#sleep deprived and running on spite

[missb0at]

Protagonist Stick AU sometime in their senior year

Sam, spent the night saving another witch: What do you think the chances are of me catching the serial killer before our finals?

Danny, just came back from another time errand: You're going to think you've caught the killer right before finals-

Tucker, who has been trying to decipher a prophecy with Wes last night: -only to get attacked by an assistant right before prom.

Val, who has been seeing a pattern in their high school career: And you're going to have an epic showdown with the assistant who was actually manipulating the killer into doing the kills

...

Wes: Maybe we should check if y'all are cursed

Danny: Maybe

Sam: I'm gonna be honest here: I don't think that's gonna help

[giobun143]

It's half 3 in the morning and I'm thinking about the time I drew Gyro shirtless in that one Jensen pose....

[thegrinningghost]

BLACK, The Night That Ends At Last!

Prompt: what if Aerovive met Dazzle?

Information: Dazzle’s alt is a dazzle ship, and the war he fought in was WWII; oh, and he has a sort of chimney sweeper British accent mixed with southern lingo and an angry hippie/70s disco drag queen attitude =3

Characters: Aerovive, Dazzle

Credits: Aerovive belongs to sviidoll; Dazzle & moodboard belong to me

Tag(s): @sviidoll

—

The sea was good at drowning out most things. Sorrow, guilt, confidence, fear; the waves could take anything under, and that was a power to be in awe of. For all their years at sea, it was still an ability that wrought Dazzle’s spark with envy. To be able to remember but not be haunted. If only it were that simple.

The sky was a place to forget. When the wind sweeps up and over, around and past, it takes the terrors with it. To embrace the sky is to finally escape. An honor, it is, to have wings. A joy that Aerovive wished many times was easier to share.

Though the war from which they came had lulled into a peaceful truce, the memories danced as ghosts through many harrowing days and nights. With nothing to fight for, the weight of carrying a life to live finally crashed down on many weary sparks. Some allowed themselves to be buried under it, others dodged the weight in order to leap from one task to the next. Few began to wonder, searching and letting the dust begin to settle.

The beach held the aching rust Dazzle had learned to hide from years of activity at sea. It was one thing to fight a battle for your people, to interest yourself in another civilization’s war? The shame weighed them down. Perhaps it was because of the weight that they failed to recognize the sight of a jet hanging low from the clouds, disappearing and reappearing through the fog before landing on the soft padding of the sand. In fact, it wasn’t until the seeker settled next to them that their bubble popped, and the clouds began to clear. 

“Hello–”

“Ya need something?”

The seeker looked over, as did Dazzle, who bounced their focus rapidly to different sights. “No,” the femme replied, finally. Then, she stuck out her hand, “I’m Aerovive. And you?”

His optics flitted back to her hand, then up at her and back down again. There was a certain restless uncertainty in the air around them, but eventually, they took it as a playful smile. “You can call me Dazzle. Say, what brings you here, Viv? Don’t imagine a bot would wander aimlessly towards the sea, much less a seeker.”

She laughed. “I’m just taking a break. I’ve been flying since sunrise. Why are you stuck on this shore,” Viv inquired, tilting her helm and adjusting her wings. Dazzle vented, looking back towards the faded crashing waves.

“I’ve escaped the sea, but not the memories of it,” he began, “and anyway, I can’t exactly leave. I can’t face anyone. Not after running like a coward.”

“But,” she interrupted, shrugging as she spoke, “you’re facing me right now. That’s a start.”

The remark was strange, but at a second-glance, Dazzle recognized it to be true, laughing. “I guess, I guess. But no, I know it might be hard to understand, but I ran. I mean, from the war back home. Even when it came here, I didn’t fight. I couldn’t.”

Aerovive hummed, thinking for a moment. “I get it,” she said at last. Dazzle shook their head, but she cut them off, continuing, “I do. I aided the Autobots because I believed in their cause, but after so long … the destruction began to seem all the same. So I left.”

“You,” Dazzle paused, wide-eyed, “left?” As soon as she nodded, he laughed. “I didn’t think those bots were capable of letting someone go, seeing how often they mourn one of their own every klik. You’re not jesting, are ya?”

She stared, watching as Dazzle burst into laughter, mocking and teasing, feigning the tears for Autobot comrades lost. “I’m not,” she finally snapped out of the daze, “and it’s not nice to make fun of them. Those are sparks gone, after all. Weren’t you just gloomy about war a few moments ago? How can it be so … funny to you?”

“It’s not a human war,” Dazzle exclaimed, standing up with a hand outstretched to Aerovive. As soon as they pulled her up, they started trailing across the beach with her catching up close behind. “What do you mean?”

“They’re feisty,” he explained, moving his servos in crazed gestures. “Fiery! Like the minicons! The clever little toasters. Humans come up with all these strategies and plans. It’s wild! Their wars end so quickly, meanwhile ours? I don’t know if it’ll ever see an end!”

“But–,” Viv tried to start, but stuttered, ideas and questions tripping over one another. “How do you know all of this? About the humans, and their wars?”

Dazzle vented, servos and helm lowering, their brief burst of dazzling energy fading. “I didn’t have a t-cog during the war, y’know. I fought best I could, but it was never enough. Not for him. Not for any of them! … so I left. Signed up for the G-force and abandoned the war. Most of us stayed here, and it wasn’t long before the humans broke out in war. Nobody really cared. Afterall, we came to Earth to avoid the war. But, there were a few of us. Rue and Rye; the trine and a select few others. We didn’t lose as many as the humans, but … it was more than we expected.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The clouded sky darkened the monotone hues Dazzle wore, emphasizing the rust that should’ve been worn as a badge. Pride in survival. But there was no such thing, not after something that had gotten so many others killed. Aerovive weighed the options before reaching a gentle servo out for Dazzle’s shoulder, only for him to turn suddenly to face her. Their optics were a blushy pink that took the light of the sunset when a golden visor flicked down from the top of their helm.

“I want to bash their helms in and tear up their cybo-dendrons!”

“What?” Exclaimed Viv, watching as Dazzle shouldered past her and started off towards the other side of the beach. “Who? Dazzle!”

Swiftly turning around, they screamed, “Megatron! And Starscream! And his stupid trine and everyone else on that wretched ship we called the Nemesis! I’m going to find them, and I’m going to– going to … blast them to smithereens!”

The shift from playful mockery to solemn explanation to pure ire and vengeance was startling, to say the least. When their arm retracted to transform into a torpedo launcher, Viv had to halt her attempts at getting closer. That was a sign of no empty threat. Still, despite the bot's vigor and passion, there was something hanging in the air around them. Suffocating them. 

Cowardice.

“Would you really,” Viv asked, slowly backing away, servos up in reassuring surrender. Dazzle pointed their launcher at her, but faltered as they processed her words. “I would … I would! Yeah!” They scoffed, “Of course I would! I mean, Starscream’s overthrown Megatron numerous times! It doesn’t seem so hard to … y’know … I mean, he attempted multiple times. It never did work out for him. His screams kept me up at night. Everything did. There was never time to rest on the Nemesis. Not during a war … but I’m not war-worn like them, so clearly I have an advantage! Ha-ha!”

Aerovive couldn’t help but laugh, trying best she could to hide it with her helm. Still, the bot caught on, lowering their torpedo launcher as it slowly transformed back again. “Would you stop? It’s not very compassionate for an Autobot to laugh at anyone! Don’t they teach any y’all anything?”

“You’re weird,” she finally got out. Dazzle stared, servo mid-action of flipping their visor back up, before deciding it wasn’t worth it. “Yeah I am,” he exclaimed, servo proudly on his chest plate. Back in a full swing of energy, and with more genuine playfulness than the attitude of playing with the mind of an enemy, Dazzle strode over and picked Viv up in a hug, squeezing her before setting her back down.

“You’re strange yourself. The Autobot that got away! … hey, that’s got a nice ring to it!” Dazzle hummed, grinning. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re a madman,” Viv explained, adjusting her wings, “but for you, I think that’s a pretty alright quality to have. So long as you don’t hurt anyone.”

Dazzle sighed, gesturing off-handedly. “No promises.”

[arrowmaker15]

(Tim and Duke sitting on the couch watching TV)

Tim: You only need a parachute to skydive twice.

Duke: What?

Tim: If you dry off with a clean towel after you get out of the shower, how is the towel dirty?

Duke: Are you alright?

Tim: If you wait for the waiter, does that make you the waiter?

Duke: Do you... Need help?

Tim: Is orange named orange because Oranges are orange, or are Oranges named orange because orange is orange?

Duke:

Duke: Alfred! Tim is severely sleep deprived again!

[dipplinduo]

war

just learned about evil boops and it's all I'm giving out now if u finna catch deez hands. try me bro. do u even lift

[wispisstillverybored67]

Deep Breath Deep Breath

Don't even try What do you want from me? Better stop pushing... Cause I won't tolerate it!

There's no returning, no matter how much you want it It burns me to the core on my body, no one knew it Now it's not the right time for anything, so stop loading!

STAY AWAY FROM ME!

Already lost my keys to the door once shut Only had one wish Now it's never gonna come true... Trapped in time, forever in remorse How could I ever be... In this when nothing else matters to me?!

"Hey man... Do you think Illuso's acting a little weird?" I suddenly asked. 

"Like, you see him, right? His eyes were bigger than the Sinistar! Last night, with that stolen cabinet! Big, bloodshot, wide-eyed and crazed eyes. And when I asked him if something was wrong with 'em, he got all weird that I was looking at him. Uh..." I don't know what's up with him, the guys do.

"And jittery, yeah? Wait, he's always like that."

"More then usual, man-"

"He'll probably be back to parading his own ego around by tomorrow, I wouldn't worry about 'em like that, Herr Blücher." 

"C'mon, Gelato... He reeks of despair~ You notice he's getting snappier too. I'm sure the guys've already noticed... but he trusts you guys more then he trusts me. I'm just pointing it out to you 'cause you 9 should probably nip in in the-" Speak of the devil. Nero was behind us. 

"Oh, hi Nero!" I happily tried to greet him. The rest of the guys followed in, including the man of the hour himself. Wow, he looks even more like shit. What even happened to him?! He didn't even look up, just quietly followed the rest with his now typical wide-eyed stare to nothing, staring down to his legs and to the floor. 

"I'll be blunt," Nero sighed, then pointed to Illuso. "You obviously have a problem we're not aware of, so we're going to have to address that before you get any worse." 

He didn't even react, he's just fidgeting, looking like he's seen a ghost, or a particular doctor's murders, shrinking into himself. I've seen scared Illuso before, but this despair is the same as before, wait, no, it's a bit different in texture... as if he were angered and anxious at the same time. I was lounging on Pesci's lap this time, so I discreetly had Arles check on him. It's very soft here~

Arles Zorro, go to Illuso. "Yoo-hoo... Illuso? Hey hey hey." I tried calling him. This time, he listened. Drawing in a shaky breath, he looked to Nero, not making eye contact.

"What?" His voice was raspy, very raspy. Even more so then usual...

"A problem? Don't even think about it. You think I, Illuso, have problems?"

"Yes." We all said in unison. He flinched as we all said that. Yes, you're screwed~ He rarely even referred to himself like that if he wasn't flustered. 

Kira-chins and Ro-chan taught me how to scan others.  

"Don't play dumb, man. Just what the hell is up with you? You lost to Gelato again in that game or somethin'?" Formaggio was basically the only one saying what was on all our minds right now. Wait, no it's not. It's not that, but...

"If that were true..." "Those two would be yelling at each other, wrestling, while she records this shit, laughing like a psycho." I would've said my piece, but Ghiaccio cut me off. 

"That was one time!" 

We would've friendly-argued about this, but Prosciutto suddenly spoke up, clearly annoyed with his friend's dodginess. 

"Hold it right there. Where the hell do you think you're going?" He was always bad at hiding any bit of concern for us, even when he's snarling it all out. 

"I'm not about to waste my time in a meeting over stupid shit, if this is what you called me out for." 

"You're shaking." Melo' points out. Like he was caught in a blizzard. 

"Besides... You can't be shaken up about something from yesterday, I beat you on Saturday!" Gelato, do NOT start with that again. Although, he's got a point... Tell me this, how bad are you at Pokemon to lose at Celadon at the Gym Castle? Gelato practically beat the whole thing in a day! 

"No one asked you, you fucking midget!"

"Call me that again and I'll make a lady out of you!" He was now flashing his knife, not even bothering to get up from his husband's lap. 

"Both of you, shut up!" Nero and I both complain to those two. 

"Easy, love." Sorbet, would you kindly deal with your man???

"This was about what happened on Sunday, is that it?! Y'know what? Fuck you, and fuck this." Illuso's reaching into his chest now. Hmm... Illuso is looking paler then ever now. Wait, chest...? The pocket mirror! The compact he keeps in his tits! 

"PAULLA!" On it, Pros! I practically dived off of Pesci's lap to swipe it from him, and to restrain him. 

"Urgh... GET OFF ME!" He groaned. Pesci helped restrain him, and even then, it was too late. I had it in my hands. Looks quite gothic, and expensive! 

"No! Let go of me!" He looked more nervous and hurt when he was restrained by our daikon over there then when I yanked his pocket mirror from 'em. But he just went back to irritation and rage. 

Melone clicked his tongue, about to head over to check on the captive ojou. "Don't do this to me, please!"  

Out of boredom, I checked to see what's inside. It's the usual reverse hideout... Hey, I think I see Man in the Mirror in there. He's moving really quickly across the room, in an odd veritable panic. He's never like this... He's always like Illuso's more boisterous other half, just as bigheaded and and flashy. Does he miss his host? Or... does Illuso miss his Stand? No, both halves of the same soul are in a mad panic, for whatever reason. Smooth Criminal seemed to be on the other side, but Zorro hadn't been off Illuso since she got on him. He's ignoring her no matter what she tries to do to get his attention. Smooth Criminal isn't even there to him. Hey...

______________________________________________________________

"Don't do this to me, please!" You practically begged the others, struggling to get back up.  Just your luck. Paulla doesn't even know your problem. But she could snuff it out in due time, and join the rest all the same. You wanted to cry, to sleep, but you couldn't. Not like this.

"🎵Already lost my keys to the door once shut Only had one wish Now it's never gonna come true~🎵" She sang as she took it from you, mocking you.

"You don't know what they want! You don't know what you're doing! Paulla, don't do this to me! Please!" She kept playing with the mirror she took from you and admired it in an almost mocking manner, again, as if she were saying to you "Don't make me, then". 

Melone trudges over to you, almost deliberate in his pace, and blast a flashlight in your eyes. "Ack!" You hissed in an almost vampire-like fashion. You tried to rub your eyes, but Pesci practically had your arms in a death grip. They know. She'll know. They all fucking know. 

"Exactly as I feared. You've been depriving yourself of sleep since last Sunday, if my suspicion is correct." He sighed. 

The others don't speak, though you're sure one cleared his throat. 

Formaggio breaks out laughing, obvious to anyone that he's faking. You're dreading his words, insisting that what you're doing is certainly not a big deal. 

"You still thinking about that? You're losing your shit over nothing...! It's... Wednesday, right?"

"You're a day late. Ooo...~ You're still at it? Oh, man. What even happened that time?" Paulla just had to ask. She couldn't even bother hiding her curiosity over some stupid shit the others did. 

"So on Sunday night-"

"Do NOT tell her about some fucking shit she doesn't need to know!" You tried to fight back. Nothing more than empty words in your current state, as she'd say.

"While we were discussing matters relating to extraneous sleeping arrangements-"

"Don't." 

"I realized that Illuso hadn't actually slept in the real world, so I said-"

"Prosciutto." 

"Can you let me fucking finish? ...He should at first get used to doing such before anyone thinks of sleeping with everyone, which as you could tell-"

"Is going so well." Shut the fuck up, Ghia. 

She pauses for a second, starting at Prosciutto, then at Ghiaccio, then to the others briefly, the back to you. Her eyes about as big as yours, peering into the ruins of your soul.

"So that's why you read as scared." She goes back to her old smiling self, infuriating you even more. But there isn't really much that you could do now. 

"You know what? I could use a coffee. Yeah, I'll go get a coffee-" You scurry for the kitchen, yelping as you ripped away from Pesci's hold. But once you were almost there, you were suddenly hit with a radiating headache. You wanted to cringe, to complain, to cry, but you couldn't. Never let them win...

Some of the others head over to you, either out of "concern" or curiosity. No, don't be stupid. You're being a stubborn ass right now. The only one concerned would be Pesci, but it's not just him. Defeated, you sulked back to your seat with the others in tow, not bearing to look at them. Immediately after, all you could hear was Paulla chatting with Gelato about video games or some other frivolous shit. 

So, now Paulla knows what your problem is. Do you know what this means? They're all going to look at you. They're all going to laugh at you. These were the people you entered a relationship with, Paulla excluded? These were the people you loved? They don't even respect you. They didn't respect you when they learned you're not comfortable sleeping outside the mirror world, what did they expect? Please, God, you pleaded to yourself, to anyone that may hear, Don't do this to me. I can't go back...! I won't go back! You would never let yourself cry in front of them, no matter how awfully you wanted to. You wouldn't bear to let anyone see you be vulnerable, they get that. So why can't they let you be alone and vulnerable like always? When they were just going to earn your trust to hurt you even worse then they could now? You weren't crying, of course, actually, you didn't even know what was going on in the world, but inside, the tears were flooding out, curling up into yourself, crying out for someone, anyone to help you, but you knew you couldn't trust anyone anymore, not like this. The one who you could trust is being kept from you by the men you love, and helped by the one friend that would try and help you if she could. But you're not kidding anyone. You're unable to leave this hellish situation, because you thought you could trust people. Don't do this to me. you continue to plea. It was all you could do, really. You hated it, but what could you do? Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me.  Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me.

"Illuso?" You could barely hear Risotto Nero over your own thoughts. You sank further into your mind, frozen in place. Either of fear, or of sorrow... or of fury. One thing you know for a fact, you're not shedding a single tear. Fear made you its bitch, as you sat there, your throat tying itself into knots, your eyes long since dried up, your hands shoved between your legs, your whole body is trembling. You really had to get some caffeine soon. You can't let this end. You can't let them win. Everything was too loud, too quick, too horrifying to you. You couldn't wait for someone to help you. You have to do something about this. Because although you KNOW you're stubborn as a mule, you knew even you were reaching your limit. A limit you wanted no one to realize they've seen it way earlier than you. 

"Up, now." You had no choice but to do what he asked. Reluctantly, you pulled all your energy together to stand up and (relatively) face him, unable to force yourself to stop shaking. Shit, you forgot just how weak you felt. Besides your recent fixation upon caffeine, coffee/tea/energy drink/whatever, you're not sure if you ate much else during this time. Actually, you're sure you ate like a bird, uncharacteristically from your usual self. But nobody gives a shit about that no more. 

"You have to get some rest. I can understand if you have a fear of that for whatever reason, but this is for the best." You became afraid of him. Afraid of how he looks, or of what you're convinced he'll do? You were never really scared of him, per say, you knew he could secretly be a massive dork, ruining his menace, but now you were dreading his next move.

"Hah... You all seriously think that I, Illuso of the mirror, would need rest?! I'm not exhausted, I'm not paranoid, and I'm not-Gah..." You're not even convincing yourself at this rate, huh? Your head's killing you... So, you think, can we hurry the hell up so I can make myself some coffee?!

"'re you scared?" Paulla asks simply. She smiled ever so often, and just like now, she looks and sounds dead. 

I'm scared. You wanted to give up and say that. Just say it, and it'll be the end of it. No matter how much it hurts. I'm scared. 

"I'm..." No! If they win, they'll kill you! And if they won't, who will? 

"I'm perfectly fine..." You stared at her uncomfortably. She didn't seem to be embarrassed. She never seemed to get embarrassed. How nice was it. 

"Would you... Would you would you would you..." You stumbled over to her, looking more like a zombie then a human, gazing deep into those creepy blue eyes... 

Reaching for her eyes, you attempted to pry her eyelids open. Any reflected surface will do... Everyone seems to be calling out to you, but you couldn't hear shit. 

"Would I what?" She sounded genuine, but it was all a lie to you. There's no such a thing as genuine words. Risotto and you think Ghiaccio pry your hands from her, and distance the two of you. You began to laugh after this, no longer caring about appearances for just this moment, not caring whether or not you were actually crying as you laughed. This whole thing seemed funny in hindsight, actually. 

"Illuso, would I what?" Would you kindly let me pass?! The words fail to come out. As you could guess. She puts a hand on your heart for the beats. You struggle hiding yourself flinching from this. She specifically was more then capable of kicking your ass into retiring, and she's 3 whole years younger than you, not to mention the newest member here. You're the member who's been here the longest despite everything. Sighing, she goes back to her original spot.

"You spend all your time conducting a so-called bulletproof image. But anyone can read you like a book, Illuso."

"Completely uneeded-"

"No, Risotto, let her speak. This sounds intriguing. 

"Thank you, Sorbet... You talk big game, but you're really paranoid about sleeping in the real world, because you're afraid of being attacked in your sleep. You're afraid of causing yourself unavoidable situations like this, and because of your issues, you struggle to trust other people, whether it's establishing, or keeping this string of trust. You finally made friends in the team, everyone... else in this case, but your paranoia and anxiety take the helm, leading you to refuse to show them any hint of being vulnerable out of fear this would affect their image of you. Fear that it would leak out, maybe? And because you'd rather die then say this out loud, I will. You know this more then anyone, too... You'd rather die then admit your fears to your friends, and because of that, they don't know why you're acting so weirdly over things like this. And you get frustrated because you know it sucks, but this is all you know. Fear. Ever since you entered Passione, you were scared to sleep in someone's eyeshot, and others you did or didn't trust had just proved it. It's fear, man. Fear." She said every new sentence slowly, observing you carefully. Not sure of what to do, you laugh to yourself again.

"I'm not good with emotions, but even I know this stuff... See, Nero-chan? I learned a bit of scanning people from you!" She added, changing tracks. Before anyone else could say something, you did.

"Okay, fine! You got me!" What were you saying... "Now, let me go!" You tried moving, everyone prepared to restrain you, but you fell over something, or someone. You tried getting up, but you were too weak and exhausted to move. 

Get up! GET UP! Don't do this to me...!

Risotto had then picked you up. 

"I won't say it again. Illuso, go to sleep, or I will strap you to it."

You grew defiant, though you weren't sure why. You couldn't even try and kick your legs around, your body was half asleep already.

"Don't do this to me... No... I... I... I. Will. NOT!" You forced yourself to say to him. You should have stayed with the intel team... 

You were finished. Shit. What a lout. Urgh...

______________________________________________________________

"I... I... I. WILL. NOT." No matter how much he says it, he was scared and exhausted. But he was playing a game with La Squadra di Esecuzione, and he wanted to win, even if he knew he couldn't. And would you look at that? He's sleeping! As soon as Nero touched his face, he was out of it. Tears finally strolling down his face, but he's out cold. Uh, mission success? Yeah! 

"Damn, Herr Blücher! You really gave him what for!" The first one to speak up again was Gelato, of course. 

"Heehee! Now that that's done with..." I took him from Nero-chan's hold, and brought him into his bedroom. Nero's, not Illuso's. I'm still not sure where his apartment is. But hey, since he's paranoid about being attacked in his sleep, he can sleep with Nero-chan to protect him! 

There we go, wrapped safely in bed. He was talking a bit in his sleep, saying something like "I'm... not weak..."

Now where was I? Oh yes. Sinistar!

[thetwofaced]

Heres a thought i just had

I think one of the problems with Anakin Skywalker is that he would've made a fantastic Mandelorian. Loyal to the very end, loves his chosen family above everything else, fantastic in battle etc. But that's also what makes him a terrible jedi.

He feels to fucking mutch and he has no idea how to handle his emotions. Anakin HAS good in him, he does love strongly , his strongest urge IS to protect . It's what made him fall and it is what brought him back to the light- TRYING so despretaly to protect his loved ones. So yeah. Leaving the order and becoming mandelorian might have actually been the smarter idea. Who knows he might have been able to force tjem to join the war efford and he so would've adopted all of the fucking clones and you can not tell me otherwise

[wildrosesayshigh3]

Rant about school

I just had a peer review with my classmate about our final exam essays. And while I was being critiqued I bluffed my way through all of my responses. Like I don't know I wrote the outline for this essay at three in the morning half dead. And then woke up at 7 to finish 30 mins before class. I'm running on 9 hours of sleep total for the last three days. Be glad it exists and is semi-legible.

[robbysreaders]

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader  word count: 2.1k notes: Another part to ex!reader and babydaddy!jack thanks to @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange's reply to part 3! Fits before the Prequel!

Jack Abbot does not want to be interviewed.

He’s made that clear to everyone — grumbling to Gloria, threatening Robby, muttering under his breath about “puff pieces” and “PR bullshit.” But he shows up anyway. Apparently, losing rock-paper-scissors and the thought of Gloria owing him a favor are enough to get him in the room.

He’s already five minutes late when he walks into the break room at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, barely glancing your way.

“Dr. Abbot?” you ask, voice a little too bright.

He doesn’t answer right away — just finishes pouring his coffee. Then, deadpan: “That’s what the name tag says.”

You blink. Smile tight. Off to a great start.

You introduce yourself, give a quick rundown of the piece — community health spotlight, frontline ER coverage, equity in urban hospital settings.

“Yeah, I read the email,” he says, finally turning. He looks like hell: scrubs wrinkled, hair a mess, a twitching vein in his temple that suggests he’s running purely on caffeine and spite. But his eyes — sharp and unexpectedly curious — hold on you.

“Let’s get started?”

You pull out your notes and recorder, settling into the seat across from him.

“This is for a piece on how ER staff are adapting to systemic constraints in—”

He lifts a hand. “Please don’t say ‘in these trying times.’”

You smirk, hitting record.

Thirty-five minutes later, your recorder is full. Your notes are chaotic. And your opinion of Dr. Jack Abbot… has evolved.

He’s still kind of a dick. But he’s compelling — sharp, honest, surprisingly self-aware. He talks with his hands, voice softening when he mentions residents by name. There’s a story there. Probably a few. But every time you try to dig, he deflects with dry humor and pointed looks that feel more teasing than defensive.

You’re packing up when he clears his throat.

“So,” he says, “you get what you need?”

“Think so,” you reply. “Unless you want to give me a stirring quote about resilience. Maybe something involving a phoenix.”

He leans back, arms folded. “How about: ‘Most days I want to punch a wall, but we’re out of budget for drywall repair.’”

You laugh. “Wow. Poetry.”

“You asked.”

You hesitate. “Honestly, I expected you to be more…”

“Hostile?”

“I was going to say ‘buttoned-up.’ But sure. Hostile works.”

He smirks. “If you wanted polished, you should’ve interviewed Robby. But I lost rock-paper-scissors.”

“Lucky me.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, voice low, “I think I’m the one whose luck is shifting.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder, suddenly aware of how close he still is.

“Well… thanks for the time. I know your shift was long.”

“Mm.” He doesn’t commit to gratitude — just watches you.

You hesitate. Then — against instinct — you reach into your bag and pull out a card. “Here’s my email. Just in case anything else comes to mind.”

He takes it, thumb brushing over the raised print. “Of course. Let me show you out.”

Two days later, Jack is in a mood.

“Who pissed in his Wheaties this morning?” a nurse mutters.

“He’s been like that since that hot journalist left,” another chimes in.

“Maybe he got rejected.”

“I didn’t get rejected,” Jack snaps, startling them. “I’m just a sleep-deprived idiot who washed her damn business card with my scrubs.”

“Oh my God,” someone groans. “She’s a journalist. Just look her up and make up a reason to email. Jesus.”

Your inbox pings.

Subject: Quote Clarification From: jack.abbot@ptmh.org I meant “systemic negligence” not “strategic indifference” in that part about state funding. Also, I never said “heroic.” Ever. Want to make that crystal clear. If you want to double-check the phrasing, I know a place with good fries and strong drinks. -Abbot

You stare at it. Then reread. Is he… asking you out?

God help you, you kind of hope he is.

You reply:

Sure. As long as you don’t try to rewrite your quotes mid-pint.

The bar is dim, divey, absolutely his pick — confirmed when the bartender greets him with, “You back already?” and your drinks hit the table before you sit down.

“You have a tab here?” you ask.

“I had a chair with my name on it,” he says. “Until they caught me revising journal drafts on my days off.”

You laugh. “Work-life balance going well, I see.”

“The fries help.”

He’s in jeans and a black T-shirt. Still rumpled, but clearly intentional. Hair pushed back, eyes clear. The difference is subtle. But it’s there.

“So,” he says. “Am I worse in print than in person?”

“Oh, definitely,” you tease. “But very quotable.”

“That a line you use on all your sources?”

“Only the ones who share their fries.”

You both reach for the same one. Fingers brush. His breath hitches.

The air shifts.

You fall into easy rhythm. He tells stories — the worst shift, the weirdest patient, the quiet things that don’t make the cut but still shape the job. You tell him about being locked in a janitor’s closet at a mayoral debate. By the time you finish your drinks, you’re both laughing more than talking.

Your knees knock under the table.

He glances down. Then up. “So… is this part of the fact-checking process?”

You tilt your head. “Would you prefer it was?”

“Depends,” he murmurs. “You gonna quote what I say next?”

You pause. Then: “Not unless it’s good.”

His eyes stay on you. Then he leans in.

“How about this?”

The kiss is quiet at first. Soft. Testing. But deepens fast — hands in your hair, thumb at your jaw, like he’s been thinking about this since the interview and just needed the excuse.

When he trails down your neck, you forget your name.

You’re still catching your breath when he mutters, “Too forward to ask if you want to get out of here?”

“Yes,” you say. “But I like forward.”

He grins, hand low on your back. “Fifteen minutes this way. If you don’t mind walking.”

“Lead the way.”

You wake up slowly — not to an alarm, but to the quiet shift of weight beside you. Sheets tangled, room faintly lit by the early gray of morning. For a moment, you don’t move. Just listen.

Jack’s already awake. You can feel it in the way his breath has steadied, his body warm and solid beside yours, one hand resting lightly at your waist like he forgot to move it.

Your voice is quiet. “You always up this early?”

“I don’t sleep well. Occupational hazard,” he murmurs.

You turn toward him. He’s propped on one elbow, hair a mess, shirtless, gaze already on you. There’s something cautious in it — like he doesn’t want to push too hard, too soon.

“You okay?” you ask.

He nods. “Yeah. You?”

“I think so.” A beat. “Little disappointed you didn’t try to sneak out. Would’ve made things easier.”

He smirks. “I thought about it. But then I realized, this is my house and I didn’t have anywhere to sneak off to.”

Your heart drops a bit “Oh shit, I spent the night. I don’t spend the night.” You try to get out of bed but his arm has you lightly locked in.

He watches your expression, then adds, voice lower, “I’m not in a rush. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

You search his face. “So what is this then?”

He shrugs, but it’s not dismissive. “Something I haven’t stopped thinking about since the break room.”

You huff a laugh. “God. I really thought you hated me.”

“I did,” he says. “For like the first two minutes. And then I realized you were just really fucking good at your job.”

You smile. “You know this is probably a bad idea, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, gaze lingering on your lips. “But not the worst one I’ve ever had.”

There’s a stillness between you. Not awkward. Just quiet.

From then on, you’re basically attached at the hip. Any free moment either of you has is spent together—or texting, though Jack is, hands down, the worst texter you've ever met. Half the time it’s just one-word replies. Sometimes emojis that don’t make sense. Once, a photo of a traffic cone with no context. But you find it weirdly charming.

Two months in, he invites you to grab breakfast after one of his night shifts. “Swing by the hospital,” he says. “We can walk from there. Just let them know you’re here for me, they’ll let you in.”

You’re nervous walking in. You’ve been here before, obviously—it’s how you met Jack—but it feels different now. Like meeting the family. And you haven’t even talked about labels.

But the moment he spots you, his whole face lights up. He cuts across the nurse’s station toward you without hesitation.

“Hi,” he says, giving you a quick kiss. “You haven’t been waiting long, have you?”

“No, no,” you murmur, caught off guard by the PDA, especially in his workplace. “Just got here.”

“Perfect.” He glances at a chart in his hand. “I just need to hand this off and then we’re good to go. Mind sitting here for a sec?”

He leads you to his desk, and it’s all so… Jack. A photo of him and a few Army buddies, a coffee-stained mug with a jackrabbit on it, a bumper sticker that reads Honk if you love amputees, and—tucked behind his monitor—your article, folded up like something worth saving.

You don’t even get a chance to sit fully before a couple of nurses wander over.

“That article you wrote? Incredible,” one of them says. “You really captured the systemic issues. We appreciate you shining a light on it in such a visible way.”

“Oh—it was an honor to be trusted with the story,” you reply, a little flustered. “You all do the hard work. I just hope it helps spark something.”

You feel Jack behind you before you hear him.

“You two done harassing my girl?” he teases, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You don’t miss the look exchanged between the nurses before they excuse themselves, already whispering as they disappear down the hall.

“Alright,” he says, tilting his head toward the exit. “Ready to go?”

“What, no grand tour? You were so rude the first time I was here—I didn’t get one then.”

He smirks. “Fine, whatever. Let me show you around.”

He takes you on a brisk loop, introducing you to a few of the names you've heard in passing—Santos, Samira, the guy who once threw out his back trying to do a TikTok challenge. Then a voice rings out:

“Abbot, leave. You were off fifteen minutes ago. Get out.”

You turn to see Robby, grinning, arms crossed.

Jack sighs. “Just showing a guest around before heading to the diner.”

“Ohhh,” Robby says, eyes narrowing. 

“This is the Robby?” you ask, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for being so good at rock-paper-scissors. I wouldn't have met this guy without you.”

Robby laughs. “Ah, the journalist. It’s about time. Great article, by the way.”

“Had some great sources,” you reply.

You leave the hospital together, walking a few blocks to a small diner. Once you’re settled in a booth and sipping coffee, you nudge his knee under the table.

“Demoted from ‘your girl’ to ‘a guest’ in a matter of minutes. Think I failed the family meet-and-greet.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah, I’ve been panicking about that for the last twenty minutes. I froze. First time felt natural… saying it again, in front of Robby, just felt…presumptuous.”

“I didn’t mind,” you say, voice a little quiet. “We haven’t talked about it, but… I didn’t mind. I’m not seeing anyone else. Just… so you know.”

He looks at you, serious now. “Yeah. Me neither.”

You smile, tentative. “Good to know. I’m not really planning on seeing anyone else.”

“I sure hope not,” he says, then falters. “I, uh… don’t really want to keep doing this unless we’re exclusive. But if that’s not what you’re looking for, I—”

“Jack,” you interrupt, amused. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

He groans again. “You don’t have to make it sound like we’re in third grade.”

“Well, you’re kind of acting like it.”

“Okay, yes,” he says, finally meeting your eyes with a grin. “I’m asking. Officially. Want to be my girlfriend?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Hmmm. Depends. Will you start texting like a normal person?”

“Not a chance.”

“Then yes,” you say. “But only because you’re cute.”

He laughs, reaches across the table to tangle his fingers with yours. “Deal.”

And just like that—without fireworks, without ceremony—you’re his. And he’s yours.

[solxamber]

Fairytales and Fever Dreams - Vil Schoenheit x reader

When you decide to beg a fairy for help at your lowest point, you didn't expect that he'd decide to help you— at the cost of you making skincare for him.

You’re a mage at the academy, and life has officially declared war on you. Seriously. You’re about this close to having a full-on breakdown, the kind where they find you cackling in the library while surrounded by half-finished spell scrolls. One more minor inconvenience and you swear, you’re going to walk out onto the quad, set fire to the herbology building, and just stand there, staring blankly as it burns, sipping tea.

And why? Because you have four—count them—four finals on the same day. You don’t know who pissed in the universe’s cereal, but apparently, you’re the one paying for it.

"Okay, it’s fine," you mutter to yourself while chewing on the end of a quill. "You just need one little miracle. Just a small one. Like, I don’t know, a meteor wiping out the school. Or the headmaster spontaneously combusting. Something normal like that."

But then, you remember the rumor—the kind of rumor people whisper about when they’re this close to a mental collapse. Oh yes, the whispered tale of the fairies in the forest at the edge of town. Supposedly, if you bring an offering to the fairies, they’ll grant you a wish. Any wish. No strings attached.

You snort. It’s probably a load of magical nonsense. But considering your current state of sleep deprivation (and let’s be honest, mild hysteria), you’re willing to give it a shot. Desperate times and all that.

So, you scrape together the fanciest honey and milk your student budget can manage, which is probably a 5/10 by fairy standards but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. You pack it up in a basket like some weird, broke Little Red Riding Hood and trudge out to the forest.

The second you arrive, you’re not even trying to be subtle or respectful about it. No, you go straight to begging.

“Please, fairies, PLEASE!” You fall to your knees dramatically, waving the basket around like you’re presenting some holy relic. “I’m begging you. I need help. I haven’t slept in three days, I’m running on a liter of coffee and sheer spite, and if I fail one more class, I’m gonna have to turn myself into a toad and live under a rock. Just—just one wish, that’s all I’m asking!”

It’s bad. Like, so bad, you’re half-expecting some animal to come along and put you out of your misery out of sheer secondhand embarrassment.

But then, there’s this rustling sound behind you, and when you look up, someone is standing there.

Correction: the prettiest person you’ve ever seen is standing there.

He’s tall, ethereal, and glowing—literally glowing, like he bathes in moonlight and stardust. His hair’s all silky and perfect, his skin looks like it’s never heard of acne, and the expression on his face tells you that he’s about two seconds away from calling security on you.

“Why, exactly,” he starts, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow that could cut glass, “are you kneeling in front of my forest and making this embarrassing display?”

You blink. Several things occur to you all at once:

1. Fairies are real. Huh. You thought you were just being insane.

2. Holy hell, he’s the most beautiful person (fairy?) you’ve ever seen.

3. Wait—his forest?

You quickly wipe the pathetic tears from your face and stumble to your feet. “A-are you… a fairy?”

“No, I’m a sentient dust bunny,” he deadpans. “Yes, of course, I’m a fairy. What are you even doing here?”

You hesitate. He’s giving off serious annoyed model on a runway vibes, and you’re not sure if he’s going to hex you out of his forest or just roll his eyes so hard that you get flung into another dimension.

“I, uh… finals,” you mumble, the tears starting to well up again. “Four finals. Same day. And I haven’t slept. I’m one failed exam away from permanently turning into a raccoon.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like your existence is just too much for him. “And you thought the best course of action was to come here and… grovel?”

You nod pathetically. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

For a moment, he looks like he’s about to just walk away, leaving you to your breakdown. But then his eyes narrow, and he points at your backpack. “What’s that?”

“Huh?” You look down and see the sunscreen bottle sticking out. “Oh, uh, that’s just something I made. I’ve been working on a skincare formula for sensitive skin.”

He steps closer, plucking it from your bag with the grace of someone used to handling priceless artifacts. “Skincare, you say?” He opens it, sniffing it cautiously before dabbing a bit onto the back of his hand. His eyes light up for a second, and you swear you hear an angelic choir in the background. “Hm. Not bad. A bit of a lavender undertone. Smooth texture. SPF 50?”

You nod. “Y-yeah.”

He looks back at you, and for the first time since he appeared, you see the barest hint of approval on his face. “It’s hard to find good skincare products these days, even among the fairies.”

You’re not sure how to respond. Is this your life now? Trading finals survival for skincare tips with a beautiful fairy?

“Well,” he says, still admiring the product, “I suppose I could grant you one wish. One. But only if you agree to make more of these skincare products for me.”

“Really?” You blink, not entirely believing your luck. “You’ll help me?”

He gives you a sidelong glance, a smirk playing on his lips. “I don’t do charity. But your skincare is adequate. And it’s not every day I meet someone this close to unraveling. It’s almost entertaining.”

You stare at him, mouth hanging open like a fish. “Deal. Deal. I’ll make you whatever skincare you want, just get me through these finals.”

He gives a nod, satisfied. “Then we have a deal.”

And just like that, you’ve somehow bartered your way out of academic doom with a fairy obsessed with sun protection. Let’s hope this arrangement works out better than the rest of your life so far.

Apparently, fairies like Vil don’t believe in things like cheating or, you know, the basic decency of using magic to fix your problems instantly. No, that would be too easy. And Vil—your very pretty, very exasperating new fairy overlord—has decided that the best way to help you pass your finals is to tutor you personally.

His price? One skincare product per lesson. And you, being surprisingly decent at making potions and cosmetics (alchemy major, what else), agreed because, at the time, you thought, How hard could it be?

Sweet summer child. You had no idea what you were getting into.

Because Vil? He’s not just strict. He’s villain origin story strict. His “tutoring” is so intense, so grueling, that you’re starting to wonder if he’s secretly training you for some kind of sadistic mage boot camp. At one point, you fail a poison-brewing technique, and he makes you redo it. Then again. And again. And again.

By the fifteenth attempt, you’re seriously contemplating bottling the poison and taking a little sip just to see what happens.

“Again,” Vil says, his voice icily calm, like he hasn’t just been watching you fail for an hour straight.

“I think I’m seeing stars,” you mutter, staring at the cauldron. “Should potions be giving me a near-death experience?”

“Focus,” he says, completely unfazed by your descent into madness. “If you can’t even get this basic potion right, I have serious concerns about your competency as a mage.”

You’re on the verge of a mental breakdown. One more failed attempt, and you’re going to throw yourself off the nearest cliff. Or better yet—turn yourself into a toad and hop into a pot of boiling water. Anything to escape the relentless perfectionism of Vil Schoenheit.

“Maybe I’ll just hex myself into a mushroom and live out the rest of my life in peace,” you grumble under your breath as you stir the potion yet again.

“ What was that?”

“Nothing!” You stir faster.

To your utter shock, the potion finally turns the right color. You’ve done it. You’ve successfully brewed the poison, and it only took, what, half your lifespan?

Vil inspects it with a critical eye, and after a long, painful pause, he says, “Acceptable.”

“Acceptable?!” You want to scream. This is the culmination of blood, sweat, tears, and the remnants of your sanity, and all he has to say is acceptable?

“Yes, acceptable,” Vil repeats, as if your suffering isn’t the most amusing thing he’s seen all week. “You’ll need to refine your technique, of course, but this will suffice for now.”

You groan, head in your hands. “I’m going to transmute myself into a sock and live in someone’s laundry basket.”

But here’s the kicker: despite all of Vil’s strictness, he’s actually the nicest person (fairy?) you’ve ever met. You don’t know if that’s pathetic or straight-up depressing, but still, it’s true. He’s picky, yes, but he cares.

Apparently, Vil has a radar for poor life choices because one day, after what feels like your 57th failed poison attempt, he takes one look at the sad pile of instant noodles and energy drinks cluttering your desk and clicks his tongue in disapproval.

"You've been eating this?" He gestures at the disaster that is your meal—a cup of ramen sitting next to an open bag of questionable chips. His expression could curdle milk. "Do you actually value your internal organs, or are you trying to audition for the role of a trash panda?"

You blink, staring at your gourmet spread, and then back at him. "Excuse me, I’ll have you know, this is an advanced student diet. We run on caffeine and MSG."

He raises an eyebrow. "You’re not running on anything. You’re sputtering at best."

You open your mouth to argue, but then glance down at the pathetic excuse for food in front of you. Okay. Fine. Maybe you are sputtering. But what are you supposed to do, handcraft five-course meals between four finals and Vil’s poison-torture sessions?

Vil sighs dramatically, as if your very existence is a personal affront. "I’m not letting you continue this… self-destruction. You’re going to eat real food even if it kills you." He waves a hand, and suddenly a basket of the most beautiful, vibrant fruits and vegetables you've ever seen appears out of thin air. It's like the entire organic section of a high-end grocery store, but, you know, without the soul-crushing price tags.

"Where did you even get all this?" you ask, poking suspiciously at a particularly shiny apple. "Did you steal it from some enchanted Whole Foods?"

Vil glares at you like you’ve personally insulted his lineage. "I foraged it from my forest, you uncultured turnip."

You blink. "I’m a potato now, and a turnip? What’s next? Are we making a root vegetable salad?"

Vil rolls his eyes. "No, we’re making something that doesn’t resemble a cry for help. Get to it."

You sigh, but with Vil watching like a disapproving food critic, you figure you might as well try to impress him. You rummage through the basket, grab a few ingredients, and somehow manage to throw together a halfway decent stir-fry. You may be broke, but you can cook. It’s one of the few things that hasn't gone completely sideways in your life.

You serve it up with a flourish, smirking a little. "Voilà, a proper meal. Happy now?"

Vil inspects the plate with his usual level of judgment. You half-expect him to whip out a magnifying glass and start searching for flaws. Finally, he takes a bite, chews thoughtfully, and then gives you a rare, grudging nod of approval.

"Surprisingly competent for someone who survives on garbage," he says, in what you can only assume is Vil’s version of high praise.

"Wow, a compliment. I feel blessed," you deadpan, but you’re grinning. It’s not every day you get validation from a fairy with standards so high he probably judges oxygen.

Vil continues eating, and you join him, secretly proud of the fact that you managed to cook something that didn’t send him into a rant about toxins and poor life choices. For a moment, the two of you sit in companionable silence, just… eating. It’s weirdly nice.

After you both finish, Vil leans back, looking mildly satisfied. "If you continue to feed yourself like a proper human being," he says, "you might actually survive your finals."

"Yeah, well, if I keep spending time with you, I might also survive on sheer fear," you mutter.

He smiles, that rare, dazzling smile that makes your brain short-circuit for a moment. "Fear is a good motivator. But I expect more than just survival from you. I expect excellence."

You groan. "You know, for a fairy who showed up because of my embarrassing begging, you sure do expect a lot."

Vil just smirks. "You begged for help. I’m making sure you don’t embarrass yourself further by failing."

"Touché," you admit, stuffing another bite of food into your mouth to avoid further conversation.

You know, maybe being insulted by the prettiest fairy in existence while eating fresh, organic food isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to you.

But soon enough, it was back to work. After the food debacle, you whipped up a fresh batch of moisturizer for him. It’s something you’ve done a thousand times before, so you’re not expecting much.

Then Vil tries it. And his entire face lights up like you’ve just handed him the elixir of eternal youth.

“This is… impressive,” he says, his voice soft with genuine surprise. “It’s incredibly hydrating, and the texture is—” He pauses, then flashes you a smile that’s so dazzling, it practically sparkles. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

And then, out of nowhere, he leans over and kisses you on the cheek.

You freeze.

Your brain flatlines.

“Wha—Did you just—?”

Vil pulls back, completely unfazed by the fact that he just KISSED YOU. “If you continue to make products of this quality, I may have to keep you around longer.”

Your heart is still trying to restart, but you manage to nod. “Yeah… yeah, sure. Skincare. I can do that.”

You stare at him, wondering if this is real life or if you’ve just died and gone to some bizarre, fairy-run skincare hell. Because if that’s what’s happening, it’s starting to feel weirdly okay. Especially with the way he’s smiling at you.

And as you walk away, still reeling, you catch yourself thinking, Is dropping out of the academy to become Vil’s personal skincare maker really such a bad idea?

Honestly? With a smile like that? You’re starting to think it’s the best idea.

You’ve finally survived—ahem mastered—the hell that was poisons and advanced magical theory under Vil’s terrifyingly perfect supervision. You can now confidently brew lethal concoctions and analyze obscure spells without mentally cursing out every deity you can name. That’s progress. But of course, your next subject is Magical Beasts, and because life apparently hates you, it’s your worst one yet.

When you express this to Vil, expecting some helpful advice or perhaps even a break (hah, wishful thinking), he just waves a hand dismissively.

“I’ll ask a friend for help,” he says simply.

And that’s how you end up in the presence of the most extra fairy you’ve ever seen in your life. (Okay, you’ve met a grand total of two fairies, but still.)

The fairy in question bursts into your study room in a whirlwind of sparkles and sheer chaos, trailing a cloud of rose petals and the distinct scent of overly expensive perfume. He’s tall and elegant, his wings shimmering with iridescent hues, and before you can so much as blink, he’s speaking a mile a minute in a mix of French and pure gibberish.

“Mon cher! Quelle horreur! This room is an insult to aesthetics! Non, non, I simply cannot work in these conditions!” he cries dramatically, gesturing wildly at your meticulously organized notes.

You blink. “…What?”

But he’s already prancing around, rearranging your books and scattering glitter like some kind of deranged fairy godmother. Then, with zero transition, Rook starts rambling about magical beasts and their habitats in a way that has your head spinning. One minute he’s critiquing your choice of ink color (“Black? How dull!”), and the next he’s rattling off obscure beast facts with the enthusiasm of a caffeinated professor.

“The Hippogriff prefers moonlight baths! Ah, and the Knarl must be serenaded with music, or it will—how you say?—stab you!” he chirps, waving his delicate hands around in a way that seems more dangerous than helpful.

You’re sitting there, bewildered and slightly concerned for your sanity. “Wait, wait, wait, so—hold up, what do I do if a Knarl shows up in the daytime?”

Rook stares at you like you’ve just asked if water is wet. “Why, you run, of course!” Then he bursts into laughter, as if this is the funniest joke he’s ever heard.

By the end of the afternoon, you’ve lost count of the number of strange and sometimes horrifying tidbits he’s thrown at you. You’re pretty sure you’ve somehow become an expert in magical beast theory without consciously realizing it, and the sheer absurdity of the situation is enough to make you feel like your brain’s been hijacked.

“And that,” the fairy declares with a dramatic twirl, “is how you tame a Chimaera!”

You blink, staring at your notes, which are now a colorful mess of drawings, beast diagrams, and snippets of what you hope are actual instructions and not just fashion advice. “…I feel like I’ve learned a lot. But also absolutely nothing.”

“Perfect!” he crows. “You have done magnifique!”

Before you can process what the heck just happened, you decide to thank him the only way you know how: by giving him a small, beautifully-packaged vial of a custom serum. You’ve worked hard on this formula, combining the best of alchemy and skincare magic, and as soon as you hand it to him, his eyes go wide.

“Pour moi? C’est incroyable!” He clutches it dramatically to his chest, as if you’ve just gifted him a crown jewel. Then, without warning, he’s leaning in way too close, inspecting your face with an intensity that borders on obsessive. “Mon Dieu, you are a true artiste! So beautiful! So—”

“Excuse me,” a low, frosty voice cuts in.

You turn just in time to see Vil gliding over, expression smooth but eyes narrowed. With the grace of a professional diplomat (or maybe a particularly possessive cat), he slips between the two of you, placing a firm hand on the other fairy’s shoulder and gently guiding him away from your personal space.

“Thank you for your assistance, Rook,” Vil says with a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “We appreciate your expertise, but I believe that’s enough for today.”

Rook pouts but finally relents. He throws one last, longing glance at your serum and then at you, as if you’re both equally captivating. “Ah, c’est dommage… I shall return!” With that, he flits off, leaving you standing there, more confused than ever.

You turn to Vil, raising an eyebrow. “Uh… thanks?”

But Vil isn’t looking at you like a savior. No, he’s looking at you like you’ve just betrayed his entire bloodline.

“Excuse me,” you ask, blinking in confusion. “Did… did I do something wrong?”

“You,” Vil says slowly, his voice dangerously soft, “are my skincare human.”

You stare at him. “Um. What?”

“Mine.” Vil’s gaze flickers pointedly between you and the direction Rook flew off in, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I did not agree to share your talents with anyone else.”

Oh. Oh.

“Vil,” you say, a grin spreading across your face despite yourself. “Are you… jealous?”

The way his expression shifts from imperious to indignant would almost be funny if it weren’t so incredibly satisfying. “Jealous?” he scoffs, tossing his hair back with a haughty flick. “Don’t be absurd.”

You glance pointedly at the pink tips of his ears, which are steadily darkening into a bright red.

“Riiight,” you say slowly. “Totally not jealous at all. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m not,” he insists, crossing his arms, but his voice is just a fraction too defensive.

“Sure, sure,” you say with a mock-serious nod, fighting to keep a straight face. “It’s just that, you know, your ears are kind of giving you away.”

Vil sputters, shooting you a glare that could melt glass. “You—!”

“I’m just saying!” you chirp, smirking as you lean back. “I’m your skincare human. Got it, boss.”

He narrows his eyes, but the flush on his ears betrays him. “Remember it,” he huffs, turning sharply on his heel. “And don’t you dare give away my products to anyone else without consulting me first.”

You watch him stalk off, your grin widening. Maybe studying under Vil isn’t so bad after all.

Finally, your last subject: Offensive Magic. You’re almost at the finish line, but there’s one little problem. Apparently, dueling Vil or Rook is a fast track to the afterlife, and you aren’t too keen on becoming a cautionary tale.

That’s how you find yourself facing off against the youngest of the bunch—a fairy named Epel. He looks as thrilled to be there as you are, which is to say, not at all.

“Vil made me do this,” he mutters under his breath, glaring at nothing in particular.

You quickly realize that Epel’s main emotion is mild resentment, which honestly? Relatable.

The duel begins, and you’re expecting something simple—maybe some low-level spells, something to pad out your barely passing grades. But then Epel smirks, lifts his hand, and suddenly, half the field explodes in a brilliant display of magic that has you rethinking your life choices. Like, seriously reconsidering everything that led you to this exact moment.

You’re left standing there, jaw practically on the floor as bits of dirt rain down around you. “Holy shit,” you breathe. “You’re so cool.”

Epel freezes. His eyes dart to you, clearly shocked by the praise, and he suddenly looks a lot less surly. “...Really?”

“Yeah! That was amazing! I didn’t even know you could do that!”

He rubs the back of his neck, trying to hide a smile. “Well, I’ve been practicing…”

And just like that, you’re friends. Bonded over the mutual understanding that Offensive Magic is both terrifying and awesome when Epel’s involved.

Later that day, after a lesson where you actually didn’t almost explode yourself (personal growth!), you, Vil, and Epel are lounging in the forest. Rook’s off doing...whatever mysterious thing he does, leaving you all in relative peace. You’re casually chatting about the lessons when Epel, totally offhandedly, drops the biggest bomb of the century.

“Yeah, well, you’re pretty lucky the king of the fairies decided to help you out.”

You blink. “The what?”

Epel gives you a look like you’ve just asked if the moon was real. “The king of the fairies. You know, Vil.”

You almost choke. “Vil’s the king of the fairies?” Your voice cracks like you’ve hit puberty again.

Vil, lounging nearby, doesn’t even flinch. “Didn’t I mention that?”

“NO. YOU DIDN’T.”

“Well, now you know.”

You stare at him, mind reeling. “I’ve been—wait—what in the Sevens—you’re the king of the fairies? And you just—casually tutor people? Like it’s no big deal?!”

Vil sighs, flipping through a book as if this is the most normal thing in the world. “I thought it was obvious.”

“It was not obvious!” You’re flailing at this point, and Epel is snickering behind his hand, clearly enjoying your existential crisis.

Vil’s still cool as a cucumber, but when you stammer, “No wonder you’re the most beautiful fairy I’ve ever seen,” you catch the faintest flicker of a smirk on his face. He straightens up just a little bit, clearly preening at the compliment.

Rook suddenly appears out of nowhere, laughing like he’s just witnessed the funniest thing in his life. “Ah! How charming! Our humble little mage finally sees the light!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumble, feeling your face heat up. “This is too much. My brain can’t handle this.”

The lesson ends, and you decide to thank Vil the only way you know how—by crafting him a night cream as a parting gift. You’ve gotten pretty good at making skincare, and you can tell he’s been eyeing this particular blend.

But then, in a rare moment of what can only be described as vulnerability, Vil hands you the jar and says, “Could you…apply it for me?”

You freeze. “Huh?”

He’s holding it out to you, but he’s not meeting your eyes, and—wait, are his hands shaking? You squint. Is he nervous?

Nah. Can’t be. Vil doesn’t do nervous.

“Sure,” you say, trying not to overthink it. You take the jar and start gently massaging the cream into his flawless skin. Vil closes his eyes, and for a moment, it’s almost…peaceful.

“You’re really good at this,” he murmurs.

You smile to yourself, oblivious to the emotional storm brewing inside him. “Thanks! I’ve been practicing.”

What you don’t realize is that this was your last lesson. Vil knows this. And for some reason, it’s hitting him hard. He’s spent all this time tutoring you, teaching you everything he knows, and now…you won’t need him anymore. You won’t come back. You’ll pass your exams and move on with your life, leaving him behind. And the thought of that—it stings more than he wants to admit.

Meanwhile, you’re completely unaware of his inner turmoil, humming to yourself as you finish applying the cream. “There you go. All set!”

You stretch, packing up your things, already mentally planning your next skincare batch for him. “Well, I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Wait.” Vil’s voice is soft, almost hesitant. You blink as he suddenly pulls you into a hug, catching you completely off guard.

“Uh…Vil?”

He’s holding you tightly, and when he speaks, his voice is a little sad. “Good luck.”

You frown, confused. “Why do you sound so sad? I'll pass my exams for sure after all your help.”

He doesn’t respond. You shrug and hug him back, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Alright, see you later, drama king.”

And with that, you stroll off, leaving Vil standing there, still holding on to the weight of his unspoken feelings.

Rook, watching from a distance, smiles knowingly. “Ah, how bittersweet…”

Epel just rolls his eyes. “Man, this is like watching a soap opera.”

You passed your exams. Scratch that—you topped them. You’re basically an academic legend now, leaving everyone wondering what kind of ancient god you made a pact with. The professors are whispering your name like you’re some ancient prodigy who’s been secretly acing exams since the dawn of time.

Naturally, you’ve decided to celebrate by making your magnum opus: the most legendary lip balm the world has ever seen. The kind of balm that could revive a dying star, or, more realistically, soothe the chapped lips of a certain fussy fairy.

With your glorious lip balm in hand, you set off to the forest to see Vil. The path is familiar, and yet, today something feels... off. The trees look droopy, the flowers are wilting—like someone forgot to water this whole section of the forest.

“Oh, great,” you mutter, stepping over a vine that looks like it’s given up on life. “Did everyone just forget what hydration is?”

When you reach Vil’s cottage, your gut instinct kicks into overdrive.

Something’s wrong. Really wrong. Your heart is racing. You knock once. Twice. Still nothing. Panic sets in, and before you know it, you’re knocking the door clean off its hinges in your haste.

“Oops,” you whisper, but there’s no time to dwell on it because you see someone on the bed. It’s Vil, and he’s looking about as far from his usual flawless self as you’ve ever seen. He’s feverish, pale, and frankly, it kind of looks like he's dying.

“Vil!” you rush over, shaking him gently. He opens his eyes, squinting at you like you’re an overly bright light in the middle of his fever dream.

“I didn’t know hallucinations could be so vivid,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse.

“What hallucinations? I’m real!” You’re practically crying now, shaking him harder. He just smiles faintly, completely convinced that you’re some fever-induced mirage.

Fantastic. Not only is he sick, but he also thinks you’re a figment of his imagination.

Frantically, you start brewing a cooling potion, your hands shaking as you mix the ingredients. Vil just watches you with a dazed, slightly amused expression, like he’s impressed that his hallucination has such a good grasp on potion-making.

“I’m real,” you repeat, as you pour the potion down his throat. He gives a tiny nod before slipping back into unconsciousness.

Cue full-on panic mode. You don’t know what’s happening or why Vil’s like this, so you do the only thing you can think of—you send a carrier pigeon to Rook, because of course fairies don’t have phones.

Rook shows up in record time, practically gliding into the cottage like some kind of majestic hunting bird. He takes one look at the pitiful scene—Vil feverish and weak, you hovering like an anxious mother hen—and smiles.

“Oh, he’s heartbroken,” Rook declares, as if that explains everything.

“Heartbroken?!” you echo, disbelief dripping from every syllable. “I saw him two days ago, and he was fine. How could he be heartbroken in two days?!”

“Ah,” Rook says, his eyes twinkling with dramatic flair, “fairies can only fall in love once, and when they do, they fall hard. He thought you wouldn’t return after your exams. He was suffering in silence, believing you’d move on without him.”

You stare at Rook, dumbfounded. “Is he blind?!” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been horrendously in love with him since day one! How could he not notice?”

Rook just beams at you, like you’ve confirmed his favorite romantic theory. “Ah, l’amour. So tragic, yet so beautiful.”

At this point, you’re ready to throw your hands up in frustration. How does Vil not notice? You’ve been making him skincare products, practically living in his cottage, and hovering over him like a lovesick puppy. Could he really think you were just going to leave? But of course, Vil—being Vil—had assumed you’d outgrow him and move on to something better, leaving him behind like a discarded serum bottle.

With renewed determination, you take care of Vil, nursing him back to health with potions and plenty of water. You even manage to coax him to eat something other than the fairy equivalent of air-dried kale. Slowly, he starts looking more like himself, his fever fading and his color returning. But when he finally wakes up, fully lucid, his eyes widen in shock.

“You... you’re real?” he whispers, staring at you like you’re some miraculous vision.

“Yes, I’m real,” you huff, crossing your arms. “And I made this.” You pull out the lip balm you’ve been working on, your prized creation. You swipe some on your lips and then lean down to kiss him.

Vil blinks, stunned into silence. After a moment, a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That’s... a surprisingly effective balm.”

You grin, feeling the tension melt away. “Maybe you should test it again.”

Vil wastes no time, pulling you in for another kiss, his lips soft and cool from the balm. He kisses you a second time, then a third—because, well, it’s important to make sure the balm has long-lasting effects, right?

But then, you pull back slightly, the grin slipping from your face. “Vil, I... I passed all my exams. I even got an offer to move to the capital.”

Vil’s entire body tenses. His hands, still resting on your waist, tighten slightly as his eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place—fear? Dread? Whatever it is, it’s like a storm cloud settling over him.

“Oh.” His voice is soft, but there’s a weight to it, like he’s bracing himself for the inevitable. “I see.”

You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself so carefully, as if preparing for you to tell him you’re leaving. That you’re going to take the offer and disappear from his life, just like he feared. He’s already trying to let you go, even as his hands tremble slightly against your waist. It hits you all at once—how terrified he must have been, thinking you’d leave him behind.

For a moment, you just watch him, your heart aching at the sight of his barely concealed distress. And then, finally, you say, “I declined the offer.”

Vil’s breath catches. His eyes snap up to yours, wide with disbelief. “You... you what?”

You smile, leaning in closer. “I declined. I’m not going anywhere, Vil. In fact...” You take a deep breath, your grin widening. “I’m opening a skincare shop right here, on the edge of the forest. And I’m going to live here. With you. No arguments.”

For a moment, Vil just stares at you, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Then, slowly, the tension in his body dissolves, replaced by pure, unfiltered relief. His hands, which had been shaking moments ago, steady as they pull you closer, wrapping you in a tight embrace.

“You’re staying?” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’m staying,” you confirm, your heart swelling at the way he’s holding you, like he’s afraid to let go.

Vil presses his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice so soft, you almost miss it.

Your heart skips a beat. You smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I love you too, drama king.”

Vil huffs out a small, breathy laugh, pulling you down into the bed with him, his arms wrapped securely around you. For a moment, everything is still, peaceful, as you lie there together, tangled in each other’s arms. Neither of you says a word, content just to hold each other, the weight of the past few days finally lifting.

And as you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel a sense of warmth, knowing that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be—by Vil’s side, where you’ve always belonged.

I'm so deeply in love with this man it's kinda embarrassing

Masterlist

[jingyi-ma-boi]

Well, the crack had to be there at some point, yk? And honestly, the idea of a queer 17-ish year old making SQQ and SQH go absolutely ballistic cause they're constantly trying to not give themselves away through their reactions to their shit has got me in a chokehold for the past few days.

I can perfectly picture their bewilderment at the way this kid knows SO MUCH about them while talking in a non-stop string of gen-z douyin memes and tumblr deep lore cause of course this kid learnt how to bypass censorship using proxy IDs at 13. At one point, in private, the kid meows at them and pulls the 'ichi ni san! nya! arigato!' dance at them just to spite them and see if they can get them to stop pretending they aren't transmigrators.

SQH develops a tic in his eye cause he didn't think PIDW could get any worse nor chaotic than it was before he transmigrated. But now! A queer! Anarchist! Cat person! Who's a fucking OTAKU invested in kawaii culture, gay shit, and messing with rich people with poor cybersecurity measures (maia arson entered the chat) has hijacked his stallion-novel-turned-danmei! He thought he had escaped the bad clichéd tropes and finally managed to make PIDW a novel with a great plot and even greater, beautifully constructed complex characters. And then this kid comes to fuck shit up in the extras, and kick him in the balls.

Meanwhile the kid would be so happy, being able to jump among universes and unleash complete mayhem either because 1) they don't have a System to control their actions, because they're not an actual transmigrator (which in turn makes them have a small existential crises and might become aware of the 4th wall not of PIDW but of SVSSS) giving them the perfect opportunity to pull strings everywhere and do as they please; 2) they have a System, but it basically instructs them to simply be gay, do crimes and have the time of their life because they have transmigrated into fan fiction. The more chaotic and unhinged, the more points they get.

Scenario where PIDW Bingge had something like the fucked up baby dimension from Fire Emblem: Fates for handling his kids.

For those who haven't played enough Fire Emblem games: in Fates you can hook up various characters who will, once they've bonded sufficiently, get married and have children. Because there is a dangerous war on and nobody has time for childcare, these babies get sent to various pocket dimensions where time moves differently, where they are raised by servants. They then reappear in the story as adults (mostly) who are also just like, barely younger than their own parents. This is of course hilariously fucked up, for even more reasons than what a simple overview can convey, and it's also just kind of shrugged off by the narrative despite the many, many bewildering implications involved.

So I'm imagining Airplane stealing this whole concept and sitting down to write about Bingge sending all of his children away in order to protect them from his enemies or whatever other excuse, creating special nursery dimensions with Xin Mo only to not really spend any time with his offspring at all, resulting in a lot of them growing up extra fast and reentering the story as adults at wildly unpredictable intervals (i.e. whenever Airplane feels like it without having to remember the timelines involved because *waves hand* time passes differently in the different dimensions too). For the daughters, this just gets them married off into alliances (if they're even mentioned at all, because Airplane doesn't want to write incest and there's basically only one reason female characters get mentioned in this story), but for the sons, this usually has them showing up as upstart challengers to their father's throne. With a conclusion, generally, of them getting their asses kicked and then being sent back to their pocket dimensions with their tails between their legs (Binghe killing his own kids would be too reprehensible, after all). Sometimes (rarely) they become loyal generals. One or two have died to fuel revenge arcs. The protagonist halo extends only limited benefits to his kids.

Anyway, Shen Yuan of course reads all of this and absolutely hates it. What do you mean Binghe doesn't even raise his own kids?! What do you mean even their mothers don't?! Shen Yuan understands that Luo Binghe is an important guy with important things to do, but handling it this way makes it impossible to even consistently visit his children on their birthdays! They'd be having birthdays every day because they're all on freaking Narnia time! And of course his sons keep growing up and trying to overthrow him, surely Binghe himself should appreciate that under these conditions, his children are going to see the servants raising them as parents more than some distant emperor they've never met...? Not to mention, if time moves quickly in these dimensions, theoretically Binghe could just stay there with his kids himself and not have to worry too much about things changing in his realm, because only a few months would pass there! He could have it both -- spend plenty of time with his kids and not worry about neglecting his responsibilities! So why doesn't he do that?!

The answer (never actually provided by Airplane) is that Bingge doesn't really feel a strong connection to his children, and because of his reverence for his adoptive mother, he thinks that giving them peaceful lives with simple people to raise and love them is the kindest thing he can do for them. If he could have had an idyllic childhood with his mother in a place where nothing could harm him, he would have never sought power at all.

But of course, Binghe's kids aren't thinking "oh gosh yeah my humble childhood in a magic dimension was much better than starving on the streets!" because that wasn't ever going to be their fate in the first place. Instead they all develop varying complexes about being sent away by their impossibly remote father and his giant harem.

Possible fic ideas involving this setup:

-Bingyuan where Shen Yuan transmigrates into the intended tutor of one Luo Binghe's most troublesome sons. SY arrives in the baby dimension and immediately bonds with the little Luo, gets really mad about the whole situation all over again, and when Bingge shows up for a rare visit, rips him a new asshole about it. Romcom shenanigans ensue.

-Scenario where SV's Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe decide they're ready to adopt, and SQQ figures out a back door into PIDW Binghe's baby dimensions and just sort of, ehm, borrows some of the children he knows had really bad times in the novel (not all of the idyllic upbringings worked out, there were instances of the dimensions being attacked and the servants there being killed and etc). Bingge eventually finds out. Dramatics ensue.

-When PIDW Binghe tries to summon a Shen Yuan of his own to the PIDW world using Xin Mo, it accidentally creates some stability issues with the baby dimensions. Shen Yuan get teleported in and out of these dimensions instead, bonding with the kids there to various degrees, only to be swept away every time Bingge tries to use Xin Mo to find him again. A handful of years later, a bunch of new Heavenly Demon scions emerge as adults with the Luo family's Shizun Complex in full swing, right around the same time that Bingge finally captures Shen Yuan. Hijinks ensue.

[hallelujahmeatgod]

Arranged Marriage, but make it Deadpan Overachievers

Soooo imagine this:

Sylus and the fem!Y/N are like a pair of second-eldest-only-children who treat emotions the way you'd treat a low-priority email: acknowledged, brushed off, and filed away. They're both high-functioning overachievers with no patience for romance, drama, or anything that doesn’t come with a deadline and neatly color-coded tags.

So when their parents drop the “We’re arranging your marriage” bomb, neither even blinks.

Y/N, in the middle of three deadlines and a dangerously full coffee cup, just nods. “With whom?” she asks flatly, not even looking up from her computer screen. Her assistant, already overworked, now has a new task titled ‘Background Check: Sylus. Blood type optional. Tax records preferred.’

Meanwhile, Sylus gets handed a “family photo” that’s actually MC’s LinkedIn profile. He stares. “That’s her? Cute. And she did that project? Since when are arranged marriages a win? K-dramas lied to me. Arrange me harder, Pops.”

Emotions? Who has the bandwidth. Flustered? For what. Their first meeting is peak corporate courtship:

Y/N: “Hi. I read your company’s last quarterly report. Nice cost-cutting strategy.”

Sylus: “Thanks. I liked your thesis. Wanna split a Google Calendar?”

To everyone’s horror, they become that couple. The annoyingly in-sync duo who treat romantic gestures like they’re fiscal strategies. Love language? Spreadsheets with consistent formatting.

Sylus straight up restructures his entire workflow to mirror his wife's. Templates? If they’re not in her style, he physically cannot process them. Reports? If they’re not written like hers, suddenly he forgets how to read. Schedules? If they’re not plotted like she does, he swears time itself becomes an illusion, and he will miss everything.

People expected passion or tension or at least some drama.

Instead, they got a power duo that accidentally soft-launched their love story through synced schedules, iced coffee deliveries, and the occasional “Drink this or suffer.”

They’re still burnt out. Still sleep-deprived. Still running on ambition and spite. But now? There’s late-night takeout, quiet laughter, and Sylus’s off-key humming while cooking eggs.

Marriage wasn’t a plot twist—it was a peaceful pact sealed over shared Google Docs and matching time-blocks. And somehow, without realizing it, it turned into home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm currently writing a fic based on this, ya'll! Stay tuned mehehhehehe <3 Hope you like this idea as much as I dooooo~

Let me know your thoughts??

[kitthepurplepotato]

Chapter 8: What do you mean I’m basically married?!

Summary: Eijirou slowly but surely puts one and one together. Mostly slowly. But it’s getting there.

Also, Y/N gets an agency tour.

Warnings: Swear words, “some” sexual tension here and there, but that’s it!

First Chapter Master List Potato support

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Good morning, puppy dog.” An angel talks to him right after he opens his eyes, so obviously, Kirishima must have died in his sleep and this is Heaven.

When Kirishima thought about Heaven, he thought about something innocent, like your childhood puppy running towards you, your mom or your favorite grandma; well, to be fair, most of Eijioru’s family is still alive so that wouldn’t make sense but… he thought about something sweet. Something cute. Not this lewd scene in front of him.

Don’t get him wrong, he’s more than happy to live in this dream forever; he’d like to keep staring at Y/N’s little pajama camisoles, one strap slowly falling off her shoulders, showing a bit too much of her beautiful boobs for it to be appropriate. He could stare at those bouncy things for eternity.

“Hey, my eyes are up here.” Y/N giggles with that sweet voice and Kirishima looks up, probably blushing like a teenage boy seeing boobies for the first time, eyes sparkling with interest.

“Did you die too?” Kirishima asks as he slowly puts the fallen strap back to its place, his fingers lingering around her beautiful shoulders a bit too long, but it doesn’t really matter; he’s dead anyway. He can do whatever he wants, right?

Okay, he would never do such a thing. Dead or alive, consent is really important.

“What are you talking about? You are alive. Do you not remember yesterday?”

Oh. Yesterday… uhm…

“It’s a bit blurry.” Kirishima admits. “I was sleep-deprived and… not in a good mood. Then I went to see you. Then…” Kirishima jumps away like Y/N is an open flame and he’s about to burn to crisp. “I’m so sorry. I… I thought this is a dream? Sorry for touching you!”

Kirishima really wants the ground to open under him .

~•🪨•~

“You only touched my shoulders, Ei. What the heck are you so stressed about?” You giggle to yourself, putting your head back on the pillow and Ei does the same. You cheekily move closer until your noses brush; Eijirou sighs contentedly, his fingers playing with your hair, lost in his own little world.

“Why are you so nice to me?” He mutters and you can’t help laugh.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Because I’m your hubby?” Eijirou comes to the conclusion and technically, he is… right? You nod. “What if I want to be more than a hubby?” You scrunch your face in confusion. What does he mean by that?

“I don’t think you can be more than a hubby. Hubby is the… highest rank?” You say with utter confusion. “I think you need to eat, puppy. I’ll make you a nice breakfast and a little bento for work, okay? I can also make you a caramel macchiato. I might have stolen one of the machines and told Uncle he just forgot to order it…”

Finally, Kirishima laughs, his sweet giggling melting your heart.

“You did not!”

“Oh yeah, I did! And you know what the funny thing is?” You mumble, barely able to hold your laugh. “He fucking knows. He uses it every time he comes over. Sometimes he even makes a joke about it.”

“He must really love you. I mean, I’m not surprised.” Ei giggles and you can’t help but blush at that.

“I mean… I’m not that great.”

“Oh, you are.”

“Shut up or I’ll kiss you on the mouth.” You yell, completely flustered.

“Come on then.” Eijirou smirks and it sounds like a challenge so needless to say you leave a disgustingly wet kiss on his mouth, out of spite then jump out of the bed, taking the comforter with you. “What was that… hey, I’m cold!” Eijirou’s face switches between being flustered and being extremely offended and it’s the funniest thing ever.

“Sucks to be you, Ei baby!” You leave to start on breakfast, still giggling by the time you arrive to the kitchen. Your face is as red as a ripe tomato; oh my goodness, you actually kissed him!

Hell, you could get used to this.

~•🪨•~

After breakfast you both make your way to your coffee shop. Eijirou looks like he’s having the time of his life; he’s skipping next to you like a child, his fingers entwined with yours like yesterday didn’t even happen.

“You know, I never eat before work. I just can’t be bothered. But I swear the sky looks brighter with a full belly.” He mutters to himself with a massive smile on his face. “Or maybe it’s just the fact that you are with me.” Your heart has a hard time to comprehend all of the praise. You squeeze Eijirou’s hand. “What?” He looks back up at you, still pulling you forward but walking backwards like an idiot.

“You could have anyone in the whole wide world, Eijirou.” You admit. “You are sweet and gentle and so much fun. Handsome, perfect. You could date any model, actress or even a fellow hero, people who are on the same level as you. Yet here you are, hand in hand with a low-life barista who’s too fucking selfish to be a hero, even though she has a license.”

“That’s not really the reason why you’re not… a hero.” Eijirou says like he already knows you like he knows the back of his hands. “You grew up with a hero, saw the red flags and you decided that this life is not for you. I haven’t seen those red flags, you know. Not until I was in way too deep to give up. I won the biggest fight in the history when I was in my first year of high school. I got the fame, I got so many opportunities I didn’t even know which one to take.” Eijirou finally stops and pulls you towards him. “I felt so cool, so fortunate, and to be honest, I would still choose this path but mostly because of the promise I made to myself when I was young.”

“So you don’t think I’m selfish?” You look into his eyes, trying your best to find a lie, but there is nothing but pure adoration there, as always.

“Y/N, your pure existence is like an energy drink to me. Every time I fall on the floor you take my hand and pull me up. Every time you smile I feel like that young kid again, full of desire to save, to be something more than a mere human being. Your kisses are like fuel to the fire, it keeps me going every time… I don’t remember the last time I was so excited to go to work.” He smiles. You are half second away from crying. “You don’t need to fight baddies with your life on the line to be a hero. You don’t need to be on the battlefield to save people. One smile, one kind retort is enough sometimes. That’s all it takes to change someone’s mind about… things. Bad things. Y/N, you saved me from myself many times in the last few weeks. You are my hero.”

You can’t keep the tears rolling down your cheeks. You can’t stop yourself from leaving a tiny kiss on Eijirou’s lips right in front of your coffee shop, probably giving the hero agency’s CCTV team the time of their lives by letting them see this in full HD.

“I can’t wait to marry you.” You mutter without thinking.

“Hey, I haven’t even said the cool line I came up with in my head!” Eijirou retorts with a slight blush. “It was something like… I don’t care about anyone else but you… ahh it sounded so much better in my head. I should have said it with a husky deep voice or something…”

“Oh my god, just shut up, you himbo.” You giggle, snuggling into his chest happily. “Fuck, I don’t want to go to work.”

Suddenly, the coffee shop door opens and your boss comes out with a flustered look on her face.

“I don’t care, you are already five minutes late! Chop-chop!”

“Fucking cockblock.” You mutter into Eijirou’s shirt and he giggles so sweetly you almost melt into him.

“If you are free tomorrow, do want to come over to my agency? Deku said he’ll take over for the next few days and I’ll only need to boss the team around… we could hang out the whole day.” Eijirou squishes you so hard you can barely breathe and it says so much you don’t even need to ask if he’s sure about this.

“Only if you tell everyone I’m your fiancé, what about that?”

“They won’t believe me anyway, but okay.”

Damn, you thought he’s going to be more flustered! What the fuck! Oh well, you’ll need to think about other ways to fluster him now, he’s clearly immune to the wifey jokes.

“See you tomorrow, then. Same time?”

“Same time.”

~•🪨•~

“So she kissed you several times on the mouth and you slept in the same bed. And you are telling me she’s not your girlfriend.” Katsuki mutters with a passive-aggressive tone; Kirishima decided to give him a video call after he got into his office, completely freaked out over this new situation. When did this happen?! When did they become… something?! He swears he was only a boy with an unrequited crush yesterday. Then today he’s… he’s in fucking love. So in love he would marry Y/N on the spot without a second thought.

“Don’t forget that they shared a bath.” Katsuki’s fiancé adds, giggling.

Kirishima only sighs. No one understands him. No one.

“Okay, maybe, there is something. We definitely went past the friend zone yesterday. And today. But it was probably just out of pity, like I don’t mean to talk down on myself, but I did look miserable.” Kirishima explains but he only gets and exasperated sigh as a response.

“Kirishima shitty hair Eijirou… why is it so fucking hard for you to understand that the girl you are in love with fucking loves you back?” Katsuki groans. “You are a hot as fuck hero, kind to a fucking fault, honestly, you are the fucking jackpot when it comes to a partner.”

“True.” Katsuki’s fiancé adds. She gets elbowed in the boobs. Gently.

“I don’t know, man. It’s…” Eijirou sighs. “I’m terrified. I promised to learn to love myself before I do anything. But I’m not there yet.”

“If I remember it right, she said she’ll MARRY YOU once you learn to love yourself or some cheesy shit like that. Technically, dating her is okay. Makes sense as well. You don’t just wanna marry her out of the blue.”

“Oh, I do.” Eijirou admits. “But I get what you mean. Should I… ask her out, then?”

Katsuki’s groan is so loud he needs to adjust the volume on his phone before he gets deafened by his own best friend.

“Don’t you fucking dare, you idiot!”

Now he’s really confused.

“What? I’m getting mixed signals here?!”

“YOU ARE ALREADY DATING!” They both yell at the same time.

“Since when?!”

“Since your first date, probably even before, you fucking idiot! You literally proposed to her, do you remember? She’s your fucking fiancé?!”

“WHAT THE FUCK, DID I?!”

“Oh my god.” Katsuki is five seconds from exploding. “Okay. Eijirou. Forget what I just said. Just go with the flow. Let her decide what she wants to do. Even your stupid muscle brain will eventually realize what’s going on once it… uhm… escalates.” Katsuki gives him a shit eating grin. “In case it does and you can’t wait to get home, you have a key to my apartment. Just change the sheets after. Condoms are in the drawer next to the bed. And under my pillow.” The call ends and Kirishima can’t help but yell into the empty space.

“WHAT THE FUCK, KATSUKI?!”

~•🪨•~

You barely slept tonight yet you are still so full of energy you are about to start jumping on buildings instead of using the pavement like a normal person.

Today, you are finally able to visit Ei’s agency; thanks to some villains acting up in the area, Ei had to constantly cancel your agency tour. It had been a week and you’ve only seen him for a few minutes in the mornings; there were days when he managed to stay for a little longer, at least for long enough to have a proper conversation and a few short cuddles and while it makes you sad that you can’t have him for a full day, you really appreciate him trying to give you attention even when his life is hectic. Honestly, he’s such a green flag of a guy.

You can already see him waiting for you by the coffee shop, drumming with his feet excitedly with a box of fancy chocolate and two coffees in his hands.

He clearly tried his best to look put together this morning; he’s wearing a dark red t-shirt, black joggers and fancy, branded sport shoes to finish the look; and if that’s not enough for you to have a heart attack… his hair is in a fucking ponytail. And it suits him so well it should be illegal.

“Well, good morning.” You stare at this beautiful man, your eyes raking through every detail, from his toes to the top of his head. Eijirou looks at the floor with a slight blush on his face.

“Is it too much?” He mutters under his nose, eyes staring at a random tree nearby. Nuh-uh. You are not having it.

“Kirishima Eijirou, look at me.” The redhead follows the order like a good boy. The moment your eyes meet, your whole face blushes. “Fuck, you are handsome. Like, how dare you be this handsome? You should wear your hair like this more often. Actually, scratch that. Don’t wear your hair like this, I don’t need hundreds of women in your toes begging for a piece of you all the fucking time. I can get jealous easily. You don’t want to see me jealous.”

The tension between you two is unbearable at this point, you swear you can see it with your own eyes; tiny sparks of red jumping back and forth between your eyes as Eijirou looses himself in the moment and stares at your lips for several seconds before he catches himself and takes half a step back to take a deep breath.

“I’m an extremely loyal person. I can’t see… anyone… but you… we should… go in. Uhm.” He pushes the chocolate into your hands a bit too aggressively but seeing how flustered he is, you don’t comment on it, and to be absolutely honest you are also kinda rendered speechless by his words.

You two make your way inside the massive building, Eijirou’s hand swaying back and forth right next to yours and you have to physically restrain yourself from lacing your fingers together.

You get a few weird looks by the entrance but Eijirou heads straight up towards the stairs with you, up three flights then he turns left into a massive hall where several sidekicks are enjoying their morning coffees. One of them, a young guy with gorgeous black hair and tattoos looks at you two questioningly first, but then his eyes focus on you and… well… this is not your first rodeo with men and you know that look.

“Wow, Kirishima-san, do you mind introducing me to this beautiful lady?”

You sign exasperatedly.

“She’s with me.”

Wow. If looks could kill this guy would be a meat pâté. And that rough, deep voice? Oh, hell damn. Now all the Daddy Riot jokes make sense.

… that was disgusting, Y/N. Behave yourself.

“Yeah, I can see that.” The guy looks so confused by Eijirou’s sudden change of tone but by the look of it, this was all the meanness Eijirou had in him because he becomes a stuttering mess the next moment.

“I mean… she’s here with me, she’s… uhm… fuck… her name is…”

He’s such a himbo.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, I’m Eijirou’s.” You wink at the young guy while you show the ring on your finger. “Do I need to spell it out or are you a clever boy who’s capable to put one and one together?”

“Hah, good joke. Is it April’s fools or something? Is this a prank?” The guy laughs and oh how much you want to smack him in the face. The whole room is staring you now and by the look of it, most people are indeed surprised by this revelation but most of them definitely believe you. It’s a good start.

“Would you like me to make out with him in the middle of his workplace to prove it, or are we all adults here and we can all move on from this? Also, why are you so surprised by this?”

The guy grins like he knows something. You hate his face. Literally hate it.

“Well, last week he was lovelorn over the barista next door not liking him back, sorry if seeing he has a fiancé kinda makes me question what’s happening here.”

“Dude.” You roll your eyes. “I’m the barista.” You laugh wholeheartedly. “Aww, you talked about me? That’s so sweet!”

“This is so embarrassing!” Eijirou facepalms himself.

“Sorry to interrupt but I’m still confused by the ring part of the story?” The guy looks at you two like you both grew two heads.

“Oh that? Yeah, well… none of your fucking business.” You give the guy another wink and cuddle into your hubby’s side.

“Just what my lady said.” Somehow, Eijirou looks much more confident about the situation now and it does something to your heart, if you are being honest. “Wanna see Dynamight’s office?”

“Hell yeah.” You two make your way towards the end of the hallway that opens from the right side. You don’t miss all the fond gazes coming from the other sidekicks; clearly, Eijirou is really loved by his team. Well, except by that fuckhead but once Katsuki is back you’ll make sure he gets a lovely notice in the next few days… yes, you are petty like that.

“That was… embarrassing. But fun. I’m glad you are here.” Eijirou squeezes your hand that somehow ended up in his. Something is different in the way he acts around you; he looks less lost, less embarrassed and while you don’t really understand what changed in the last few hours, you are glad it finally feels like you two are together.

“Ei… I’m really glad I’m here too.” You smile at him as he opens the door to Dynamight’s office, which is also the Menace’s office, or at least you think so as one half of the room is… well… girlier than the other.

“This is the biggest office in the building.” Eijirou grins proudly. “And that…” he points at the window in the middle. “… is the window I was thrown out of.”

“Wow, what a fun fact!” You giggle as you snuggle into his side. “Any more fun facts?”

“Hmm…” Eijirou contemplates for a while. “Well… uhm… there was one day when I barged in as I always do and I’ve seen Katsuki and his fiancé… heavily making out on that desk.” Eijirou points at Katsuki’s massive office table with a blush on his face.

Oh damn. It’s time for some teasing!

“Oh yeah? What were they doing exactly?”

“Uhm… I just… told you? They were making out?” Eijirou answers, utterly flustered.

“Was she sitting on the top of it?” You ask as you make your way towards the star of the day; the cheeky desk. With one swift move you sit up on the tall desk with your legs dangling from the edge. Eijirou gulps loudly. “Like this?”

“You are teasing me again.”

“I’m not.” You barely let him finish his own sentence, a little bit offended. “I wanted to but now I just… want you to show me where Katsuki was.”

You can see the moment when he realizes your intentions. You can see the moment his whole posture freezes as he stares at the empty space between your legs. He gulps once more and comes closer; you forget to breathe as he closes the distance and puts his two hands on the hardwood by your two sides.

“He was like this. And she was…” suddenly, he touches your thighs and snakes your legs around his middle. Your whole body shivers and you can’t help but make a little whine, mostly, from the surprise. “Like this.”

Something changes between you once again. The room is charged with so much heat you swear the walls are melting from it. Eijirou’s gaze if full of hunger but also full of restraint; he’s clearly fighting with himself to not take this further, which in some way, is understandable as having your proper first kiss on Eijirou’s best friend’s stupidly massive desk while acting up a scene is not the most romantic thing in the whole world, but you are way too pent up from all this tension, you are way too much in love with the man in front of you to care about silly details like that, you are out of patience, you are out of common sense and maybe deep inside you are just way too self conscious about your perfect boyfriend and you need some kind of affirmation that yes, you are needed, yes, you are enough, maybe his coldness when it comes to physicality put a lot of pressure on you and you started to doubt yourself…

Eijirou has no idea about all the bad stuff going on in your head yet somehow, he soothes your troubled soul with nothing but his gaze; his eyes rake over your lips, your chin, your chest, then he stops and stares at the connection of your hips and his own; his eyes darken into the color a ripe cherry and the world shifts again, the world melts, Eijirou’s fingers clench your thighs, it hurts, but it’s also… extremely stimulating.

He’s so close, fuck, you can feel his ragged breath on your lips, it’s so warm and smells like coffee and chocolate and it really shouldn’t be sexy, but for you, it is the hottest thing in the whole wide world…

“Ei…” you mumble into the almost non-existent space in between you two and Eijirou’s breath hitches….

Then the MOTHERFUCKING DOOR OPENS.

“YEEP!!” The number one motherfucking hero Deku jumps so high he bumps his head into the ceiling.

You got cockblocked by the number one hero of Japan. You’ll put that on your CV.

“Uhm…” Kirishima plops you down on the table like you are nothing but a sack of potatoes. You can’t really be mad it him for it; this situation is quite embarrassing. “I apologize…”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Number two hero Shouto emerges from nowhere. “While I understand the common etiquette and that fooling around during your work hours is disrespectful but we tend to do the same quite often.” Shouto states with a straight face. “Also, when in the office, we are getting payed by ourselves, hence you are not being disrespectful towards anyone but you. If you feel like it’s worth staying an hour longer to finish your paperwork, that’s absolutely fine. I think about it as a self-allocated break.”

“Shouto… it’s not the right time…” Deku mutters, but you jump into his words.

“I think standing in awkward silence is much more inappropriate than addressing the elephant in the room, Deku-san.” You state as you smile up at the tall, half and half hero. “I appreciate your effort. Thank you for being understanding. My name is Y/N and I am Eijirou’s fiancé. Or girlfriend. Or something. It’s a bit complicated to be honest.”

“I’m her Hubby.” Kirishima states and you can’t help but smile at him with fondness.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. I like the color coordination between you two. It’s really nice to look at. My name is Shouto. But in this office I’m mostly called the half and half bastard or Candy Cane or Gay Lord.” Shouto states once again with a straight face. You like this man.

“No one calls you Gaylord.” Deku giggles to himself.

“Katsuki does when you are not around. Apparently I was promoted from gay disaster to Gaylord so I guess that’s a compliment?”

“Sounds like a compliment to me.” You add with a smile on your face. Deku sighs.

“With that said, we just wanted to check in on you, because of what happened the last time I didn’t…”

“She knows, you can speak honestly.” Eijirou adds quickly because the green haired hero looks a little bit uncomfortable as he speaks right now, probably not sure what can he say and what can he not.

“Ahh, great!” Deku sighs. “I’m happy you listened to us and you are taking it easy when you can. I apologize you couldn’t take a proper day off thanks to all the villains roaming around. I was really worried it will be too much for you, you know. I hate seeing my friends distressed. I want everyone to be happy.” Deku sniffles and Shouto gives him a comforting side hug.

“Eijirou is in good hands.” He smiles at his hero partner.

“Yeah.” He nods. “I’m a little bit sad you didn’t tell us you have a girlfriend but life has been hectic and we haven’t been able to meet up during our off days so I guess it makes sense.”

“It happened quite quickly. I’m still getting my head around it.” Eijirou answers honestly.

You talk a little bit more afterwards, then you two move to Eijirou’s office which is full of Crimson Riot memorabilia. Eijirou excuses himself for a toilet break after a quick tour; His exit is quite rushed which makes you wonder if he has any kind of… well… tummy issues but you decide not to comment on it. You plop down in the comfy sofa by the side of the office and try to wrap your head around everything; Eijirou was right about things happening a bit too quickly.

Oh well, it’s gonna be fine. You have a lifetime to get used to all the new things.

~•🪨•~

“Eijirou, for the love of god, why are you calling me from the toilet?!” Katsuki yells into the lonesome cubicle.

“You were right.” Eijirou mutters. “And we almost… kissed. Katsuki, I was five seconds away from…”

“Do not fucking finish that sentence, gross.” Katsuki grumbles. “How many times do we need to tell you that you are in a committed relationship before you realize you are basically married?!”

“But it makes no sense, Kats!!” Eijirou yells, frustrated.

“You’ve been on a date. Several dates if we count your morning shenanigans.” Katsuki sighs. “You’ve been romantically embraced by her several times, you’ve had a bath together and you’ve kissed on the mouth. You’ve slept in the same bed. She was with you when you had the biggest meltdown of your life and she’s still fucking there after. Now let’s add the fact that you two almost fucked in the office. How many hints does your French fry brain need to realize you are not single anymore?”

“But she’s too good for me!” Eijirou moans. “She’s beautiful and sweet, she’s everything I always wanted and she’s Crimson Riot’s niece! Also, she calls me her homosexual buddy!” Eijirou adds proudly, because this one for sure will prove his point!

“Excuse me?”

“You heard it right. He calls me a Hubby. So im sorry if I don’t believe this angel is interested in me that way.”

“You are an absolute idiot, Hair for Brains.” Katsuki yells into the phone. Eijirou needs to move the device from his ears to avoid hearing damage. “Have you googled what hubby means?”

“Wh… why would I? It’s obvious!”

“Kirishima Eijirou.”

Eijirou pouts. Then googles hubby.

Definitions of hubby. noun. a married man; a woman's partner in marriage. synonyms: husband, married man.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“Great chat. Bye.” Katsuki disconnects the call with a sigh; Eijirou can hear his fiancé giggling in the background.

He takes a deep breath and gets out of his hiding place…. So now what?

… Next Chapter!

(I swear you won’t need to wait for another 1 year and 1 month for the next chapter lol)

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

TL: @porusuniverse @sixxze @unofficialmuilover @cheesenmax @readingfan @sammmm29 @pwinglez1 @happydragonfrog @magicalhandsherringclam @lovingnightharmony @theequeenofcurses @kirishima-eijirock @nerinefy @selfindulgenthoe @fierysplash213 @woofwoofwolf @touyasprettydoll @confused-smol-fan @themultifandomgirl @dark-witch-bitch @lotusstarr

[brotherwtf]

am currently very sleepy deprived just in general and I'm giggling thinking about how Gale and John would act if they're sleep deprived too

this is obviously a modern au for obvious reasons but I've talked briefly about how Gale would be all snug as a bug in his blanket on his tiny sliver of the bed and John would be absolutely starfished, limbs all over the place with the blanket covering one (1) of his legs and he's good to go

but I think John doesn't really care how much sleep he gets, he's running on two hours and a prayer most days and so he's so used to not getting enough sleep but he drinks red bulls almost religiously and basically a desire to spite God and that is what's getting him through most days

I think Gale is a little more precious about his sleep, he needs his seven hours and when he doesn't get he looks like he was unearthed from a long hibernation whenever he wakes up and he's NOT a morning person, doesn't talk to John in the morning before he has the hottest and most bitter cup of coffee known to man

maybe this is the sleep talking but they would take some diabolical naps lmao

[duvetchico]

blue eagles

collision - (smau)

a yu jimin x fem!reader college smau

NOW PLAYING ; Collision by Straykids “ did you hate me that much? you were always within my reach. where are you now? i cannot find you now. ”

synopsis y/n and jimin used to date. then y/n transferred univs. now they're on rival volleyball teams forced to share a court. jimin caught a volleyball to the head. y/n caught feelings (again). shit’s about to get athletic and emotionally unstable.

main masterlist. masterlist. playlist. thunderspikers.

YU JIMIN - tall, hot, emotionally unavailable. still not over y/n. dated jeno out of spite and regret.

AERI UCHINAGA - gay therapist of the team. doesn’t fight, just threatens calmly. 100% would murder for jimin.

KIM CHAEWON - 5ft nothing, serves like a demon. full-time bitch off-court. “accidentally” elbows u in warm-ups.

HWANG YEJI - team captain, sleep-deprived and done. yells 23 hrs a day. carries team morale and trauma. has beef w/ every ref.

AN YUJIN - fast af, can’t sit still. high ponytail = faster movement. definitely clowned y/n at some point. will trip u for fun, but smile after.

KIM MINJI - silent killer. probably doesn’t run, she floats.

EXTRA/S ;

LEE JENO - temu ken doll. fucking bitch makes me wanna kill him.

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Bittersweet Symphony: Chapter 2.

"You're so beautiful like this," You looked over at the man sitting at his desk, a small smile across his face, illuminated by the small lamp. "Like what? Sleep deprived, haven't showered in 3 days, living off energy drinks and spite?" You joked, shifting a bit self consciously on the leather couch. Rafael gave a small chuckle, "Like you. Looking at you like this, I don't think you've ever looked so beautiful,"

“You need to eat,”.

Carisi’s voice next to you brought you out of your self-induced misery. The cursor on the computer screen blinked a few times before you turned to face your partner. “I ate,” you argued, pulling out a packet of rice paper biscuits.

“You know, when my sister was pregnant, there was this little bakery a few blocks from her apartment that made these scones with ginger and chamomile. I’ll see if they still make them and bring them over some time.”

You smiled weakly at his thoughtfulness, but your stomach turned at the thought of food. “Thanks, Sonny, but I’m fine. Really. Me and food aren't really getting along at the moment.”

Carisi’s eyes softened with concern. “You need to eat,” he repeated gently. “It’s not just about you anymore.”

You sighed, knowing he was right. The stress from the ongoing case had been overwhelming, leaving you nauseous and exhausted. All you wanted was to go into the back room and sleep the rest of the day away. Just as you were about to respond, Carisi reached out and took the packet of rice paper biscuits from your hand, replacing them with a granola bar from his pocket.

“At least try this,” he urged. “It’s got nuts and dried fruit. Better than those biscuits. More nutritious for you and the baby.”

You took the granola bar, unwrapping it slowly. The sweet, nutty apricot smell was surprisingly appetizing. You took a tentative bite, and to your relief, it went down easier than expected.

“Better?” Carisi asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “Thanks, Sonny.”

He smiled, the worry lines on his face easing. “You know I’m here for you, right? Whatever you need, just let me know. I'll bring some more of those over to you later on.”

“I know,” you said softly. “And I appreciate it. More than you know.”

He patted your shoulder gently. “Good. Now, let’s take a five-minute break. We’ve been at this for hours, and you need to relax.”

You nodded, grateful for the reprieve. The two of you walked to the break room, where Carisi made a pot of herbal tea. As you sat together, sipping the warm tea, you felt a sense of calm wash over you.

“You’re a good friend, Sonny,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence.

He chuckled. “Just doing my job. Can’t have my partner running on empty, especially now.”

The sincerity in his words touched you deeply. You knew he wasn’t just talking about the job; he genuinely cared about your well-being, you knew that all he wanted was what was best for you and the small being inside you. The past few weeks he had been the one constant in your life, from the moment you told Liv and the look of shock on her face "Is it-?", to Amanda giving you tips and offering you her daughters old baby clothes "I know you've only just gone into your second trimester but its better to be over prepared then under prepared trust me,".

“Thanks for looking out for me,” you said, feeling a surge of gratitude.

“Anytime,” Carisi replied with a warm smile. “We’re in this together. I told you this. It's you, me, the fetus in there and even Barba if he ever gets his head out of his ass” There was a silence that fell between you, and you knew what was coming next, "Have you heard from him?" You paused mid chew,

the granola bar suddenly feeling like lead in your mouth. You took a slow sip of tea, trying to buy yourself a moment to compose your thoughts. “No, I haven’t,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Carisi’s expression was a mix of concern and frustration. “It’s been weeks, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you said, avoiding his gaze. The pain of Rafael’s absence was a constant ache in your chest. “I thought he’d come around by now, but… nothing.”

Carisi sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I know he’s got his reasons, but this isn’t fair to you. Or the baby. Have you asked Liv if she had heard from him?” You gave a small shrug, "Lets be real for a moment, if she had heard from him she would still leave it up to him to come to me. She wouldn't tell me,"

You nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. “I just don’t understand how he can be so distant. I thought we were in this together.”

“People react to things in different ways,” Carisi said gently. “But that doesn’t make it any easier for you.”

“I just wish he’d talk to me,” you murmured, feeling the familiar wave of sadness wash over you. “I don’t even know if he wants to be involved anymore. I feel like my whole life is on pause waiting for him. Whether it be waiting for him to call me, or to come back or something. I feel like I'm just stuck in this space and I can't even move on from him until I get some type of closure”

Carisi reached out, taking your hand in his. “Listen, no matter what happens with Rafael, you’re not alone. You’ve got me, and you’ve got the squad. We’ll get through this together.”

“Thank you, Sonny,” you said, squeezing his hand. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’re stronger than you think,” he replied with a reassuring smile. “But I’m here for you, every step of the way.”

<:>

Later that evening, as you sat alone in your apartment, the silence was deafening. You picked up your phone, scrolling through old messages from Rafael, trying to make sense of his sudden withdrawal. Your heart ached with longing and confusion. Finally, you decided to call him, hoping to break the silence.

The phone rang a few times before going to voicemail. You took a deep breath and left a message, your voice trembling. “Rafael, it’s me. I just… I need to know what’s going on. Please, call me back. We need to talk.”

You hung up, feeling a mix of relief and dread. You had put yourself out there, and now all you could do was wait. As the minutes turned into hours, the weight of uncertainty settled heavily on your shoulders. <:>

The next morning, you arrived at the precinct feeling more exhausted than usual. Carisi noticed immediately, his brow furrowing with concern. “Any news?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head, trying to keep your emotions in check. “No. Nothing.”

He sighed, pulling you into a comforting hug. “I’m sorry. But remember, we’re here for you. Whatever happens, you’re not alone.”

As the day wore on, you threw yourself into work, trying to keep your mind off the unanswered questions and unspoken words. But every time your phone buzzed, your heart skipped a beat, hoping it was Rafael.

It wasn’t until late afternoon that you finally received a text. Your hands shook as you opened the message.

“Can we meet? - Rafael”

<:>

You couldn’t stop the constant twisting and turning of your stomach. Despite how hungry you felt- the rumbling in your stomach reminding you that you’ve barely eaten anything all day-you couldn’t help the small gag that came over you when the coffee was brought to your table.

God you felt so angry.

The white hot anger that twisted and turned in your stomach with every breath you took. You wanted to yell, you wanted to scream, you wanted to shake him and ask him why you weren’t good enough.

Why did he abandon you?

The silence between you and the man in front of you made your heart ache, conversation between you both used to flow so easily but now, now you couldn’t find a single word to say to him. You knew there was so much you wanted to say, to tell him. There was so many questions you wanted to ask him. So many Why’s you needed answers to, but nothing could come out of your dry lips.

“Is it mine?”.

The words left his mouth quietly, as if he was ashamed for asking. Your head shot up, meeting his brown eyes with your own, the question lingering in the air between you.

Is it mine?

Those words made you feel a hatred you hadn’t ever felt towards Rafael Barba. Not when you first met, not when you would be left red-faced after a lashing from the former ADA, not ever.

“What do you mean is it mine? Of course it’s yours. There isn’t anyone else I’d-“ you swallowed deeply, looking back into the brown liquid inside the cup before pushing it away from you, the smell making you want to regurgitate what little food Carisi managed to shove down your throat before you came.

“Where were you?” You heard your voice break, you wished that you had gotten a glass of water in before starting this conversation. The tears started welling up in your eyes, “I needed you and you weren’t there. Not just for this but for so much more. I woke up, and all you had left me was a note. No one had known where you had gone and I thought-“ You swallowed deeply and began picking at your nails, an anxious trait you had inherited from your grandmother, “I don’t even think it matters anymore. You made your choice,” You stopped picking your nails and looked up, seeing him look at you with an indescribable sadness across his face.

“Of course it matters. I hurt you and for that nothing I do can make up for it. After what happened I couldn’t put you through that. Could you have really been with someone who was labelled a baby killer?” He gave a sarcastic scoff, “I love you. I could never have asked you to give up your career to come with me. To run away with me,”

“But I would have,” You didn’t hesitate to interject, “If you would have asked me to resign and come live in the middle of nowhere with you then I would have,” Your voice rose slightly earning glares from the few patrons in the cafe, “But you took that choice from me thinking you were doing some noble shit. And now I’m pregnant, trying to make decisions that I can’t make by myself. I was alone, I was heartbroken and you weren’t there,”

“And I’m sorry I wasn’t. But I’m here now, I’m here to support you whatever you choose to do,” He went to reach across the table for you but you moved away. The thought of the man you once loved touching you made your skin crawl, you saw who he was and it made you feel sick.

His hand moved back to his cup, “Are you keeping it?”

You let out a small sigh and nodded, “Yep. I don’t-I don’t think I could go through with it. I thought about it, especially since you made it pretty clear you want nothing to do with me, but this is what I’m doing. I'm just over 14 weeks now, so either way this is where we're at. Whether it be with you as co-parents or without you,”

“I was hoping we could talk about that?”

You raised a single eyebrow, motioning for him to continue.

“There wasn’t a day that went by when I didn’t think about you, or what you were doing. I never stopped loving you,”

“Yeah you did. You stopped loving me the day you walked out. I’m not doing this again. I let you in, it took us so long to get where we were. It took years for us to be together and you threw it away because of your ego and your assumptions. I won’t make the same mistake again,” You reached into your small black purse, ruffling around for some bills for the untouched decaf.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll pay,” Rafael stated simply.

You stood up, a bit unstable in your feet as vertigo hit; you paused for a moment before turning to face the man across from you, “The difference between you and me is that when I said I’d love you forever I meant it. You just don’t seem to get it, what you’ve done. You think that you can come back and walk into my life and nothing has changed. But Rafael everything has changed; everything has changed between us. Do you know what I think? I don’t think you came back here for me, I think you came back for something else. Otherwise where were you weeks ago when I called you?” For the first time since you've known him, there was no words which had left his mouth. No sarcasm or sass, no sincerity or words that could make your heart stop in your chest. There was just silence from him. A silence which made your heart break and your decision final. "Did Liv call you here?" You asked with an air of finality, your voice trembling but resolute. You needed to know, even if it shattered the last remnants of hope you clung to.

Rafael’s face contorted with a mix of guilt and sorrow. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The silence between you stretched, thick and suffocating.

“That’s what I thought,” you said softly, more to yourself than to him. The reality of the situation washed over you, leaving you feeling hollow.

“Please, let me explain,” Rafael finally managed, his voice barely audible. “Liv did call me. She told me about your condition, how you were struggling. She thought I should know. But I came back because I needed to see you, to try and make things right.”

You shook your head, a bitter smile forming on your lips. “You had every opportunity to come back on your own. But it took Liv calling you to get you here. That says it all, doesn’t it?”

“I know I failed you,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I thought I was doing the right thing, protecting you from my mess, but all I did was hurt you more. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t change what happened,” you replied, the anger and hurt bubbling up again. “Sorry doesn’t change the fact that you abandoned me when I needed you the most. I can’t trust you, Rafael. Not anymore.”

He looked down at his hands, clasped tightly around his coffee cup. “I understand. I just… I want to be there for our child. I want to make things right, if you’ll let me.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I appreciate that you want to be involved now, but it’s too late for us. I can’t go back to the way things were. But for the sake of our child, we can try to co-parent. We can try to make this work for them.”

Rafael nodded, tears glistening in his eyes. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I promise.”

You stood up, feeling a strange sense of relief mixed with sadness. “We’ll see. But for now, I need some space. I need to figure out how to move forward from this.”

He rose as well, looking at you with a mixture of regret and hope. “I understand. Take all the time you need.”

You turned and walked away, leaving Rafael standing there in the café. As you stepped outside, the cool air hit your face, and you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the past few weeks slowly lifting off your shoulders. It wasn’t going to be easy, but you knew you had the strength to face whatever came next.