#so by the time I get home I can’t do much because I don’t want to risk a flare up that’d incapacitate me for days

[luna-azzurra]

Story Starters #3

Found Family Starters (for the ones who thought they’d always be alone—until someone stayed)

✧ They said "I got you" like it was no big deal. But no one’s ever said that to me and meant it. ✧ I didn’t know I could belong somewhere until I walked into that kitchen and someone had already set a plate for me. ✧ We fight. We yell. We steal each other’s snacks. And still, they show up every time I need them. That’s love, I think. ✧ I used to flinch when someone raised their voice. Now I roll my eyes and throw a pillow at them. That’s growth. That’s home. ✧ They know what my silence means. They don’t push. They just sit beside me until I’m ready. ✧ I told them the worst parts of me. They stayed. That’s when I knew. ✧ We don’t say “I love you” out loud. We say “text me when you get home.” “Eat something.” “You can crash here.” ✧ I’m still learning how to trust it. How to not brace for abandonment. But they haven’t left. Not once. ✧ I never believed in unconditional love. But now there’s this couch, and this blanket, and this messy group of weirdos who make space for me. ✧ They’re not blood. But they’re mine.

Cold Girls, Soft Hearts Starters (for the sharp-edged girls who love quietly, fiercely, and would rather die than admit it)

✧ I don’t do soft. But they smiled at me like I was worth something, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it. ✧ I pretend I don’t care. But I remember their coffee order, their favorite color, the way they hate pickles. ✧ I rolled my eyes at their dumb joke. Then laughed. Then hated how much I meant it. ✧ I pushed them away and they still came back. I hate that. I love that. I don’t know. ✧ I said “I don’t need anyone.” But my voice cracked on the last word and I know they heard it. ✧ I tell them to shut up. I mean “don’t go.” ✧ I’m the tough one. The reliable one. The emotionally constipated one. And I’m so, so tired. ✧ They hugged me and I stood there like a statue. But inside, something broke open. ✧ I made fun of them for being sappy. Then went home and replayed everything they said. Twice. ✧ I’m not scared of being hurt. I’m scared of wanting something I can’t protect myself from.

End-of-the-World Vibes (for stories where something big is ending, and something small, and tender, is beginning)

✧ The world is ending and all I want is to feel their hand in mine one more time. ✧ Everything’s falling apart and they’re still making me laugh. How dare they. How beautiful. ✧ If this is the last sunrise, I want to spend it with them. Quiet. Close. Real. ✧ I thought I’d be afraid. But with them here, I’m just… present. And maybe that’s enough. ✧ They looked at me like I was still worth saving. Even now. Especially now. ✧ We kissed like we were running out of time. Because we were. ✧ I wanted a big moment, but instead it was this—my head on their shoulder, the silence stretching soft around us. ✧ We said goodbye like we’d see each other tomorrow. We both knew that wasn’t true. ✧ Maybe the world doesn’t need a hero. Maybe it just needs someone who won’t leave when things get ugly. ✧ I don’t know what comes after this. But if they’re next to me when the lights go out, I think I’ll be okay.

[revelboo]

For your fated mate series, I'm really intrigued to see how it would go for Optimus to find his mate on his next outing after witnessing B's try to escape. Maybe his human would have some angst about finding that sense of belonging in someone they'd have to give up their old life for, or maybe they'd be so damned jazzed to finally feel like everything is falling right into place because they've never felt like they belonged anywhere. (Maybe they're already into the idea of fucking an alien robot and they hit on him first, who knows?(wait that kinda happened with your idw OP, now that I think about it...))

At any rate, keep up the great work, stay rested and hydrated, and have a beautiful day.

Poor guy realizes how unhappy Bee’s human is, so he’d be horrified to end up drawn to his own human. Knows he should interfere with Bee, but also really wants it to work out and for his friend to be happy, so he’s turning a blind optic to what’s going on

Don’t Give Up On Me

TFO Optimus x Reader

• Venting as he watches Bee carry his human back to his habsuite while fussing over them, Optimus’s servos flex. Knowing he should say something. Put a stop to this obsession the other bot has, but at the same time, he remembers when he first met Bee. Abandoned and thrown away, isolated from everyone. And he thinks about how lonely that must have been. That he doesn’t want Bee to ever be alone like that again. So he stays silent with his guilt for letting this happen.

• Can feel the optics of the other Autobots that had witnessed everything on him and they turn away when he looks their way. Pretending they didn’t see anything. And it’s too much suddenly. “Going on patrol,” he growls stalking past them. Out of the suddenly claustrophobic Ark and he transforms, falling forward into his new vehicle mode taken from this world. Just needs some space.

• And there it is. No amount of pleading is coaxing your old sedan another mile or so as the engine sputters. You’d been coasting on fumes and prayers for miles, hoping there’d be a gas station around the next bend in the road. Rolling onto the side of the lonely stretch of road to come to a slow stop, your head thumps against the steering wheel. You’re not even really sure where you are, your phone had died miles ago. This was supposed to be a fresh start. A second chance. This isn’t how you envisioned it beginning at all.

• Rolling down the highway, he sees the car on the side of the road. Doesn’t even pay it any attention. Until he draws closer and it hits him unexpectedly. Spark aching as he slams on his brakes. Because he thought Bee had exaggerated the feeling. But it’s got him by the throat, longing and a sense of familiarity. Of home that he needs so bad it hurts. And he sees you startle at the screech of his brakes, sticking your head out the window to stare. You’re his. Knows it. Feels it spark deep, like he already knows you. That he’s always known you.

• Staring at the red and blue semi, you inhale. Good Samaritan or axe murderer, place your bets, you think as you cast about for anything even remotely resembling a weapon and come up with nothing. And the truck’s just sitting there in the middle of the road. Like the driver isn’t sure he actually wants to help, cranking your anxiety higher. Staring as the semi shudders right before the thing comes apart, your mouth falling open as it stands up. And stares down at you with strange blue optics that somehow feel so familiar.

• You’re right there. So small and precious, something he needs more than energon, more than life. Loving you the moment he be meets your eyes. Can you feel it, too? Do you know him? Have you been waiting your whole life for him like he’s waited for you? He smiles down at you, crouching and reaching. Right as you’re throwing open a door and running away from him. There’s no conscious decision, he’s moving to catch you out of reflex. Because he has to. Can’t let you get away now that he’s found you even as he’s horrified by the visceral need to catch you, hold you. Keep you.

I wanted to go to the kickoff party tonight, but whatever I did has me FUBARed pretty good lol. Can’t stop sweating and walking feels like I’m on a trampoline.

[mydearzero]

The Babysitter | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader

Summary: You didn’t have any superpowers, nor were you even qualified for the position, yet somehow a mishap between Alexei and Yelena ends up in getting you a new job. Bob-sitter. 

Contents: No Y/N, fem!reader, college student!reader, mentions of food and eating in this chapter.

Read it on AO3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3 - Sweet Tooth

2.3K words

You didn’t really know what to expect of your new job. From what you understood from your conversation with Yelena, it was mostly intended for you to stick around Bob when they went on missions. But then came the unexpected attacks, or last-minute meetings. Alexei had concluded it’d be easiest if you just spent most of your time at the Watchtower. Your classes were mostly online, so it didn’t make too much of a difference in your life. It was good for you, too, to socialize with someone other than your laptop. 

The first week was somewhat awkward. You’d tried a little too hard to keep Bob engaged, but soon realized he much preferred a silent companion. Not that he didn’t enjoy conversation, or your presence, but more that he craved actual genuine interest and not the artifice you were trying to engage him with. The happy inbetween ended up being him reading in the windowsill while you did your coursework. 

The rest of the team was busier in their day to day life than you’d expected. John spent most of his time in his own home, trying to rekindle his relationship with his wife and child. He still came to the Watchtower every other day, joining the team for dinner and meetings. So many meetings. What they were about, you had no clue. You’d expected the life of a superhero to be a bit more eventful than the many, many meetings they attended. 

Ava’d explained it was mainly because of their past as mercenaries and current connection to Val that they had to have a lot of meetings about the legality of things. Every step they took had to be approved until they could be trusted enough to make their own decisions. 

Speaking of trusting someone enough to make their own decisions.

“Can we go to the store later?” It’d been about an hour or 2 since Bob last spoke. His voice startled you out of your focus. He quickly apologized for scaring you. 

“Hey, hey, no worries. I was just really focussed. What do you want to go to the store for? And not that I don’t wanna come, but can’t you go alone?” You wondered. 

“I mean, I can, I think. I’m pretty sure Yelena would prefer it if I stayed inside at all times wrapped up in bubble wrap. I don’t really need anything, I’ve just read about every book to be found in this place. Need some new material,” Bob chuckled. 

“How about this, I’m almost done with this assignment. Let’s go to a bookstore and we can go get some lunch after, yeah?” 

Bob beamed at the suggestion, clearly done with being cooped up inside at all times. He put the book he finished back on the shelf and walked into the hallway, presumably to go get his things. You typed a few more words into your document before saving it and closing your laptop. 

You grabbed your bag off the floor and took out only a few essentials. No need to bring the entire thing if you were just going for lunch. 

Bob was taking a little longer than expected, so you went to check in on him. You went to knock, but the door to his room was open. Just as you were about to ask if he was ready to go, he tugged the loose shirt he was wearing over his head to change it for another. 

Holy shit. Bob is ripped. 

You felt heat rush to your face as you quickly backed away from the door. Sure, Bob was cute, you weren’t blind. He had the whole soft broken boy thing going on. You never would’ve guessed he was built like a brick house under all those baggy sweaters. Sweet lord. 

“Hey, you ready?” Speak of the devil. Incredibly toned devil. Very good looking devil. 

“YEAH, I’m– Let’s go,” you walked towards the elevator before you could embarrass yourself any further. If your flushed complexion was even noticeable, Bob didn’t mention it. You had the instinct to fan your face, but resisted. You also resisted looking at Bob’s abdomen, now covered by yet another baggy shirt. 

How hadn’t you noticed? His arms were quite toned, as well. He didn’t wear short sleeves very often in the week you’d known him. God, you had to get past this, mentally, or your job was suddenly going to be a lot harder. Like his hard abs. STOP THAT.

Wait, can Bob read minds? He better not. Bob? Bob? BOB? BOB!? BOB!! Alright, safe… For now. 

“You alright?” Bob asked when you’d reached the bottom floor. He was waiting for you to get out of the elevator. You quickly got out and followed him past the reconstruction of the entryway.  Bob had looked up a few bookstores in the area. You let him lead the way, even when you’d probably been in New York longer than he had. 

You reached the first bookstore, a dusty secondhand one, after about 10 minutes of walking in silence. It wasn’t awkward, even if you’d expected it to be. Bob liked the silence, even when it was also one of his biggest enemies in life. The city made it so it was never actually quiet, though. 

A small bell rang as you entered the store. Bob held the door for you, like a true gentleman. 

“Anything specific you’re looking for?” You whispered as Bob bent his neck to read the spines. You browsed a little for yourself, as well, letting him take his time. 

“Not particularly, no. Just anything that piques my interest. I like fiction, though,” he mumbled the last part as he took a book off the shelf. 

“I thought you might be a fiction guy,” you smiled. In a different timeline where life hadn’t severely fucked him over, he was probably a big nerd. He was really smart, smarter than he let on. 

“Really? What gives it away?” Bob chuckled, thumbing a few spines, looking for a specific title by the same author. 

“Hmm, your general vibes, maybe? You just seem like the kind of guy who wants to escape reality every now and then.” You picked a book off the shelf you’d been meaning to read. College took up most of your time, you didn’t even remember the last time you’d actually sat down to read a book.

“That’s true, I guess. I like exploring new worlds, especially when worldbuilding is good,” Bob let you know. He’d put a few of the books he grabbed back, but held onto one you assumed he intended on buying. 

He was slowly opening up, something you were glad for. He was a lot more confident in himself when he was more comfortable, you noticed. 

Bob finished browsing and went to the register, taking your book out of your hands to pay for both. It was then he realized he had brought no means to pay besides a few stray dollars in the pockets of his pants. 

You chuckled and playfully rolled your eyes. You paid for the books and the clerk put them in a bag, handing them to you. You gave the bag to Bob. “If I’m gonna be paying, the least you can do is carry them. They’re mostly yours, anyway.” 

“I’ll pay you back. You’re not supposed to be spending money. If anything you’re supposed to be making it right now.” Bob promised. 

You told him there was no need. It wasn’t an expensive store, and the pay you received for pretty much just being his friend more than covered the costs. 

“Coffee?” You asked after you’d hit another bookstore. Bob agreed. Neither of you’d found anything at the last store. The books were mainly about business and finance, not the most interesting. 

You were about to pull up your phone to search for a café when Bob spotted the cutest little one just across the street, ‘Little Paris.’ 

Bob held the door for you once again. He would have to stop being all chivalrous if you wanted any chance of escaping today emotionally unscathed. 

You were led to a small booth in the back and got your menus. Bob seemingly had a hard time choosing between the many pastry and lunch options. In the end he settled for a stack of crėpes with chocolate sauce and an espresso. 

“They balance each other out,” he tried to convince you, to no avail. 

“If I’d known you had such a sweet tooth I’d have been trying to win you over with all the candy over the last week,” you laughed. 

The waitress came and took your orders, taking back the menus and leaving you with Bob once again. 

“You wouldn’t need candy to win me over, you’re sweet enough,” Bob said. Your eyebrows raised as far as they would go, 

“Robert Reynolds, was that a pickup line?” Your jaw hung open in mock offense. 

“Wh- No, that’s not what I meant! I meant you’ve been very nice, ‘s all…” 

“Damn, here I thought you were hitting on me. Might’ve made this a lunch date.” 

Bob flushed visibly, and you knew to take the teasing down a notch. Whether he was blushing because he had accidentally hit on you or because of the implication you’d go on a date with him, you weren’t sure.

Your drinks arrived just in time to break the awkward tension. You made Bob do a haul of the books he’d bought while you waited for your food to be served. They were mainly fantasy books, but there were a few self-help ones. 

“To be honest, I don’t really think you can get the kind of help I need from books, but it might be a good start to at least read up on it, I suppose,” Bob explained. 

“Somehow I don’t think those books cover superpowers,” you chimed in. Bob chuckled and agreed. 

Your food arrived, and you’d never seen a grown man so delighted to see a plate of sweet gooeyness. 

“Y’know–” Bob spoke in between bites. “Ever since I got these powers I’ve been crazy hungry. Bucky says it’s because your body burns so much more so your metabolism goes up, but sometimes I feel like an empty pit.” 

You pointed to the corner of his mouth, where a little chocolate sauce had escaped. He quickly wiped it with a napkin before continuing his ravaging. 

“It makes sense. Muscles… Assuming you have… Those… Uh, require energy, so…,” you chimed in, not really giving it much more thought. Mentally, you smacked your head against the wall. Physically, you just took another sip of your drink. 

“I mean, I’m not sure I’d be sitting here if I had zero muscles at all, so… You’re probably right,” Bob took a big gulp of the espresso, wincing at the bitter aftertaste. 

“You should eat until you feel full, though. We have plenty of time,” you smiled. You were nowhere near as far with your plate as Bob was with his, which was pretty much gone. 

“Hmm, we’ll still be here by midnight, then. I’m sure they’d wanna close before that. I’m not a monster, these people deserve to go home at some point,” the statement was followed by his last bite. 

“At some point, yes, but in the meantime, feel free to order more food.” 

“Oh, I will. I don’t even remember what you’re having, but it looks really good,” Bob stared at your plate as he sipped his coffee. “You want some?” You offered, raising your fork with a bite on it. 

“I mean, I– I’ll order my own,” Bob smiled awkwardly. 

“You can still have a taste, if you want,” you dangled the fork in front of his face tauntingly. 

Bob caught your wrist and snatched the fork out of your hand, putting the bite in his mouth. Your jaw dropped in shock, not expecting him to do that. His grip on your wrist had been stronger than he’d likely intended for it to be, but it had stung a little. It might bruise, but you didn’t care. Not if he was having a good time. 

“Oh yeah, I’m definitely ordering this,” Bob nodded as he swallowed the bite. The waitress came over at the exact right moment, allowing him to order another plate. 

You ordered another drink, even when yours hadn’t been entirely empty yet, just so Bob wouldn’t feel weird about ordering more. 

When Bob was finally satiated you called the waitress for the bill. Bob blanched, once again remembering he was relying on you for money right now. “At least let me get the tip,” he offered, putting whatever bills were left in his pocket on the table. You let him. 

When you finally made your way back to the tower it was later than you’d scheduled. You got up to the penthouse and saw Yelena and Ava sitting on the couch, watching some shitty reality show. 

Bob put his new books on the shelves and handed you the one you’d picked out for yourself. You thanked him and put it in your bag, taking the opportunity to gather your stuff. 

“I have to go, but I’ll be back tomorrow?” It was a question directed at both Yelena and Bob. You never knew what their schedule was like. Yelena nodded as she munched on some chips. “I’ll be here until like 2, so if you can come by before that, that’d be great!” 

Before you got on the elevator your name rang from Bob’s lips. You turned back to look at him as you waited for the doors to open. “Thank you, for today I mean.” It was accompanied by a warm smile. 

You returned the same warm smile. “Anytime.”

TAGLIST: @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @hopes-peak-akademy @rattheraddestrat @i-shall-abide @puer-aurea @kennywantskfc69 @spectacled-studies @hiddlebatchedloki @chimchoom @spidermiraculous-blog @s00ty-feet @28cnn @tinythebunni @softpia @roeroeroeyourboet @secretkittydreamland @cultish-corner

[moonstruckme]

i mean if you INSISTTTTT….can we see intern reader trying to be flirty back with spence. or like them hanging out/doing something together maybe outside of work, the rest of the team can be there or not idk i just love them and your writing so much hehehe

Thanks for your request angel <3

cw: football concussion statistics? idk not trying to piss off any diehard nfl fans. oh also american football being referred to simply as football because I'm also not trying to piss off the rest of the world, and lastly some borderline HR violations

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 1k words

“Alright, Jack!” Prentiss claps, before sticking her fingers into her mouth and letting loose a piercing whistle that makes both you and Garcia flinch in surprise. 

“Way to make the extra pass, kid!” Morgan shouts across the field. 

On the other side of the grass, Hotch nods like he seconds this, though his expression stays focussed and his eyes on his players. 

“He’s getting really good,” JJ says. 

Next to you, Garcia grimaces. “I wish he’d be good at something else.” 

“Beautiful,” Morgan chides, “don’t crush the kid’s dreams.” 

“He’s just a sweet summer child! There are, like, a crazy amount of concussions in football. I’m just looking out for him.” 

“In recent years, the NFL has reported a significant decline in concussions in professional football players,” says Spencer. 

Morgan makes a smug noise. “See? He’ll be alright.”

“But,” you raise your voice hesitantly, “wouldn’t the NFL have a bit of incentive to report that?” 

You’re looking at Spencer out of the corner of your eye. He meets your gaze, lips quirking. 

“Exactly,” he says. “That’s what I think, too. Independent studies have been less favorable.” 

Garcia mimics Morgan’s smug noise, victorious. Before she remembers to be worried and frowns again. 

Morgan laughs. “Hey, I didn’t sign him up. Jack likes football, you gonna tell him to quit?” 

Garcia comes back at him with some teasing remark, but you’re distracted by Spencer’s eyes still on yours. He’s looking at you like there’s something he can’t quite make sense of, which is happening so often lately it’s almost laughable. You have the most obvious crush in the world, and certifiable genius Spencer Reid can’t figure you out. 

You look away first. 

It’s sort of humiliating, how things have escalated between you in the last week. Every bit of that is your fault. You know it’s not professional, but you’ve spent lots of time thinking about it, and really a bit of flirting isn’t so bad if you know nothing is going to come of it. It’s harmless. Spencer is just so, so nice to you, you can’t help but want to be nice back; walking the line between friendly and something-else sort of comes with the territory. You would never actually endanger your position at the BAU. You only want Spencer to feel as special as he makes you feel. He deserves that. 

First it was bringing him breakfast after he helped you prepare your testimony. You wanted to thank him, so you picked up some breakfast tacos like he said he used to have back home in Las Vegas, and so what if you only know that because you’ve spent so much time chatting together? You’re training to be a profiler, remembering details is part of your job. Then you started complimenting him more, which was really just giving yourself permission to say your quiet thoughts out loud, making genuine observations about his taste in psychologists and the care he shows for witnesses even when the whole team is in a rush. And then maybe you began letting him teach you some things about chess even though you’ve never been interested in the game before, and bumping his knee gently under the table when he’s rambling without realizing everyone else has already moved on, and exchanging little smiles when you both look up from your desks at the same time. So what? None of that is a fireable offence. 

“I’m gonna go get water,” Spencer says, standing and starting to descend the metal bleachers. 

“Can you grab me one?” Prentiss asks. The rest of your team immediately chimes in with their requests, and you take a step down from the bleachers as well. 

“Want help?” you ask. 

Spencer seems to have been picturing the same thing you have: him coming back from the cooler in Garcia’s trunk with arms overflowing with plastic bottles, leaving a trail of them all the way back to the bleachers. He looks relieved. “Please.” 

You hop down, unable to look him in the eye when you take the hand he offers you for the last couple of steps. The sun is out in full force today, glinting off the metal of the bleachers and every car in the parking lot. The pavement radiates heat. 

Spencer hovers a hand above his eyes. “I wasn’t made for this.” 

“It’s a hot one,” you agree. 

“If Jack had a different hobby, we could be inside at a science fair right now. With air conditioning.” 

You chance a look at him. “Isn’t being involved in sports good for kids?” 

Spencer shrugs, though you’re sure he knows the answer. “I turned out okay.” 

Your lips tug. There’s no denying that. 

“Here.” You take off the baseball cap you’d put on for the game, holding it out for him as he pops open Garcia’s trunk. You pray to God the hat isn’t sweaty. 

Spencer only looks at it, surprised. “Oh, I—that’s okay. I’ll be fine.” 

“No, look.” You take a pair of sunglasses out of your bag, putting them on. “See? Now neither of us will have the sun in our eyes.” 

“Really?” Spencer asks, only taking the bill of the cap in hand once you nod. He settles it on his head like it’s his first time wearing one. “Thanks. Do I look stupid?” 

You shake your head, staring. “You look good,” you say. It comes out unchecked, before you can think about it. God, you’re so obvious. It’s true, though. Spencer’s still squinting a little even with the shade over his eyes, but it’s relaxed some; it reminds you of the way he looks when he’s puzzling something out. You’re hopelessly endeared by it. His hair, grown to what Garcia lovingly calls boy band length, wings out of the sides of the cap. Practically begging to be coiled around your index finger. 

“Thanks,” Spencer says again, the faintest tinge of pink—which can probably be attributed to the beginnings of a sunburn—kissing his cheeks. 

Bashfulness softens your voice. “No problem.” 

He opens the cooler, starting to scoop up waters and sports drinks (though one of the team moms is supplying drinks for the kids, Garcia had packed for you all like you’d be on the field too). Condensation drips down Spencer’s wrists. 

“Thanks for helping with this, too,” he says. 

“Pretty sure this is what interns are for,” you joke as you grab some too. 

“Always undermining yourself,” Spencer chides, something almost like teasing in his voice. It makes your stomach crowd with butterflies. “You know you’re more than that to us.”

[exquisink]

a little gift for @ysaefinn since we talked about this b4 (i'm tagging u b/c u were the inspiration for this, sry if it sucks ;; )

CW. geto coming onto reader, this is like three years post hidden inventory ig???, reader can see curses and was part of gojo's cohort, geto fumbling HARD. reader standing up for herself and being a queen

WC. ~3.0K

It’s a timeless cliche to have your beauty rest be interrupted in the middle of the night by an unexpected visitor. You grumble a string of curses and other obscenities that are lewd enough to make a priest blush as you drag yourself down the stairs, in your frumpy Barbie pink sheer pajamas. You’re about to deal one hell of a blow to whatever poor soul decided to put you up to this, and on a night that’s raining so hard that the droplets sound more like small bits of hail pelting on your home and the pavement outside. You try to rub the last of the weariness of your eyes as you stumble toward the front door, sliding it open—

—only to immediately slam it shut in his face, feeling all the blood draining from your body as you ponder over what to do in a situation when a runaway sorcerer convict is standing on your fucking doorstep.

He raps on the door again. Polite as ever. He’s always kind of been like a vampire. Needing to be requested to come over, or to come inside, or to be invited anywhere. 

”Please,” he begs, which makes your eyes shoot wide in shock because he’s not the sort of man to beg or to whine or to sound anything other than haughty and confident and smug. “Please, let’s talk.”

”I have nothing to say to you,” you grumble as you scowl deeply, still struggling to fight the sleepiness. “Get out before I call Gojo.”

Not that it might make much of a difference because you know Satoru is doing everything he can to avoid this very situation. He doesn’t want to bring his old friend in, and a part of you doesn’t want to do that, either, but God fucking dammit you can’t do this right now.

”Please,” he begs again, his tone sounding more and more desperate. Like that might just earn him an Oscar. “I just want to see you.”

”I don’t owe you anything, Suguru!” you sigh in exasperation. “Go. Away!”

”The fact that you still call me Suguru—“

”—means absolutely nothing to me or to you. Leave!” you demand again, stomping your foot against the wooden floor, your patience already wearing thin. You swear you feel a vein snap from the stress of this alone.

He shouts your name. Desperation, once again, evident in his tone. You’re almost tempted to let him inside, but you have been burned the last time you did (or attempted to, more like), so now it’s his turn.

“I’ll have Rainbow Dragon scorch this home down if you don’t let me inside,” he threatens, now his tone shifting into something more familiar, more deadly serious, yet as much as you’re not trying to fan the flames here (quite literally this time), you can’t fight off these knee-jerk reactions either.

”With me inside the house? As if,” you counter, but upon further reflection, you humor him, since he’s already rudely woken you up, swinging the door open to find him drenched head to toe from the downpour, a strike of lightning timed perfectly as you examine his face. His deep indigo eyes, his sharp features. This very figure who you were once helplessly in love with standing right before you after so much time. He’s not wearing his tacky priest getup. That actually looks like one of Gojo’s outfits. He shivers, stepping inside and leaving behind a wet trail.

”You better clean that shit up before you leave,” you mutter before shutting the door behind you. “Now what the hell do you want at this ungodly hour?”

”Ungodly? That’s the opposite of what people usually call me,” Geto teases, and you roll your eyes. 

“Seriously. What the fuck do you want?”

“To catch up. I missed you.”

Now you roll your eyes again, before giving him a once over. He looks like a sad cat, shivering and still in damp clothes. 

“I might still have some of your clothes around here. Give me a minute.”

You brush past him as you gather said items. You feel his eyes on you the entire time, trained like a sniper. You don’t know why in God’s name he wants with you, but you know it isn’t merely to catch up. He might want to add you to his endless list of casualties, because in his new, ideal world, you don’t fit in it. You may have only ever been able to see curses, but that doesn’t make you any less capable of doing something with that ability.

Even if you do require extra tools.

You toss him some spare clothes. Looking at how he is right now, he can probably still fit. He’s lost an absurd amount of weight since you last saw him which was… three years ago, at this point. 

“You can use one of the restrooms down the hall, or—!”

—you cover your eyes as he’s in the middle of pulling his top off. You wait until you think he’s decent enough to stare at again.

”—or change in the middle of the room. Sure. That too.”

”Thank you,” he replies in a low tone, folding Gojo’s clothes and handing them to you. “I’ve been meaning to return those to him, anyhow.”

”So what are you doing here?”

”I just want you to hear me out. It’s all I ask of you.”

”That’s already asking too much of me.”

”Leaving you left a hole in my heart I’ve never been able to fill,” he starts, “But you know, I’ve never truly turned my back on you. I may have the rest of humanity, but not you.”

”And what the hell makes me so special?”

”Everything,” he breathes, approaching you and you stumble backward, flinching as he cups your face. “I never meant to make you feel like you didn’t mean anything to me.”

”Yeah, well, it’s too late for half-ass apologies,” you snap, swatting his hands away which takes him aback. Almost like he’s shocked you are willing to fight back at all, given the kind of girl you had been three years ago—a little too head over heels for your senpai. You’re not her anymore. “I still have half a mind to call Yaga or Satoru.”

”And yet, you’re not,” he purrs, making you grit your teeth from annoyance. Still as petulant and coy as ever, but that doesn’t mean you have to put up with it anymore. Years of dealing with Gojo Satoru has shaped you somewhat. Geto is just a watered down version of him, at best. “Come on. Not even a ‘I miss you too’?”

”No.”

”Damn,” he breathes, drawing closer to you the way he used to when he’d try to snatch a book out of your hand or your phone whenever he wanted to swipe through any of your text threads or photos to make fun of you. “You’re still aren’t kicking me out, so there’s a part of you that does, hm?”

”Don’t flatter yourself,” you clap back, “Or do, I’m not your boss. If you expect anything out of me after cutting contact with all of us cold turkey, then you’re even dumber than I thought.  And I’ve always thought you were pretty damn stupid.”

”Did you now?” He beckons while inspecting his painted fingernails. 

“Yeah. Your whole agenda is pretty damn stupid,” you scoff, “What use do you have coming to me? I’m not your idea of what’s fit for your world, anyway.”

”Quite the contrary, my dear kohai,” he teases with another purr, making shivers crawl all up and down your body like black widows threatening to bite. “If you would just see things the way I do then you would understand that I see so much… potential. In our partnership.”

He reaches out and grabs you by both your elbows, making you drop his damp clothes in the process, yanking you toward him until his lips graze against your temple, barely a kiss.

”You have reminded me that humans don’t need to be sorcerers,” he goes on, “Not necessarily. If we can give them the gift of the sight, then maybe killing them isn’t all that necessary. Of course, not everyone is like us. That’s the unfortunate part.”

”Let go of me,” you demand, but he only tuts at you, dragging his hands up and down your arms. 

“Or what?” He laughs, scooping you up into his arms, with your legs hooked around his waist. Your faces are barely centimeters apart, the tips of your noses almost bumping into each other’s. His breath fans against your skin, and your gaze drops to his lips, ghosting over yours. Teasing. Tempting. But you resist, because you’re not that girl anymore. You’re not his to mess around or to play with or screw with anymore when he’s bored or lonely. He’s always been that kind of guy, even when you were teenagers, and he hasn’t changed. 

“Suguru,” you warn again, but he only draws his face closer to yours. “I’m not going with you. I’m not doing this with you.”

”You don’t mean that,” he whispers, dismissive as ever, nipping onto your lips, making you groan and not in the sexy way he probably wished you would. Out of disgust. It shocks him, but doesn’t deter him because he’s always been so fucking hard-headed and stubborn. 

“Yes, I do. I chose not to interfere with your life because you’ve made your choice. And I’ve made mine years ago,” you explain as you attempt to pull back. “I’m not the girl you’re going to get at the end of your story, Suguru. I’m not the one. I’ve let go, and I haven’t held it against you when you left me behind too.”

”Don’t say that,” he growls out, resting his forehead against yours. “I thought about you every day since I left. I never felt anything negative toward you. But you have to understand my side to what happened–!”

”--I did, and I still do,” you counter, “And it changes nothing. You owe me nothing, and I owe you nothing.”

”If that’s the case,” he challenges, as something dark flashes in his eyes. “Then why did you still let me in?”

”I—“

—he stops you mid-sentence with a heated kiss, eliciting a whine out of you as you feel him push you against the nearest wall, entangling his hands into your hair as his tongue bullies his way past your teeth.

”Stop,” you attempt to command between kisses, but he doesn’t relent like usual, peppering kisses along your jaw and down the crook of your neck. 

“Stop it, Suguru!” you shout again, squirming in his iron hold but God you forgot how much power he truly holds over you and how much stronger he is than the average man. He probably can only contest Satoru in terms of raw strength and martial arts alone.

Which is telling of just how even in power they are and why they were once regarded as the two strongest of their kind. 

You attempt to knee him but he blocks you, shooting a glare at him.

”You’re serious,” he mutters, studying your face, frowning in contempt, but definitely not feeling guilty about trying to take you in the middle of your living room.

”Of course I am,” you shoot back, “I said you’re not welcome. Leave, and I won’t tell anyone you came here today.”

“Well, you say that and I raise you: I’m not budging from this spot until we talk it out and then I can fuck your brains out like I’ve been dying to do since we were teenagers.”

You cast him a judging look, scoffing in disbelief. What is he, still that hormonal teenager like when he left? 

“...Did you think that was going to work?” 

He shrugs. “Did it?”

“No! Your pickup lines are way worse than Satoru’s!” 

“You’re still as difficult as you were when we were in high school!” 

“And you’re still a fucking bonehead with a bone to pick with the higher jujutsu society who are all eager to execute your stupid ass!” 

“The only ‘bone’ I have to pick is boning you senseless!”

“Oh my GOD! Did you seriously think that was going to work, too!?”

“Did it?”

“NO! It was already ineffective the first time!”

“Can you just listen to me instead of continuing this screaming match!?”

“Fine! Fine,” you grumble as you try to ease the tone in your voice. You still can’t help getting heated around him, and not in the way he prefers. He pisses you off. His whole damn existence pisses you off. How dare he have the absolute gall to waltz back into your life after going no contact and turning to the dark side and expect you to be absolutely peachy-keen about it!? 

Then again, Suguru doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’s had many brain cells. You remember him back in the day–just as rambunctious as Satoru and often being the instigator of most of the chaos they brought to any scene, driving Yaga up the wall with their bullshit. Sometimes Shoko joins in, which makes you lose a little faith in her regardless of how much respect you have for her (she has outgrown that side of her though, ever since Geto left, naturally)… Utahime is the one out of them all who acted like she had the most sense. Her and Nanami.

But one thing they all have in common (well, Utahime is certainly up for debate): it’s that they all love and miss Geto. Yes, even you do, you can’t deny that you do miss him, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to let him back into your life. You’re not Satoru, and anyone with more than one brain cell can piece together that the two of them still meet up from time to time. Why else is he wearing one of Gojo’s typical outfits? These look brand new and Geto’s already borrowing them and you have seen Gojo sport some of Geto’s older clothes. 

“Why did you leave?” you find yourself asking, your voice shaky and breathy as you fight back tears. “We were all devastated when you left.”

You shield your eyes with your hair, but Geto isn’t having it, holding your face again and making you look him in the eye. 

“I don’t hold any disdain for you, or for anyone else back at Jujutsu Tech. It had nothing to do with any of you,” he swears, “But I just wasn’t happy in that system. It wasn’t fair.”

“We could have worked something out.”

“What could we do? The higher-ups are by the book. They don’t change their laws easily. If I go back, I’ll be executed on the spot for my crimes.”

“Not unless Satoru finds a way around it,” you suggest, “And he can, you know. He’s become an instructor as you already know so that means he has some authority over what happens to you if they catch you.”

“It’s not that simple, I’m afraid,” Geto sighs, “And it’s unfair to impose that on Satoru. I told him already that I won’t change my mind, and that he shouldn’t have to follow me.”

“So…” you sigh, casting your gaze elsewhere. “What did you want from me if you came here all of this way? You know you’re not getting in my pants that easily or at all, right? I don’t like you like that anymore.”

“Ouch,” Geto winces, “I don’t want Satoru to follow me for obvious reasons. But I do want you back with me. You don’t have to believe in my work. I just… I just want you back with me.”

You shake your head, resting your hands over his. “You’ve made your choice, Suguru. And I don’t just not agree with you–I abhor everything you stand for now. I don’t want to be by your side. I don’t want to be associated with you or seen with you. I don’t even want these damn clothes that are still in my possession for whatever reason. I’m glad you can take them back. I just want you out of my life. You made it so easy to leave before so what’s holding you back now?”

“You.”

“I’m not that easy.”

“I know,” he whispers, “Won’t stop me from trying. This won’t be the last you’ll hear from me, you know.”

“I still won’t tell anyone I saw you,” you mumble, rubbing the corner of your eyes. “I may not want you anymore, but I sure as hell don’t want you dead, either.”

“So you do feel something for me.”

“Yes. Pity.”

He frowns again.

“Stop denying what you want. I’ve been keeping an eye on you, though. I still do. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve seen the damn curses around my house.”

“Yet you didn’t seem to mind it.”

“Not like I can do anything about it, but you should be careful where you release those things. Wouldn’t want you getting caught so easily, you know?”

“Aww, it’s nice to know my dear kohai actually cares about me.”

“Don’t get fucking used to it,” you snark back, shoving him away by the chest. “Seriously, get the fuck out of here. Too damn late in the night for this shit and now I have to scrub off these last fifteen minutes of shame.”

“Until we meet again,” Suguru chuckles with a playful wink before obliging to your request. You shake your head to yourself again as you shuffle toward your restroom. You know he’s leaving behind some of his curses again tonight to watch over you or whatever. There’s nothing you can change about that, but you don’t like that he tries to remain a part of your life when you have profusely denied him access to you. He still tries to find a way to bypass that boundary.

But maybe you can’t deny that there’s a little truth behind what he said. He’s read you to absolute filth. If you don’t actually want him in your life anymore, then why do you let him crawl back to you? 

You don’t think you’re being that honest with yourself, but that’s tomorrow’s problem. One thing at a damn time.

[mysterymachine67]

got you into the loophole that is daredevil. i love it. talking about the blind man;

coaxing him to stay home for the night, with a lot of difficulties, but still managing to get him to bed as you whisper sweet nothings into his ear, promising to take care of him in a LOT of ways, then finally relieving him, allat 🤲pls

PAIRING -> Matthew Murdock x M!reader

SUMMARY -> Taking care of Matt because he needs it.

NSFW. MINOR’S DNI.

My writing in this is so ass I’m so sorry 😭

“C’mon, baby, you’ve done enough today,” You spoke, softly. You stood behind him, an arm wrapped around his middle. You were whispering into his ear, trying to convinced him to stay home for the night. But was he listening? No. “You deserve a break for a night. Lemme take care of you.” Matt had one of his hands on your wrist—holding a tight grip.

“I can’t stay tonight you know there’s been a lot of stuff going on lately. If I stay here—“ you cut him off because you couldn’t bear to hear him any longer.

“Matthew, not everybody is your responsibility. You deserve a break—a day off. Let me do something for you.”

There was a long beat of silence.

“No, not tonight. I can’t. Got stuff t’do.” he finally answered.

“Stuff that can wait. You’ve done so much lately, don’t you think you deserve some sort of reward?” God, this was gonna take forever. Matt tipped his head back, and you took the opportunity to kiss at his neck. Maybe not?

“I don’t know.” He sighed. Your other hand came up, sliding along his stomach till it met with his hip. Burying your face into his shoulder you groaned. Why couldn’t he just agree? You promised to take care of him—treat him for a few hours. Who would turn that down? Matthew fucking Murdock it seemed. Just as you were about to open your mouth to say another plea, he started to speak. “If I agree…” he paused for some reason. You could practically hear his smile. “Promise to take care of me properly?” Was that even a question? You popped your head up, lips brushing over his ear. Even nipping a bit.

“Course,” you whispered.

⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The two of you slowly walked to his bed, with how you kept stopping to kiss him and feel him.

“I’ll make you feel so good. Make you forget everything,” you’d say, voice calm and steady. When you got close enough to the bed, you pushed Matt down then climbed on top of him. His hands immediately reached out for your body. With you leaning down to kiss him, it made it easier for his hands to roam up and under your shirt—all the way to your back. You groaned softly, pulling back to kiss at his jaw instead. Pressing small, quick kisses all the way down to his neck. Matt gasped when he felt a slight sting due to your teeth; you didn’t bite down too hard, just enough to get a reaction out of him. But either way you ran your tongue over the bite, and sucked—soothing the sensitive area. His breath hitched, legs shifting as he started to get more and more desperate. Your mouth got lower and lower, causing you to have to move your body down. You pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss right on his Adam’s apple. Meanwhile, your hands pushed his shirt up till you couldn’t anymore. You then pulled away, and watched as he sat up a bit to take off his shirt.

Matt threw the piece of clothing down to the floor somewhere, a problem for later. When he laid back down you went right back to the same position you were in before, but this time you were down more so that you could kiss at his chest. He huffed, shutting his eyes for a brief moment. Your hands ran down the sides of his body, all the way to his thighs. Which with every kiss you planted and hickey you made, you got closer and closer to where Matt wanted you the most. Your lips brushed over his stomach before pressing a soft kiss, and your hands started to undo his belt. With his cock finally free after a minor struggle, Matt whispered something. Which you couldn’t make out but you’d assume it had to do with you about to pleasure him.

Anyway, he adjusted his position—getting more comfortable because he had a feeling what would be next. And oh, he was right. The moment he felt your lips wrap around his tip he groaned lowly. A hand coming up behind your head, only daring to hold. Matt let out a soft gasp when you continued. Your tongue rubbing at the underside, then moving to lap up the pre. His legs moved, feet planting on the bed. Thighs tensing and attempting to close around your head when you took him a bit deeper. Keyword, attempting. Fortunately you were in between them so they couldn’t.

You moved back just enough to only have his tip in your mouth. You swirled and flicked your tongue, relishing in the sounds that poured from his mouth. A few seconds past, then you took him. All of him. Relaxing your throat and letting him sit in your mouth for a moment before starting to bob your head. Matt let out a drawn out groan, letting his head fall back against the pillow beneath him. He even dared to raise his hips. Which you shot him a look. The more and more you moved your head, sucked, and moved your tongue, the closer he got. Head turning from one side to the other. Not frequent, just every so often. Pulling away with a wet ‘pop’, you traced a vein with your tongue. Even managing to collect some of his pre-cum. The blowjob didn’t last long. It wasn’t really surprising. You had a pent up, somewhat needy boyfriend who just wanted something, even if he wouldn’t admit it. So when you finally got him like this? After all the struggles and difficulties you went through? He was finally, finally starting to let himself go.

You pressed your tongue flat on the head of his cock, then proceeded to move it upward. Hearing as he sucked in a breath and moaned. He couldn’t help it, the way you took him was perfect. A whine falling from his lips as he went to push his hips up, not intentionally, but forcing you to take more of him. Which it caught you off guard, but with a thought to yourself and a slight grumble you let him do what he needed to do. Which was slowly fucking your mouth. Moving his hips up and down while he let out sounds. Even taking it a step further and slowly putting his hands at the sides of your head. As if he was testing the waters. He couldn’t see your reaction, no shit, but he could tell that you didn’t protest or anything of that matter. In just a few seconds he held his hips up, keeping his cock in the warmth of your mouth as he came.

↓

You were buried inside him in a matter of minutes. Not moving or anything, only making out as you jerked him off lazily with one of your hands. Matt groaned into your mouth, taking your bottom lip in between his teeth when you pulled away briefly. Although this was nice, you knew the both of you needed something more.

So, you did you both a favor—switching him over on his back to finally fuck him properly.

↓

Your cock pushed against all the right spots within him. And something even better? He hugged you perfectly. As if he was made for you. His legs tightened around your waist, pulling you closer—deeper into him. He knew what he was doing, and you did too. Not that you were going to stop him or anything.

You made sure to keep your cock buried inside his warm hole when you leaned down atop him. Your lips brushing over his. First taking his bottom lip in between your teeth and pulling before letting go and kissing him. Just how he had done to you. Matt moaned into your mouth, hands coming up to your shoulders then slowly wrapping his arms around your neck. Pulling away for a quick breath he murmured against your mouth. “You’re really keeping your promise, huh?”

You smiled. “Of course.” You say, before leaning back in for another kiss.

Your hands gripped at his sides, one of your pointer fingers tracing one of his scars. With a hum you broke the kiss, Matt groaning from the loss. Within a few seconds you pulled back, straightening your position then picking up your pace; going back to the fast and deep thrusts that he loved.

Thirty minutes later, you were still pounding into him as if he was gonna disappear. During those thirty minutes, Matt came again. Staining areas of his chest white. The position changed, his legs now hooked over your shoulders—giving you a better angle to fuck your cock deeper into him. He wasn’t that tired. Maybe a few more rounds left in him. At the moment he couldn’t bear the thought of feeling the loss of your cock. You were fucking him too good. The feel of you hammering his insides made him squirm, arch his back, and do anything but stay still. That was until you decided enough was enough; moving your hands from his thighs to his hips. Grabbing him strong enough to make him stay still a bit. His mouth was hung open and all that left it was weak groans, moans, and nearly high pitched whines ‘n whimpers. Which just fueled you on even more. Not stopping till you were grabbing ahold of him once again, and cumming deep in him with a groan. Hips stuttering but still trying to maintain the pace you had set. And Matt? Matt was gone. The thought of him being able to go a few more rounds was no longer in his head—completely faded away. The moment he’d felt your cum fill him once again he came with you. His orgasm washing over him, dick jumping and absolutely throbbing. The angry shade of red it wore wasn’t hard to miss.

When your thrusts slowed, and turned into heavy, deep thrusts, the more easier it was to calm yourselves down. Catching your breath while Matt was still breathing heavily and clutching the sheets so tight his knuckles turned white. You leaned down over him, stopping the movement of your hips. Your lips hovered over his for a few short seconds before you gave him a proper, gentle kiss. “Did so good takin’ me—letting me take care of you.” You mumbled, hands starting to run up and down his sides.

This was something you both needed.

[heartyluv]

i’m ovulating, so i’m sorry for all these random posts, but it’s that serious.

imagine toxic!boyfriend caleb. you’re on the phone with your friend, ranting about how much he’s been irritating you and how he just isn’t shit. coming home late, always starting fights with dudes that try to talk to you, always getting on you about things you’ve never even done.

and you’re saying all of this with him in the room. i’m imagining you two share an apartment that’s open floor, so you’re bent over the counter in the kitchen and he’s man spreading on the couch in the living room with the tv on, grey sweatpants and no shirt. and he’s going off on you while you’re going off on him, all while your friend hears everything.

“you always want to tell somebody our business.”

“wouldn’t have anything to tell if you just did better and behaved like a grown ass man.”

and what does he do? he decides he needs to put your pretty self back in line. so while you’re still running your mouth, he’s walking up behind you, pulling your shorts and panties down after he worked his cock out of his pants.

“caleb, what the hell are—oh shittt…”

AND HE’S WATCHING HIM MOVE IN AND OUT, BITING HIS LIP AND SMIRKING BECAUSE NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU TALK, YOU WERE SOAKED THE WHOLE TIME!!!!!!

“why don’t you tell her how much you love this dick since you’ve got so much to say?”

I CAN’T. I CAN’T. I CAN’T. I CAN’T EVEN FORM ANYMORE WORDS, GOOD GOD.

[twilightsumu]

drunk running | s. geto

chapter two: girls like sex

synopsis: flashback: the start of yn and geto’s fwb ‘relationship’.

warnings/genre: modern au, smau, college night out, alcohol use, cursing, yn being idiot and not picking up on signs, geto being an idiot and hiding his feelings, suggestive, talks of pregnancy (suguru the seahorse)

a/n: i am trying not to not write so much, but jeez i can’t shut up! i just want to detail every little thing because i love them. also, how cute is suguru?

your friends, shoko, nanami, gojo, and haibara are up ahead of you. their voices drifting into your hair. and for a minute, the liquor sneaks through you; you want to stand there and have the words of their conservations wrap around you like a warm blanket. feel drunk off the sounds of your friends and not the tequila pumping through your bloodstream. 

suguru is walking in step with you. you almost want to jog a few steps ahead and see if he’ll catch up. if he’ll follow through or stay coolly behind you, like he has all the time in the world to walk home. 

you look up at him and before you could even get him in the full line of your fuzzy vision, his eyes are already on you. soft and still, like he was watching your hair dance with the light breeze and was waiting for you to watch too. 

he curls the piece of hair that is always dancing in front of his eye, behind his ear. Iike hes trying to neaten himself up, without realizing. 

“what?” you hiccup and suguru chuckles. another sound you want to add to the blanket of your drunkness. your steps matching his, shoko yelling at gojo, nanami’s head shaking, his chuckle. maybe even the curl of his hair near his ear, if you listen hard enough. 

“you’re drunk,” he says. his hands stuffing into his pocket, like he’s trying to keep them busy. 

“not super drunk,” you giggle. it’s not a lie, you’ve been far more drunk than this. but the air is making you feel light. making you feel like you might be able to overcome tomorrow’s hangover with a glass of water and a single piece of bacon. no need for the advil or whatever the fuck nanami puts in his morning shakes. 

“i could still do this,” you place your finger right in the middle of your nose. a little plop. and you almost throw your head back in laughter at how childish it seems. but that feels like too much work. especially because you’re trying to stay around all of them. around the sounds of the people closest to you. no need for you to muddle with their soundtrack. 

“wow, i'm so proud of you,” he deadpans but you hear the smile in his tone. you smile too. 

“i'm surprised you didn’t leave with one of your guys. you usually never come back with us.” you roll your eyes. not at his observation but at the thought of the guy you would’ve gone home with. 

a car blasting a pop song you’re sure you have saw in suguru’s secret spotify account, speeds past you guys. the vibrating bass of the car staying in the air. you almost feel the bass on the bottom of your feet even as you continue to keep up with suguru’s steps. 

“first of all, i don’t have ‘guys’,” you huff and he chuckles again. teasingly. you ignore how your ears perk at the sound. 

“it was one guy and he’s a fucking moron,” he is looking at the back lights of the car so far away now. they look like little two red eyes watching the group of us walk home. watching suguru tease you with his chuckle. 

“how so?” suguru mummers. a strong breeze bites through the night and you get a sniff of suguru’s cologne mixed with the tequila you're sure is emitting from your pores. 

he’s looking at you again. eyes still soft, always welcoming. 

“he didn’t believe me when i said i did not want a relationship,” you shrug. use to the conversation. you could replay the exact conversation, the faces always changing. the words are always the same. 

the face doesn’t believe that you could possibly just want sex. no strings attached. no calling late at night because you saw him with another girl. no, you don’t want to meet his grandmother’s dog. just sex. no, you're not going to change. you never do. 

“he said he thought i was looking at this too seriously,” you deadpan and you feel a faint prickle of annoyance at the base of your spine. because you know how to act. you know not to get too comfortable. no, you don’t stay the night. you barely ask how their days were. 

suguru hums, slightly nodding his head. he kicks a rock ahead of you two. a little puff of dirt dancing around his feet.  

“were you?” he asks. his interest makes you feel a little unraveled. 

“jesus, no,” you throw your arms up. “i know i have never made a guy believe that we’ll get in a relationship,” he kicks another rock, his hands burrowing deeper into his pockets. more dirt dancing. you almost feel like you have to sneeze. 

“i think he was gaslighting himself to believe that is what was going to happen.” you watch suguru think this over. his eyebrows furrow slightly and his shoulders lean forward a bit. propelling him to another rock. 

“why don’t you just get into a relationship?” suguru asks. and the question is out of curiosity. not snarky, no judgmental tone to it. just curious. like a child asking why the tooth fairy only comes at night. 

ahead of you guys, shoko is running into a bush to pee. nanami is trying his hardest not to gag as he covers her body with his. gojo is still screaming and laughing. loud, lifelike. haibara is off to the side singing off key to some song that was playing in the bar. 

“because i’m me,” you say. no shame to it. no need to lie or beat around the bush. you’re proud to know yourself. to know that you’re the problem. you know that you’re not willing to change. 

he looks at you from the corner of his eye for a beat too long and you could tell that he is trying to bite back something. a disagreement, maybe. a statement of understanding. but he doesn't say anything and you're starting to become uncomfortable under his stare. 

you sometimes catch him staring at you exactly like this and you wonder at the moment if he was looking at you because you did something he liked? it always leaves you a little shaken, because suguru’s stare could be so hard to gauge. he’s either staring at you to see you whole or look right through you. 

his hands leave his pocket and sway on his sides. a little too close. one pinky away from hooking your fingers together. you decide not to overlook the movement. 

you continue and you feel like you’re trying you’re best to defend yourself under his stare. “girls like sex too.” 

“those are valid reasons. no judgment towards it,” he smirks. his hand nearest to your brushes against yours, just once. “i don’t think it should be hard for you to find someone who feels the same,” he looks at you, the smirk still dancing in his lips. but his voice sounds tempting. like he knows something you don’t know.

“my track record says otherwise, suguru,” you retort, an annoyed huff swishing out of your nose. 

and because the tequila is still dancing in your bloodstream and suguru’s stare is unraveling to a place you didn’t think you'll ever go. and because of his tempting voice from three seconds before. you don't think, just allowing your mouth to move.

“unless you’re up for the challenge,” you joke. but for some reason, despite knowing and joking with suguru for a couple years, this felt new.

almost instantly, you regretted your mouth just moving with no thought process. no safety plan. 

he halts, and that smirk that pretty much lives on his lips is there and it feels inviting. like it wants you to come closer. his eyes follow your body up from the bottom of your feet to the top of your head, his hand reaching up to rub at his chin. like a professor assessing the paper you just sent in. 

his smirk twitches, for a split second, becoming something sincere. something way too kind for what you’re proposing. 

a car playing a more mellow, low volume song drives by. the headlights playing off suguru’s all black outfit. 

you’re sure it’s the tequila talking. playing eye games. but his eyes light up just a bit. a little dance of hunger in them.

“i love a challenge,” he says, a playful tilt to his voice. he’s staring at you as if he's trying to figure out if you mean it or not. if his answer was correct. 

“and sex?” you tease back, looking at the smirk on his lips. your eyes hiding from his. there were too much emotions flowing through them it someone like you to grab on too.

maybe you were too hard on yourself a few seconds. the words were meant to leave and be heard by him. 

“who doesn’t love sex, yn?” he seriously asks. no laugh following it. as if you asked the stupidest question ever. his eyes are racking you over, the hunger being replaced by a softness that doesn't make sense coming after this question. 

you stare at him, the tables reversing. but under your stare he’s cool. like he’s practiced this exact conversation in his room for the last three months. no other emotion but passive confidence radiating off of him 

you take your eyes off of him to look over your shoulder. your building is close. two blocks away if you hustle and catch the light on this corner you could be home in less than five minutes.

shoko and nanami aren’t super ahead anymore, their whispered conversations carrying in the air and entering this new landscape of suguru and yours. 

“i think we could work,” he says and you turn your head to give him a good look again. his hands are running through his raven hair and he’s looking at his own roommates, gojo and haibara playing around in the streets. chasing each other like two puppies playing in a field. 

“not that i have been thinking about it,” he quickly adds and you almost laugh at the way he shifts his eyes from you back to his roommates as fast as he could. like he's trying to get a snapshot of your reaction.

“i might have to agree with you, suguru,” another laugh almost erupts out of you at the way his eyebrows shoot up. so quickly, so that the look of passivity can be etched back onto his features without you noticing. but you did notice and it made you feel powerful. 

“you’re good looking and,” you shrug, sending him a teasing smile at your blunt remark. “well, i’m me. so like naturally,” you start walking away and you hear his steps starting up behind you again. 

“you think i'm good looking?” there is a smugness in his voice that sends a little zap at the bottom of your spine. it almost made you forget about his eyebrow mishap a few seconds earlier. 

you guys missed the light. shoko and nanami across from you. gojo and haibara are nowhere in sight, but you hear them. 

“not as good looking as gojo,” you joke and you look up at him right as he sends a playful eye roll. 

“kidding,” you laugh. “you have that ‘i hate my life’ vibe that I find oh so attractive,” you dramatically exclaim, using one hand to clutch your chest and the other to grab at his arm that’s closest to you. 

his skin touching yous, specifically after this conversation floating around you two, feels hotter than usual. like his body is trying to seep into yours by heat alone. 

you’re not sure if he notices the heat but he erupts into a belly aching laugh. his eyes closing and his head tipping back to allow the laugh to enter the air stream. you stare at the way his adam apple bobs in his neck and you have to swallow the lump in your throat. 

“you’re funny,” he states, laughter still dancing in his voice. the light changes and you’re both waking into the crosswalk. step to step. “but i knew that already,” his hand finding its way to the dip on the bottom of your back. you think you could feel a light tremble in his hand, but that might just be you because of the breeze pushing in. 

you shiver a bit, hoping he does notice. so that words don’t have to speak for you. for what you want and what he may be willing to give and lose in the process.

shoko and nanami are waiting for you, right on the corner where the two groups usually depart. suguru and his group turn right and you guys go left. 

you almost wish you had even a minute more so you could gauge suguru. really get under his stare. 

“if you’re done joking,” he says quiet, carefully. like the words might come out wrong if he isn't. 

leaning down a bit so that his lips are ghosting near your ear. “i’m down. it’s just sex right?”

you feel his hand on your back tense for a moment, as if he is wondering if he should keep it there. and from the corner of your eye, you notice the twitch in the corner of his lips.

you swallow, and feel a smirk grow on your own lips. you watch the way your roommates stare at you two. nanami voices something about the time and you use that to get out of suguru’s line. 

“mhm, i'll think about it suguru,” you say, walking towards a cranky nanami complaining about how late it is and a shoko laughing at him. questions evident in their stares. the warmth of his hand still burning on your back. 

“think about getting home, jesus,” nanami mutters as you fall in line with them to walk to your building. you ignore him, feeling suguru’s stare on your back. 

“i wouldn’t want you to catch feelings, you know?” you say over your shoulder and you hear his chuckle drift towards you like an open invitation. and you laugh too, because you think this may actually work.

taglist: @re-tired-succubus, @luvvcho, @iluvujt, @smolcooki33, @candy-s72, @starmapz, @shokosbunny, @emlient, @loveyislost, @whatismatildethinkingabout, @shibataimu, @11thlife02, @se-phi-roth, @frootloopscos, @risagichi, @sttaejoon-blog, @vampshxde, @corvid007, @marsavie

[honeekyuu]

casual. [miya atsumu x f!reader] chapter one.

>> being best friends with a frat boy can be a real pain in the ass sometimes

or

there's no one who knows you quite like miya atsumu <<

series status: [ongoing]

masterlist. || next.

a/n: somebody lmk if atsuyn know they have feelings for each other bc i havent figured it out yet

[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]

---------------------------------------

Miya Atsumu has attachment issues.

Even at five years old, you can see it – the difference between him and the boy who shares his face. 

Osamu is quiet, with a gentle expression and disinterested eyes. Whenever he spots you on the other side of the fence, playing by yourself in your backyard, he waves and says your name in way that flies away with the wind. Sometimes he just peers over at you until you notice him, asks what you’re playing when you finally do. But he tends to leave you be, more interested in escaping the whirlwind that is his brother.

Atsumu is a different story – the same face, but a voice that makes your ears hurt and your heart pound. He makes you mad, makes you want to yell at him. But when you do raise your voice, you think he might like you more because of it. He only ever calls into his house, asking his mother if he can come play in your yard. Laughing when you yell that he can’t. Appearing at your side, taking your toys and forcing you into a game you didn’t come up with.

“Go away,” you say, every day without fail. “You’re annoying!” 

His response is always the same, loud and grating and marked by Osamu just behind him, rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, but ya like me!” Smile so wide that his eyes disappear, gap in the space where he’s just lost a tooth.

You don’t tell him that he’s wrong.

– 

He follows you around in school. You’re smaller than him at that age, and he makes it known that he’s aware of it. 

“Gimme, I’ll do it,” he says, taking your books from your arms and carrying them to your cubbyhole.

“Watch where yer goin’!” he yells when older kids bump into you in the hall, caring less than you about manners and politeness and getting himself into trouble with them more often than not.

“Can ya see alright, shortie?” he asks when you crane your neck to see the board, pointing to his own seat as if offering it to you. Grinning playfully when you just roll your eyes and squint harder at the teacher’s handwriting. 

“Samu and I are thinkin’ of tryin’ out fer the volleyball team,” he tells you one day, shoveling food into his mouth and only smiling when you look him over in disgust. “You gonna be okay on your own?”

You huff at him, eating much more carefully. “I’m not a kid, Tsumu – I don’t need you to keep an eye on me all the time.” You gesture at the cafeteria around you. You’re the only one sitting with him at lunch – you’re the only one who ever sits with him at lunch. Osamu sits somewhere else, with Aran, and occasionally drifts over to talk to you. “You sure you don’t need someone to keep an eye on you? You’d be all alone without me.”

He just shrugs and shoves more food in his mouth. You’re not quite sure where he puts it all. “Ain’t you enough?”

“What about Samu?”

“Samu’s a given.”

“What about the volleyball team?”

“What about ‘em?”

“You have to at least try to get along with them, Tsumu.”

“Sure, I guess,” he starts, lifting the lip of his rice bowl to his mouth and scooping the last few grains in. His voice echoes against the metal while he talks. “But what’do I need them for? I got you.”

You warm, wondering if he knows how that sounds to anyone passing by. A quick glance tells you that no one’s even close enough to hear. 

You’re on an island alone with Miya Atsumu. Sometimes you wish you had a way off, a lifeboat or a rescue ship to come get you.

He meets your eyes when he’s done eating, his expression genuine – always a little too intense, but genuine all the same. “I heard the team needs a manager.” When you only lift your brows in response, he shrugs. “You wouldn’t have’ta walk home alone, at least.”

Most days, you don’t mind the island so much. 

–

Your first crush hits you like a truck in junior high. A boy with a sweet face but a wicked sense of humor – you’re drawn to the way his eyes twinkle, the way he’s a little too playful. He jokes a little too much, but his smile when he’s scolded is too pretty for you to care. And you have the wonderful privilege of being his seatmate, the closest you’ll ever get to him.

There’s a point in time when you think you might actually have a chance with him. He finds you funny, and he always asks how your weekend was. You fantasize that maybe there’s a world where he likes your company.

The issue, however, is that he’s popular. He’s popular and he knows it.

And you’ve grown into a girl who acts like a boy because you were raised with twin boys who act like animals. 

You’re not the kind of girl he’d look twice at, not when the other girls in your class smell like flowers and giggle to each other quietly. You think you smell fine, but there’s certainly no giggling happening in your life. 

No, you tend to be surrounded more by screaming and fighting and swearing, courtesy of Miya Atsumu.

It makes the twins popular, too – they have that mischievous energy, the kind that makes girls fall for them more whenever they fight in the hall. 

Girls want to be near that type of boy, but boys don’t want to be near that type of girl.

“Sorry,” your seatmate says when you corner him behind the school one day and nervously hold out a box of chocolates, hoping for a single chance with him. “You’re really cool, but I’m not that interested…” 

He doesn’t make fun of you, you’ll give him that. He’s sympathetic, and seems genuinely sorry to hurt your feelings. Even now, during a rejection, your crush on him grows.

“Besides,” he adds, uncertainly and with a nervous smile. “Aren’t you and Miya a thing?”

It’s the first time you’ve ever felt your brain stop working.

“N-No,” you mumble, shaking your head forcefully after a moment. “Not even a little bit – why? Did he say that?”

You can’t imagine that he ever would; Atsumu may be attached, but he’s never gone too far.

“No, no! Sorry, I must have misunderstood…” He scratches the back of his head. “It’s just that… you two seem really close. You’re always together.”

He leaves you there after a moment of silence, whispering another awkward ‘sorry’ that you never hear. You just crouch in place, box of chocolate on the ground and confusion numbing your limbs. You pull your phone from your jacket hollowly, dialing the most frequently called number and listening to it ring.

“Y/n? Where are you? I didn’t see yer stuff in the locker.” 

Atsumu’s voice is the same as always. Unassuming, unapologetic. Attached.

“Have you been telling people that we’re dating?” You whisper it, too afraid that you’ll speak something horrible into reality.

“What’re you talkin’ about?” He laughs, a bark of confused amusement. “Why the hell would I be doin’ that?”

“So… you haven’t, right?”

He makes a noise of derision. “‘Course not, don’t be insane.” There’s a silence between you that you find disquieting. He seems to feel it, too. “Why?”

You consider it a moment longer. He really must not be behind this. “Nothing. No reason.”

“Yer lyin’. ”

“Forget it.”

“Don’t wanna-”

“Well, I do,” you snap. 

He pauses for a moment – just a moment, pointed enough for your anger to become embarrassing. 

His response is quiet. “Yer shit at hiding things, you know.”

He’s crude when he talks to you, all honesty and no humility.

But Miya Atsumu has always been that way.

–

Astumu’s attachment to you continues well into high school.

It’s a running joke now, one that comes in shared looks between Osamu and Suna Rintarou, who had asked only a week into first year if the two of you were dating. To this day, you’re convinced that he’d only asked at all because Atsumu had made a very loud point about needing to be your seatmate when the teacher had placed you across the room. Suna had cracked the joked under his breath – ‘it’s giving obsessed boyfriend’ – but everyone heard, and everyone laughed. Only Atsumu had looked confused, and that was because you were fixing him with a glare that could melt metal.

Suna had made an instant friend in the quieter twin and an instant enemy in you. It had been a struggle for the rest of junior high to be rid of that impression, and you couldn’t allow it to continue into high school, not when the boys in your class are finally starting to notice you.

Suna had made up for it with a semester’s worth of vending machine snacks – half of which were eaten by Atsumu, anyway.

“You know,” Osamu says one day in second year, approaching you during a break in Inarizaki’s practice time. You’re folding towels on the floor, having been roped into the Manager position again. You glance up at him warily, knowing better than to think Osamu’s innocent just because he’s quiet. “Suna thinks Aran has a crush on you.”

You blink in surprise, craning your neck to look around Osamu and observe the older boy. He’s on the floor at the edge of the court, wiping his forehead and stretching next to Kita. 

Aran’s sweet, and you’ve known him a long time. You’ve always been fond of him – a little shy because he’s older, but fond all the same. In junior high, he would help you with your homework and was always willing to help you study. He would buy you snacks and ruffle your hair when you would get too riled up by Atsumu’s antics. You’d always liked him, always felt lighter when he was around.

But could you see yourself dating him?

His eyes find yours across the court. You watch as his face warms, and he’s sending you a kind smile. You warm, too, imagining a different kind of relationship with Aran.

There’s a yellow-blond head in your line of sight before that thought can go anywhere meaningful.

“Whatcha lookin’ at!”

You could kill him.

“Nothing,” you say, returning to the towels. Atsumu crouches beside you, leaning into your face.

“Yer definitely starin’ at somethin’.” He tracks where you’d been looking before, tracks it all the way to Aran Ojiro. You glance up through your eyelashes – Aran’s looked away, lips pursed in disappointment.

A spike of annoyance flies down your spine, and the towel in your hand suffers the sudden grip of your tightened fist. When you meet Atsumu’s eyes, you see it. 

Surprise.

“You like Aran?” he whispers. Osamu uses the oh-so-convenient distraction to take his leave.

“No,” you mutter, glaring at the younger twin as he sidles away. “Wouldn’t matter if I did, anyway.”

Atsumu tilts his head like he has no clue what you’re saying. “Why not?”

“You know exactly why not.” You stand with the stack of towels, walking away from him quickly – angrily, hoping he doesn’t follow you.

He starts to, but a whistle rings across the gym, so he’s forced to walk away.

You fill water bottles in the sink, wondering why your hands are shaking so bad – why you feel just a little disappointed that the conversation’s over.

–

He follows you home that day. Ignores Osamu the entire walk home, poking and prodding at your anger while he looks for answers. You ignore him in turn, purposely only talking to Osamu, who looks like he wants to melt through the asphalt.

When you finally make it home, you speed past their house and through the gate of your own, looking forward to being alone.

Atsumu would never let that happen.

“Y/n,” he calls, chasing after you and stopping the front door just as you’re slamming it shut. He slips through, following you into your house and only pausing momentarily to greet your mother, who’s less than surprised that Miya Atsumu is in her kitchen.

He still manages to get to your bedroom door before you can close it, leaning into the wood and grunting when you throw your bodyweight against it on the other side.

“Let-me-in,” he huffs, pushing with his shoulder. You plant both hands on the door and lean with all your might.

“Go away, Miya!”

“No! I don’t jus’ go away, and you know that!”

“I’m tired of seeing you!”

“No yer not-” You want to be angrier at him than you are, more stubborn than you’re capable of. “I’m yer best friend!”

“No you’re not!” you yell back. Another lie, one meant to catch him just off guard enough that you can get the door shut. 

It doesn’t work. How obvious is it if even he can tell?

“Well, yer my best friend, so I’m not goin’!” 

You groan and drop your hands, letting the door fly open and watching as he lands flat on his face. “What do you want? Why are you being annoying?”

He mumbles, face buried in your rug. “Tell me why it wouldn’t matter if ya liked Aran.”

“You know why.”

“Nuh-uh. Got no clue.”

“Because-” You sigh, heated as you sit on your bed. “It never matters if boys like me or if I like boys. You always get in the way.”

“How?!” He lifts his head, clearly affronted and completely ignoring the red spot on his face from hitting the ground.

“You’re everywhere!” you yell, throwing your arms out. “Boys don’t wanna go out with a girl who always has a boy at her side!”

His jaw falls. “That don’t make sense! Just ‘cause I’m a boy, it doesn’t mean anything! We’re friends!”

“Tell that to every boy that’s ever rejected me because they ‘don’t wanna get on Miya’s bad side’.” You quote them directly, the same excuse given over and over again since middle school.

“What the hell have I got to do with anythin’?!” He looks utterly baffled and a little bit annoyed, like it’s your fault that he’s not understanding. “You sure it ain’t ‘cause you dress like a teenage boy and sit like a gangster?”

“Please just fuck off, Tsumu.” You flop onto your back and shut your eyes. “I’m tired of guys backing away and asking ‘What about Miya?’ when I confess to them. You got a whole fanclub of girls wanting your attention, and I can’t get a boy within ten feet of me? How’s that fair?”

You hear Atsumu sit up, so you tilt your head and peer down at him. He stares up at you with wide eyes. Quiet, for the first time in his life.

“I didn’t know that.”

You blink. He blinks back.

He really hadn’t known.

You look away, swallowing hard. “Well, now you do.”

There’s silence between you, one that doesn’t feel quite right.

“Is that what happened before? That day ya called me?”

He remembers. He remembers, but he hadn’t been able to put it together.

What an idiot.

“Yeah,” you mumble, shutting your eyes and throwing an arm over your face. “I thought maybe you were saying something around school.”

“I wouldn’t do that t’you,” he says right away. “Why would I do that? We’re not together.”

You laugh to yourself. “And yet, we’re always together.”

“So?”

You glance down at him from under your arm. “You don’t realize how possessive you are… do you?”

His brow furrows, and he stares down at nothing.

“I’m not-”

“If I started dating Aran, how would you feel?”

You watch him very carefully.

You watch as his jaw clenches, as he struggles to maintain a neutral expression, even though he doesn’t realize you’re looking at him.

“You can date who you want,” he whispers. You keep your eyes on him and drive the point home.

“If I spent more time with him? Walked home with him after practice? Ate lunch with him? Saw him on the weekend?”

Atsumu has no idea that he’s pouting right now. “‘s not like I like you er anything. Yer Y/n.”

You smile to yourself and look away, finally, eyes closing again. “You don’t need to like me to be possessive of me.”

You don’t bother asking if he understands. His silence says enough.

“Ya want me to back off?” he eventually asks, voice soft.

Cut the attachment.

A knife-slice separation of you and Miya Atsumu.

The voice in your head – the one that’s always angriest with Miya Atsumu’s intrusive nature – says no. Whispers it, acknowledges that saying yes means hurting him and hurting you. 

Wonders what saying no might mean.

“I mean it,” Atsumu says, his voice a little hollow, like it’s trapped in his throat. “If ya wanna date Aran – or anyone, I guess – and we’re too… If I’m too…”

The word no rings in your head, but the little voice changes its tune – this would be the only time you’re given the choice to change your friendship with him. If you say no, you’d have to be okay with him being like this forever, unapologetic and unmoving.

If you say yes, you’d have some breathing room. A little bit of space, a little bit of a chance to become your own person – a chance to be known as you, not as you and Miya Atsumu.

He’s giving you a chance.

You close your eyes again, fiddling with a loose string in your sleeve. Wondering why you’d started this conversation in the first place.

“It’s fine, Tsumu. You don’t need to back off.”

You’re not sure when you’d grown attached to him, too.

–

Nothing happens with Aran – he tells you later that it’s better this way, and there’s an inexplicable relief in the pit of your stomach when he does.

Your attachment to Miya Atsumu grows when you’re too careless to keep an eye on it.

–

“Me and the boys’re thinkin’ about joinin’ Lambda.”

You tug another part through Atsumu’s hair, making sure not to get any bleach on the undercut. “You and the boys, huh? Samu’s not much of a frat guy.”

“Said somethin’ about not trustin’ me and Suna to survive a hazing.”

You just hum, completely understanding Osamu’s point of view. “You do have bad impulse control.”

“Do not!” he complains, tilting his head back to look up at you. All he accomplishes is a smear of bleach on your bare thighs and a smack of your gloved hand against the side of his head.

“Watch it,” you snap, hurrying to wipe the bleach off your skin. You’ve got him sitting on the floor in front of your bed, in the cramped little dorm room that the twins and Suna had helped you move into at the end of the summer. Your thighs sit firmly on either side of him, both to balance the bleach mix on your leg and to keep him from squirming. “I’ll let you walk around with piss yellow hair like you did in high school.”

“No, don’t…” he whines, straightening and letting you work. “You always do it the best. And it’s free.”

You laugh wholeheartedly. “You think this is free? I have your credit card number memorized and a lot of online shopping to do.”

He scoffs, mumbling ‘what the fuck’ to himself before making a noise of confusion. “What’re you shoppin’ for? You got all your shit already.”

“Need new clothes.” He points at your open closet, stuffed full of clothes and shoes. “Do ya?”

“Those clothes aren’t flattering on me.”

“Yeah, because you dress like a fucking twelve-year-old-”

“I’ll leave you like this, I swear to god-”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “But seriously, what’do you need new clothes for?”

You shrug even though he can’t see it. “I wanna change my style a bit… be more girly, maybe?”

He shakes his head slightly. “What for? You’re fine.”

“I mean, if I’m gonna be partying at Lambda a lot, I’m gonna want a roster of Lambda boys, don’t you think?”

Atsumu scoffs so hard that he chokes on his saliva. He turns to look up at you, disbelief scribbled all over his face. There’s bleach dripping down from his hairline. You can’t help but wipe at it carefully.

“The fuck are you talking about? A roster-”

“Am I not allowed to?” You level him with a challenging look, but he just rolls his eyes.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” He turns in place to face you, and then his hands are hooked around the tops of your thighs. “Just surprised… that’s all.”

The intensity of his gaze when he searches your face makes you warm and turn away, clearing your throat.

“I’m trying to rebrand a little, I guess.”

He blinks, chews on his lip a moment. Looks away from you. 

You can see that he wants to ask – ‘need me to rebrand, too?’ – but he doesn’t. He doesn’t ask if you need him to change, because he already asked once and you already said no.

You wonder if he’s worried you’ll change your mind. 

You wonder if maybe he doesn’t want you to.

Instead, he just nods.

“Probably a good thing – us seeing people.” When you just blink in surprise, he shrugs, more to himself than to you. “If people see us dating around, they’ll stop making assumptions.”

Assumptions that you’re mine.

Your heart does a confusing little flip at the thought. You ignore it, chalk it up to the nerves that come with difficult conversations. 

“Turn around,” you mumble weakly. “Your hair’s gonna be different colors if you don’t let me finish.”

The next hour of your life is completely silent, but so unbearably loud.

–

The twins and Suna rush Lambda and instantly become boys that every girl wants.

Despite the shopping spree in your first year, you struggle to mature as quickly as they do – talk of hookups and weekly flings become a regular occurrence, both with them and with the girls in your year. You’re unable to contribute over the years, dating here and there but never managing to take the next step.

Despite everything, that age-old rumor you’d been so desperate to be rid of – the one that links you to Atsumu – sticks to you like the summer heat of that moment in your dorm room. 

But that’s not what gets under your skin. It’s not that people associate you two in a way that makes it difficult for you to date. It’s that Atsumu is not held to the same assumption. He’s not held to the same curse, unfair and unjust. 

No… Miya Atsumu seems to have no problem finding girls to warm his bed, even if those girls still fix you with looks of jealousy. You wonder what the difference is – why no guy is willing to toe the line of Atsumu’s temper, while the line of yours is crossed with every pointed giggle and weighted shut of his bedroom door.

The only girl who seems to understand your near-constant state of confusion is Tanaka Saeko.

“They just want to fuck him because he and his brother are hot,” she’d said to you one day in first year, after finding a group of girls in the dorm lounge whispering about Atsumu. She’d come out of nowhere, startling you while you were seething at the microwave. She’d leaned against the fridge, staring sympathetically at you with her arms crossed. “But to be so real with you, their friend is hotter. The one that looks like a fish.”

Your irritation had been broken by that, a snort bursting out of you unexpectedly. “Suna? He doesn’t look like a fish-”

“Then how’d you know I meant him?” She’d raised her eyebrows at you at that, a grin stretching across her face. “But anyway, it doesn’t matter. None of them are as hot as you – trust me.”

You’d found yourself instantly fond of her. “Yeah? Then why doesn’t it feel that way?” 

“Because guys are douchebags and really only care about other guys.” She’d hummed to herself, thinking for a moment. “Maybe they’re all secretly gay… That’s how I get about other girls…”

Your laugh had scared the group of girls in the corner, all of their phones open to Atsumu’s Instagram page. Their glares told you that they could recognize you from the number of posts you occupy on their screens, but the mysterious blonde next to you just pointed at your chest and nodded at them.

“Great tits, amirite?”

You hadn’t laughed like that in a long, long time.

Tanaka Saeko had brought you out of your shell, pulled you out of the orbit that is Miya Atsumu. She’d set you up with friends she thought were good enough, cancelled your Tinder dates when she wholeheartedly disapproved of them. She’d cleansed your closet of anything she couldn’t style into what she’d called ‘frat girl chic’, and had only done so after realizing just how often you find yourself at the Lambda house.

She’d started finding herself there, too – joining you in the group of exclusive few that were allowed upstairs, flirting harmlessly with Suna, dunking Atsumu’s head in a bowl of jungle juice when he was voted President.

Having her around almost made it possible to forget about everything else over the next three years.

Almost. 

–

The breakups always come in text messages. They’re never brave enough to do it in person, not when there’s a chance he’ll be with you.

It happens again now, in the late afternoon of a typical Monday, just as you’re lifting a coffee cup to your lips and peering out the window to people-watch. The buzz from the table draws your attention. You glance down, and the eye roll that comes when you see the preview is involuntary.

“Of course,” you mutter, letting the phone drop. It’s a shame, really. You’d actually liked this one. He’d been cute, and he’d always treated you so sweetly.

Suna looks up from his laptop, gaze curious as he tries to read the text upside down. “Boyfriend?”

“Ex, now.” You swipe the notification away and try to get back to your homework, but the stupid discussion board doesn’t hold your attention long enough to stop the annoyance from creeping in. 

“What’d he do?”

“Nothing.” It’s true. The sweet junior with the puppy-dog eyes hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d practically worshipped the ground you walk on. He’d been sweet and gentle, so much so that he hadn’t wanted to step on anyone’s toes.

Suna leans over and takes your phone, typing in your password and reading the message in full.

hey, i really like you… but i don’t think this is gonna work. i get the feeling there are some things we both need to figure out first.

The tattooed man scoffs, a hand going to his mouth to cover the laugh that’s slipping through. “Some things you need to figure out, huh?”

“That’s what they all say,” you grumble, typing away at the prompt your TA had posted last week. “Maybe they need to figure out how to assert themselves in a relationship.”

“You gotta admit,” he breathes, locking your phone and setting it down between you. The lockscreen lights up, a photo of you from high school. There’s someone else in the photo with you.

He gives you a pointed look, brows raised. “It doesn’t look great from an outside perspective.”

You turn the phone over so it’s face-down. “I’m not in the habit of feeding fragile male insecurity.”

“Maybe not,” he shrugs. “But no guy – even the right guy – is gonna love that your lockscreen and all of the photos in your apartment have Miya in them.”

“I’m not looking for the right guy,” you bite out, rolling your eyes. “I’m looking for a guy that’ll stick around long enough to hook up with.”

Your friend laughs, surprised. “Oh, wow. Very direct.” When you don’t answer, he blinks. “You’re serious?”

“Unfortunately,” you sigh.

“Are you a virgin or just ovulating?”

“You wanna say it for the whole cafe to hear?”

He purses his lips, looking around. “I dunno, the barista might be down. I’m increasing your chances here.” He barely flinches when your sneaker makes contact with his shin.

“I’m a twenty-two-year-old virgin, Rin.” You shut your laptop with more force than necessary. “I graduate in three months. I’m not looking for a husband – I’m looking to get laid.”

He follows suit, his laptop closing gently. He leans back in his chair, sighing and examining you with the eye of someone who’s known you a very long time. “You always seemed decently invested in the guys you date.”

“Maybe the first few,” you admit, shrugging. “But they all had some weird hangup whenever it was time to take the next step. They skirt around the issue, but I swear they all think Miya has the final say in my sex life.” The bell above the door rings, and your eyes fly to the couple that enters, the girl giggling and clinging to the man’s arm. Your eyes roll against your will, and you gesture vaguely at them. “Clearly, that’s not the case for him.”

Suna turns to the door, watching as Atsumu orders coffee with his girl of the week. “Oh. I see what you mean.” He breathes a laugh of disbelief and cuts a glance at you. “I didn’t realize things were still bad-”

“Oh!” The voice comes from the bar, and then there’s a blond standing over your table. “I didn’t know you two’d be here.”

Suna opens his laptop, but you just smile politely up at the girl on Atsumu’s arm. She’s in your major, you think. No harm in being nice.

She doesn’t smile back.

Bitch.

“Just getting some work done,” you mumble, starting to pack up. “But I’m done, so I’m gonna head home.”

“Want me to walk you?” 

You groan internally, already feeling the heat of the girl’s glare.

“No, thanks. Suna’s gonna walk me.”

The man in question blinks up at you, green eyes confused. “I am?”

“Oh, are they dating?” It comes from the girl who’s got her fresh manicure on Atsumu’s bicep, her whisper directed to his ear but her voice purposely audible. He snorts in response, pointing between you and Suna. 

“These two? No way in hell.”

There’s something about it that irks you, the way he dismisses the idea of you dating. You know rationally that it’s truly absurd to think about you and Rintarou together – especially because Atsumu thinks you’re still dating that junior – but that flash of annoyance, often appearing when he does, strikes you. 

“We could be, you never know,” you say, smiling pettily. And then you turn to Suna, tossing your bag over your shoulder. “Wanna hook up, Rinnie?”

“Leave me out of it, please,” he says right away, attention already back on his screen. Atsumu laughs good-naturedly, and you can’t help but be fond of it. Still, you play the game.

“How ‘bout a date? Me, you, some Netflix? Maybe some chill?” 

Suna’s sharp eyes are playful and scolding at the same time – telling you to let it go, because he knows what you’re doing. “You couldn’t handle my chill, princess.”

You roll your eyes and stand, getting in one more dig that makes his smile peek out. “Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind, player.”

The moment – joking, innocent – is broken when you glance up at Atsumu.

His expression is unplaceable, eyebrows furrowed and eyes tracking your smile like its source means something to him.

You lift your eyebrows in surprise – you’ve never seen that look before – but grin innocently at him and his companion. “If you’ll excuse me – I gotta get ready for my hot date tonight.”

“Got you on speed dial, baby,” Suna mumbles. Atsumu’s nostrils flare in response, and you say nothing to calm him down, only whispering ‘nice to meet you’ to the girl you’ll never see again.

–

“Damn!” Saeko yells, kicking at some gravel on the sidewalk. “It’s always the sweet ones with the chocolatey eyes.”

You laugh, wrapping your leather jacket tighter around yourself. “It’s fine.” Your breath comes out in little puffs. “He was a good guy – I guess he just couldn’t cut it.”

“They never can.” It comes from Osamu, who’s sitting at the top of the Lambda house stairs, snuggled tight in his coat. “You come with a lot of baggage.”

You scoff and turn away from him, waiting until he finishes taking the cover charge from a group of freshman guys that walk up. One of them looks you over, eyes lingering on your thighs and chest appreciatively. You shift uncomfortably – the freshmen this year are so bold.

“Oi-” Osamu says, snapping rudely at him and then holding his hand out expectantly. “Eyes off, money out.”

The guy blinks at him, confused, and then points at his friend at the front. “He just paid it.”

“You get to pay extra,” Osamu says, smiling sweetly. “For not respecting women.” He reaches behind him and pulls out a plastic jug labeled RESPECT WOMEN JAR.

You and Saeko both laugh, and you shake your head. “Cut it out, Samu, it’s fine.”

Osamu just shakes the jug at the poor freshman. “Ten in the jar, kid.”

The boys all groan, and the target of Osamu’s sharp edge – the embarrassed one that’s pink around the ears – scowls. “Who’s your President? Phi Delt doesn’t do shit like this.”

Osamu laughs in his face, shaking the jar. The coins inside rattle louder than before. “I look like fuckin’ Google to you?”

Only when the ten dollar bill flutters into the jug does Osamu answer him.

“You can take your grievances to my brother.”

The boys are quiet as they trudge inside, finally realizing who they’re dealing with.

You give Osamu a knowing look when they’re gone. “Respect Women Jar?”

He smiles innocently. “Bettering fraternity culture or something.” He points the jar at you before setting it down. “Anyway, what I said stands. You got too much baggage.” 

You roll your eyes. “Go ahead.”

“You’ve been walkin’ around with Tsumu glued to your back your whole life. No one’s gonna stick around for that shit, sorry.” 

“Tsumu’s off with little-miss-sorority-girl-of-the-night,” you argue, gesturing in irritation at the door behind him. “And it’s not like I’m looking for Prince fuckin’ Charming—“ 

“She kinda sounds like a little gangster when she gets like this, dont’cha think?” Osamu says, completely ignoring you. 

Saeko chortles. “She sounds like your brother-“

“Alright, fuck you guys,” you snap, talking over Osamu’s wholehearted laughter. Stomping up the stairs, you smack his hand away when he reaches for you in apology. “I’m going to find someone to fuck.”

“Well, ain’t you demure,” Osamu jokes. 

You let the door hit him in the back on your way in.

—

It’s not working.

It never works, anyway, but for some reason, it stings particularly hard tonight. 

Even when you shed your leather jacket, revealing a tiny little halter top and far too much skin, no one will stay more than five minutes in your vicinity. 

Why? you wonder, watching yet another guy make yet another excuse.

‘Gotta find the bathroom, I’ll be back-‘

‘I think my friend is calling-‘

‘Aren’t you Miya’s girl?’

There’s a part of you that’s starting to think Atsumu’s doing it on purpose. It’s irrational, you know — he wouldn’t. He hasn’t before, and he never would. 

He wouldn’t do that to you.

But every rejection comes with another shot thrown back carelessly, and you’re starting to feel paranoid. You’re going insane. 

If it’s not him — if you can’t blame him — then it’s you. 

You’re unwantable, then. 

Is that what it is? Maybe it’s you-

“You’re spiraling,” a voice says behind you, close to your ear. A comforting hand on your waist, the other reaching to take the shot glass from you. “Don’t be the drunkest girl at the party. It’s a bad look.”

Suna.

You turn, glaring up at him hazily. He’s not exactly sober himself, but he does look better off than you. “Is Tsumu goin’ around tellin’ people we’re together?”

When he levels you with a knowing stare, you retrieve the shot from his hand and knock it back.

“So,” you say, wincing after the swallow. “If it’s not him, then it’s me.”

“You know it’s not that,” your friend whispers, tattooed fingers plucking the empty glass from your grip and depositing it on the bar. “It’s not him or you.”

“Why won’t anyone go home with me?” you whine carelessly. “What’do I gotta do? I’m already throwing myself at any guy that’ll give me the time of day.”

You can hear it – how desperate you sound. How pathetic you feel.

Why does this matter so much? Why do you care so much about whether or not you’re wanted for your body? 

You have so much more than this to offer the world. 

You’re smart, you’re sensible. You do well in school and already have a job lined up for after graduation. You have good friends – really good friends. You don’t have terrible taste in men – your exes always respected you and supported you. You have a good life and don’t cause trouble. Don’t find trouble.

Why does this feel so important?

Why does it feel like you’re getting left behind?

“Stop it,” Suna says quietly, somehow audible over the deep bass that shakes the room and the screaming and yelling of all the partygoers in his house. “It’s not gonna happen tonight. You’re too drunk.”

“I can do whatever I want, with whoever I want,” you bite. It loses its edge when your words slur together.

He leans down, looking you in the eye. “You want your first time to be some drunken, messy, fucked up five minutes that you won’t remember in the morning?”

“I don’t care!” Your eyes are starting to burn. “I just want it to be over – I’m tired of having this over my head!”

“You’re the one putting it over your head,” he reasons. “Just let it happen when it happens.”

You sniff, scrubbing at your face sloppily. “I’m gonna die a virgin at this rate-”

“What’s going on?” Another voice in your ear, much louder and much more familiar.

You glare up at its source.

Atsumu’s face is pink with intoxication, but his eyes are clear and concerned as he stares down at you. “You cryin’?”

“No,” you say, the edge in your voice sharp. “But I am going home.”

“What happened?” Atsumu’s got a hand on your elbow, tugging you close to him.

You snatch your arm away. “Don’t you have some sorority girl to take to bed?”

He blinks, taken aback. Suna just sighs, squeezing your shoulder.

“You know he’s not doing this.”

You smack him away, too. “Doesn’t matter,” you slur, swaying slightly. “‘m goin’ home.”

“What’s happening-” Atsumu says, looking between you and Suna, but the other man just shakes his head and stops you from pushing past him.

“You can’t,” he says. “He’s just gonna follow me around and pout all night if you leave like this.”

Atsumu’s already pouting, looking more and more upset the more you try to walk away from him.

You can’t leave like this.

You can’t leave him feeling this way, no matter how you might be feeling yourself.

“Ugh,” you groan, pushing past them both in the direction of the stairs to the second floor. Suna’s close behind, and you can hear Atsumu stumbling through the crowd, trying to keep up.

The freshman brother guarding the staircase rises when he sees you, letting you pass without even a hint of resistance. You just stomp past him, thanking him grumpily, and shoulder your way into Atsumu’s bedroom.

You pace the floor while you wait, pressing your hands to your eyes and trying to clear your head of the alcohol. Suna flops down onto the bed with a groan, yawning loudly. 

“Go easy on him,” he says lazily. “He doesn’t know.”

“Whatever,” you mumble, wiping at your face. Your eyes are burning again, and you can feel the knot in your throat.

Atsumu crashes into the room a second later, shutting the door and locking it.

“What’s happening?” he asks, looking between you. “Why d’you look so damn mad? What’d I do?”

You point a finger at him, watching it shake. “I’m going to ask you this exactly once–”

“He’s not doin’ it, Y/n,” Suna interrupts. “You know he’s not.”

You ignore him. “Are you telling people I’m off limits?”

Atsumu blinks, processing. “No…?”

You grit your teeth. “Miya, I swear to god–”

“I’m not!” he argues, throwing his hands up defensively. “I haven’t said shit! Why?!”

You sigh, dropping your hand. You know – you know that it was never him – but hearing him say it is both a relief and a frustration.

“Nothing,” you say, your temper waning. You feel tired. Tired and sad and unsure what to do. “It’s nothing.”

Atsumu steps toward you. “It’s not nothin’.”

There’s a silence – that cursed, heavy silence that sits between you, time and time again.

Suna breaks it.

“She’s upset that she’s still a virgin,” he says easily, as though listing off the weather forecast. “And it’s definitely your fault, even though you haven’t done anything.”

You can only turn to stare down at him, mind emptying of everything all at once.

“What-” you whisper, just blinking lamely at him. “-the fuck, Rin.”

He just yawns again, lazy as ever. “Just clearin’ the air.”

Atsumu stares down at you, eyes wide. “You’re a virgin?”

You want to crawl into a hole and die. 

“‘Kay. Now I’m leaving,” you say, turning on your heel toward the door. Atsumu grabs you again, harder this time in case you try to escape.

“What’s the problem with that?” he asks, shaking his head. “So what? Who cares?”

“You cared a second ago,” you point out.

He flushes. “I was surprised, that’s all. I didn’t think…” When you raise your brows, he clears his throat. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“It matters to me,” you say, your voice coming out in a whine. You can already feel yourself pouting just a bit, that petulant side of you emerging – the way it always does with him. “It matters to me that no one else is. That no matter how hard I try, no one wants me enough to go through with it.”

He frowns, growing upset as he realizes how you’ve been seeing yourself this whole time. “But– it’ll happen eventually…” He turns to Suna, thinking. “And why is this my fault?”

Suna stares up at Atsumu, deadpan. “Isn’t it always your fault?”

You watch in real time as Atsumu puts the pieces together.

He really had nothing to do with this.

He looks too upset to have had anything to do with this.

Your arm slips from his hand while he processes. He looks down at you, swallowing. “Still? This whole time?”

You just shrug, feeling a strange sense of shame seep into your skin. “I tried dating around,” you mumble, hugging yourself. “Guess some assumptions don’t go away.”

Whatever pain you feel about it is reflected in Atsumu’s expression. “That’s not fair. We’ve never been more to each other than this.”

“I know,” you whisper. “But it doesn’t seem to matter what we are or aren’t.”

He looks torn – he recognizes that he hasn’t been held to the same standard. That this has only ever impacted you.

“Is there anything I can do?” he whispers, almost begging for you to let him fix this.

You just laugh, shaking your head. Wishing you’d never started this conversation, because you hate seeing him like this.

“What can you do to help, Tsumu?” You try to ease the way he’s feeling. “You gonna sleep with me yourself?” you joke, laughing. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

The silence that comes doesn’t feel like all the silences before this.

You stare up at him, wondering why he’s dissociating, looking right through you. Suna doesn’t look much different, as though he’s realized whatever it is that you’re still missing.

“I mean,” Atsumu starts, swallowing hard. Still not looking at you. “I could…?”

You don’t process what he’s saying. “What?”

He flicks his gaze to Suna, who looks like he’s starting to agree. “I could… sleep… with you…?”

You just blink. It finally clicks.

“Fuck you,” is all you say.

Atsumu scrambles to stop you from walking out. “I’m serious!”

“Yeah, me too,” you say, leaning up into his face. “I’m not some fucking charity case. Fuck you.”

“Y/n, please,” he says, holding your arms tight. “It makes sense-”

“It makes no fucking sense at all!” you yell, tearing out of his grip. “I’m trying to get away from this whole impression that we’re together! And I want someone to want to sleep with me – I don’t need a pity fuck!”

Atsumu approaches, hands out to try to calm you. “You want to get laid. I’m the thing keeping you from that, right? Friends sleep together all the time–”

“Yeah, and that never works,” you argue, seething.

He just points at Suna. “It works for him and Saeko!”

Suna’s mouth drops open. “Dude, what the fuck?” 

You feel like you don’t have it in you to process more news tonight. “You-” You point stupidly at Suna. “-and Saeko are fuck buddies?”

Suna smiles sheepishly up at you. “I prefer the term ‘friends-with-benefits’...” And then he glares at Atsumu. “Thanks for outing us, you stupid fuck.”

You throw your hands up. “You outed me, you stupid fuck!”

He just smiles. “And now we’re seeing progress!”

“What progress?” you laugh, pointing at Atsumu. “All he did was come up with a stupid idea!”

Suna nods, looking sympathetically at Atsumu. “It is a stupid idea.”

Atsumu scoffs, affronted, and points back at you. “I’m offering her a solution!”

Suna nods, looking sympathetically at you. “It is a solution.”

Both of you glare down at him. “Fuck off,” you say.

“Please fuck off,” Atsumu repeats.

Suna just shrugs, standing and stretching like a cat. “Well, now that I’ve been outed, I’m off to find Saeko.”

Things spoken and unspoken sit between you and Atsumu after Suna is gone.

You try to leave before Atsumu can speak anything else into existence.

His fingers wrap around your bicep with ease. “Y/n, please.”

You stare up at him, incredulous. “Tsumu, this is a terrible idea. You can’t be serious.”

“There’s nothing else I can do,” he pleads. “I can’t say anythin’ to anyone, because that makes it worse. And not doin’ anythin’ is how we ended up here – you’re still upset, you’re still left hanging, you’re still frustrated.” He looks nervous – nervous and drunk, his voice dropping to a whisper, like this is something he’d never say sober. “I can do something about that. You know I can.”

You swallow, shoving down all the feelings that conflict with one another, and get in his face. “I’m better than a pity fuck, Atsumu,” you whisper back. “I might be desperate and frustrated and angry, but I’m still me.”

He just looks at you hollowly. “I never offered you a pity fuck.”

Your lips part in a quiet gasp. Your ears fill with the painful thudding of your heart.

“What?” 

You can barely hear yourself over the rush of your heartbeat.

Atsumu looks to be in a similar situation. His chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyelashes fluttering.

“Just consider it,” he whispers. “Please.”

His grip on your arm loosens, and you’re gone from the room before you can even realize you’d pulled away from him.

[taglist]

@onlytendoguesses @nectardaddy @hhoneyhan @bookskeepers @choerry-picking @siheez @introvertsince2003 @eggyrocks @atrashsith 

@beckixwsm @kakeru-eem @bakingcuriosity @dondoncool @corvid007 @asthmaticcchoeee @softpia @dailyakira @sephglowspink @shortcakebaby @kuroosfavkitten @moucheslove @sarahspam12 @dreamgardener @yoshit-he-dinosaur @miliondollagirl

@wordskeeper @kattiscrying @winniethepooh-lover @lmornly @alexithemiyatic @rntrsuna @whenanafallsinlove @punkhazardlaw @minyoungieee @makki0s @hoe4sunarin @nobodybutnnoorr @dambxtch @kittycasie @kameyyy @1uvicide @general-dumbass @deadfish714 @rory-cakes @crypt-0rchid @hanniesdegree @reyyy000001 @snail-squasher

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗪𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗜𝗡? - part ten max verstappen x reader ( angst ) series summary . . . when he wants to be normal, he can count on you, stranger.

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests ) ( previous | next )

You didn’t mean to RSVP.

You were just scrolling. Killing time between tasks. Looking for something — anything — that wasn’t work emails or Spotify playlists that used to be his. But there it was.

A racing sim event. In your city. One night only. Free entry. Sign up below.

You don’t think. You just click.

When you arrive, it’s loud in the kind of way that used to feel like home. The air smells like overpriced energy drinks and sweat and Red Bull-branded lanyards. The rigs are lined up like altars. The screens flash track maps and names and usernames.

Your namecard marker runs out halfway through, so you scribble it fast and messy:

Ajla.

Three letters and a half that feel like a phantom limb.

You don’t think anyone will notice. You’re wrong.

“Wait . . . Ajla?” a voice calls as you’re adjusting your gloves. “Like Ajla-Ajla?”

You look up. Two guys are walking over, big grins on their faces. One of them is already mid-step into a hug.

“It’s Elijah,” the taller one says like a mic drop. “Can you not tell from my voice?!”

You blink. “Elijah—?”

And then you’re laughing. Actually laughing. It doesn’t quite reach your ribs, but it gets close. Elijah hugs you like an old server pal would — brief, enthusiastic, real.

“I can’t believe you came,” he says, stepping back. “It’s been ages. You still racing much?”

You hesitate. “Not . . . really. Took a break.”

Elijah hums, nudging your shoulder like it’s nothing. “Well, you’re here now. That’s what matters.”

You settle into your rig with shaky fingers.

Your heart is louder than the fans whirring beneath the screen.

You finish top six.

Respectable. Solid. Not bad for someone whose hands haven’t held a wheel in months.

You try to slip out before anyone notices. You’re halfway to the exit, jacket half-zipped, when Elijah catches up.

“That was a hell of a final lap,” he says. “Honestly? If Amilian was here, though… he would’ve cleared everyone.”

You freeze mid-step. Something in your chest pulls hard — sharp and sudden, like a snapped brake line.

You laugh again, but this time it feels like lying. You nod, like it doesn’t hurt. Like your heart didn’t just remember how to mourn.

Because Amilian isn’t here. And in your world, he’s dead.

That night, you don’t turn on the TV. You don’t open Discord. But you do plug the rig back in.

Just to see if it still fits—whatever that means.

The startup hum is familiar, soft and electric. The wheel lights up, green and waiting. Your hands settle into it like muscle memory. Like prayer.

You don’t join a race. You just sit there.

And think.

About the boy who made you laugh through the headset. About the voice that steadied your breathing. About how real he felt.

You rest your forehead against the rim of the wheel.:

If he was real… and the feelings were real… does it matter how it started?

The rig lights blink quietly in response. 

Like maybe . . . maybe it never ended.

[finemeal]

I’ve been seeing a lot of: what would the batfam do for Bruce on Mother’s Day? And I’m like: … nothing, he has Father’s Day? So here’s what I ACTUALLY think what some of the batfam would be doing on Mother’s Day since most of them are without Mother’s (sad)

Alfred: We don’t know much, if anything, about Alfred’s mother. But, I can’t imagine Alfred not doing something to honor her. Whether that's cooking dishes she taught him, enjoying an activity they used to do together, or simply him sitting in silence as he reflects on fond memories they had together. Maybe he'll even tell anyone who's willing to listen stories about her.

Bruce: I imagine Bruce is visiting his mother’s grave on Mother’s Day. From my research, some Jewish people place small stones on the gravestone to mark their presence, so I imagine he’d spend countless hours before the day finding the perfect stone to place. After he leaves the grave, he’d spend time doing things he used to do with her, or get things for her that he wished he could now. Maybe he’d spend time at the Elderly home with mother’s whose kids can’t/don’t visit to make sure they get to enjoy Mother’s Day as well.

Dick: I can see Dick going to a circus, or Haly's Circus, on Mother's Day to celebrate his mom. I imagine on the day his parents died, he goes to their graves, but on Mother's Day he does what they used to do on Mother's Day which is: enjoy the circus. If he's able, maybe he even performs at Haly's Circus in her honor. Spending time somewhere he used to spend with his mom is something I can see him doing. I can even see him buying flower's and gifting them to either some stranger at the circus to brighten the mom's day up, or to one of the mom's who works at Haly's Circus. And if he's at Haly's Circus, I can see him talking to people and swapping stories about his mother, surrounded by people who loved her and misses her.

Barbara: When it comes to what Barbara would do on Mother's Day, it's actually really complicated. In some continuities she's dead, in other's she's alive but moved away. If she died, I imagine Barbara would spend Mother's Day with her family as they do things to honor Barb's mom's memory. Most likely, doing things they used to do with her mom on Mother's Day. If she's alive? Well then shit dude, Barbara's spending Mother's Day with her mom and doing whatever she wants. I don't know how close they are canonically, but I can see Barbara at the very least getting a meal with her mom or sending her gifts to celebrate Mother's Day.

Jason: Jason had, and lost, two mom's: the mom who raised him and the mom who birthed him. I imagine that he used to celebrate Mother's Day differently by spending the day mourning. But now-a-days he spends it in Crime Alley either taking care of mother's (no matter how old/young), and/or spending time with kids who, like him, lost their mom. I imagine he does this to honor both of his mom's who he lost, unable to celebrate with them but able to celebrate their memory with other people. He likely, like Alfred, would even tell anyone who asked about his moms and memories he had with them (though some are worse than others).

Tim: No matter how you feel about how Janet Drake did as a mother, Tim CANONICALLY was distraught over her death and mourned her. I think the Mother's Days that happened when his dad was still alive was doing things they used to do with her. After his dad died, I think Tim at first didn't want to celebrate it, but over time either goes somewhere with Bernard to distract themselves or they do what Tim and his dad used to do.

Stephanie: We actually see a lot more of Crystal Brown in comics than gets talked about in fandom, likely because her appearances dwindled when New 52 happened. But, as far as I can tell, Stephanie and her mom had a (mostly) good relationship. I think for Mother's Day, Stephanie would be spending the day with her mom. Going out to eat, doing whatever her mom wanted to do, and just spending good quality time together.

Cass: Now, obviously, Cass's relationship with her mother is ... complicated to say the least. I can see scenarios where maybe one Mother's Day they do sorta spend time together, but in a very toxic way most likely. Most Mother's Days, I can see Cass either taking the day to herself or tagging along with someone for their Mother's Day activities.

Damian: Damian's mother is VERY much alive and he VERY MUCH loves his mom. Damian spends Mother's Day with Talia al Ghul if she is available, if she's not then he tags along with Bruce and learns more about his grandmother. But, Damian very likely prefers spending time with his mom on Mother's Day and doing some bonding with her (as much as he can, really).

Duke: Duke's mom is not dead, she's even actually been cured of the Joker Venom! Duke is spending Mother's Day with his mom, doing what she wants and soaking up all the time he gets to spend with her (especially since, at one point, she was practically lost to him). They get good mother-son bonding time and he 100% gets her her favorite flowers and chocolate and writes a card that makes her cry.

[mrsgarciatorres]

all the way || mickey garcia

a/n: i’m watching *look both ways* and his character (gabe) is so HELLO??? like??? im crying… (yes this is a pregnancy fic)

your eyes lock into the stick that was in your hands. two lines. mickey won’t even be back in 2 months, how are you going to do this alone? you breathe in and you breathe out very slowly and grab your phone. this would have to be dealt with a phone call, you didn’t wanna scare mickey when he came home just to see your big belly.

your fingers shakily press each number on the dial screen, putting in your boyfriend’s number and then pressing call. you’re expecting it not to be picked up, so you already have a message sent out to him saying 𝘸𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬.

you pressed the green call button ay the bottom, your hands slightly shaking as you bring it up to your ear. it rings four times, and the line finally went off. “hey it’s mickey.., or fanboy. i’m either on duty or somewhere busy, please leave a message after the beep.” the line went dead with a long beeping noise, and your mouth opened up. “hi mickey, it’s me. please let me know when you get the chance to talk to me. it’s urgent, like… life or death urgent, i guess? anyways.. just let me know.” you and the call, and you look up to the ceiling. “what am i gonna do?” you whisper to yourself, closing your eyes.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

it was 20:30 when mickey got done with his 500 push ups, being the second to last done. his chest went up and down, sweat all over him. “that was easy as making cake,” he chuckled out. hang-man took his sweet time this round, and laughed from the floor.

“okay man.” he stood up from his spot, “i know i can do 500 push ups but the middle really does get to you.” jake ended. “what i meant was that i can’t make cake, hang-man. i always burn it.” jake understood the meaning now. “yeah, well… let’s hit the showers. man you smell,” he laughed, the back of his hand slapping mickey in the chest lightly. “says you,” mickey spoke back.

the two men walk their way towards the showers, talking about the day they had and how far it is until both of them could go home with their loved ones. “how is theodora by the way? she walking now?” mickey asked, asking about jake’s daughter. “oh man she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. yeah she’s walking and it’s a nightmare to be honest. one minute she’s there, and the next thing you know she’s trying to go upstairs by herself.” jake laughed.

“talking about babies makes me want to have one, but honestly? i feel like i leave too much to actually see them grow up. what if i miss the child birth as well? miss everything?” mickey questioned, his head spinning in circles with every thought about leaving his future ‘what if’ kid. “oh yeah that’s the down side of working in the military, leaving your wife and kid to defend themselves and grow up with out you. it breaks my heart every time i’m called back to station.. which now it’s nothing since i have them both in miramar now.” jake shrugged.

mickey hummed. “you thinking about getting your girlfriend pregnant or what?” jake laughed, shoving the shorter man. “no.. no, plus we haven’t really thought so far into our lives. i told her if she were to be with me all the way i’d be gone from time to time, the first time i left she left messages every day or even close to every hour. like yes, i love her man but i can’t be there all the time you know?” he shrugged, taking his clothes off casually and putting them on the wooden bench, hang-man doing the same as well. “yeah i get that. the first chick i was with was texting me 24/7, got my phone confiscated because of that. clingy people just don’t do me, man. i feel like people in the military in general don’t do clingy.” mickey nodded at that.

they’re done with what they’re doing, going to the lockers to get changed into brand new clothing. mickey’s phone is on his bag. as he wraps the white towel around his waist, he grabs it and taps on the screen to load the phone on. “oh shit.” he muttered, as he saw two missed notifications. “what?” hang-man asked, “i just got a man’s worst nightmare text and then voicemail.” mickey gulped, his other free hand going through his wet curls. “which is…” jake moved his hand, signaling to mickey what the message was. “we need to talk,” mickey showed him his phone, and what jake saw he whistled. “good luck man,” hang-man walked out of the locker room, shutting the door on his way out.

mickey walked over to a cold grey metal bench, sitting on it as his tags hung from his chest. he pressed the call back button, as he waited for his lover to pick it up. three beeps went on until the other line could be heard, “hey mickey.” he sucked in a breath, “hey mi alma. what’s up?” he asked, a soft smile planted on his face. “uh.. so you know how.., a month ago before you left we did the big bang and well, you left?” you stuttered. his eyebrows knot together in confusion, wondering why that was important for him to know now.

the door that opened to the locker room could be heard, rooster, bob, payback, rueben, and coyote all came in laughing with whatever was said by them. their eyes immediately landed on mickey, who’s only pair of clothing was covered by a towel with a hand in his phone looking dead on serious. an emotion never seen with their teammate. bob hushed them, quietness was heard again in the locker other than the clanging of opening the lockers and stuff being moved around. “mhm,” could be heard from mickey. “well.. uhm. how— i don’t want to say it but,” you stumble. “mi vida?” he breathed out, waiting for whatever it is you needed to tell him.

“i’m pregnant..” you whisper out, still seeming as tense on the other line to mickey. “what?” he asked in disbelief, “i’m..pregnant, did you hear me?” you whisper, hoping he didn’t hear you and not getting mad. “no.. no i heard you, god i’m sorry mi amor, give me a minute.” he pressed the mute button on the call after you said ‘okay’, as he put the phone down on the bench besides him.

he stared at the floor with wide eyes, thoughts flowing into his head. “but we were safe.” he mumbled. bob was the only one who could clearly hear him since his locker was right near the bench, the others far away on the other side of the room, still trying to eavesdrop into the conversation. bob’s eyes went wide, and he looked back behind him to tell the group to ‘quit it out.’ “i used a.. a condom, she was on the pill. we were safe,” he whispered. “mickey?” a girl’s voice could be heard through the locker room. he unmuted himself, “m here mi chica,” he mumbled. “okay. okay. i have two months left,” he spoke. “wh-when did you find out? how long have you known?” he asked you.

“for three hours. told you as soon as i could.” you answered back. “okay.. okay. when i get back, we’re gonna get through this okay?” mickey told you. “you’re.. not mad?” you asked him, a bit surprised. his face looked offended on the other line, but you couldn’t tell.

“mad? sweetheart, i’m… i’m a bit concerned, scared even. but i’d never be mad about any of this, we cannot control this. it’s.. it’s life.” he breathed. “i wish you were here right now..,” you mumble. “i know, i know me too. but as soon as i’m home, i’m all yours. all the way.” mickey said. “all the way?” you repeated, he hummed. “m sorry my love, i wish i could stay on the phone but i gotta go. i’ll try to check in every chance i get okay?” he told you, you nodded but forgot he couldn’t see it. “okay. call you later?” he hummed. “call you later amor. i love you, bye.” the call ended, and he stared up ahead in disbelief.

the gang behind him stood, all wanting to know what happened. “so like… you gonna spill the secret?” coyote’s voice broke the silence. “dude,” rooster stared at him in shock. “what? we’re all thinking it.” rueben said. “she’s…” mickey’s voice broke them up and had their attention on him in an instant. “she’s..” most of them repeated.

“she’s pregnant.”

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

a/n: AHHHH i love this movie sm. i loved that lili reinhart played in it, she was so good! but other than that here’s my take in a pregnant fic, pls lmk if yall need a part two cause this can turn into a tiny series if you want!! i could see it coming into something more. please remember to like and reblog and comment your feelings about it! <3 years

[maybejj]

Okayyy now what about JJ’s (or everyone’s, completely up to you) reaction when reader comes back to the island after being away? I didn’t know if she would surprise all of them together or maybe try and surprise them all individually? idk just thought it would be cute!!

you come home and jj feels whole again.

jj maybank x gossipgirl!reader

warnings: swearing, slight panic attack ?

notes: decided to just focus on jj! will be doing the rest of the pogues reunion eventually!

it had been 3 weeks when you told your uncle you were ready to go back home. he tried to get you to stay longer but you missed your friends. you missed staying up all night talking with sarah. you missed john b’s crazy rambles. you missed the chateau. you missed home.

but most importantly, you missed jj. you hadn’t talked to him much since you left. you wanted to focus on healing, mentally and physically.

physically, you were doing better. all the bruises and swelling had gone away. you were perfectly fine. on the outside.

mentally? it would take awhile. what he did to you betrayed the deepest parts of your trust. destroyed a part of yourself you didn’t know if you could get back. but damnit you were going to try. so for now, you just wanted to go home and heal with your friends.

the boys would have a lot of questions. you know they would. but you don’t know if you could bring yourself to tell them. you could barely think about that night without wanting to throw up. your chest would get tight and you were pretty sure you stopped breathing when his name got brought up. so you decided to focus on something or someone that made you feel whole.

which is where you found yourself now. outside the chateau.

the twinkie was gone but jj’s bike was out front and you caught a glimpse of his blonde hair through the window when you were walking up the driveway so you knew he was inside.

you smiled gently. you had missed him. just seeing his fluffy blonde hair already had you smiling like an idiot.

you took a deep breath before you walked through the front door.

“bro i can explain the broken glas-“ jj’s words stopped when he turned around and saw you standing in the doorway. he was pretty sure he was dreaming because there was no way you were right in front of him. you had never mentioned when you were coming home so seeing you standing in front of him with the same jaw dropping smile he had engraved into his brain made his heart stutter.

“miss me?” you tease him while taking a step closer to him. it was like your words broke him out of the trance he was stuck in because the next moment you’re being squished against his chest, face tucked under his chin, legs being lifted off the ground.

“holy shit! you’re actually- are you- fuck!” he swung you around a few times before setting you down. his hands automatically cradling your face.

“you’re actually home? is this real? did i smoke too much weed?”

“don’t you always?” you smile while placing your hands over his.

you could tell he was still processing your presence and didn’t respond to your retort, “fuck, is this real? this can’t be real. why didn’t you tell me you were coming back? i would’ve planned a party or got some beer or even ordered that cake you like from the bakery down the road-“

you place a hand over his mouth to stop his rambling.

“i wanted to surprise everyone. guess i did a good job.” you see him nod his head while he removes your hand from his face. he’s staring at you like he’s scared you’ll leave again. his eyes go soft, his forehead rests against yours.

“i missed you so fucking much.” his lips are so close to yours but you don’t move and neither does he.

“i missed you too.”

“sarah said nothing happened at the party and you were okay but i swear to god if adam did-“ you swallow thickly at his words, heart clenching in panic.

you squeeze his hand in fear, “i don’t want to talk about it. i’ve moved on. we’re over and that’s all that matters.”

you can tell in the way he studies your face that he doesn’t want to drop the conversation but because you asked he does. he can’t risk running you off again. it would destroy him.

“okay. i’m just glad you’re home.” he brings you in for another hug. he arms are wrapped fully around you and his chin rests on the top of your head while he squeezes you tight, eyes closed.

this is the best he’s felt in the past month. it feels like the world starts turning again. like the days won’t be so dreadful. he can feel the hallow pit in his chest fading away every time he feels you breathe.

“why is there glass everywhere?”

jj’s eyes pop open and he winces while surveying the room, “uh… don’t worry about it.”

the glass on the floor may be broken, but he no longer was.

tagging my old gossip girl peeps <3: @hopelesssheaven @annasturn0lo @sheisntyou @onelonelybitch @marleymarleymarleymarley @pr3tty-pink @freyawhitexxx1 @aesthetic-lyss @voidangxls @kathryn-maraudersversion @hotvampdragon @jaydaaasworld @sunflouer04 @coriiiioooooo @xdbug-bob @rafe-cameronswife @idiotussupremus @grapejuice32 @dr3wstarkey @ineedtherapy1 @moustacherryismyhusband @davinashifts333 @barnesboo1967 @mirellef2001 @lillell467 @spenceatiny18 @obxshift @justsomerandompersonintheworld @thepopcultureaddict @justdamnpeachy @acidfeens @starsval @cali-888 @vivian-555 @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @moonywhisp3rs @jaes-last-words @itsmimi16 @crvcified-kinx @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @tbhashtonn @bbyg4rl

[cecilyv]

fuck it friday (an outtake)

@rcmclachlan tagged me earlier in the week, but work has been a bear. Here's an outtake from half a page (AKA the Robby fic).

@liminalmemories21 and I liked the scene, but it never quite worked. Slowed down the second half and didn't add enough to justify the pacing change. Still like it though, so here you go -- happy fuck it friday.

++++

His cousin calls at noon on a Friday.  He texts Evan as soon as he hangs up with him.  

He’s still sitting on the couch, phone in his hand, staring at nothing when Evan and Robby get home.  Robby builds a snack that looks like it involves half the kitchen and vanishes to his room.  Evan waits until he hears the door close before he says, “What happened?”

“He fell off a ladder trying to clean the gutters.  Broke his hip.”  Can feel his mouth twisting.  “Because he’s too cheap to hire someone to do it for him, and he’s too old to do it himself.”  Closes his eyes.  “Fuck.”

Evan nods.  “What happens next?”

He has no idea.  “I have to go?”  Evan doesn’t say anything, and, “There’s nobody else left.  My mom can’t lift him.  They can’t afford home health care or assisted living.  The waitlist for a place that Medicare will cover is,” he laughs.  “He’ll be better before they find a place for him.”

He hasn’t seen his parents in nearly three decades.  Digs the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars behind his lids.  

Feels Evan’s hand on his back, and leans into it, the way he’s been leaning into Evan for going on two decades now.  “Would it make it better or worse if I went with you?”

“I don’t know.”  Drops his hands and looks at Evan.  “But, I want you there anyway.”

“Okay,” Evan says easily.  “Then I’ll be there.”  Adds more practically, “And, I’ll call Carla.  See if she can hook us up with someone who can work a little magic.”  He’s not sure Carla likes him all that much - even after all this time – but she loves Evan.

“I have to tell Robby.”  And it says something that he’s dreading that more than seeing his parents again.  Feels Evan press a kiss to his temple and take a little more of Tommy’s weight.

"You going to be okay?" He tilts their foreheads together. "I, I gotta go to shift." Tommy nods, stands there alone for longer than he'd be willing to admit.

The next morning, when Robby finally makes his way to the kitchen, Tommy’s had time to cook a full breakfast — pancakes, eggs, bacon. Evan’s on shift, so this grand reveal is on him. He always misses him, but definitely for these kinds of conversations because however much he’s tried, and listens to the counselor and does his homework — he still hates it, would rather just. Leave. Still has to fight every instinct in him to not walk out of the room, ignoring what they both agreed needed to be done. 

Robby bounding down the hallway but skids to a stop when he sees all the food. Is immediately cautious — “What’s wrong? Is Dad okay?” And Tommy really needs to learn how to do something other than feed those he loves.

He piles food on the plate (they’ve learned there’s literally no end to Robby’s stomach) and kicks out a chair. “Sit. Eat. I have-“ something I should have said years ago. Something I have no idea how to explain.

“Wha-“ Robby asks through a mouth full of food and Tommy takes the reprieve.

“Mouth closed please.  I made the food, I don’t need to see it again.”

He crinkles his nose at Tommy, but closes his mouth, leans forward to shovel more food in.

Tommy takes a fortifying sip of coffee, counts down from three, says, “So we need to talk about my dad”

That gets Robby to look up from his plate.  “Your dad?”

He supposes it says something positive about their parenting that Robby can't really understand a parent who doesn't love their child, a child who doesn't want to talk to his parents. 

"Why are you telling me now?" Robby finally asks.

He can barely get the words out and when he does, Robby’s dropping his fork with a clatter, pushing back his chair with a bang. He disappears down the hallway without a word.

Tommy clears the plates, stands over the sink, staring out the window. He hears Robby stomp back through and opens his mouth to say—something, when the back door bangs shut.

And oh, yeah, this is why Evan finds this frustrating

And like he's summoned him, he feels Evan come up behind him, home from his shift and Tommy really had lost track of time, leans into the hand Evan puts on his back. They both watch Robby in the backyard, fiddling with his skateboard, back to the house.

"Do I need to ask how it went?"

He shrugs. "I'm not really sure what the right reaction would be to finding out you have grandparents seventeen years in, that your dad kept them from you."

Evan turns him away from the window. "Hey. No. Don't do that." Tommy leans against the sink, feels the water seep into his jeans. Ignores it to stand in the safe circle of Evan’s arms, rests his head on his shoulder. 

Lunch is quiet. For once, he’s the teenager -- shoves food into his face, drops his plate into the sink, and disappears to work on the car for a while. Anything to get out of his head. Can’t escape reality forever though. He comes back in from the garage and overhears Evan and Robby in the kitchen, pauses in the mudroom to listen. Knows he probably shouldn't, but can't quite stop himself.

"Did you know Pops' parents live in Bakersfield?"

"I did."

"What are they like?"

He hears Evan put the knife down. "I don't know. I've never met them. Pops hasn't talked to them since long before I met him."

"Just because he's into guys not girls?"  Robby sounds honestly baffled by this idea.

It hadn’t just been that, it had been a long string of things, of Tommy not being man enough, not stepping up, not doing exactly as expected but he never told Evan any of that.

Never wanted to give him any reason to see him as less than, even if, he knows, really — he’s not.

He can feel Evan want to soften it, and then choose not to. "Yes."

"Has he tried again? Maybe they just needed time. You always say that we should give people second chances."

His mother had gone back in the house, closed the door behind her. His father had stood on the porch, said 'I don't have a son anymore' and spit when he got in the car.

Evan clears his throat, “So you know how Pops has a weird phone number?”

“Yeah?” Robby says, sounds confused by the change in conversation.

“It’s the same one he’s always had.  He never changed it, after, just in case, so they could always find him.” He hadn’t realized Evan figured that out.

“Oh,” Robby says.  

"Kiddo, I love that you want to give them a second chance. But just this once, they don't get the benefit of the doubt. If they wanted a second chance it's on them to reach out, not Pops. And they haven't. So, we need to respect that, respect what Pops needs."

In the end Robby asks to go with them, and he’s the quietest, most polite they've ever seen him; he ‘yes ma'ams’ and ‘no sirs’ and Tommy would be proud, if he wasn’t worried a little about how his kid was suddenly from Stepford. Doesn’t matter anyway, Tommy's parents won't even interact with him.  His mother barely looks at Tommy, doesn’t do more than the minimum to acknowledge that Evan and Robby are there too.  His father pretends that he’s asleep.  He swallows down all the things he could say, that he wants to say.  Swallows down the hurt, and doesn’t let his expression falter. 

It's family. It's honor. It’s doing the right thing even when it’s hard.  And his dad didn't teach him anything about that, but Bobby did and he'll do his duty.  But he’s sending his son home, because he doesn't need to see this.  Robby hugs him before he leaves, which isn’t a thing he does much these days - too full of teenage dignity for it – and Evan kisses him.  Both of them look at the house before they do it, and Tommy has a sneaking suspicion that they’re making sure that they’re been watched more than waiting until they’re sure they aren’t.  He really does love them so much.

Tagging anyone who wants to play.

[rylem33]

A Happy Ending

I’ve been doing a lot of bitchification and corruption stories lately that tend towards “bad” endings. I was asked to do a story with a happy ending. So please enjoy.

----------------------------------------

Ben sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands twisted in his hair.  It had been so different since that morning.  A few days ago his relationship, his life, turned upside down without any explanation. The bedroom door clicked open and Ben flinched.

Aubrey stood there, backlit by the hallway light, like she hadn’t a care in the world. She looked insanely hot—decked out in tight, pastel pink from head to toe. The lace-up top barely contained her cleavage, crisscrossed strings holding the fabric together like it might snap if she so much as breathed too hard. Her matching pink pants clung to her hips, laced all the way down the sides, showing off every curve like she was a walking thirst trap.

A chunky designer bag hung from her wrist and her blonde hair was perfectly styled. A diamond choker glittered at her throat. And those clear sky-high platform heels clicked softly on the floor as she stepped inside.

She flicked her hair over her shoulder with a lazy smirk.

“Ugh, God, this place is such a dump,” she muttered under her breath, glancing around. “I swear to God, I cannot believe I used to like living like this.”

Ben stayed quiet. He’d heard it all before. He’d heard her snap at the barista that morning. Heard her chew out the mailman for “bending the packages.” He’d watched her roll her eyes at their neighbors in the hallway, ignoring them like they didn’t even exist when they said ‘hello’..

The old Aubrey would’ve died of embarrassment acting like that. But this Aubrey loved it. She loved being bratty, bitchy, and sometimes just outright mean to just about everyone. But when she looked at him—just him—her whole face softened.

“Baby…” she sighed, stepping closer, crouching in front of him. She pressed her fingers under his chin and tilted his face up to meet hers.

“I hate seeing you like this,” she whispered. “You don’t deserve it. Not you.”

Ben’s throat tightened. “But it’s what I get, isn’t it? You… you don’t want me anymore.” “Not like that.” Aubrey frowned.

“I love you,” she whispered like it hurt to admit it.  “I just… I can’t want you right now. Not like… this.”

She stood up, pacing toward the window. He watched her in silence as she stared out into the city lights. Even standing still she had a presence. It was like she knew she was the hottest thing in the building. In all honesty, she was.

“Ugh. You wouldn’t believe the looks I got tonight,” she scoffed, running her manicured nails down her waist. “Women practically begging me for attention. Men groveling like dogs. It was pathetic.”

Her head turned slightly, just enough to glance at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were soft again, like none of that mattered when it came to him.

“I’ve gotta tell you something,” she whispered. Her voice cracking a little. 

“What?” he said harsher than he wanted.

“Ever since that night. God, Ben. It’s been so fucking bad.”

She started pacing again, her bag swinging at her side. “I’ve been so goddamn horny, baby. All the fucking time. But I don’t do anything. I come home to you.”

Ben swallowed hard. His voice cracked. “Why? Why come back to me?”

She let out a soft, almost bitter, laugh but when she turned fully to face him again, her expression was serious.

“Because I love you, Ben. I didn’t want this.” she said waving her arms up and down her body. “I only wanted you. Whatever did this to me, didn’t ask my permission first.”

She kneeled down in front of him and placed her head against his stomach. She could see his cock grow immediately. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to tease you. It’s not my fault I’m only attracted to hot women now.”

Ben stood, like he wasn’t sure if his legs would hold him. “Then… what are we supposed to do?”

She bit her lip, glancing down like she was arguing with herself. Then, like she’d decided fuck it, she walked up and grabbed his hands. “Come with me. Let me show you where this all started. Maybe… maybe it can give us a way to fix this.“

He nodded once. “Okay.“

-------------------------------------

Later that night, they stood outside of Mina’s. Aubrey had demanded time to change into something “actually worth wearing.”

She wasn’t kidding.

Gone was the pink lace-up outfit. Now she stood in front of him like she was ready to start a riot.

Tiny black leather shorts barely covered her ass. A microscopic black bikini top pushed her tits up so high they looked like they might spill out if she breathed wrong. She had some oversized leather jacket draped over her shoulders like she couldn’t be bothered to actually wear it. And those pink and black Playboy boots? They looked like they belonged to the Queen of Bad Decisions herself.

Her hair was a messy, high blonde updo, loose curls falling around her face. And that smirk? God, it was lethal.

“You better not stare like some sad little puppy all night,” she snapped at Ben without looking back. I swear to God, if you start embarrassing me again, I’ll leave your ass right here.“

Ben flinched but nodded. He knew she didn’t mean it. Or at least, he hoped she didn’t.

Aubrey strutted right up to the door like she owned the building. Ben hung back half a step, anxiety bubbling in his chest. Aubrey’s friend Melanie had somehow gotten them on the list for Rachel’s bachelorette party. It was an exclusive club and you could barely notice it from the street. They weren’t on the list for tonight.

The bouncer didn’t move. He stood there like a wall, mouth twisted in permanent disapproval. His eyes flicked down to Ben, then slid to Aubrey.

“Name?” he grunted.

Aubrey didn’t even slow down. She blew right past the velvet rope like she didn’t hear him.

“Move.” Her voice cut through the air like a slap.

The bouncer’s hand shot out, blocking her with the back of his arm. “Not how this works, sweetheart.“

Aubrey slowly turned her head, her lip curling in mock amusement. She glanced down at his arm like it was something disgusting she’d have dry-cleaned off later.

“*Did I stutter?” she hissed, stepping in, heels clicking sharply. “*Move. We’re going in.“

The bouncer stood his ground, jaw tightening. “Name, now.”

Ben felt his stomach sink. He knew this wouldn’t work. Of course this wouldn’t work. Why the hell had he let her drag him…

Aubrey let out the fakest, most annoyed laugh Ben had ever heard. She leaned in, dragging one long pink nail down the man’s massive arm.

“God,” Aubrey groaned, rolling her eyes like she was already over this man’s existence. “Do I look like I give my name to rent-a-thugs?“

The bouncer’s nostrils flared. “You’re not on the list. Neither is he. Go home.“

Aubrey tilted her head, giving a slow, vicious smile. She leaned in, pressing her nail dead-center on his chest.

“Listen up, muscle boy,” she whispered, voice dipped in venom, “I’m not going home. I’m not giving you my name. And I’m not going to explain myself to some bloated doorman with more biceps than brains.“

The bouncer stiffened.

“Here’s what is going to happen,” Aubrey continued, her finger stopping dead-center on his chest. “You’re going to move. Right now. Or I’m going to make such a fucking scene that your boss is begging me to step over your worthless body.“

Ben swallowed hard. He could feel the tension.

For a heartbeat, the bouncer didn’t move. 

Then, grinding his jaw so hard Ben swore he could hear his teeth, the bouncer let out a long, sharp breath through his nose and jerked the rope aside with a harsh swipe.

“Go. Both of you.“

Aubrey smiled, slow, cold, and victorious. “Good boy.“

She grabbed Ben by the wrist, dragging him toward the entrance without looking back once. The music hit like a wave the moment the door shut behind them.

Aubrey leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear, voice pure sin.”See, baby? Told you I always get what I want.“

She ran her fingers through his hair, nails grazing his scalp, her voice softening just for him.

“And I want you with me. Always.“

--------------------------------------------

The place was unlike anywhere Ben had ever been before. He could feel the pounding bass deep in his chest. The room was mostly dark, but neon lights cracked through the haze in pinks, purples, and reds. 

The room was full of attractive people. Those who weren’t were flaunting their money. And even amongst this crowd, every eye was on her. Aubrey knew it, too. 

Her hips swayed like a metronome in perfect sync with the music, head high, showing off her toned stomach and perfect tits. She stomped across the floor in her knee-high boots like she owned it.

Men turned to watch her. Women did too. Some watched with hunger and others with jealousy. Every stare slid over her body like they needed to own her or be her. And Aubrey loved it. She basked in it.

The moment people noticed Ben walking hand-in-hand with her, their faces twisted into confusion. It was like they were seeing some joke they didn’t understand.

A tall woman in leather leaned against the bar, eyes flicking from Aubrey to Ben and back again. She let out a loud, mocking laugh as they passed. “Seriously? That’s who you’re dragging in here? Him?“

Aubrey noticed how the words impacted Ben. She stopped on a dime, turning her head just enough to flash that flawless, dangerous smile.

“I’m sorry,” she purred, taking a step toward the woman without missing a beat, “did you say something?“

The woman straightened, cocking her head, trying to save face. “Just saying you could do a hell of a lot better, sweetheart.“

Aubrey leaned in so close her breath probably tickled the woman’s ear. “You think I give a fuck what you think? He’s with me.”

The woman flinched—actually flinched—before looking away, silent.

Aubrey turned on her heel without missing a beat, grabbing Ben’s hand tight and pulling him through the crowd.

“Ignore them, baby,” Aubrey whispered, glancing over her shoulder with a devilish grin. “They’ll learn.“

She dragged him onto the center of the floor, right into the slow swirl of red light. Her body moved like she belonged there—hips rolling, arms stretching over her head, letting the music own her. She danced like she hadn’t thought about anything but herself in days.

Ben tried to keep up, standing awkwardly at first. But then Aubrey leaned in, biting her lip, grabbing his shirt. “Loosen up, baby.“

He tried. God, he tried. They danced for a while, an odd pairing in the sea of perfect strangers. The looks never stopped. Ben felt every single one.

She leaned in, brushing her lips against his ear again. “This is where I was… right here, dancing my ass off. Drinking God knows what.“

Ben tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “But you didn’t feel anything? Nothing… weird?“

She just shrugged, turning her back to him, rolling her hips in time with the beat like it was second nature. 

“It was a bachelorette party and was drunk, baby. I felt good. I don’t even remember leaving. Somehow I got home. Then I woke up the next morning like… this.”

Ben nodded, then leaned in and whispered, “I need a minute.”

He slipped away, leaving Aubrey dancing by herself.

Immediately, two guys tried to slide in, but Aubrey shut them down with a single withering glance. They walked away defeated, like she’d kicked them in the chest.

Ben couldn’t help but smile, just a little.

Ben’s eyes scanned the crowd, searching for something to give reason to what happened to Aubrey. He tried to ask a few people, but no one cared to listen. They were all to busy enjoying their night. After a while, he ended up at the bar. He leaned in, desperate for someone to take him seriously. 

The bartender, a man in his mid-thirties with tattooed arms and slicked-back hair, leaned forward lazily. “What’ll it be?“

Ben hesitated, eyes darting toward Aubrey, who was still dancing but now with a woman who was draping herself on Aubrey in a way Ben found both hot and disturbing. Ben leaned in closer. “Actually… I—”  He rubbed his face, feeling ridiculous even trying to explain it.  “I don’t need a drink. I… I need answers.”

The bartender arched an eyebrow. “Don’t we all?“

“My wife… she came here a few days ago. She woke up the next morning looking… different. Acting… different. You ever heard of something like that happening here?“

The bartender just stared at him for a second, like he wasn’t sure if Ben was fucking with him or not. Then he gave a slow shake of his head.

“Look, man… this is a club. People get wasted, they wake up different every weekend. That’s how it works.“

Ben’s heart sank. “No, I mean—“

“I heard you.”  The bartender leaned in, lowering his voice just slightly.  “If something happened to her, it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t here. People like to blame this place for all kinds of weird shit. But trust me… we just serve drinks.“

Ben sat back, deflated. His eyes flicked toward Aubrey again.

“Sorry, man,” He slid Ben a drink. “Wish I had more for you. That one’s on the house.”

Ben forced a weak smile and sipped his drink.

They stayed a while longer. The entire time, Aubrey danced and flirted. She worshipped the attention. But Ben could tell she kept checking on him too. She wanted him there. As much as she drank it all in, she never let herself stray too far from him.

--------------------------------------------

They fumbled through the door sometime after two in the morning, the door slamming shut behind them. Aubrey stumbled first, kicking off her pink and black Playboy boots with a careless giggle.

“God, I needed that,” she sighed, flopping back onto the couch with zero grace. She sprawled out like she owned the place, leather jacket slipping off one shoulder, her legs spreading wide, head falling back onto the pillows.

Ben leaned against the door, watching her in that fucking outfit—the black leather shorts clinging to her hips, the micro bikini top still somehow holding on by a thread. Her skin glistened with sweat.

“You’re something else…” Ben muttered, words slurring just enough to betray how many drinks he’d downed trying to keep up with her.

Aubrey cracked open one eye, smirking even wider. “Damn right. Took you this long to notice?“

She stood up, sauntering toward the bedroom without paying attention to him. 

As she reached the doorframe, she shrugged off her leather jacket, letting it drop to the floor without a care. She continued, reaching behind her back and tugging the tiny black top up and over her head, exposing every inch of flawless, bouncing skin. She let it fall from her fingers with a soft thump.

Ben stood there, unable to do anything but watch. 

Aubrey shimmied out of her tight leather shorts next, stepping out of them one leg at a time until she was completely naked, standing there like a fucking curse made flesh.

She climbed into bed, stretching out like a goddess, pulling the blanket down with one hand and patting the empty spot next to her.

“Come here, baby.“

Ben didn’t hesitate. He slid in next to her, pulling her tight against his chest, burying his face in her hair.

“Aubrey…” he whispered.

She let out a slow, knowing breath, sitting up just slightly. “Baby… don’t.“

But he couldn’t stop. He missed her. Missed how she used to melt under his touch, how she used to need him. “Just… let me try.“

His hands slid up her thighs, shaking just a little. Her body stiffened.

“Ben…” she whispered again, softer this time, almost broken.

He looked up at her, desperate. “Please… let me have you. Just… just once.“

She slid her fingers into his hair, cupping the back of his head. She pulled him forward, pressing her lips to his forehead, holding him there.

“You don’t want me like that,” she whispered, voice shaking.

Ben’s throat closed tight. He wanted to argue, but deep down, he knew she was right.

She curled her fingers around his hand on her waist, whispering so soft he almost didn’t catch it.

“I still love you, Ben. I know this is killing you. Hopefully, this will all be over in the morning.“

Ben closed his eyes tight, breathing her in. They held onto each other until sleep finally took them both.

--------------------------------------------

Aubrey cracked open one eye. Her head pounded. She groaned, rolling over into the mess of tangled sheets but Ben’s side was empty.

“Fuck me…” she hissed under her breath, throwing the blanket off herself and sitting up slowly, clutching her head.

She rubbed her temples, wincing at every creak of the floor as she padded naked toward the kitchen. She grabbed a glass from the counter and slammed it under the faucet.

“God, why does everything fucking suck today?” she growled to no one, slamming the glass down hard enough to rattle the counter.

The hallway bathroom door was cracked open, light spilling out onto the floor.

“Ben?” she croaked, dragging herself toward it. “You been up for a while?“

She rubbed her bleary eyes and pushed the door open fully. Standing at the mirror was a woman. A tall, blonde and toned woman.

Aubrey’s eyes moved up and down, taking in her full hips, her curves. The woman locked eyes with Aubrey in the mirror. The eyes were frighteningly familiar.

“Ben?” Aubrey spoke, stepping inside.

The woman turned around slowly, her lips curling into a cocky little smirk, one perfectly manicured brow arching up. “Took you long enough to fucking wake up.“

Aubrey staggered back a step, staring at the walking, talking sex bomb standing in front of her.

“Holy shit… Ben? What… what the fuck?“

Ben laughed. “Guess our little trip to the club worked after all, baby.“

Aubrey’s mouth hung open, completely wrecked by the sight.

Ben stepped toward her, barefoot, hips swaying like he’d been this way his whole life. She leaned one hand on the doorframe right beside Aubrey’s head, lips curling into something wicked.

“God, look at you,” Ben purred, eyeing her up and down. “Fuck me, you’re so hot.“

Aubrey’s head spun. “Ben… you’re a woman.”

Ben chuckled, leaning in, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind Aubrey’s ear, voice dropping to a filthy whisper. “So are you, babe.“

Aubrey’s heart hammered in her chest as she realized the truth.  They could be together. “Holy fuck… we can make this work.“

Ben grinned wide, leaning in even closer until their lips almost touched. “Damn right we can.“

Aubrey launched forward, crashing her lips into Ben’s. Ben groaned into her mouth like she’d been starving for this. Their bodies collided in a blur of sweat and want, hands gripping skin, pulling, clawing, claiming.

“God,” Aubrey gasped, dragging her nails down Ben’s bare back, “I’ve been so fucking horny. I’ve been trying so hard to not cheat. And now, I don’t have to fight anymore. You feel so fucking good.”

Ben…no, Brenna, the name popping into her brain, bit her bottom lip hard enough to make her whimper, then shoved her back against the cool tile wall of the bathroom.

“I’ve waited for this too, Aubrey.“

Their mouths crashed again. Aubrey’s leg wrapped around Brenna’s thigh, grinding shamelessly. Their curves pressed together, sin made flesh. Every inch of friction felt necessary, like they’d been wired for this moment their whole lives and just hadn’t realized it.

The mirror behind them fogged with their heat.

They stumbled out of the bathroom, tangled and gasping, knocking into furniture, laughing, cursing, tearing the place apart on their way to the bedroom.

“This is fucking insane,” Aubrey moaned as Brenna pushed her down onto the mattress, crawling on top of her.  “We’re insane.“

“Fucking good,” Brenna corrected, trailing kisses down her neck. “Fucking perfect.“

Aubrey pulled her up by the hair and kissed her hard.

They didn’t care how loud or how feral they were. It was two goddesses reclaiming each other in bodies that finally matched their hunger.

Moans turned to growls. Fingers tangled in hair. Mouths explored with filthy desperation. It was euphoric. It was a rebirth forged in sweat and spit and love twisted with heat.

And when they came, it was loud. Their breathless, bodies arching and shaking in the ruined sheets. Brenna pulled Aubrey close, lips brushing her ear. Aubrey curled into Brenna’s side, trailing lazy fingers over her stomach.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Brenna whispered. “We’re fucking unstoppable now.“

Aubrey grinned, heart pounding, body still buzzing. “The world has no idea what’s coming.“

They lay there a moment longer before Aubrey rolled onto her back, eyes burning into the ceiling, a wicked little smirk curling on her lips. “Let’s burn it all down, baby…“

Ben leaned over, biting softly at her shoulder. “…together.“

And just like that, the world was officially fucked.

[batsandbirdbrains]

I want to write a fic set during season one of yj where Batman gets hurt really bad on a mission with the JL and the team sees him rushed to mount justice for the med bay and Dick sees Bruce basically mangled and bloody and hears someone say they think his heart stopped and Dick panics

The one where Robin runs away to the circus

Robin had chased after them, trying to follow them in the med bay, shouting Batman, B wake up! B! until someone holds him back, and that’s when he hears someone say they think Batman’s heart has stopped.

And Dick freaks out. His ears start ringing and his mouth is dry and he’s suddenly terrified. Because he was only Bruce’s ward. Alfred has no real way to claim custody of him, and he refuses to go back to the juvie the city threw him into the first time he was orphaned.

So Dick runs. He books it back to the manor and packs a bag, and he’s crying the entire time, and Alfred is out so he can’t even say goodbye to him, but he leaves a note explaining as best he can, telling Alfred to call Clark for more answers.

And after a little research, he uses a zeta tube to get to Europe, then hitchhikes until he stumbles upon Haly’s Circus.

Jack Haly welcomes Dick back with open arms, telling him he always has a home with the circus. But Dick can’t go by his real name, can’t be a Flying Grayson just yet. There are a few people in the JL who know his and Bruce’s identities, and he can’t be found that quickly.

So he takes his mom’s old stage name, from before she became a Grayson: The Skydancer.

And he becomes a huge hit right away, performing acrobatics for the circus. Like he was always meant to. He realizes how much he missed it. How much he missed the other members of the circus.

The fortune teller who still insists on him calling her auntie puts feathers and tinsel in his hair, changing them out with each new stop the circus makes. She reads his tarot cards and his palms and helps him with his stage makeup, painting glitter across his eyes and helping him with his hair.

The strongman tosses him around until he laughs uncontrollably, then shows him how to cook dinners he hasn’t had in years.

There are several other members of the troupe who have been around since before Dick was even born, and they remember him, they welcome him back as if he’d never left.

Jack Haly is like a grandfather, and he checks in Dick every night, making sure he’s alright and letting Dick help him with some of the business aspects of the circus. It was something Dick’s father used to do. It’s something Dick knows from both his father and from Bruce, having spent the last few years watching Bruce go over various Wayne Enterprises accounts. He’s a whiz at it, and Jack tells him as much.

Then after a few months, the team shows up. A few JL members show up. They’d been in the audience, they’d watched the show, they’d seen The Skydancer performing with the same fluid movements of Robin, if the boy they’ve been searching for since he ran.

And after the show, once the rest of the audience has left, Dick is helping clean up the popcorn booths when he notices them lingering in the fringes of the circus grounds. The lights are twinkling and the smell of popcorn and peanuts and cotton candy are still wafting in the air, and Dick feels his chest tighten. Because he can’t go back. He won’t go back. Not without Bruce.

He darts away to find Jack, and once he’s near Mr. Haly’s train car, he starts shouting for him, calling him grandpa in French, his voice strained, and the door to the train car slams open, Jack standing firm as Dick hides behind him.

They’re speaking to each other in rapid French, Jack asking what happened, what’s wrong, are you alright and holding on to Dick’s arms tightly. Dick is shaking his head, his panic finally spilling over and bubbling up in the form of tears dripping down his face.

Don’t let them take me, please let me stay, please he begs, pressing himself close to Jack, hugging him tight. Don’t leave me behind again, please!

Jack holds him tight, and several other members of the troupe who heard Dick panicking are standing near the train car now, looking to where the JL members and the team are walking towards them.

But then Bruce Wayne steps forward. Just Bruce. And Dick feels his breath catch in his throat, and a strangled shriek leaving his mouth, and he hides behind Jack. Because Bruce is dead. He’s seeing a ghost. It’s not real it can’t be real he heard them say his heart stopped he saw his mangled body.

“Dick, please,” Bruce begs. “I know what you think you saw, chum, but please. I’m right here. I’m right here.”

“You died,” Dick says. “I saw it. Your heart stopped, they said so. You’re not real”

“My heart did stop,” Bruce says gently. “But they started it back up. I was very very hurt, but I didn’t die.”

Jack Haly has to speak with Dick for several minutes, his voice soft, gentle, until he beckons for Bruce to come over. And Dick looks Bruce over for a long moment, his hands hovering as if he wants to reach out but he’s afraid of what he might find, and then he launches himself at Bruce. Bruce catches him, holds him tight, whispers to him while Dick cries.