warm and maybe wet in the crook of this man’s neck, this stranger who’s holding onto his heart now, unfathomable, as he speaks words he doesn’t have to think about first to know they’re going to shift the world again, this time so they both can know it in the souls of them together, all at once:

“I feel it.”

For @hbyrde36, who requested 'Missed Connection AU' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth

divider credits here and here

💫 ao3 link here

[luvvixu]

mind over matter pt. 5

synopsis: witness how your marriage was bound to fall apart with you on the front seat and your husband gojo had missed the show—now, he gotta figure out the story on his own.

content: arrange marriage au, angst, husband!gojo, mean!gojo, mention of blood, mention of drugs, strong languages, some unsettling scenarios, emotional trauma, read at your own risk

a/n: I MISS Y'ALL MWAMWAMWA!! anw, here's a 4k wc for this update and for those who are wondering, "where tf is the special chapter for 'the end'?" and imma tell u...the file went corrupted for absolute no reason...and i have to rewrite the whole story bcoz of that...k bye im gonna kms (kidding) HUHUHUHUHUHU IM STILL CRYING ABOUT IT!

previous / masterlist / next

it was late at night and you're exhausted but happy after your first visit with kazuki. currently, you're in a nice deep sleep back in your room and satoru is still wide awake as he watches you sleep.

his body was situated on the chair and he decided to remove his blindfold just to observe your peaceful sleeping face with the blue moonlight shining upon you. you're beautiful even if you're pale.

a silent deep sigh escalated on his lips, he was still stuck in his deep thoughts about you and your son. satoru couldn't erase your happy face and the sensation of kazuki's small fingertips away from his mind, it all felt so…surreal.

a ringtone exploded on his phone. upon seeing the name, he sucked up a breath and decided to go outside your room for a moment just to call the name on his phone.

“i told you to stop communicating with me anymore.” there's a hint of venom in his voice the moment the other line was picked up.

satoru only hears a slight shuffling but he knew she was there because he can also hear some shaky breaths. “yukie…please know that you and i are now over.”

yukie, not many people know this female since her rank was only at grade 3 but to satoru—she’s the third party, or in simplest words, his mistress. yukie michiga is a beautiful woman with a nice body and a head-turning face. her life was average since she didn't have enough strength yet to rise her rank and get more missions to gain salary but it was enough to sustain her family of six.

she also grew up in a well-oriented family. she was the oldest among her three other younger siblings and she's a very responsible daughter, sister, and as a sorcerer. everyone in her little village adores her and even supports her when she flies to kyoto just to become a sorcerer.

to say the best, she's a woman of all. yukie was beautiful, kind, dependent, and very hardworking.

she and satoru met during his mission when yukie was seen killing some lower grade curses to protect some civilians in an abandoned park. satoru was amazed by her braveness and determination to save those souls despite not being paid enough. but what caught his attention the most was her alluring figure and that angelic face card.

after finishing his mission, he approached the girl who immediately recognized him because of his reputable name. they both introduced their names and even went on a date to get to know each other. and that moment they knew, they were attracted to each other. she even couldn't believe that she was seeing the strongest sorcerer in this current generation.

however, yukie had soon found out that satoru has a wife after their fifth date when she saw a wedding photo on his phone and your contact number literally named ‘wife’. she may be attracted to the guy but she values her dignity and she respects you as a woman even though she hadn't even meet you properly.

despite being heartbroken, she confronted satoru about it and demanded they should stop seeing each other despite her growing love towards him, because yukie would rather be alone than to be hidden behind someone's husband. but satoru did not allow her because he's too caught up in a moment and he finds his needs on the girl.

after some crying and begging, yukie finds herself being ruled by love and lets herself stoop so low just to be with satoru. she was convinced by his charm and now she's so drunk in love. yukie already destroyed herself by having an affair with a married man, so her fighting him to be complete hers will no longer do damage for what's already done.

“let's just forget everything that happened between us.” now what? after what yukie had sacrificed for this affair, he's now letting her go?

a scoffing was received and then followed by a shaky chuckle. “that easily? you're letting me go that easily after you literally just devoted yourself to me two weeks ago?” yukie was trying her best not to snap yet, it's too early for that.

satoru ran a hand on his face. “i'm sorry, but this is not right anymore.”

“oh so you've just realized it just now? after what? after you've finally decided to be a oh-so-good husband and think that you could've fixed everything? you're making me cry by laughing.” the woman did not even realize that she was gripping her phone so hard that her knuckles turned white.

“just say what you want.”

“you. i want you, satoru. i couldn't bear the fact that you're just leaving me so easily after what you had promised me last year.”

“but yukie, you know i'm still married and—”

“then divorce her just like you said before!” tears started to pool on her eyes as yukie was getting and sounded more desperate to save her relationship with the man.

“...i can't,” satoru whispered quietly.

“why?! because you're becoming a coward of the higher up—”

”because i don't want to anymore! i am aware that i'm such a bad person to my wife and i cannot change the past anymore. but i'm very willing to change for the present and the future, just for the sake of my family.” his words cause her to feel like everything stops, that specifically includes her heavy and enraged breathing.

what did he just say? fucking ridiculous.

“look yukie, i'm so sorry for cutting you off like this and thank you for everything that you have done to me. but please, let's just end it here.” satoru continued.

on the other line, yukie was sitting on her bed with tears completely spilling down on her eyes and her emotions were overflowing. their memories together keeps on flooding in her mind as the female tries to collect herself so she could find a quick answer to save this illicit affair.

“satoru, you're such a fucking dick for playing with many women's heart just so you can satisfy yourself. and then what happened to us that you once played with? what happened to those who got us wrapped around your finger? fucking nothing! you left us all hanging!” her voice started from low and went up to loud. satoru would've never understood a woman's rage because their rages are a good disguise of just being angry.

if only he knew what the current scenario is playing in her head, it can make the strongest shiver.

“yukie…i'm sorry but it's not like that—”

“it is! and here i thought i was special among all of the women you slept with. i thought i could be a better partner for you. i even lowered my dignity just to be with a married person!” for once, she finally felt pity for what she had become. if she could ever face her former self, she would hug her tight and say, ‘there is no turning back’.

and that is the reason why she said, “take responsibility for this.”

“w-what?”

“i said take responsibility for this! you made me crazy over you and i cannot let you go! so be responsible and leave your wife—”

“no!” satoru could not help but to yell back. he wanted nothing in this relationship anymore. he swore to himself that he is going to try his best to fix this marriage and that starts with him and his mistress, yukie.

meanwhile, yukie could feel the churching effect of rage deep down on her stomach when she realized that he is serious about cutting her off. he finally decided to stop being a pathetic dickhead and started to devote himself into your circle.

“fine! if you don't want to, then i’ll make you.”

the strongest eyes widened as he could smell danger at her literal threat. he also felt like a cold water bucket being showered on his body when he thought of any unpleasant possibilities that she could execute on you and his child.

“o-oh no you're not.” he gritted his teeth.

yukie laughed crazily, her eyes twitching in the process. “i will. you made me like this, satoru. so face the consequences and be accountable for the person you've made me.”

“yukie—”

“i am going to be your karma and you cannot run away or hide from me. don't you ever try to run away because i’ll make sure of it.” with a final hostile, the woman ended the call, making satoru almost lose his sanity.

“yukie?! h-hello…?! yukie? fuck!”

satoru was on the verge of throwing his phone across the hallway. he felt enraged, scared, devastated, and all. he knew what are the capabilities of yukie—like he literally witness his mistress beat the shit out of that other woman he once mingle with before her just because she's getting jealous.

what more could she do to his wife…and worse, his child?!

his body almost launched itself on the nearest wall due to his knees feeling weak. satoru was not scared of what yukie had planned for himself because he could literally take her even in his sleep, yukie was practically defenseless against him. but if his family was involved? it's gonna be the literal end of him.

he's the superman and his family is the kryptonite—his weakness.

“fuck. what did i get myself into…” satoru hopelessly buried his face into his shaky hands. he's afraid that he had done another unforgivable sin that you would probably not be going to spare him anymore.

but, you wouldn't have done that if you didn't know. so, guess who needs to keep their mouth shut? everyone.

the night had passed and satoru didn't even sleep a single wink. his conversation with yukie just kept on ringing into his head and deprived him from the attention. like right now, you have been calling him three times in a row but he's too busy to look at an empty space below. you reach for his arm to give him a gentle shake. satoru could feel someone nudging him and he knew it was you.

“sorry, what were you saying again?” he sighs deeply before forcing himself to give you a not-so forced smile.

a worried frown appears in your face. “you should go back to the jujutsu high. you really need to rest, i’ll be fine in here.”

“i can still manage this. don't worry.” satoru assured you, and you didn't buy it of course. “i'm not asking you if you can or not. i just said you should head back at least for now.” you said.

“but—”

“satoru, don't be stubborn.” your expression becomes more serious, making satoru fall quietly because he knew that he would eventually listen to you.

“it has been three days since and you hadn't even met your students properly. just go, satoru. you can always come back here during your free time. kazuki and i can wait for you.” you added.

“a-are you sure?”

you nodded and just gave him an assuring pat on his arm. “very. now go and do your thing.”

satoru was left with no choice but to obey, in which he did. he also thinks that this could also be an appropriate moment to confront the threat, by the threat means, his mistress.

“i’ll just leave after lunch. i need to make sure you are well fed.”

“alright.”

the rest of the morning was normally fine. you've watched something on your phone to keep yourself entertained while satoru was dozing off in his seat. his head keeps on uncomfortably dropping, so you decide to offer him a space in your bed in which he hesitantly agrees after you've persuaded him enough.

and now, he's currently sleeping quietly beside you while you are seated and continue watching your show. you would also occasionally steal a glance at him because he's really odd today, like something was bothering him. you know it's not because he's lack of sleep, but it was something else and that itches you to ask him.

then lunch came. satoru was still sleeping so you took this cue to get food yourself by ordering some healthy options available on the app, and sooner, the food came just right by your doorstep. you thanked the delivery man who really made an effort to travel up until here to your room. so, you also give him a nice tip, in which he smiles happily in return.

stealing another peak at your sleeping husband, you've decided to quietly remove yourself from the bed just to prepare the food on the table.

meanwhile, satoru stirred up in his sleep after sensing a weight suddenly vanished from the comfort of the bed. slowly opening his blue powerful eyes, he saw you standing not so far away from the bed and was busy unboxing the ordered food.

he looked at the wall clock across the room and it showed its way past lunch. that alone made him jerk up his body because he slept and you had to do the food by yourself.

“you ordered some food?” you replied to him with a hum and continued doing your work.

“you should've woken me up.” satoru frowns but you just shrugged it off.

“it's okay. you were resting and you need it obviously. besides, the delivery man was very kind to deliver it here if you're worried about me moving too much.”

satoru let this one slide and sat on the bed as he watched you hand him his food as he eats on the bed while you take a seat and eat on the small table. even in different settings, you two still don't share a table for a meal together. it's not like it matters that much, but it finally bothers him.

“what are your plans this afternoon?” satoru asked you after he took a spoonful of bite.

“visit kazuki, of course.” you simply answered.

a little bit of awkward silence engulfed the two of you. satoru was finding a way to crack up a long conversation with you, while you're still itching to ask him a question about what's bothering him. but to clarify things up, you actually don't care about what could be the reason behind it. you're just bothered because he looks bothered and it's bothering you!

“do you want me to send shoko so you can keep company?”

you immediately shook your head at his suggestion. “no, no. shoko is a busy person and has a lot more important things to do. and besides, kazuki could keep me company. i also need to walk his birth papers as suggested by the doctor.”

“about that, do you want me to—”

“it’s okay, satoru. i can manage doing it alone.” you don't mean to sound like you're stripping his rights from your son, but you really wanted to do this on your own. the two of you are still working on an unspoken term and you don't want your broken marriage to affect your baby's pre-life even by the simple act.

actually, you've noticed to yourself that you're becoming a little too soft on satoru. so, you would always remind yourself about the things he had done but also to remind yourself to be less harsh towards the man because at the end of the day, you are forced to be the leading mature in this circle.

you had to subside some of your emotion now that a baby has entered the scene and you would give everything just to have kazuki a bestest life he could live in. and that includes swallowing your pride and being with satoru a little longer than what should have been expected.

“i have a small favor, by the way.” satoru perk up at your words.

“go on.” he said and paid utmost attention to you. you've rarely made a request to him so he needs to make sure he got everything covered.

“nanami…if you ever saw him, tell him to come and visit me.”

nanami?

satoru tries not to frown when you suddenly look for him. it's not like he feels weird or anything since you two are good old friends, but rather why you can't just text him. anyway, he didn't ask you and just kept your little favor in his mind.

“sure, i will.”

and with that, the whole lunch for the day comes to an end and satoru goes back to the jujutsu high and tries to do his usual teaching activities.

satoru did what you said, he told nanami to visit you but he disobeyed when you said to do his daily task as a teacher and a sorcerer. to clarify some things, he did meet up with his students but that's it. he didn't teach nor oversee them on their training. he just told them that principal yaga will continue to handle them for the meantime then flew off the scene.

and guess where he's off to? yeah, his mistress.

a harsh knock surfaced on the wood as satoru continues to call out a specific name who won't even show a sign of response. he knows yukie was there due to him being able to detect her cursed energy but she didn't even acknowledge his presence.

“yukie please, let's talk this out and stay away from my family.” he hates to do this but he implies a pleading and desperation in his voice just for the sake of avoiding the rotten aftermath.

on the other side, yukie was seated on her sofa while still pretending that the consistent knocking or visitor didn't even exist. she'll only entertain the man and let him in if he would approach her as the satoru gojo who she willing to throw her life away just to be with him, not satoru gojo who would throw her life away just to be with you.

“yukie, please…open this door. let me talk to you.” biting her lower lip in despair, yukie swore that she really tried her best to stay strong and wouldn't just crumble over the sound of a pleading man, but guess she just was just making a fool out of herself.

“fuck it.” with a one swore, the woman finally found herself opening the door and revealed the white haired man she's been dying to see. yukie couldn't contain herself anymore, so as soon as her eyes landed on her most prized possession, she pulled him into a messy kiss as she pulled him inside.

but to her melancholia, she was dumb to think that he's going to reply to her with the same passion and love over the kiss. satoru pulled her away from him and didn't even kiss her back!

something inside yukie cracked as she looked at satoru with a broken heart. tears are pooling on her eyes but satoru wouldn't even bat an eye on her now pleading figure.

from his point of view, satoru wiped his lips in disgust as he could smell and taste alcohol in her breath. she's clearly drunk and wasted but still in the right place to talk.

“is our conversation on the phone not enough? when are you going to plant it on your head that i'm not planning to let you go?” yukie whispers as she buries her face into his chest, hoping that he would at least soften his heart and come back to her.

“you have to, yukie. it's time for us to correct the mistakes we both made.” satoru wrapped his arms around her waist, maybe this would calm her down and the conversation would at least become less aggressive.

“your mistake, satoru, not mine.” satoru went silent and yukie knew she was right. she thinks it's only his fault that led her this way, it could've also been avoided when yukie once confronted satoru about you but he's too imbecile to see the aftermath. now look where we are, there's no turning back now.

“is your wife now aware of this, huh?” satoru shook his head, there's no way he's gonna let you know about this. his space in your heart is now barely surviving, he doesn't want to take the risk yet.

“just tell me, what do you want me to do so you can let me go?”

yukie smiled lovesick-ly. “nothing. i told you, i am going to make you mine, and i'm gonna show you how i'm gonna do it.”

shit. this is bad. i’m really doomed.

satoru shoved away with terror and anger in his blue hue orbs. “yukie, don't make me break the rules. you stay out of my family's life.” he pointed a finger towards the female.

clearly, she doesn't give a fuck.

then suddenly, yukie pulled him towards the couch and kissed him aggressively and against his will. satoru knew he would be dead, dead by his guilt that he kissed those lips that he swore he wouldn't touch again.

“yukie, stop—! mmph!” satoru, being literally the strongest, tried his best but it's too late. his eyes could see black spots dancing around his vision, but before it totally went dark, he saw a devilish smile on yukie’s face and then everything suddenly vanished.

turns out, when yukie pulled him into a second kiss, she forcefully put a pill of drug into his mouth and made him swallow unwillingly. satoru may be immune to dark curses but he's no exemption to curse of love.

satoru was unable to move, and yukie, she was smiling ever so widely with hearts in her eyes as she started lovingly at the love of her life.

“fuck, you belong to no one else but mine.”

yukie was overly and beyond happy, that's the fact. she finally has him in his arms, she's so proud that she got the literally the strongest in her embrace—what could possibly be wrong?

yukie michiga, the one who participated in adultery, was about to drag satoru gojo, the one who initiated adultery, while she laughed to herself as she thought about things on her bucket list when she finally made him hers.

but then suddenly, the front door blasted as debris and dust floated around the air and served as a blanket to the destroyer.

“what the fuck?!” yukie hugged satoru's unconscious body possessively while coughing due to the wall dust she's inhaling. she couldn't pinpoint who would do such a thing at her precious house because of the fog.

but when it lifted up, it revealed someone, the one who is the victim of adultery, along with somebody, the one who hates adultery. both were wearing the deadliest expression you could ever see, it is raging with anger, especially someone.

“yeah, what the fuck?!” someone mocked her little curse a while ago making yukie freeze in horror. she knows that person well—very, very well. who wouldn't know her when she's the reason why she keeps on hiding in the depths of their shadow.

yukie's wavering eyes met the other pair of eyes. it was sharp, filled with dagger—those eyes were skinning her alive.

“what the fuck are you doing to my husband, yukie michiga?”

PLS READ THIS, THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT AND IS PART OF THE MIND OVER MATTER

[part 6 will be posted soon — ©luvvixu2024]

taglists: @mistymuii @kalopsia-flaneur @sherryuki-callmeyuki @aish777 @tttttttf @slyhersophia @rirk-ke @labelt-san @shinruo @testrella @sad-darksoul @kurookinnie @mountvesuvu @chwesuh-imnida @cole-silas @elernity @maddie-jayne @yozora7154 @kawaiivillainess98 @forourpoets @aishies-stuff @numblytemporary @souyasplushie @catarinemirandax @aerithsthingss @h1gh4ru @ssetsuka @jskodn @khoiyyu @the2ndl @vebbiewuzhere @kouyoumarryme @dreamyescapesfromreality @local-mr-frog @haesify @blkmystery @babybarbs12 @bleppt @leavem3alon3 @arminloverlol @megumisthirdog @shirabane @sheismaryy @tragicgirl444 @vampsins @miizuzu @kurobo @anxious-chick @p1nkliquor @mshitachin @chxvr @lolsasuke @username23345 @neteyxms @lvstru @roscpctals99 @buttermilktea99 @berevenstarzetaestelar @jiupark @hotsauce247 @veryverysadauthor @skepticalleo @openthenyoor01 @slowlyshycomputer @thickemadame @yaninnaacu @foggypostshark @redbirdeagle @lemonintrovert01 @michelleeveline @anniegojo @spencerrxids

a/n: can y'all still keep up with the plot? ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

[courtforshort15]

A Matter of Opinion

Pairing: Matt Murdock x femReader

Word Count: 2,800

Summary: A tale of disagreements, egging each other on, and a general disregard of the other’s opinion.

Trigger warning: So much fluff it might as well be cotton candy

Masterlist

“So what you’re saying is…you don’t want to be with me anymore.”

From across the room, Foggy snorts.

The gloating smirk falls from Matt’s face, quickly replaced by a look of confusion. “What? That’s not at all–”

“That’s what you literally just said to my face.”

Matt scoffs, waving his hand in dismissive action. “I definitely didn’t say anything of the sort.”

“You told me you don’t trust my opinion, Matt,” you say with narrowed eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. You stare him down, knowing that while he can’t see it, he can certainly feel it. With a mild look of alarm crossing his face, Matt leans back on his left foot as if the force of your stare actually unsettles his balance. 

He clears his throat. “Well, not when it comes to–”

“Ah ah ah,” you cut him off before he finishes his sentence. He rolls his shoulders, standing up straight, files of case notes at his fingertips from where he stands next to the table. Matt tilts his head, still looking incredibly confused. It takes everything in you to not walk out of the room and leave him to sweat it out. “You either trust it or you don’t.”

“Come on, you know that’s not at all how I meant it.”

“How are we jumping from not trusting you to not wanting to be with you?” he asks as his face shifts to one that’s a mix of incredulity and slight anxiety, voice growing steadily louder. He takes a small step forward, frowning when you take a step backwards.

“And if you don’t trust my opinion, then how can you trust me?”

“So you admit that you don’t trust me.”

“I didn’t say-”

“And if you don’t trust me, then why would you want to be with me?”

Matt groans and tosses his head back in a gesture of God help me. “Sweetheart–”

“Foggy,” you call to the other man in the room, not bothering to shift your head in his direction, eyes still locked on Matt’s tense form in front of you as you ignore the pet name. “Did you or did you not just hear Matthew say he doesn’t trust my opinion?”

Foggy snorts again, the sound of rustling paper sliding throughout the office as he picks up his folder. He doesn’t bother looking up as he shakes his head in amusement. “Nope. Not getting in the middle of this.”

“Come on, Foggy,” Matt says, his tone bordering on exasperation. “You gonna let her tear me down this like this?”

“Not getting in the middle of it,” Foggy repeats with a wide grin that suggests he’s enjoying watching Matt be put on the spot. Foggy moves into your field of vision as he noisily slaps a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “I love you, but she scares me. I’m playing Switzerland on this one.”

“I’ll get in the middle of it,” Karen cheerfully chirps from the conference room table as she picks up her own laptop and begins gathering her stuff to take back to her office. “I’m siding with your girlfriend on this one, Matt. You threw yourself under your own damn bus when you told her that you had better taste than her.”

Matt groans loudly as you send a bright smile her way, catching her wink and flashing one of your own. “Thanks, Karen. Your tab is on me tonight.”

“I did not say that,” Matt says as he runs an agitated hand through his dark hair. You bite your bottom lip in amusement, always secretly pleased at the way you’re able to rile him up, well aware that he’ll get you back at some point this evening. “You all know that I–”

You interrupt him with a smirk. “You said, and I quote, “Why would we go to that awful pizza place she likes when I have a much better option for us? You know I have a better sense of taste.””

One masculine and one feminine set of laughter match each other from the other side of the table, further fueled by the pained look on Matt’s face as his words are shot back at him. Karen and Foggy are helpless to stop the giggles at their friend’s misfortune. He flounders for a second as he flushes, and you briefly consider taking it easy on him.

“I didn’t mean it to sound that way,” Matt tells you, his tongue sliding out as he ran it over his lips, the telltale sign of anxiety. “I just thought that we should go to the restaurant off of 37th. I’ve walked by it quite a bit since it opened and it smells amazing. So much better than–”

All sympathy for the devil leeches out of you with a snap. “I dare you to finish that statement.”

“I’ve been to where she’s talking about, Matt,” Karen pipes back in. She finishes picking her stuff up from the table, curled blond hair sliding over her shoulders as she flashes a smile your way. “It’s pretty good.”

“No offense, Karen,” Matt says with a shake of his head, red lenses glinting from the office light, “but you’re not from New York, so you don’t know what good pizza is.”

Karen raises a perfectly arched eyebrow and you can’t help the cackle of glee that escapes your lips as Matt digs himself further into a hole. “You really want to go there, Matt? I think you’re sadly lacking in allies right now.”

“You chose her side, Karen. We’re not allies right now anyway.”

“Maybe not,” she says with a happy shrug of her shoulders, lips splitting her pretty face open in laughter. Her blue eyes glint in a sense of amusement that barely hides her sharp ability to tear a man down a few pegs. It’s one of your favorite things about her. She crosses the room with her laptop tucked in one arm, folders in the other hand. “But it doesn’t mean we’re enemies. Just take back what you said about her opinion on pizza places sucking.”

“She’s from Chicago!” Matt growls in frustration. “Of course it does.”

You throw your head back with a loud laugh, enjoying the look of your flustered boyfriend, finding the conversation too funny to even be offended. “New York doesn’t own the market on good pizza, Matthew. Why can’t you just–”

“There’s just something about Chicago pizza that isn’t right,” he cuts you off with a look that suggests aggravation. He shakes his head emphatically, hands on his hips. “The ingredients are wrong, the spices and sauces just don’t match together all that well. It’s a travesty.”

“You act like you know all there is to know about food and what things go together and what don’t.”

“I do!” Matt cries out as he suddenly throws his hands in the air. “I literally do. And even without my senses I’d know that nothing beats New York pizza.”

“So arrogant,” Karen quips. “Can’t bring yourself to admit that others simply have different tastes than you.”

“Karen, you eat your pizza with ranch. You really have no room to talk.”

“Pizza with ranch isn’t bad,” you throw in, sending Karen a wink as you shrug your shoulders in a display of casual nonchalance. “I’ve been known to enjoy it a time or two.”

Matt turns to the other man in the room, one hand gesturing towards his friend in frustration of being all but ganged up on. You can’t help but snort at the motion that seems entirely too desperate for the situation. “Foggy, back me up here.”

Foggy laughs loudly. It’s the kind of laugh that offers no pity or effort to console, just a laugh that tells the room that Matt is on his own. “No can do, my dear friend. I am an equal opportunist when it comes to pizza. A pizza connoisseur, if you will.”

“You all are crazy.”

“Says the man who only eats ice cream if it’s plain vanilla,” you say as you raise your eyebrows, watching the man. His mouth drops in a sharp sense of betrayal, as if you were giving away a private secret that no one else in the room is privy to, though you know both Foggy and Karen are completely aware of his extremely picky eating. 

“I eat sorbets, too,” he says defensively, hands back on his hips. From behind red lenses, you see his eyes narrow.

“Sorbet is not ice cream.”

Matt tilts his chin up. “It is a sweet and tasty treat that you put in a freezer and later eat with a spoon. It counts.”

“Ice cream is dairy based. Sorbet is fruit based. Big difference.”

“I’d hardly–”

“You’re so lucky you’re pretty, Matt,” you coo suddenly, taking a few steps in his direction and reaching up to touch his heated cheeks with the back of your fingers. “You had a late night last night, didn’t come to bed until three. I can tell you’re tired and not thinking straight. Maybe we should go home instead of going to dinner so my beautiful Matty can take a nap.”

“Isn’t this a form of gaslighting?” Foggy whispers to Karen in the background.

Matt gently pushes you away with a growl of annoyance even as his lips twist up in the beginning form of a smirk. “I’m fine. It’s not my fault your pizza sucks.”

“That’s super rude of you, Matthew. I hope you’re prepared to sleep on the couch tonight.”

The smirk falls. “Sweetheart–”

“You two fight like an old married couple,” Foggy interjects from the other side of the room, finally on his way out of the conference space, mouth tilted in a grin that doesn’t bother hiding her extreme amusement. “Just propose already.”

You flush, eyes wide as you give Foggy and Karen a look that’s both panicked and pointed. “We haven’t even talked about marriage yet–”

“Shut up, Foggy,” Matt hisses as you’re talking, a severe frown aimed at his friend. “You know the ring is still being sized, so I’m not–”

Your mouth clamps shut as his words hit you, effectively cutting off the rest of your response to Foggy and Karen, and Matt immediately freezes when he realizes what he’s said. The energy in the room abruptly shifts, silence sharply cutting through the laughter and teasing argument. You don’t turn to him just yet, instead letting your round eyes take in the hand that Karen had slapped over her mouth and the pale face of Foggy who clearly hadn’t expected Matt to respond the way he did. Between Karen’s shocked face and Foggy’s look of guilt, it’s enough to cause you to swallow sharply, goosebumps lighting up and down your skin.

Matt clears his throat softly, and out of the corner of your eye, you notice how tense his form has gone, his white dress shirt straining slightly at his shoulders as he holds himself stiffly. “Can you—can you give us some privacy?”

Foggy and Karen leave with jerky nods of their heads and exit the conference room without a word, though they both take multiple glances back. When they’re gone, you finally manage to turn your face back towards Matt’s, taking in the flushed skin and eyes that have suddenly lost their glasses. He doesn’t speak, though he opens his mouth and closes it a few times as if he has something to say but doesn’t know how to say it. 

The silence is almost nerve-wracking, so you put an end to it.

“So…” you trail off, raising your eyebrows as you study him fondly, eyeing the way his hand twitches at his side, glasses held in a tight grip. “There’s a ring?”

Matt nods his head slowly, tongue poking out to run slighty over his bottom lip. His eyes flutter closed for a quick moment before he takes a deep breath and snaps them back open.  “Yes. There’s a ring.”

A wide smile blooms across your face, and you’re unable to reign in the joy that pulses through you. “Is there…a specific question that’ll go with that ring?” you ask as your hand reaches out to finger one of the buttons on his collared shirt, your tone teasing. The action is instinctive, one you often use to catch Matt’s attention and encourage to step forward closer, and it receives the same response as always. Matt’s lips shift into a soft smile, the one he so often gives you in these quieter, more intimate moments, and all at once, the nerves fall away.

“Of course there’s a question,” he responds with a brief nod of his head, the apprehension in his eyes shifting to something warm in his blank gaze. “Is there an answer that you might have?”

You tilt your head in consideration and pretend to ponder the question. Matt’s eyes blindly trail over your face, a barely noticeable hitch in his breath betraying a mind that, despite the small grin lighting up his face, is on edge in anticipation.  “Yes.”

Matt raises an eyebrow at your one-word answer. “Yes, as in there’s an answer? Or yes, as in…you’re saying yes?”

“What do you think it is?”

He tosses his head back with a groan. “Sweetheart, don’t play with me. What are you–”

“Y–”

“If I might interrupt for just a moment,” Foggy’s voice calls out from his office, completely oblivious to the fact that he had just cut off your answer to Matt’s question, leaving the two of you standing close to each other with Matt growling in annoyance under his breath even as your lips curve into an amused smile. “As best man, I’d like to offer the suggestion that pizza not be served at your wedding. And–”

The conference room door is quickly slammed shut in a brief flash of long blond hair as Karen opens her mouth to yell at the other man. “Shut the hell up, Foggy, before I cut your tongue off and make you mime your opening argument to the jury.”

Foggy makes a startled choking noise of horror before he manages to squeak out, “yes, ma’am.”

When Matt’s satisfied there will be no more interruptions, his head turns back towards yours from where he had been glaring daggers in Foggy’s general direction. A small smile tilts the corner of his mouth up as his body relaxes, no doubt having heard your mouth open with a yes before Foggy rudely had cut off the full word.

“You were saying?” he asks as he steps further into you and presses the heat of his body into yours until all you can feel is warmth.

You send him a teasing grin before it changes abruptly into a false frown. “You know, I actually just lost my train of thought,” you say in mock sadness. “What were we–”

“Holy mother of God,” he mutters under his breath. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult?”

“If you’re referring to our pizza argument, you’ll recall that I never dissed New York pizza the way you dissed Chicago pizza. You’re the one who—”

“Shut up,” he huffs in barely restrained amusement, reaching out to settle his hands on your shoulders in a failed attempt to change the tone of the conversation. Eventually he just gives in, eyes lighting up as he shakes his head. “I’m trying to ask you to marry me.”

“Technically, you haven’t actually asked any–”

“Marry me.”

“Honey, that’s still not a question. That’s a demand.”

Matt’s hands pull your face to his, angling your head up so that he can press his lips to yours as swiftly as possible before pulling away just as quickly. “Will.” Another kiss. “You.” A nip to your bottom lip. “Marry.” An open mouthed kiss as you giggle against his lips. “Me?”

You can’t help the laughter that bubbles out, Matt’s matching grin the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen as he pulls away. It’s a question you don’t even have to consider the answer to, but that doesn’t mean you won’t tease him for it. “Of course I will, but–”

Dark eyes widen drastically. “There’s a but?”

“Hush, Matthew. You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

Matt gives you a frown that is far too exaggerated to be actually offended. “I can’t believe your answer to my marriage proposal was yes, but.”

You roll your eyes fondly as you reach out to tap his cheek in soothing matter that feels more like a teasing gesture. “Yes, I will marry you, but on one condition.”

He openly gapes for a second before he narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Name it.”

“We ditch these losers and have our own naked pizza party at home.”

“I am NOT a loser!”

“Yes you are, Foggy.”

The smile on Matt’s face is nothing short of blinding, even as the other two object in the background. “I happily agree to these terms, but from the place I suggested.”

“You’re prepared to die on that hill, aren’t you?”

He laughs, leaning down to rest his forehead on yours. “You gave your condition, I gave mine.”

“You drive a steep bargain, Counselor, but I accept.”

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

it flows and it flows and it flows

cw. selfship-coded, f!reader (no specified anatomy), pre-canon, pre-relationship, childhood friend au, reader eats a defined devil fruit, love as sacrifice, denial of feelings + mutual pining, vulture culture mention

pairing. portgas d. ace x reader

synopsis. as a hydrophiliac, eating a devil fruit is a horrifying thought. as a pirate, eating a devil fruit is an incredibly dumb decision. you'll gladly embrace the horrors and stupidity to keep your loved ones safe.

notes. the way i planned on writing something else for my next childhood friend au installment but this decided it would be making a cameo first whoops. cover comes from monet's impression, sunrise (1872) it just reminds me of ace.

For its moniker of Faerie Faerie Fruit, it isn’t pretty to look at.

The name itself invokes the imagery of translucent wings, tinkling laughter and pixie dust at your fingertips. The fruit in your hands invokes anything but the aforementioned. No, this fruit seems more akin to invoking something out of your nightmares with its gray and pruny peel. All the more damning is the way the face of the fruit is caved in, like a woman in mourning.

According to the encyclopedia you’d skimmed through, once upon a time, this isn’t even the ugliest the Faerie Faerie Fruit can achieve. That has been allocated to the sickly green Goblin model. Knowing this does nothing to quell how unsettling the fruit in your hands is to look at. A fitting feeling for Model Banshee, the variant of the Faerie Faerie Fruit that had fallen in your hands on this most recent adventure across the Moss Isles.

“You should eat it!” Wallace insisted at dinner with a sharp-toothed grin, holding his keg of beer in your direction. “Then the Spades'll finally have a power holder besides the captain!”

Ace squinted at the good-natured fishman with an offended pout, leaning over as best as he could with Kotatsu on his lap. “So I’m not good enough now, Wallace?” The gray lynx mewed, disgruntled at the movement and Ace settled down. “It’s nice to know how you really feel!” In spite of his words, Ace’s lips were curled into a smile as he snickered. He blended perfectly against the Grand Line’s reddening sky, carmine and vermillion painted against the clouds.

“Won’t it be confusing to have two banshees on the ship though,” you asked with a half-smile in return, nodding in the direction of the strawberry blonde. At the mention of her name, the woman grinned at you impishly.

“Maybe you should sell it to me then,” the ginger nodded in satisfaction at the thought. “Then I really would be a banshee!”

“You want it?” You leaned over with intrigued.

As quickly as she brought it up, Banshee shot it down, “no offense to Ace, but if I’m gonna be a pirate,” she gestured beyond the borders of the Spadille, to the sea itself. “I want the security of knowing I won’t drown if I fall into the ocean.” A chorus of laughter followed as Ace whined that his eating the Flame Flame Fruit had only been an accident. A very unforeseen accident.

In one exchange, you were brought back to square one.

You sigh, unable to help a few chuckles. It’s only luck your time on Sixis Island didn’t result in you losing your ability to swim then when you unknowingly bit into the Flame Flame Fruit. Being the first to bite into it, only Ace received any abilities from it. As much as he hadn’t been prepared to eat the thing, however, you can admit it is an ability that suits him.

Ace is like a flame that draws in anyone lucky enough to notice its glow. You want more and more people to see it and relish the warmth of your friend as much as you do.

That doesn’t mean you want to necessarily join him in the ranks of being cursed to drown should you fall into a body of water. Eat, sell or toss it back into the depths for someone else to discover. Those are the only options for a person who finds a devil fruit.

“You shouldn’t eat it anyway,” Ace told you softly when the conversation moved on to a different topic. “You love swimming.”

You love water as easily as you breathe. It has been one of your best friends since your childhood on Dawn Island.

You remember jumping into crocodile infested rivers.

You can hear Luffy’s sniffles as he clung to you desperately. How Sabo sighed, “Can’t you become one with the water in a way that doesn’t look like you drowned?” How Ace, whose face donned more scowls than smiles at 10, rasped a fist against your head in agreement and ranting all the while.

You recall the cool of the returning tide as you looked for seashells on the beach. Then you’d take each one back to Dadan’s, resting them beside your growing collection of unconventional treasures of mummified paws, empty turtle shells and dissected owl pellets. Seashells and stones were the bones of the sea and earth respectively, your grandfather had told you once, so they belonged with your treasure trove as much as any of your other finds.

I wonder if Dadan’s tossed all that out by now, you wonder vaguely. Well if she does, I hope she doesn’t touch my eggs. Protect ‘em for me, Luffy. You remember the beaming haul of large anaconda eggs you’d painted over after Dadan cracked them open for breakfast. There had been four for each of you.

A yellow egg for Luffy, a red egg for Ace and blue for Sabo before you finally painted one over in your own favorite color. You think Sabo’s egg is the collective favorite of the members of your quartet that remain.

It’s only been 7 months or so since you left your life on Dawn Island but it feels like it has been years. Yet throughout it all, the ocean had been a steady companion.

You love it as an extension of your very being.

And yet…

Sloppily drawn eggs and raucous laughter filling the air when you should have been sleeping flood your mind. Your eyes rest on the creepy fruit resting in your hand once again. You don’t necessarily desire joining Ace and Luffy in the ranks of incurring the disdain of the sea, truly. But-

“Flameo, Hotman,” you say suddenly at the approaching heat and footsteps that announce Ace’s presence before his words can.

Ace grins as he rests his arms on the edge of the Spadille, “how’d you know it was me,” he asks unnecessarily, sea breeze running its invisible fingers through his wavy locks. Your eyes crinkle from how you smile at the sight. 

You nudge him carefully, fingers tightening slightly over the fruit in your hands, “I felt the furnace getting closer and closer.”

Ace snorts, signature grin on his face. It should feel stranger, seeing him smile so much when he tended to frown and furrow his brow constantly when you were children, but it doesn’t. Smiles suit Ace more than any other expression you’ve seen him have in the past. “What are you over here thinking about?” His eyes dart to the fruit in your hands. “Are you gonna throw it back?”

“It certainly crossed my mind,” you admit with a shrug. Maybe if you hadn’t stopped to think about the past, you would have. The fact you hesitated is more than enough of a sign that your heart hadn’t been into the idea. “I changed my mind, though.”

“What does it do anyway?” Ace poked the wrinkly face with a curious finger.

“Banshees are supposed to be some kind of faerie of death,” you think back to your base information you know about the beings the fruit derives its name. “When someone is gonna die soon, they scream and keen to let people know. But that’s about all that’s really known about ‘em. When you think about it, it kinda suits me, huh?” He hums thoughtfully, looking at the thing deeply and you continue on. “Remember when you gave me my first turtle shell?”

The freckled man’s face softens with a nostalgic smile, “Dadan said boys are supposed to give girls flowers not corpses.” You can hear the cranky woman’s voice even now, exasperated at how you excitedly twirled with the item in your hand. She never quite understood your interest in vulture culture but beside the odd complaint, she never discouraged it.

“I thought it was pretty cool,” you snicker in return. “But you probably should default to flowers whenever you find someone you like. I don’t know if they’d be as appreciative as me.” Whoever that person is, they’ll be lucky. You disregard the strange itch in your chest and thoughts of sky blue hair as Ace rolls his eyes with a chuckle. He may think the idea of someone loving him is ludicrous but he’s an idiot when it comes to such notions.

Portgas D. Ace is special and deserves to be loved in a special way. He will be, someday.

With a sigh, you turn so your back is facing the edge of the ship rather than your front. “Anyways,” you divert the topic back to the former. “I have to admit that it’s pretty useful, objectively thinking. There’s a lot of people out there who wanna avoid death like the plague.” Your heart clenches uncomfortably once more, albeit for a reason you can discern.

Ace nods at your words, “it’ll definitely go for a lot when we get to the next island. So try not to accidentally drop it now that you’ve decided you won’t be doing it intentionally.”

“Oh shut up,” you snort but not unkindly.

But he’s right, this would probably go for a shit ton, not that you know how many berries most devil fruit go for on the market. A devil fruit that grants its user the ability to sense death, however, certainly is above the average.

A smile missing a tooth comes to mind and you have to stop yourself from squeezing additional indents into the Faerie Faerie Fruit. The rough hands of your grandfather covering your own as he shows you how hook a worm follows.

Sabo and Grandpa are gone, there’s no bringing them back.

There are people you love who are still here though, your thumb brushes against the face of the fruit. Indented in anguish as it silently screams for the imminent loss of life. You glance at Ace who is content to stare out at the waves carrying the crew to its next destination. You feel yourself smiling again before you can stop yourself, wistful.

You love the water, it’s as easy as breathing. It’s been your best friend for as long as you could remember.

You remember listening with giddy awe to your grandfather recounting how taking you out the bath as a baby was nigh impossible unless the tub was empty first.

You can hear Makino’s panic as you groggily wake up, realizing you fell asleep in the midst of your floating. Your head hung sheepishly as she scolded you, voice uncharacteristically sharp about the dangers of falling asleep in the ocean. “Heaven forbid the sea king was around!”

You recall the shared panic of Luffy falling underneath a lake’s surface, you, Ace and Sabo diving after him in unison.

If you could become the ocean itself, you’d gladly do so and let your limbs dissolve into it and feel the pulse of every living creature residing within.

Another sigh slips from your lips as you look over your shoulder at the sunset-stained gem the Piece of Spadille sails across. I’m really going to miss being in it. You don’t necessarily want the curse eating a devil fruit will bring, but even if you can’t swim in it anymore you will find ways to still enjoy it.

With solidified determination, you bite into the ominous fruit resting in your hands without a second thought.

At your movement, Ace looks in your direction.

His eyes go from inquisitive to as wide as dinner plates in the span of seconds, calling out your name in frantic surprise. “What are you doing?!” Large, freckled hands reach for you and you side step him immediately before breaking into a run. “Spit it out!”

God this tastes awful, you nearly gag but you force yourself to swallow the piece anyway. Hearing heavy boots chasing after you, you bite into the wrinkled fruit once more. Just in case the first bite doesn’t take.

“Um, [First]?” You barely hear Deuce’s confused reaction. “Ace?”

“Can you stop Ace for me? Thanks!” You call back to the masked man.

“Stop her from being an idiot!” Ace shouts after you.

The Masked Deuce smartly decides being neutral is his only course of action. “You guys figure it out! We’ll, uh, we’ll be over here!”

You could squeal from how close he is but you manage to bite into the foul-tasting flesh a final time before warm arms wrap around your waist, preventing further escape. You swallow instinctively.

“[First]!” You pull against how he tries to grapple your possession from your hands. Try as you might, you aren’t able to get a fourth bite in. You squeeze your eyes shut, not that it does much but it does prevent you from seeing what is undoubtedly an Ace with a frown.

“Can’t spit out anything,” you cry before Ace can start that up once again. It is far too late for the man to do anything about your consuming the Faerie Faerie Fruit. “I already bit into the shit three times!”

“But why?!” Ace asks incredulously. 

“Because it’s useful! I’m not giving this sort of ability up!” You stop wriggling, knowing it is redundant when you’ve already done what you’ve set out to do. “I just,” you open your eyes, downcast. “I don’t want to lose anyone else I care about.”

If you were to ever sense Ace or Luffy’s deaths, it will break you. At least you know in those moments, you’ll be able to do something about it. There doesn’t have to be anymore Grandpas or Sabos, not for you. Not if you can stop it. You’ll gladly eat a dozen more Faerie Faerie Fruits if it gives you any ability to keep them safe.

There’s a pause then a groan of resignation as your feet touch the deck again. I guess there’s no point in eating anymore of this, you look at what remains of the fruit. You aren’t sure exactly how it will change you in ways beyond a newly acquired death ping. You resign yourself to eating the rest regardless.

The silence isn’t entirely uncomfortable but it isn’t comfortable either, it just is. There’s nothing else that can be done about your decision.

“You can’t ever take this back, you know,” his voice is soft.

“I know,” you murmur after the last of the devil fruit has been eaten. “I don’t need the ocean like that anyway.” You will find new ways to enjoy it. Finally you turn to look at the man who has been your closest friend since you were 10. You were practically family. Family, that’s right. Family looks out for each other. You are going to look out for Portgas D. Ace whether he likes it or not, you promised yourself this after you met Old Man Naguri.

Even as Ace looks at you with equal parts acceptance and sorrow on your behalf, you think the sacrifice is worth it. It’s bitter but the sweet in your chest outweighs it.

“That’s one more thing we have in common,” you try to lighten the mood. “Paramecia and Logia differences aside.”

Ace sighs but he gives you a snicker of courtesy, “I would have been fine with us not having this in common.”

“Eeeh, you’ll get over it.” I’ll get over it, you chuckle, turning back to face the horizon. The sun’s almost been swallowed entirely by the sea and there are more things dotting the sky than you remember there being a few minutes ago. Your eyes widen at the ghastly image of whales swimming through the skies as if unaware their time has passed many moons ago.

Whales, stingrays, sharks and unidentifiable fish as far as you can see.

A silent procession across the Grand Line only for your newly acquired eyes. It almost makes you want to cry.

“Is everything alright,” Ace draws you back in, eyebrows knit in concern.

You wonder if Grandpa and Sabo’s ghosts are gallivanting about Dawn Island.

“Yeah.”

[thekidonherownn]

fic masterpost - all percabeth

-> my ao3

oneshots:

you can hear it in the silence (you can feel it on the way home)

one-shot that takes place during tlo, the night after Annabeth gets stabbed. (canon complaint)

can the child within my heart rise above?

This was the last time. They would be over to college by the next morning, this was the last time they’ll ever be at camp as campers. Childhood was over. (canon complaint, set after HoO)

in my dreams (I know I'm gonna be with you)

Percy smelled like the sea on a sunny day, Annabeth had never really noticed it until he disappeared, until his smell was all that was left of him. (canon complaint, set during Percy's disappearance)

you know the hero died (so what's the movie for?)

post-tartarus night on the Argo II. (canon complaint)

I blinked and suddenly I have a valentine

Percy asks her on a sunny day, while brushing out the end of her curls, next to his desk. She sits on a wooden stool similar to his, highlighting a history textbook as he wraps a pencil through her ringlets. Valentine's day oneshot. (canon complaint, set after HoO)

I hate you for what you did (and I miss you like a little kid)

The night of August 18th, camp half-blood was quiet. So quiet you could hear a pin drop. So quiet that it was scary, unsettling even: ‘cause camp never was and never had been quiet in the slightest, not until the night of August 18th, at least. Post-The Last Olympian oneshot. (canon complaint)

I know someday I'm gonna meet her, It's a fever dream

percabeth is revising for Percy's upcoming exam, they fall asleep and Percy has a dream. It gets them thinking of their future. (canon complaint, college era)

It's like you're out to get me

Annabeth Chase hates Percy Jackson.

That's the natural order of things. (canon complaint, set during Botl)

hold on to the memories (I will hold on to you)

Percy and Annabeth host the New Year's Eve party at their new apartment- (canon complaint, college era)

you can start a family (who will always show you love)

Did his dad love him? No, probably not, Poseidon didn’t even know what love was. (canon complaint, college era)

when I'm feeling alone (you remind me of home)

percabeth is out in new york for christmas shopping. (canon complaint, college era)

Sweet Nothing

The one where Annabeth isnt so sure about being a mom, and Percy comforts her. (adult percabeth)

Mine

one-shot about the time Percy gave Annabeth the coral pendant. (canon complaint, set pre tlh)

multi-chapter:

The Bolter

When her dad calls, Annabeth turns off the phone.

They'd always been that way: Frederick writes a letter to camp and she burns it at the campfire, he apologizes to her and she proceeds to cover her ears. (...) Her dad catches and releases her, then, she gets caught and releases herself, breaking free of whatever expectation he ever had for her, or worse, them.

-a deep look into Annabeth Chase's relationships and family dynamics, focuses also on percabeth with flashbacks and flashforwards.

[miniwheat77]

Enough. (Soap x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cheating, arguing (let me know if I missed any.)

(Summary): After Soap gets cheated on, he learns who his real friends are.

(I’ve had this in my drafts for a while, hope you like it.)

You could see the pain in his eyes. The icy blue’s full of tears, but he wouldn’t dare let them fall. Never. He’d let her down again, the woman he thought he cared most about.

He’d been dating a woman named Nadia for almost 2 years. Sure, he’d spent a lot of that time deployed and on missions, but in the time he spent with her, he loved her. He loved being with her. She made him feel complete. But he couldn’t describe these feelings he had. Couldn’t figure it out. He felt dread weighing down on his chest like a brick wall. He felt the freezing cold air nipping at his skin as he sat in the helicopter. It was bringing the both of you back from a mission and he’d opened up to about Nadia.

You both had spent some time in Ukraine, around a month or so. He tried to play it off, tried to explain everything away. “She’s just been through a lot with me, I don’t blame the girl for being done.” He’d said. A sigh leaves your lips. “You said she asked for an open relationship?” You ask. Trying to confirm it. He nods his head. Heart clearly hurting. “Do you want advice from a coworker, or do you want advice from a friend?” You breathe. He looks down. “Which one is goin to be sugarcoated ah?” He laughs. “Coworker.” He snorts. “I’ll take advice from a friend then.” He breathes.

A sigh leaves your lips. “I don’t want to put stuff in your head. But.. when someone asks for an open relationship it’s usually because they’re interested in someone else, or already with someone else. Probably getting sloppy and not trying as hard to hide it. Have you noticed anything different about her?” You ask. He looks down, not liking the words coming out of your mouth. “Uh.. not really.” He says confused. “Any photos of you disappearing off walls? Text messages getting deleted? Weird contacts in her phone?” He looks down. Thinking. “Has she rejected you… sexually?”

“Uh.. yeah.”

“For how long?”

“About.. 6 months now. Anytime I see her she’s just…” he pauses, everything starts to sink in.

The random watch on their dresser, her “work” phone, him finding the toilet seat up.

You watch his eyes widen in realization.

“Shit Johnny…” you trail off. “I’m sorry.” He nods his head. “It’s alright.”

You and Johnny didn’t live far from each other, and would be getting dropped off in the same base to go home from there. But now, Johnny didn’t want to go home. But he knew he had to. When the both of you get off the helicopter, making your way to the parking lot with your bags in hand, you look at him. “Are you going to be okay?” You ask. “Sure, I’ll be fine.” He breathes. “We aren’t married or anything, it’s gonna be just fine.” He sends you a fake smile. “Gimme a hug Sergeant.” You wrap your arms around him. “Let me know if you need anything okay? I got your back.” He nods. “I appreciate it. Same for you.” You throw your bag into your car, turning it on and messing with the radio. Soap is the first to pull out, turning the opposite way of you. You worried about him, knowing this can’t be easy on him.

You pulled out of the parking lot, not ready for the twenty minute drive it’d take to get to your house. The time seemed to bore you, the only thing keeping your mind occupied was the music you had playing. You felt unsettled in your chest, worried about Johnny. He was your friend, your coworker. Of course you’d worry about him. When you pull into your driveway, you hurry inside. The cold weather was almost unbearable. The first thing you do is throw everything down right at the door, and make your way into your bathroom for a hot shower.

Soap pulls into his driveway, noticing a car had been parked behind his girlfriends, as the ground underneath it had been dry. A sigh leaves his lips, this was just proving his suspicions even further. He hoped you were wrong. That it was just a friend. He decides to leave the bag in his truck, he’d unload it later when this is over with. He climbs out, shutting the door behind himself and walking up to the house. Nadia is there, waiting for him. “Johnny.” She smiles. She hugs him but he doesn’t hug her back. “Is something wrong?” She asks confused. “Who is he?” He knows he can’t talk much, his voice will betray him, and break. “Who. Is. He.” He breathes out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I made dinner-“

“Nadia, I know you’re cheating on me.”

She goes quiet, eyes filling with tears. “Johnny he meant nothing to me okay? I-I” he feels his heart shatter right there in his chest. His worst nightmare coming true, his whole world falls apart right in the palms of his hands.

He has no choice but to watch it crumble, with nothing he can do to fix it. “Who?”

“Someone from work.” Johnny closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “How long?”

She’s quiet again. “Nadia how long.”

“6 months after we started dating.”

Right there. His whole relationship has been nothing but bullshit. “I’m going to leave for the night, Nadia. Want you and everything you own gone. One week.”

“Johnny you can’t do this!” She jumps to stop him as he turned to leave. “No!” His voice booms and she flinches. “I didn’t do this. YOU did this. One week.” He rips open the door, slamming it behind himself. His tires spin out as he pulls out of the driveway. He can’t lie, tears fall freely from his eyes as he drives anywhere but there.

You’re looking through your cupboards, wondering what to eat. You’d gotten rid of everything perishable for your mission with Johnny, meaning you had only box and canned food items. You’re tapping your chin, digging through the cupboards when there’s a knock at your door. You slide off of the countertop, making your way for the door. Surprised when you open it and Soap is standing there. “Johnny? What’s going on?” He laughs, looking down. His nose is red, eyes are bloodshot. “Ya said to let you know if I need anything.” His voice is shaky. “And uh… I need a friend.” He breathes. “Come in.” You usher him inside. “What happened?” You ask. “She uh..” his lip quivers but he turns his head away so that you can’t see it. “I confronted her and she admitted to it, she’s been seeing someone else for most of our relationship.” He nods his head. “Jesus Christ.. I’m so sorry Johnny.” He nods his head, trying to keep himself together. But he can’t. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in for a tight hug. You hated seeing him like this. It made you want to drive over there and punch Nadia right in her stupid face. Johnny was a good man. Kind, gentle, funny. He talked so highly of her. Even planned to ask her to marry him soon. His body shook as you hugged him. “It’s okay Johnny. You don’t have to hide your feelings from me. Let it out.”

“I’m okay. I’ll be fine.” He was meant to reassure you, but really he was reassuring himself. “Do you have clothes to change into?” You ask as he pulls away. “Uh.. yeah.” He shakes. “Go upstairs and take a shower okay? I’ll wash the clothes you’ve got on.” He nods his head. “Thank you Y/N.” He breathes. “You’re a good friend.” You send him a small empathetic smile. “It’s going to be okay Johnny. You have to find someone worth your time.” He nods his head. “I’ll be alright. I’ve got to go grab my bag.” He sighs. You nod your head. He disappears for a minute. He’s brought Nadia over for dinner once before, so he knows where your bathroom is. You decide to order takeout for the both of you while he showers. When he comes back down, he’s got no shirt on. Just sweatpants. You have to draw your eyes away from him. He sits down on the chair across from your couch. “I got takeout. Hope you like Chinese.” He smiles. “Thank you Y/N.” He breathes. “You can stay as long as you need Johnny. You’re always welcome here, don’t forget that.” He nods his head. “Thank you Y/N. You’re a great friend.” He breathes. You smile.

For the next couple hours, the both of you talk about your missions, everything that happened on them. You’re up until ungodly hours of the morning just talking. He takes your guest room and when you finally go to sleep, the sun is peaking through the curtains. Soap loves being around you, you make it easier on him.

After about a week staying with you, he’s ready to confront this. “Hey. Will you go with me to make sure Nadia left my house?” He asks you. “Yeah sure.” He smiles. “I appreciate you so much. I’m sorry I’m making you do all of this.” He sighs. “Johnny, it’s no problem. I really don’t mind so relax.” You smile. “She’s got a track record of accusing me of things I didn’t do so I need a witness,” he breathes. You nod your head, going to get into his car. You can see that he’s tense, so you keep cracking jokes and talking to him to bring him down. His anxiousness is easily readable. When you arrive, he sighs. Her car is still out front. She was supposed to be gone by yesterday. You open the car door, stepping out onto the asphalt. You follow behind Soap, he walks up to the door and tries to use his key to unlock it, but it doesn’t unlock it.

“Fucking hell. She changed the fucking locks.” He growls. “You make the payment, bust a window or something.” You say. “Nah.” He pushes you back, raising his foot and kicking the door until it busts open, hitting the wall and shaking violently. You jump a little bit at how angry he has become. “What the hell!” You hear a woman cry. You are inside behind Soap. “Get your shit and get out.” He growls. “Fuck you John. I’m not moving. This is my house too.” He laughs, a bitter laugh. “Alright, easy enough. Since it’s your house too, you can start making the payments on it.” She’s clearly pissed off too. “I’ll pack my shit, you can buy another lock for that too.” She glares at you. “What is she doing here?” She growls. You smile at her, stepping toward her, your nose only a few centimeters from hers. “I’m here to keep you in line.” You smirk. Johnny smiles, turning his head to walk back into his bedroom. You step away from her, following him back. She follows close behind you. He picks up a duffle bag, digging through the drawers, packing up everything he can think of. “This is so ridiculous. I asked for an open relationship.” She crosses her arms, pouting like a toddler. “You only asked for an open relationship because you were already screwing someone else.” Soap shakes his head. You lean against the door.

“Are you staying with her?” She seethes. “Yes. I am.”

“I’m not okay with that.”

“Okay? We aren’t together so I’ll do as I please.”

“I always knew she’d come between us.”

Soap pauses, looking at her. “She isn’t what did this. You did this. You’re a cheating slut, and it’s your fault.” He shakes his head, lifting his bag up. He’d gathered everything of his by now. What little amount of clothes he had, things out of his bathroom, the rest she could have. He didn’t give a shit. He’s digging through his nightstand, and you’re still where you were with your arms crossed. “Johnny, please don’t leave.” She cries. He shakes his head. “John!” She cries, latching onto his arm. “You can’t leave me for her.”

“She’s my coworker. And I do mean my actual coworker. I’ve never even looked at her in a sexual way. Because that’s how you’re supposed to treat coworkers. Not go behind your boyfriends back and fuck them.” He pulls his arm from her. “Let’s go Y/N.” He groans, moving past you. You follow behind him, a vase shattering over your head has you bending down, hands on the back of your head. You’re stunned for a moment, feeling wetness on your hands. “Are you fucking crazy?!” Soap shouts at her. “I.. I’m sorry- I-“ She’s trying to explain herself. Soap pulls you into the kitchen. Digging around for a first aid kit. “Don’t Soap, let’s just go.” You groan. He nods his hand, passing you a clean dish towel to hold against it. Nadia follows the both of you outside, “John! You can’t leave me like this! I’m pregnant!” He pauses. “We haven’t had sex in over a year. If you’re pregnant, it’s not mine. He looks over the bed of his truck. He’s completely shocked when you swing at her, fist colliding with her nose, sending her back. She lands on her backside, blood spilling from her nose. “That’s for hitting me with a vase, you crazy bitch.” You mumble, opening the door and climbing into the passenger seat. He climbs into the drivers side, driving away. You shake the hand you’d just hit her with and Soap laughs.

The ride back to your house was quiet. You figured Johnny probably didn’t want to talk anymore than he had to. He’d definitely have to patch you up for that.

—

A couple weeks after everything happened, Johnny realized he didn’t have feelings for Nadia like he thought he did. Being without her, not being tied down. It was almost nice. Not having to check his phone every two seconds to respond or she’d get pissed off. Not having to hear her screaming or crying when they weren’t getting along. It was nice. He just didn’t realize how little feelings he had left for her after everything else. You told Johnny to stay for as long as he needed, and you’d even started clearing out the guest room for him to stay in. He was nice to have around. For the most part you didn’t know he was there. He cleaned up his messes, he helped contribute to the supplies in your house, offered to help pay the bills. Of course you wouldn’t let him. But him offering made you feel better. Johnny knew a different version of you than he thought. He seen the walls built up, the thick skinned version of you in the military. But outside of it, you were fun. Went out clubbing with your friends, all kinds of stuff. It started out as fun. Johnny would give you tips on the outfits you wore. Usually tight dresses. Which was a drastic difference from the uniform he was used to you wearing.

Johnny liked being alone in your house at first, but eventually it started to feel different. He didn’t like that you’d rather go out clubbing, probably finding random men to hook up with when he was here. He could keep you company, not them. It took Johnny a couple months of it to realize what was going on. He was starting to grow feelings for you. He kicked himself for it. This went on for a while. Johnny would admire you from afar, and you’d be completely oblivious. Johnny was sitting impatiently on your couch. You were meant to be going out tonight and the thought of you meeting another man ate him up on the inside. But to his surprise, you come down the stairs wearing pajamas. “Thought you were going out?” He asks confused. You laugh, “I’m tired of going out. Those girls have dragged me out more these last couple months than ever.” You smile. “What exactly do you do? Just dance around and drink all night?” He asks. “Um.. kinda. I usually hide in a booth in the back and let them buy me drinks.” You laugh. “Sounds boring.” He laughs. “It is boring.” You sit down next to him on the couch. “Here I was, thinking you were having the time of your life, random hookups, dancing.” He laughs. “Oh god no.” You scrunch your face up. “Johnny have you met me? I’m no man-eater.” You laugh. “What?” He looks confused. “What, you jealous or something?” You joke. But he goes quiet. You turn your head to look at him. “Uh.. here is where you fire back? I’m just screwing with you.” You laugh.

He laughs it off, trying his best to hide how he’s feeling. “How are you Johnny?” You ask. “Oh, I’m great. You know.. my roomate goes out partying and wakes me up at ungodly hours of the night, you know. Awesome.” He laughs. “You can sleep in my bed when I’m not here.” You roll your eyes. “No, I’m not going to do that.”

“Than don’t complain when I wake you up.” You smile. He rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” Your smile falters. “What’s going on Johnny?” He shakes his head. “Nothing. I just.. hate you going out.” You tilt your head, “Johnny. You’re not my boyfriend. I can go out whenever I want. Maybe you should try going out every once in a while. You wouldn’t be so uptight.” you roll your eyes. He laughs bitterly. “Not my fault you have a problem.” He shrugs, you stand up. “What problem do I have hm?”

“Clearly a drinking problem.” You snort. “Oh yeah, because my house is just littered with booze. Right? Oh wait.” You go to walk away. “Don’t know what your problem is Johnny, but you need to fix it. Go get laid or something, asshole.” You mumble, walking away. Johnny gripping your wrist tightly and slamming you into a wall has a gasp leaving your lips. “-the hell MacTavish.” You growl, trying to push him off. He’s so much stronger than you, he doesn’t even budge. He presses his hips into yours and you freeze. “I think you’re right, I do need to get laid. But why would I go out when you’re already here, hm?” His breath is hot on your ear and your cheeks burn. “J-“ a gasp leaves your lips, cutting you off when he lets go for just a second to push your baggy shirt up over your hips. Pushing his hand down your panties. Fingertips brushing over your smooth opening. “Johnny-“ you gasp. “Fuck.. so fucking pretty.” He growls. He’s rubbing circles into your clit, his calloused hands on you causing your heart to thump in your chest. A gasp leaves your lips, when he slides a finger into your opening, body moving up as he pumps it into you. “Thas’ right pretty girl, moan for me.” He attacks your neck with his lips, sucking bruises into your skin. You’re moaning out, pushing your hips forward and moaning out when he adds a second finger. Your eyes are screwed shut and you’re trying to force back to cries that want to leave your lips.

When his lips are finally on yours, he’s needy. Tongue forcing it’s way into your mouth and he’s moaning into the kiss, grinding himself into your thigh. The friction not giving him what he so desperately wants. He draws his hand back, lips still on yours as he lifts you up. You wrap your legs around his waist, arms moving to wrap around his neck as you kiss him fervently. He moves with you, going up the stairs and pushing your bedroom door open, laying you down on the bed. He doesn’t even waste any time by taking his clothes off. Pulling your panties to the side, not bothering to undo his belt or the button on his jeans. Unzipping them and freeing his cock through the hole. He stops for just a second, eyes meeting with yours as he sinks himself right inside of you, a gasp leaving your lips as he fills you to the hilt. Not even another second later, he’s hammering his hips into you. Your bed slamming into the wall with each of his hard thrusts. You’re moaning out, barely keeping yourself together as he fucks himself into you.

“Oh fuck Johnny!” A gasp leaves your lips when his fingers work their way against your sensitive nub. “So fucking tight.” He growls. Leaning down and attacking your neck with his lips and teeth. You can’t keep back the moans anymore, they’re leaving your lips in strings, panting and crying out when he brushes over your spongy spot. He stops for just a second, propping himself up and spitting on the base of his cock. Thrusting back into you, easier with the wetness of his saliva. He tilts his head back, a moan leaving his lips as he finally takes a second to pull his shirt off. Pushing your baggy shirt up over your hips. He pulls it over your head, moaning out at the sight of your exposed chest. “So fucking beautiful. Been waiting months for this.” He growls. Attaching his lips to your nipple. Feeling you moan out and clench down around him. “Oh fuck.” He groans. Johnny spaces out a little more than he should, but he has to think about literally anything else so that he doesn’t cum too fast. But he can’t. The scratching of your nails on his back, your whimpers and cries. It’s too much. “Fuck-“ he grits his teeth. “Going to make me cum so fast, like a pathetic teenager.” He laughs. You try to laugh but it’s hard as he hammers his hips into yours. “We can switch p- ah!” You whimper when he thrusts right into your spongy spot. “Don’t think we’ll need it sweetheart, can feel you clenching around me already.” He smirks. He steadies his thrusts, slowing them and gripping you tight. A cry leaves your lips and he can see how tense you are as he pushes you closer to your high. Pants leave your lips and cries are following. He’s got a steady pace, cock sliding perfectly into every sensitive part on you. “Clenching so tight around me baby.” He grits his teeth, the muscles in his neck clenching up. “Come with me, cum on my cock. Give yourself to me.” He’s holding off, but his dick is twitching. He’s right on the edge.

A mewl leaves your lips and it’s music to his ears. Your pussy clenching down around him, milking his cock. A groan leaves his lips, followed by a string of curses as he reaches his orgasm. Your pussy tightening down, cries falling from your own lips as you hit your own high, milking his cock with each pulse he feels from you. When the both of you are fucked out and sensitive, he slides out of you. Laying down next to you. “Oh fuck.” He groans. A few minutes of silence is broken by him. “I’m sorry if I pushed you too hard.” He breathes. You laugh. “Don’t be. I liked it. Just caught me a little off guard.” You smile. He pulls you into him. You rest your head on his bare chest. “You could’ve told me sooner, you know.” You laugh. “Yeah well. Not exactly a good conversation starter.” He laughs. You roll your eyes.

“I like you a lot Y/N.” He breathes. “You’re not using me as a rebound are you?” You narrow your eyes at him. “No.” He rolls his eyes. “Been thinking about you since the day we came back. Our last mission together and stuff. Thinking about it too much.” He laughs. “Clearly.” You give him a slight shove. He laughs. “Give me a chance. You’re not a rebound.”

“Fine.” You laugh.

You lift yourself up, straddling his hips. He smirks. Leaning up to kiss you. Smiling when you’re tugging your panties to the side to line himself up with your entrance again, moaning into your lips when you sink down onto him again.

“Gonna be the death of me sweetheart.”

[oddzo]

I’m excited to finally be able to share my drawing of my favorite Camp Camp X Gravity Falls crossover idea! :D

A long string of my thoughts regarding the crossover under the pics, you have been warned lol

It’s crazy to me that despite all the jokes that Harrison looks like a human Bill Cipher there is absolutely no fanart (that I have found) of him interacting with any of the Pines.

Yeah there’s art of him with Bill, but the Pine’s family are the ones that have trauma from him and therefore would have the best reaction.

Just imagine them meeting the one kid that not only looks like someone possessed by Bill but also does real honest to god magic and has an affinity for fire!

With how much shit the Pine’s have dealt with it wouldn’t be a stretch for them that Bill came back as a kid. They’d probably assume Harrison was being possessed or something.

Harrison especially looks like Bipper so I’d imagine he’d be especially unsettling to Dipper and Mabel. (Probably gonna draw him and Mabel interacting next)

Dipper immediately being super suspicious of Harrison and doing that stalking thing he does to try and figure him out. Dipper seeing Harrison make a mistake with his magic that makes him not look great and Dipper just freaking out more.

Mabel being uncomfortable with Harrison but trying her hardest to be nice to him because he hasn’t actually done anything yet. Becoming friends when she realizes that Harrison is just a kid and not anything like Bill personality and morality wise.

Harrison enjoyed coloring in that one episode so she could probably get him to do art with her. They’d have so much fun with him showing her his magic tricks, he’d be so happy someone is genuinely interested. His magic would probably improve with the encouragement she would give him.

Mabel being reminded of Bipper whenever Harrison gets a bit arrogant. The thought goes away pretty quickly though cause he usually gets humbled really quickly and just accepts it lol

Ford also immediately being suspicious of Harrison but not doing anything rash yet until he can test him. Losing his shit the first time Harrison does magic in front of him.

Someone on here posted a mini fic thing where they said Ford almost dropkicked Harrison the first time he does magic and I love that (I’ll look for the post later and tag it here) Edit: here’s the link! https://www.tumblr.com/the-sprog/659871894550577153/i-just-had-an-idea-could-you-imagine-a-crossover

Stan giving Harrison the benefit of the doubt but keeping a close eye on him whenever he interacts with one of the twins. Not outright hostile to him but not exactly kind either.

Stan somehow finding out about how Harrison accidentally made his brother disappear and immediately noticing the similarities to what happened with him and Ford. He probably gains a bit of a soft spot for Harrison after and gives him pointers on random things, probably a few pep talks.

Oh also I know it’s just a difference in the two art styles but CC characters tend to have more yellow sclera and oval pupils/irises and it really doesn’t help Harrison’s case lmao

I can keep going but this post is already really long so I’ll stop for now haha 😅

[xochosoxo]

missed calls ✮ | k. nanami

nanami x fem reader

summary: youre a new student at jujutsu high and you cant help but be curious about your blonde haired classmate

warnings: a lil bit of fluff, minor angst etc, mentions of death (yu haibara)

a/n: hii i hope you enjoy this lil fic i made!! i luv nanami with my entire heart. to be honest i havent written this much in so long so bear w me >-< also i didnt really read the jjk manga, just watched the anime so if some of it is canonically incorrect, just know i just searched some stuff up LMAO! enjoy!!

as you step into the building of tokyo jujutsu high, you could feel your stomach sinking farther down than it already was.

obviously, going to a new school was gut wrenching already, but going to a new school filled with sorcerers, probably way above your skill level, was even more so.

so when gojo, geto and shoko saw you walk into the building, they could already sense your nerves.

gojo leans closer to his two companions. "she seems..." but he couldnt finish his sentence due to shoko clearing her throat.

"welcome to jujutsu high." shoko says, greeting you with a non-chalant tone.

"oh thank you." you fake smile, surpressing the urge to leave the building right then and there. you stare at the three. "im y/n."

gojo smirks, walking towards you. you feel intimidated as he got closer to you.

he grabs the luggage you had been dragging behind you, giving you a small smile. "im gojo." he points to the other. "thats geto."

geto, who you note had his hair in a tight bun, one strand lose from its restraint. he gives you a wave.

you wave back, feeling a bit less unsettled. they werent as intimidating as you thought they would be.

the three students showed you around the school, first stopping by your dorm to drop off your things.

after that, they continued the tour, bringing you to meet their teacher, show you the classrooms, as well as the training field.

the four of you stay a bit and watch those who were practicing.

there were two guys on the field. one with straight brown hair and one with with blonde hair parted to the side. they were both fairly tall.

it looks as though they had finished up their training the moment you, shoko, gojo and geto stopped to watch.

The brunette greets you, waving as he walks towards your group. "hi you must be the new student. im yu haibara!"

meanwhile, his blonde companion ignorses the group entirely, passing you by walking right around you.

gojo tried to get the indviduals attention. "nanam-" but is cut off.

"no thanks." the blonde haired guy says, walking farther away.

gojo sighs as geto and shoko quietly snort. you turn to them, confused.

she explains. " nanami is the same year as you. as well as haibara." she pauses, looking at yu as he confirms this with a simple smile. "nanami kinda just keeps to himself most of the time."

you nod, acknowledging that new information.

the group, now made up of five people, continue the tour, the blonde boy still present in your memory.

after that small interaction, all nanami could think of was you.

he had watched you walk around with his upperclassmen as he trained.

and obviously he's not gonna embarass himself trying to form a full sentence when youre looking at him with the most kissable lips ever. so he walks away, avoiding the whole group entirely.

when night falls, shoko hints to you about how the gang is gonna sneak out to shibuya to do some late shopping.

obviously, you were down. you packed a small bag and met up with the group.

there was geto, gojo, yu, shoko and surprisingly, nanami.

walking through shibuya, you cant help but be oh so curious about the mystery man.

he didnt seem cold, just distant. like he was reluctant about everything.

in nanami's mind, he feared that his blush was too noticable.

he couldnt stop looking at you.

the way you walked, the way your hair looks in the light of the electronic billboards.

it was like you had put him in a trance.

he didnt belive in love at first sight. but man, maybe does now.

after a few missions together, you and nanami are inseperable.

you would talk, he would listen.

he would bring you your fave ice cream when you felt down and vise versa.

he even went out of his way to buy you the essentials for when your period comes.

shoko, gojo, geto and yu are shocked. never have they seen their negative friend so caring and gentle before. you had brought out another side of him.

when they would try to confront nanami about it, he would deny it. but deep down, he knew what was going on.

he was completely enamoured by you.

he couldnt get enough of you.

he hoped that it would stay like this forever.

however when nanami and yu are called to assist geto and gojo with protecting riko amenai, the star plasma vessel, something changes.

even before the mission, nanami came to you and complained how it wasnt a suitable mission for the first years.

but since yu was excited, he went with it anyway.

when nanami comes back from the mission, he comes alone.

yu had died during the mission.

this changed the course of your relationship with him. nanami became non confrontational. it was like how he was when you first met him.

the two of you go through the rest of your years at jujutsu high, a very obvious awkward tension keeping you both from talking to each other as much as you used to.

when you heard the news that nanami was leaving after graduation, you were obviously hurt. you tried to change his mind with tears in your eyes.

you knew it was selfish of you to try to convince him to stay and but it was no use anyway. he no longer wanted to become a sorcerer.

he couldnt bear to look at you. he didnt want to see how hurt you were because of him.

all the better reason to leave.

but when he left, his guilt followed right after.

yu's death..and you.

he started to despise society once again. he was alone once again.

for a few years, nanami works as a salaryman, but eventually came back to pursue his career as a jujutsu sorcerer.

he had hoped to see you once again, but when he subtly asked gojo about you, he told him that you became a teacher with him but was on leave, travelling for over a year and wouldnt be back for a while.

however, when nanami comes to mentor gojo's new student, yuji, nobody had told him you had come back from your travels.

you and gojo sat in the staff room, talking about your newest student and how you plan to deal with this change as nanami walks in.

"satoru." he says while opening the doors to the room. "i have a few ques-" he immediatley pauses, making eye contact with you.

you gasp quietly.

"hello y/n." nanami greets you sternly, taking a seat beside gojo.

"how have you been?"

a/n: sorry for the super rushed ending its late at night rn lol. i will be making a part two at some point so be sure to look out for that!!

thanks for reading!!

[twisted-sickfics]

Hell is Forever (But Thankfully Colds Aren’t)

thank you sm to anon who requested sick sneezy adam, i absolutely loved humbling this little asshole <3 love this guy and i hope you guys enjoy me torturing him

~

“Ugh, kill me now,” Adam groans for the umpteenth time that day. “I thought this was supposed to be heaven. Why are there still fucking colds in heaven?! hhuh… hh’TSHOO!”

“It’s by design,” Lute says, completely unfazed by the fact that Adam seems to refuse to cover a single sneeze. “If Angels were immune to illness or injury, that would take away our sense of purpose and self-preservation. Plus, it teaches us humility, something you desperately need.”

“Great,” Adam says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “I bet it was that stupid princess and her spooky gremlin girlfriend that did this to me. *snff*”

“Through the hologram?” Lute asks, unimpressed.

“Through the fucking hologram!” he bemoans. “Hell and their crazy, weird-ass germs. I’m gonna exterminate the fuck outta those sinners when I get down thehh… hhH’HASSHOO!“

“Bless you,” Lute says. “What is that, the tenth time today?” It’s a joke intended to ruffle his feathers a bit, and it seems to accomplish just that.

“Oh, shut up,” Adam says, grabbing a tissue and blowing his nose loudly. He attempts to throw it like a basketball into the nearest trash can and misses. “I’m gonna kill whoever gave me this fucking cold. I feel like shit. How do I know if it’s the flu or just a cold again? Or is it something worse and I’m finally gonna kick the bucket?”

“You’re not dying,” Lute says, thoroughly exasperated. “You just have a cold and it’ll get better in a few days. The best thing to do is rest so you don’t make it worse. If you keep talking so much, you’ll hurt your throat.”

“Oh yeah? Says who?” Adam asks boisterously, though he immediately falls into a harsh coughing fit right after. “Lute—” he says between coughs, "I’m dying—”

Lute looks at her commander and briefly wonders about how difficult it would be to ascend to power. No, she decides, not today. She moves over to Adam’s side and pats his back in the least awkward way possible (for her). “Just breathe,” she says as gently as her voice allows. “It’ll pass.”

And it does. Adam catches his breath soon after and tries to brush it off as though nothing just happened and he didn’t just see the gates of heaven, well, outside of his day job.

“You’ve only been given a couple of days to rest,” Lute reminds him, not wanting to fall behind on important business. Heaven is very demanding, even for its higher-ups. “Think you’ll be fine by then?”

“No,” Adam says, and it’s starting to sound like he’s being genuine. Maybe. “Can’t imagine I can shake this in two days. I’m really getting my ass kicked here.” He blows his nose again, an unsettling gurgling sound.

Lute can’t believe this is her life. Yes, she is Adam’s lieutenant, but surely this is above her pay grade? Still, something inside her stirs and she can’t just leave him alone when he’s this miserable, can she?

Adam started feeling a little off the day prior, but he chalked it up to getting less sleep than usual. It was only when he woke up today that he realized just how fucked he was. He called Lute immediately, saying that he needed her for something very important. Apparently the “very important” thing is waiting on Adam hand and foot while he complains and throws tissues outside of the trash can.

“I might be able to get you a third day off if you really need it,” Lute says and she doesn’t miss the way Adam’s eyes light up in a way they haven’t all day. It would almost be cute if it wasn’t so pathetic. “But only if you’re not feeling better by tomorrow. I can’t having you shrugging off work when we have another extermination coming up.”

“Sounds goohh…good *snf* Hang on, I’m gonna…gonna snee— hH’ESCHIEW! hhH’ETCHHIU!“

“Bless you—”

“HH’ATSHHiew!”

“Bless you—”

“hH’ESCHHIU!”

It’s getting annoying at this point. Adam sneezes again and rubs his nose with his sleeve, which Lute winces at because of how much his nose was dripping just moments ago. She’ll have to clean that later, won’t she?

So far, Adam has asked for cough drops, a new box of tissues, a heating pad, the temperature to be turned down, more blankets, less blankets, more pillows, and a cup of tea. None of these things he attempted to get himself nor did he ask for any of them at the same time. It’s been a tough day for both of them.

“What, you’re not going to bless me?” Adam asks, pushing her buttons. He sniffles and Lute doesn’t know how much longer she can go hearing his sneezing, coughing, and sniffling. Not to mention his incessant talking that seems to stem from a place of boredom.

Being one of the only people Adam trusts enough to let into his circle (genuinely, and not just to use them for one of his whims) has its perks and its downsides. This is definitely one of the downsides.

But honestly…it’s not that bad. Lute has taken care of whinier people at some point in all of her years of existence, and this doesn’t even come close to that. It’s annoying, but it’s just Adam. Adam may be annoying, but he’s safe.

And if she were in his position, she would want to be taken care of and doted on too. She can’t really blame him, especially when he’s feeling as awful as she knows he is. His throat sounds better than it did earlier that morning, but he’s much more congested and lethargic. What he really needs is some rest, so what Adam doesn’t know is that there may or may not be a light sleep aid in his tea. She thought it would have kicked in by now.

Lute glares at him in response, and Adam laughs which just leads to more coughing. “Watch this be allergies,” he half-says, half-wheezes before he catches his breath.

“I don’t think it is, sweetheart,” Lute says coldly. She knows Adam isn’t allergic to anything other than fragrances and last time she checked, she’s not wearing any. There’s no way it’s anything but a nasty cold. He didn’t have a fever the last time she checked, and he doesn’t feel excessively warm when she leaves her hand on his back for a second longer to check his temperature.

There’s now a slight heaviness to his eyelids that he didn’t quite notice before. It’s making him feel out of it. “You really think those demon fuckers got one of our own?” he asks, suddenly quite serious. “That means any of one us…”

The suddenness of the question catches Lute off-guard. “Cease that line of thinking,” she demands. “All of us will be fine. It’s unfortunate that one of our own fell, but that will be the last angel they ever harm. Once we get down there on Extermination Day, we’ll—”

“hhH’ESSHHIU!”

“Never mind,” Lute sighs. “Just focus on recovering and then we can talk strategy later. Need anything from me right now? I can go get you some more tea if you need it.” It’s an offer she expects him to take her up on in a matter of seconds, but he’s oddly silent for a moment after she asks.

“Nah,” he eventually decides, “‘m fine like this. Just…hang around for a little while longer, yeah?” It’s the biggest show of vulnerability Adam is willing to display. Actually asking for help? For someone to stick by him in his rare moment of weakness? It’s almost unheard of.

But not impossible, evidently.

And who is Lute to ignore a direct request from her commander? It’s definitely not because she wants to stick around and make sure he’s alright. And it’s certainly not because she’s genuinely rly worried about him. Definitely not.

“Sure,” she agrees. “I suppose I have some free time.” Her entire schedule has been cleared just to look after Adam, but whether or not he knows that is debatable. “Sneeze on me and I’ll kill you,” she warns.

“You really think I’d do thahht… HH’ETTSHIEW!”

Thankfully, Lute has the foresight to quickly grab a tissue and cover his sneeze. “Bless you,” she says. “And stop spreading your germs everywhere. You don’t want to get anyone else sick, do you?”

“Ub, I do’t really care,” Adam says, taking the tissue from Lute’s hand and blowing his nose for what is starting to feel like the millionth time that day. “I just want this fucking cold to be finished with me and move on to the next guy.”

‘The next guy’ will probably be Lute at this rate, with the way he’s sneezed on practically every surface of this room by now. A small part of her doesn’t want to blame him because he genuinely seems to have no clue what he’s doing when it comes to just…being sick. But that’s only a small part of her.

“Why am I so tired?” Adam asks, yawning loudly. His eyes start to droop shut, but he manages to keep himself awake for now. He rolls over in bed and sniffles.

“Who knows?” Lute knows. “It’s probably just the cold making you tired. It’s good to get some rest, anyway. Have you actually slept at all?” Knowing Adam, the answer is probably “no.” The lack of a sense of self-preservation is astonishing.

As expected, he shakes his head. “I just can’t sleep when my nose is all clogged, y’know? It’s a little better today though, so I might actually be able to sleep tonight.”

Good boy, she thinks. Go to sleep and stop being my problem. Instead, what she says is, “I think it’ll do you some good to try and rest. You sound terrible.”

“I sound perfectly fine,” Adam insists, though the congested sniffle he gives immediately afterwards doesn’t exactly lend itself to his point. “Just tryin’ to…sleep…”

He’s slowly starting to doze off. Lute keeps herself still, trying not to startle him so he’ll actually fall asleep. It seems to work because she can hear his congested snores in a matter of minutes.

Great, her shift is over. For now. But…why does she feel kind of bad? It’s not like Adam’s never been sick before, but getting sick right after announcing an extermination in sixth months is unfortunate timing. Plus, he does seem really sick. No healthy person would sneeze that much.

“Sleep well,” she says softly, making sure Adam is really asleep before turning off the lights and leaving the room.

He’ll be fine, but a part of her is worried about what’s to come.

[shallowseeker]

Oh, the hilarious thought that Ellen and Jo both had the hots for Cas.

(((It tickles me ever since I thought it.)))

As we start the scene in 5x10, Ellen is playing music, a Spanish song, Oye Como Va by Santana.

It's a party!

(Rrr, flavor!) ¡Rrr, sabor! (Hey how it goes) Oye cómo va (my rhythm) Mi ritmo

They're playing a well-known party game, sure. They're bartenders at a roadhouse, so this is an everyday thing for them, maybe, but oh oh oh.

The interest.

Ellen is maybe like, "We'll do shots and see how drunk he gets. Who knows? Maybe it'll make him handsy."

ELLEN: All right, Big Boy. Let's go.

Now, it's true. Ellen is flirty and, like many of the prickly, defensive characters, deals professionally with innuendo.

But something tells me this isn't a game Ellen would play with Dean or Sam.

But a guy she wants to <OMITTED>? Ahem. Well. Yeah.

And Cas mimics Ellen, holding his pinky out, upending the glasses, and holding intense, challenging eye contact.

And Ellen...

This is the face of "Holy crap." But if you squint, it can also be read as "Wow." Or even "Hubba, hubba."

Yeah. No kiddin,' Cas.

So is Ellen, right in the <OMITTED>.

///

And Hell. Maybe Jo feels something, too. That's a slow, spreading, breathless-ey sort of smile that reminds me a little bit of Mick Davies.

"Whooooa."

///

ANYHOO.

The music (Santana) continues in the background while Dean and Sam talk strategy, and it's clear the music is coming FROM the kitchen, from Ellen's and Cas's little impromptu party.

We hear laughter, and Dean looks up at the sound. And yes, Jo looks scrumptious, but there's also... everyone's fawning over friggin' Cas? He's not even trying!

Cas isn't cool!

Right?

In the background, snippets of dialogue come through>>> ELLEN: "Damn, he can drink." JO: "Haha, Mom, but you need to stop." ELLEN: "Drink up!" JO: "I'm gonna get another beer."

///

Dean shoots his shot so so awkwardly that it's endearing.

(((Watch this, Cas. I'm the cool one. Women fall all over me, too.)))

///

Heehee. I love him.

///

And after all that, it book-ends with Cas giving the last-night on earth speech, but in a depressing, earnest, way.

(((Dean voice: Well, Jo. Not that anyone's asking,but it would probably-definitely work on me. Wish it'd work on one of you, though.)))

///

BONUS: The next day, Jo immediately starts pigtail-pulling Cas.

*fiddles with her hair, dons a slight smirk*

*smiley smile* Then, teasing: "Ever heard of a door handle?"

When she sees that Cas has gone into *SERIOUS MODE* she's rattled. She looks to her mom pleadingly, because...

If someone like CAS is unsettled, maybe they should be scared, too.