#so i noticed it later but i was like yeah. still stands

[ineedpaigebuckets]

Azzi jokingly calls Paige daddy like casual during the day maybe around the team and notices she is wayyyy too into it, then maybe uses it later to her advantage (if you wanna write the smut)

hell yeah daddy

it starts out stupid.

they’re scrimmaging at practice — high energy, everyone sweaty and mouthy, especially paige, who’s talking trash with every drive, every no-look pass, every jumper that drops too cleanly. azzi’s not even on her team today, but that doesn’t stop paige from giving her looks after every shot, tongue half-out, grin cocky, like she knows azzi’s watching her more than the ball.

“you see that?” she says after a fast break, flipping the ball into the air like it’s nothing.

azzi's face deadpans, arms crossed. then, half under her breath, purely to annoy her: “hell yeah, daddy.”

it kills her own teammates. loud laughter, groaning, the whole gym turning into a moment of chaos.

“yo—az,” someone says, doubled over. “what did you just call her?”

paige is frozen.

like… visibly frozen.

and when azzi turns her head to check her reaction — not even caring, just enjoying the mess she’s made — paige is already staring at her. eyes blown, mouth parted slightly, one hand curled around the ball like she forgot how to dribble.

“what?” azzi teases, licking her lips with a smug glint in her eye. “you like that?”

paige clears her throat. “no comment.”

which is a lie.

because that night — that night — paige is everywhere. brushing behind azzi when she doesn’t need to, standing way too close when they’re all hanging out in the lounge, pretending to reach for the remote but letting her fingers trace azzi’s bare thigh. subtle, but not subtle.

and azzi clocks all of it.

so when they finally stumble into paige’s room after hours — no one around but muffled laughter down the hall — it’s so easy to test the waters.

paige tosses her hoodie off and flops onto her bed. azzi follows like it’s instinct, climbing on top, straddling her hips like she’s done a thousand times before.

only this time, she leans down real slow and murmurs, “you still thinking about it?”

paige swallows hard. “thinking about what?”

but she’s already gripping azzi’s waist tighter.

“you know,” azzi whispers into her ear. “what i called you.”

paige groans, head tipping back. “don’t start.”

“don’t start?” azzi repeats, voice like honey. “or don’t stop?”

and then paige is flipping them — rough and sudden — pinning azzi into the mattress with her whole weight. their mouths crash, hot and messy, no space between their bodies as paige grinds down hard enough to make azzi gasp.

“you’re such a fucking menace,” paige mutters into her neck.

“you loved it.”

“i didn’t say stop.”

**

by the time paige has her shirt off, azzi’s already tugging at her shorts, eager and frantic, fingers shaking with the pace of it. paige slows her down, grabs her wrists and kisses her like it’s a warning.

“not yet,” she says. “you wanna call me that? you better earn it.”

azzi blinks, breath catching. “oh, we’re playing like that?”

paige smirks. “you started it.”

and then she’s everywhere again — kissing down azzi’s chest, peeling off her sports bra, dragging her mouth slow across each breast like she’s making a point. azzi’s fingers tangle in her hair, trying to pull her closer, but paige won’t be rushed.

“use your words,” paige says, already teasing lower.

“paige—”

“not my name tonight.”

the pause is heavy.

not my name tonight.

and azzi feels it — the shift in energy, the throb between her legs, the way the air leaves her lungs all at once.

“…daddy,” she breathes, just to see what happens.

paige growls.

and then she’s gone — moving fast, pulling azzi’s shorts down with force, yanking her underwear aside, diving in like she’s starved. azzi arches off the bed, one hand fisting the sheets, the other tangled in blonde hair, thighs already trembling around paige’s head.

“fuck—fuck—” she moans, high and breathless.

paige’s tongue is relentless. deep and purposeful. every flick, every press, every messy suck designed to make azzi fall apart in minutes. and when azzi chokes out a whimpering “daddy, please,” paige moans into her, low and guttural, gripping her hips so hard it might bruise.

“that’s it,” paige mumbles against her. “say it again.”

“daddy.”

“again.”

“daddy—oh my god—please don’t stop—”

paige doesn’t.

she stays there until azzi’s legs are shaking, until she’s pushing her head away and pulling her back in at the same time, until the orgasm hits so hard that azzi forgets where she is, only remembers the sound of her own voice breaking on the word that ruined her.

“daddy.”

and then she collapses.

sweaty. ruined. panting.

paige crawls back up with a smug smile, licking her lips.

“you good?”

azzi tries to glare. fails.

“…shut up.”

paige laughs, kisses her hard. “you started it.”

**

round two happens fast.

azzi gets her breath back, flips them over, straddles paige’s thigh and starts grinding like she owns her. paige lets her, arms behind her head, the picture of cocky satisfaction.

“you look so good like that,” she murmurs.

azzi leans down, grinds harder.

“you wanna hear it again?”

paige grins. “you gonna make me beg?”

“maybe.”

and then it’s a blur of clothes and hands and skin. azzi rides paige’s thigh until they’re both desperate, sweat pooling between them. then paige grabs her ass, grinds her harder, flips her again and finally slides two fingers in, rough and fast and deep.

“you want daddy to fuck you like this?” she whispers into her ear.

“yes—yes, please—”

“say it.”

“daddy, please, i want it—need it—”

paige gives it to her. everything. fingers deep, thumb on her clit, kisses that feel like claiming.

azzi comes again. louder this time.

wrecked.

•

paige groans.

deep in her chest. like she didn’t expect to hear it again — not with that tone, not when azzi’s lips are that close to her ear, not when her fingers are still wet from being buried in her less than five minutes ago.

“you’re really trying to kill me tonight,” she mumbles.

azzi’s smile is slow, dirty, lazy. her body’s wrecked, but her brain’s sharp now — dialed in, focused, high on the control. “you’re the one who told me to say it.”

paige exhales sharply. “yeah, well—”

azzi rolls on top of her again, legs spreading over paige’s stomach, her body still flushed and damp. she dips low, kisses paige once, then twice, then drags her teeth across her jaw.

“don’t be shy now,” she whispers, nipping her earlobe. “you like when i say it.”

paige clenches her jaw. her hands flex at azzi’s thighs, resisting the urge to flip them again — but there’s something different now. azzi can feel it.

that tension.

that tightness in her abdomen.

that way her eyes darken just from the words.

so azzi sits up, rolling her hips just enough to grind down onto paige’s abs, her slick already smearing between them. slow and steady. teasing.

“paigey likes being called daddy, huh?” she purrs, running her nails gently down paige’s chest.

paige hisses through her teeth. “azzi…”

but azzi doesn’t stop. her voice drops to a whisper as she shifts lower, pressing kisses along paige’s collarbone. “you gonna come for me if i say it again?” she asks softly. “is that all it takes, now? just a word from my mouth and you’re desperate?”

paige groans again — louder — grabbing at the sheets now, fingers curling tight.

azzi reaches down.

wraps her hand around paige’s thigh, then her hip.

slides her palm between paige’s legs, not touching — just hovering.

paige jerks.

“you’re already close,” azzi breathes, licking up the side of her neck. “i can feel it.”

“don’t,” paige warns, voice cracking.

“don’t what?” azzi murmurs, kissing her lips, speaking against her mouth. “don’t make you come with just my voice?”

and then — soft, filthier than ever — she whispers:

“you gonna come for me, daddy?”

paige gasps.

like it hits her whole body.

and then azzi does it again.

“come on, daddy,” she says, slipping her fingers barely inside. “you always take care of me. let me take care of you.”

paige’s hips buck up.

“you’re shaking,” azzi says, smiling, fingers curling deeper now, but still slow — like she’s coaxing something out. “you gonna lose it for me?”

paige whimpers.

“i know you are,” azzi whispers. “you wanna be good for me, right? wanna make a mess all over my fingers?”

paige’s whole body tenses.

and that’s when azzi leans down, kisses her hard, and says it like she’s swearing a promise:

“come for me, daddy.”

and paige breaks.

with a strangled cry, back arched, body shuddering as it hits her harder than it has in months — thighs trembling, chest heaving, eyes fluttering shut. she comes hard, soaking azzi’s fingers, grinding helplessly up into her hand, overwhelmed by just how badly she needed it.

just from her voice.

just from the power azzi slipped into her like a knife between the ribs.

azzi doesn’t stop touching her until she’s shaking and spent, curling in on herself like she can’t take any more.

then she leans down. gentle now.

kisses paige’s cheek. her jaw. her mouth.

“that was so hot,” azzi says, licking her lips.

paige groans. “you’re evil.”

“you liked it.”

paige pulls her into a kiss that’s all teeth and hunger and lingering adrenaline.

“say it one more time,” she breathes against her lips.

azzi grins.

“good girl,” she murmurs, trailing a kiss down paige’s throat.

“daddy.”

•

afterward, they lie tangled in the sheets, half-naked and soaked in each other’s sweat.

paige brushes her thumb over azzi’s cheek and whispers, “hey az?”

azzi hums, exhausted.

paige pulls her close, kisses her jaw, voice soft and smug:

“goodnight, mommy.”

azzi groans.

there’s no way they’re sleeping anytime soon.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Blood Sugar III

Alessia Russo x Teen!Reader

Summary: You join Alessia's team

You were kind of lucky really.

You knew you shouldn't have been worried.

Everyone had told you not to worry but you'd still had your doubts.

You and Alessia fought like sisters so you would have accepted if she didn't want you in her space all the time. But here you were, freshly moved into Alessia's spare room and in her car on the way to training.

Brighton had been the club you'd played for since you were a kid. You loved Brighton. Your family loved Brighton but if there was one thing they knew about you, it was your competitiveness.

You had ambition. You wanted to win trophies. Maybe, one day, you'd go back but right now you were still young and you wanted trophies and medals and awards.

So, now, your release clause had been bought out by Arsenal and Alessia's hands reached over the console of her car and slapped at you.

"Stop trying to change the station."

"This station is boring," You bemoan," Can't we listen to something else?"

"My car, my rules," Alessia replies, slapping at your hands again to get you to stop," Maybe, if you actually bothered to go and get your license..."

You roll your eyes, arms crossed over your chest. "Lessons are expensive!"

"I'm not even charging you rent."

"That's not the point!"

Alessia laughs as she pulls into her parking spot, car still locked so you can't escape her.

"Now," She says and you fight the eye roll," You already know some of the girls from camp so there's no need to be nervous. Everyone else is just as nice. Just remember to-"

"Smile," You say," And speak politely and...Are you going to make me repeat the whole thing? You already told me at breakfast."

Alessia swats at you and you hear the click of the doors unlocking. "And you'll remember to check your sugar levels when you need to? We don't need you being on a first name basis with the medical staff just yet."

"Yeah, yeah. I got it. Cheese will check for me."

At the sound of his name, your spaniel stands up in the backseat, his ears perked up and tail wagging.

"He's a good boy. He'll keep an eye on me."

His wide eyes seem to convince her that he'll do his job and do it well so she picks your bag up from the footwell and practically throws it at you.

Introductions go smoothly enough. There's a lot of cameras and a lot of handshaking and Alessia hovers even though you really don't need her to.

"Not letting her out of your sight?" Lotte teases at lunch as Alessia ignores her food.

You're stood in line with your plate, squished between Kim and Lia and Alessia is just staring.

"Just making sure today goes well," She says to Lotte, leaning back in her chair to make sure her eyes are on you at all times," She's eating at a slightly different time to usual. I just want to make sure there's no hiccups."

"And you don't want her to have more of an excuse to say you hover? Because, you know that's what you're doing? Doing it from a distance means you're still doing it."

"She doesn't know that."

That shocks a laugh out of Lotte and she goes back to eating.

Alessia doesn't. She waits to eat until you've joined them at the table.

"What's up with you?" You ask, mouth full of food when you notice her staring.

"Huh?"

"You're staring."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not."

You shrug. "Okay, whatever but if the wind changes, your face will be stuck in that weird position."

Alessia pokes you with her fork. "Eat your food. And check your sugar levels."

"Yeah, yeah, let me finish first."

But in the end, you never really check your sugar levels.

You get drawn away by Kyra and Vic and their antics and Alessia finds herself in a conversation with Lotte about their plans later on in the week.

You're all relaxing in the break room together. Lotte and Alessia occupy one of the sofas while you, Kyra and Vic are all hooked up on one of the game consoles.

"Cheese, man," You groan as your dog nudges you more firmly with his nose," Stop it. I'm serious! Leave!"

Cheese nudges you again but you push him away. He tries one last time but you don't even look at him, too occupied with hitting the buttons on your controller to defeat Vic's character on the screen.

He whines a little, stomping his front paws a few times before going to stand in front of Alessia.

She doesn't notice him at first, too engrossed with the story Lotte is telling. Cheese gets impatient quickly, whining loudly and slamming his nose against her leg.

Alessia still doesn't look at him but her hand moves to gently scratch at his head.

Cheese doesn't let up though, roughly pushing his nose against Alessia until she looks down.

"What's up with you, huh?"

Cheese whines and very pointedly turns and sits, staring straight at you.

Alessia frowns but only for a moment as her brain finally catches up to what she's being told.

"Y/n!" She hollers over the noise of the game," Test your blood, please."

"Yeah, yeah," You say dismissively," In a minute."

"No, now. Cheese is alerting so you need to do it now."

"But-"

"No. We're trusting your dog, remember? So let's check your sugar levels."

You groan but go shuffling over to Alessia. You prick your finger and your face glows red in embarrassment as you read the screen.

"So...do we have any juice?"

Cheese drops a Capri-sun into your lap, tail wagging happily.

"Let's take it slow, yeah?" Alessia says as she draws you closer with an arm on your shoulder," Drink your juice and once you're stable again, we'll head home."

[chrissssssmut]

Can i request eunchae smut when turn to adult now

LATE NIGHT PRACTICE

Eunchae x Male Reader

It started with a text.

[Eunchae 🐣]: u still at the building?

You looked at the screen, surprised. It was already past 11 PM. The practice rooms were mostly empty by now, save for a few die-hard trainees or idols polishing choreo for the hundredth time.

[You]: yeah, just packing up. why?

She replied instantly.

[Eunchae 🐣]: wait there. don’t go.

You blinked.

[You]: ??? okay

You weren’t sure why your heart picked up a little. Eunchae had always been a friend first—chaotic, loud, a little bratty sometimes. But lately... lately she’d been acting strange. Or maybe you were the one who noticed her differently now. The way her voice dropped when it got late. How her gaze lingered when you passed her water after dance practice. The time her hand brushed yours on the couch and neither of you pulled away.

She arrived five minutes later, hoodie up, hair in a messy ponytail, cheeks flushed from running.

"You're still here," she panted, chest rising and falling.

"You told me to wait."

Eunchae stepped inside and closed the door behind her, flicking the lock. That part wasn’t normal. That part made the air change.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why’d you lock the—”

“I didn’t want anyone walking in.”

“Why? You got some big secret you wanna tell me?” you teased.

Her eyes didn’t break from yours. “Maybe.”

You froze for a second, her tone too serious. Too heavy. Too unlike the usual Eunchae.

She stepped closer, biting her lip.

"Why do you always look at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're pretending not to want me," she said, voice a whisper now, eyes darting between yours.

You couldn’t answer. Your heart was hammering too loud in your ears. Her hoodie slipped down her shoulder slightly, revealing the curve of her neck, a small mole you'd never noticed before.

"You’re the one who keeps teasing," you murmured. "Always crawling onto my lap when we’re with the others, calling me ‘oppa’ in that tone—"

"Because I do want you," she snapped softly, stepping close enough for your bodies to touch.

Her hands clutched your hoodie. You could smell her shampoo—something sweet, peachy, a little floral. Your restraint cracked.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” you said roughly.

“I’m not a kid, oppa,” she murmured, standing on her tiptoes. “You know that.”

You kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t delicate. It was raw. Built-up tension from months of pretending. You backed her into the wall, her breath hitching as your hands found her waist.

She gasped into your mouth when you lifted her slightly, her legs wrapping around your hips instinctively.

"You really waited this long to touch me?" she whispered as you kissed down her neck. "You must be so fucking stupid."

"Or just respectful," you growled, biting down gently where her neck met her shoulder. She moaned.

You carried her to the mirrored wall, propping her against it.

“Take it off,” she breathed, tugging at your shirt. “I wanna see.”

“You’re bossy.”

She smiled darkly. “And you like it.”

You pulled your shirt over your head, and she immediately reached to touch your chest, fingers brushing down your abs, slow and curious. “Damn,” she whispered, half-laughing. “I had no idea you were hiding this under your hoodie.”

You tugged hers off in return, revealing a black sports bra clinging to her skin, damp from sweat. Your eyes traced every inch.

"Eunchae..."

"Say it again," she whispered, cheeks flushed. “My name.”

“Eunchae.” You cupped her jaw, leaning in. “You sure about this?”

Her hands slid down to your waistband. “Do I look unsure?”

Your lips crashed again. The rest of her clothes came off in pieces—shorts, bra, panties—each time she moaned your name, half-giggling, half-desperate. The mirror behind her fogged as her back hit it, her bare skin arching when your fingers trailed over her thighs.

“Fuck, you’re already soaked,” you murmured, pressing two fingers against her folds. “You wanted this that bad?”

“I thought about you so many nights,” she confessed, breath shaky as you slipped a finger inside. “In bed. After practice. In the dorm when I touched myself. Always you.”

You growled softly, working her slowly. "Show me how loud you can get."

Your thumb circled her clit while your fingers pumped in rhythm. She moaned, legs trembling around your waist, body arching into you as her eyes fluttered shut.

“Don’t stop—don’t stop—” she gasped, grinding on your fingers. “I’m so close—”

You pulled out.

“Oppa—!” she cried out in frustration, gripping your arms. “Why?!”

“Because,” you smirked. “I’m not letting you finish unless it’s around my cock.”

Her expression turned wild—desperate and hungry. “Then fuck me already.”

You freed yourself from your sweats, your cock already aching as you lined up between her legs.

“I’ll go slow,” you whispered, eyes meeting hers.

“Don’t you dare,” she said through gritted teeth. “I want all of it. Now.”

You thrust in.

She gasped, nails digging into your back. Her tight heat clenched around you, warmth consuming, unbearable in the best way.

“Fuck—you feel…” you groaned, gripping her hips. “So fucking good—so tight—”

Eunchae whimpered, rolling her hips. “More, oppa. Please—don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—”

Your rhythm grew harder, the wet sounds of your bodies colliding filling the practice room along with her cries. Her hands slid up the mirror, back arching beautifully as you kissed down her chest, sucking one nipple into your mouth while your hips snapped forward.

She screamed your name.

“I can’t—I can’t—” she babbled, head thrown back. “I’m gonna cum—oppa—I’m—!”

She shattered around you, legs shaking, voice breaking as she came, clenching around you like a vice.

You groaned, the tight pulsing of her orgasm dragging you to the edge.

“I’m close,” you warned, panting. “Where—?”

“Inside,” she moaned, pulling you closer. “Cum inside me. I want all of it. Please.”

You buried yourself to the hilt, growling her name as you spilled into her, twitching deep inside. Her body jerked with aftershocks, thighs trembling around your waist.

For a long moment, you both just breathed—your forehead pressed to hers, sweat glistening on both your bodies, the mirror behind her slick with condensation.

Then she laughed softly.

“That was... intense.”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

“I can’t feel my legs.”

You kissed her cheek. “You’ll live.”

She slid down slowly from your arms, wincing. “Okay, maybe not.”

You helped her into her hoodie again, the two of you slowly gathering clothes, limbs tangled, lips still brushing every now and then.

“Same time tomorrow?” she asked casually, lips tugging into a smirk.

You stared. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. I’ve waited way too long to stop now.”

[starboygojo]

Stay the night ?

summary : You’ve been best friends with Fratboy Gojo Satoru since freshman year, the golden boy of his frat, all big smiles and loud parties, always dragging you along despite your refusal to drink or smoke. But somewhere between late-night parties, quiet mornings, and the way he looks at you when he thinks you don’t notice… something shifts. And once the line blurs, there’s no going back.

pairing : satoru gojo x y/n

warnings : 18+, smut with plot, foreplay, cussing, mentions of alcohol and drugs, mild angst.

word count : 7.9k

art in cover by thatsallitchief

“You’re wearing that?” Gojo leans against the doorframe of your dorm, grinning like the devil himself.

You glance down at your square neck shirt and sweatpants, “Yeah? What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing, if you’re planning to do my econ homework instead of going to the biggest party of the semester.” He winks. “But if you want to stand next to me all night, you might want to up the hot factor.”

You roll your eyes and grab your phone. Mind you, that shirt was not cheap. “I’m not trying to impress anyone.”

He snorts. “Yeah, that’s the problem.”

You flip him off after slipping your shoes on. He grins.

“Well I suppose it’s fine, you only need to impress me.”

-

You don’t drink. Never have. Don’t like the taste, don’t like the way it makes people sloppy. But Gojo? Gojo swims in red solo cups like he was born in one. He’s loud and stupid and radiant at these parties, throwing his arms around people like everyone’s his best friend.

But only you get the crooked grin he saves for when the music’s too loud and he leans in to say, “You good?”

Only you get the protective arm when the crowd gets too pushy. Only you get the water bottle he pulls from nowhere and hands you without asking.

You don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t party, but you go to all of them. Because he’s there.

Because he always wants you there. Stuck to his side every weekend since freshman year.

-

You’re sitting on the couch, half-listening to Shoko recounting a story about a tequila shot gone wrong, when Gojo stumbles over. His cheeks are pink, smile lazy, tie askew.

He plops down beside you, too close, thigh pressed against yours. That was Shoko’s cue to get up out of there for another drink.

“Hey.” He leans his head on your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Why aren’t you talking to anyone?”

“I am talking. Kind of.” You nudge him. “And you’re drunk.”

“Mmm. Buzzed. Drunk’s a little harsh, sweetheart.” He turns to look at you, his voice growing softer now. “You tired? We can go.”

You blink. “You don’t want to stay?”

“I only come to these things for the vibes.” His lips twist up. “And the vibes leave when you look like you wanna disappear into the couch of doom.” He chuckles at his corny remark.

You can’t help but laugh at how stupid that sounded. “You’re such a liar. You come to these to show off. Beer pong king, or whatever you call yourself.”

He scoffs dramatically, acting like you just cursed his whole made up championship. “Excuse you. And also, I can’t show off if my best girl looks bored out of her mind.”

Best girl.

Your chest does a stupid fluttering thing.

-

Later, after he’s done fake punching his frat brothers goodbye, you walk back together in the cold night air. The party is still thumping in the distance, but Gojo’s quiet now, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets.

You’re thankful that you didn’t bother to change your outfit and worn heels despite having him mog you the entire night. You don’t get how the others can stand up for this long without taking a break on the many seats spread out the room.

“You didn’t have to leave early,” you murmur, “You were having fun.”

“I wasn’t.” He glances sideways. “Not really.”

You look at him, eyebrows furrowing. “Why?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. It’s just… less fun when you’re not smiling.”

And just like that, you’re melting again. It’s so unfair the way he does this, hides soft confessions under jokes and alcohol.

You stop walking. “Looks like chivalry isn’t dead after all.”

There’s a beat of silence before you ask, heart stupidly hopeful, “Why do you always want me there?”

Satoru blinks, confused. “Huh?”

“At the parties. You could go with anyone. You could go with a different girl every week if you wanted to. Not to boost your ego or anything.” You try to keep your voice even, whispering the last part. “But you always ask me.”

Gojo goes still. His eyes drop to your mouth for a half second too long.

Then he says, “Because it’s you.”

That’s it. Like it explains everything.

“Because I like being around you,” he continues, quieter now. “Because I feel better when you’re there. Because it’s not really fun unless I can turn around and see you rolling your eyes at me across the room.”

Your throat goes dry. “Satoru…”

He steps a little closer. His voice is low, nervous, like he’s trying, like he’s fighting himself.

“I always thought you weren’t into guys like me,” he says. “Loud. Messy. Frat-boy reputation and all that.”

You smile, heart racing. “I thought you weren’t into girls like me. Quiet. No fun. Buzzkill.”

Gojo laughs, short and disbelieving. “You think you’re no fun? You’re the only person who keeps me sane, nerd. You’re the only reason I don’t blow up this whole damn house sometimes.”

You both stare at each other. Your side eye upon hearing him call you a nerd vanishing. The wind picks up. Somewhere, someone’s yelling about beer pong.

And then, slowly, he reaches out, curling his pinky around yours.

Not a kiss. Not yet. “I’m so glad I talked to you that evening at Suguru’s party.”

“Be thankful for Shoko for ditching us,” You chuckle.

The first party you attended was during freshman year. You were sorta known but not known enough to be considered ‘popular’. You were sweet and smiled at people passing by.

Shoko had dragged you around with her, freezing at random places to greet people she knew, leaving you standing there awkwardly because you didn’t know them. Finally she stopped to greet Gojo, entering a conversation before departing when she heard someone yell “Shots!”

You picked at your freshly painted nails, looking everywhere except at the white haired man with pearly blue eyes, standing in front of you. You tried to look natural, so did Gojo. Which was weird because he can usually talk to anybody without a problem, except you. Why was he so shy?

“You coming to next week’s party?” he asks, trying to sound casual as you reach your dorm.

You grin. “Only if you’re saving me a seat.”

His smile is brighter than the streetlights.

“Always. Maybe on my lap this time.”

You roll your eyes, forcing yourself not to smile at his cheesy way of flirting. “Whatever. Are you sleeping here tonight?”

He doesn’t hesitate to nod, yawning as he locked your dorm door and guiding the both of you towards your room. He had his hand placed on the small of your back, his droopy eyes scanning around for the remote of your LED lights.

“Satoru. Just leave it, I’ll turn on my lamp,” you suggested while laying him down on the bed beside you. You reached over your desk, turning on the sunset lamp you had purchased not too long ago. The orangey-yellow hues brightening the corner of the room it was pointed at.

“Awe but the blue LED lights bring me some sort of ease,” he blabbers, like he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince you.

“Only blue though. Red is for..” He trialed off, making you roll your eyes knowing exactly where he was going with this. “You know.” He whispers in your ear.

Sometimes you question yourself if best friends do these types of stuff. Satoru always flirts, always looking at you with a glint in his eyes that he doesn’t have with anyone else, always cuddling with you when you two get home after a party, and always lingering closer than a best friend should be. Is he just being Satoru or is it more.

You pinch his ear before letting go. “Satoru,” You warned.

He winced. “Ow! Okay okay, I get it.”

He rubbed his ear and pulled you on top of him with his free hand, resting your head against his chest. His let go and slowly his hands found their way to your back, like they belong there, gently soothing you to sleep.

Sometimes, when you’re lucky. Satoru will sleep without snoring. When you’re extra lucky he won’t kick you in his sleep.

-

You don’t hate the frat parties.

The music is always too loud. Someone’s always spilling beer two inches from your shoes. And you inevitably end up being the only sober person in a sea of chaos.

But you come anyway. Every single time. Because Satoru always looks at you like you’re the only person that matters in the room.

This time you took the liberty of dressing up.

“You’re glowing tonight, Y/n,” Geto smirks over the lip of his cup, watching Satoru trail behind you like a six-foot puppy with no leash.

Satoru Gojo, dressed in a white shirt and black basketball shorts, a back hoodie throwing over his shoulder, beer in one hand, joint behind his ear like a decoration.

“I didn’t even put on makeup,” you say, sipping a cup of soda.

“Exactly,” Shoko chimes in from the corner. “You don’t have to.”

Gojo shoots them both a glare. “Back off.”

“Ohhh, possessive,” Toji whistles, lounging against the kitchen island. “You two still pretending you’re just friends?”

“We are friends,” Satoru says automatically, even as he casually adjusts your dress straps for you, fingers brushing your arm. “She just likes coming with me.”

“I like the free soda,” you lie, avoiding everyone’s knowing looks. You won’t deny that it hurt whenever he claims you two were merely just ‘friends’

The truth is, you like going with him.

Not because of the parties. Not because of the attention, even though you know you get it pretty girls always do, especially when they walk in beside Satoru Gojo with his arm slung across their shoulders like it belongs there.

You like it because the second you step into that house, it’s like the world goes quiet.

Because Satoru never lets you fade into the background. Because he always saves you a seat, always brings you a drink, always remembers the straw. Because even while he’s being loud and stupid with his friends, he’s glancing over to check if you’re okay.

Because you feel like his person.

Even if he’s never said it.

“You sure you’re not cold?” he asks for the third time, tugging at the strap of your dress, an odd habit of his.

“You already offered me your hoodie, Satoru.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the thick one. Next time I’ll bring that big stupid one with the sherpa lining. The one you said made me look like a polar bear.”

You laugh. “You do look like a polar bear in it.”

He grins, bright and unbothered. “A sexy polar bear, though.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you.

He always makes you smile.

-

From room to room, drink to drink, lap to lap of conversation but always together. If Gojo’s talking to Suguru in the kitchen, you’re leaning against the counter next to him, sipping something fizzy from his cup.

If you’re chatting with Maki and Panda in the living room, Gojo is lounging behind you, long legs spread across the couch, one arm looped lazily around your waist.

He doesn’t need to speak every second, he just likes touching you. A thigh against yours, fingers brushing your wrist, your knee tucked over his. Like the silence between you two is just as loud as his voice.

-

Later, when the music slows and the crowd thins, you’re sitting together in the back room again, away from the chaos.

Gojo’s legs are stretched out. Yours are tucked under you. His hoodie hangs heavy on your frame, and you swear you’ve never felt safer.

He watches you like he always does when he thinks you’re not looking, like he’s memorizing you. His blue eyes wide like saucers.

“You know you don’t have to come to these,” he says suddenly, voice softer than before. “I wouldn’t be mad.”

“I know.”

“But you do anyway.”

You meet his eyes. “I only come for you. Not for the lukewarm beer, the music, nor the stupid ‘fun’ you boys claim to have.”

The words hang there. Undeniable. A little scary.

Gojo swallows. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He leans his head back against the couch, exhales slowly.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Geto says, walking into the room and seeing the two of you curled up like a rom-com final scene. “If you’re gonna pin this hard, at least kiss her so we can all stop pretending you aren’t madly in love.”

“Geto, shut up,” Gojo groans, ruffling his hair over his eyes.

You laugh, really laugh and squeeze Gojo’s hand tighter.

“Ignore them,” he says under his breath. “They’re just jealous I have the prettiest girl here.”

You look at him sideways. “You’re such a flirt.”

He leans in, brushing his nose against your temple.

“You always say that, sweetheart,” he whispers “Only with you.”

Like a typical frat party the voices of jocks rang into your ear as they yelled out for Gojo to join them.

“Beer pong champion, they’re looking for you,” you chuckle.

Gojo groans, “Duty calls.”

He winks your way before shooting up and walking to the table, ready for another match. You giggle at his antics. There is truly never a dull moment in the parties whenever he’s around.

-

You’re back in your corner of the room, phone in hand pretending to be busy so you can avoid unwanted conversations. You hear Shoko calling your name from across the room but you know if you got up you’d get dragged into an endless conversation with her and Maki.

You flash her a smile before returning back to your phone, opening and closing it. Your wallpaper was set on photo roulette mode, the background changes whenever you close it. You had set the pictures to be of you and Gojo, sometimes pictures of landscapes.

It wasn’t weird to have your ‘bestfriend’ as your lock screen, he has you as his. It wasn’t weird to have a polaroid of the two of you behind your clear phone case. No. It felt natural.

“Y/n, come on.” Maki drags you by the arm, making you stand up from the soft seated couch. “Live a little.”

You close your phone once again before walking behind her. “I am living. Last time I checked, I was breathing perfectly fine,” you joked.

All you got was an eye roll from Maki, making you chuckle.

“Smartass.” She says as she handed you a cup filled with juice. The people who usually attend know you don’t drink. They knew you’d refuse, handing them back the cup every time they’d try and convince you to at least try whatever concoction they created. Probably a mixture of don julio and hennessy. The liquor Satoru usually drinks if he wants to change it up from his usual beers.

It’s sort of weird. Satoru doesn’t smell bad per say. He smelt like a hint of alcohol or a little bit of weed, but he never smelt bad. You’d light his blunts for him with the lighter you carry around because you know how whiney he gets after realizing he forgot his. He says it kills his entire vibe even though he forgets about it 10 minutes later.

He didn’t smell like the other frat boys. You never had to make a face or look the opposite way whenever he comes close to you.

Satoru smells like Satoru. He smells like his expensive cologne that he claims to be “trending” all over the fragrance part of tiktok. He smelt like home.

Cheers echoed loudly, overpowering the loud speakers playing jersey beats. A group of boys chanting Satoru’s name, over and over again. A clear indication that the ‘Beer pong champion’ claimed another victory. Really, you don’t even know why people still want to challenge him.

Maki soon drifted apart from you, finding her way to the kitchen for another drink. You stood near a wall, staring off into the distance, your hand clutching your phone.

You glanced down, checking the time. It’s currently past midnight. The party is still alive as it was when it first started. Sukuna was well known to throw successful parties.

You sighed, your feet ache, your head was starting to hurt, and your eyes were drooping. Yet you never once thought about leaving without Gojo by your side. You’re in charge of making sure he even makes it back to his dorm.

-

Later close to 3 am the party was finally dying down. People getting dragged out by their more sober friends, some who didn’t even make it outside of the door, laying unconscious on the floor. The air smelt like heavy smoke and alcohol.

Red cups everywhere, ash trays left on the tables while decorations once hanging up were now on the ground.

You made your way through the hallway, looking for the 6 foot usual ball of energy. Your eyes scanned around before finally landing on him. Gojo stumbling a little bit, walking towards you with a doopey grin.

“Satoru,” you whispered, hiding back a smile “you’re drunk.”

“No sweetheart, I told you- not drunk! just buzzed.”

He draped an arm around your shoulder, his other one finding its way to your waist, holding it like he always does. His head rests against your shoulder, his white hair tickling your face.

“Let’s get out of here, please,” he said, mumbling the last part.

You didn’t hesitate to let him lean up against you while you guided the both of you outside. The fresh air, free from the pollution called frat parties, filling your lungs.

You took a deep breath while Gojo mumbled drunk words against your skin. “Mhmmm sleepy.”

With a sigh you hurried up your pace, practically dragging him towards your dorm. “Almost there.”

The moment you entered your room Gojo collapsed onto your bed, body sprawled out and eyes closed. Not a care in the world. ‘Buzzed’ he claims.

You placed a hand on your forehead, sighing in exhaustion. Inspecting the sight in front of you you realize his shirt was beginning to ride up his stomach, his v line peeking from under his toned abs. You caught yourself, quickly shaking your head and looking away.

You throw a blanket over him, turning around to close your lights and turning the lights he claims that soothes him. The clock on your desk read 4 am.

You hear Satoru mumble your name from under the covers, making you look down at him. “Y/n..”

You hum before slipping under the white, strawberry patterned duvet, “Mhm?”

“I love you,” he whispers casually. You freeze

‘What?’ was the first thing you can think of. You open your mouth but failed to speak any words, not even a sound came out. You forced yourself to speak up, not wanting to ruin the moment or make him feel like you don’t love him back.

But then doubt kicks in, what if he’s just babbling drunk thoughts? No, you can’t embarrass yourself.

“Satoru you should probably go brush your teeth-“ Snore.

You let out a loud groan. Tonight seemed to be one of the unlucky ones. Satoru was snoring and drooling.

-

And that was it. You never mentioned it and he didn’t seem to remember it.

Since then, things have been… weird.

Not on the surface. Gojo’s still Gojo. Still texts you dumb memes. He still touches you a little too much. Still throws his arm around your shoulders when you’re standing around campus. Still looks at you like you’ve hung the stars. Still acts like you’re the best part of every room he walks into.

But the closeness feels different now. Too sharp. Too hopeful. Too dangerous.

Because what if none of it meant anything? What if it’s just him being him? And what if you read too much into it?

He’s Gojo Satoru. King of the party scene. Six foot something, frat boy energy, infuriatingly good looking. And you’re… just you.

-

So you retreat.

You don’t mean to. You tell yourself you’re just busy.

You bury yourself in schoolwork. In your job. In every commitment you can find. You say yes to every extra shift at the campus cafe. You start getting ahead on assignments no one’s assigned yet. You even ignore a couple of his texts, not ghosting him, just spacing them out. Being “busy.” Master of sabotage.

You don’t mean to pull away, but you do. No more late night calls. No more tagging along to parties. No more pretending like your heart doesn’t race every time he looks at you too long.

If he noticed something changed, he didn’t say it.

If he cared, he’d say something… right?

You’re not mad at him.

You’re mad at yourself for thinking, even for a second, that someone like him could fall for someone like you.

-

The knock comes just after 10 p.m.

It’s late and you’re halfway through writing an essay that isn’t due for another week. Your eyes are bleary, you’re wearing the same hoodie from yesterday, and your room’s lit only by your laptop screen and a half-dead string of fairy lights.

You almost don’t answer.

But then you hear his voice:

“Y/n? You in there?”

Your stomach twists.

You debate not answering. You debate crawling under your desk and pretending you’re asleep. But your feet move on their own, and when you open the door, there he was.

Gojo Satoru, in a hoodie and joggers, hair pushed back like he’s been pacing. His usual cocky grin is nowhere to be found.

“Hey,” he says, voice softer than usual. “Can I come in?”

You step aside.

He walks in like your room is familiar. Because it is.

And you realize, painfully, that this is the longest you’ve gone without seeing him. He looks you over really looks and his eyes drop to the pile of papers on your desk, the untouched dinner, the overstuffed planner on your nightstand.

“What’s going on with you?” he asks after a long beat. “You’ve been distant. And don’t say it’s just ‘school.’”

You hesitate. Then go with the safest answer: “I’ve been busy.”

“You’ve always been busy,” he says gently. “But not like this.”

You busy yourself gathering papers off your desk. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

He looks almost hurt by that. “Of course I noticed. Busy for you is good… I suppose, but not like this. Not when it’s hurting you.”

Something bubbles in your chest, something ugly and sad and fragile. “I don’t know what you want from me, Satoru.”

He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just-“

His lips part like he’s about to speak, but you rush on.

“You say things. You look at me like I matter. But then nothing happens. I have constant self doubt, no matter what. I can never convince myself that what I’m doing is right and not a mistake. And I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t mess with me.”

It’s the closest you’ve ever come to saying I like you.

You don’t look at him.

You’re afraid of what’s on his face, pity? Confusion? Worse?

Instead, you say, quietly, “Maybe I just needed space to figure it out.”

Gojo is silent for a long moment. Then he exhales, stepping closer. Your heart stutters.

“No, you don’t,” he adds when you don’t respond. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be trying to disappear on me.”

You meet his eyes then and it nearly breaks you.

Because there’s no teasing in his expression. No smirk. Just raw honesty.

You whisper. “I thought if I said anything, it would ruin it, you know, us being best friends. I’m not really the venting type of person.”

He smiles, but it’s soft. Tired. “You pulling away is what almost ruined it.”

You blink, trying to swallow the knot in your throat.

He steps even closer, toeing the edge of your personal space like he always does.

“And I’m not gonna stop trying,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper, “unless you ask me to. Don’t burn yourself out trying to prove you’re worth something you

You ask, shakily, “So… what now?”

He grins a little just enough to lighten the air.

“Well,” he says, pulling something out of his hoodie pocket. It’s a folded flyer. Hand-drawn. Probably by Geto. “I’m hosting a party on Saturday. It’s gonna be outside by the bond fire.”

You give him a tired look. “I’m not really in a party mood.”

“I figured you’d say that,” he says. Then his voice softens. “But I was hoping you’d come anyway.”

You blink. “Why?”

“Because I want you there,” he says.

His eyes find yours.

“I want you to come as my date.”

It’s quiet after that. Your heart beats so loud it’s all you can hear.

Gojo runs a hand through his hair, suddenly a little nervous. “You don’t have to answer right now. I just… thought it would be a good idea. I mean most of them are bringing a plus one.”

You nod slowly.

Then, quietly:

“Okay.”

He stills. “Okay?”

“I’ll come,” you say, lips curving up. “As your date.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath all week. Then his grin returns, bright, wide, impossibly him.

“You’re gonna look so good, I’m not gonna survive.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks burn. He reaches the door, hand on the knob, then pauses.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, one last time. You meet his gaze, softer now.

“I think I will be.”

And with that, he leaves. But his smile lingers.

-

You don’t even knock. You just step into the party the way you always do, quiet, unnoticed, somewhere between unsure and familiar. But this time, you’re not alone.

This time, you’re his date.

The house is buzzing the second you arrive, not chaotic like usual, but warm. Music hums through the speakers in the backyard, where strings of lights glow between trees and paper lanterns. There’s no beer pong, no packed kitchen, no loud bass shaking the walls.

It feels more like a gathering than a party. Intimate.

Intentional.

You spot Geto and Shoko by the fire pit, Yuta curled up in a hoodie next to Panda, who is definitely roasting marshmallows too aggressively.

And then you see him.

Gojo, standing near the back steps, laughing with Nanami and Utahime. White shirt hugging his frame, blue eyes scanning the yard like he’s looking for-

He spots you.

And just like that, his smile softens. Warms. Becomes something only you get to see.

“Hey,” he says when he reaches you, like he didn’t text you three times earlier asking if you were still coming. Like he hasn’t clearly been waiting.

You look up at him, nervous, unsure, hopeful. “Hey.”

His eyes flick over you quickly, like he’s trying not to stare. You dressed simple, but he still looks at you like you’re the only thing glowing brighter than the lights overhead.

“You look…” He falters for a second, grinning. “Really pretty.”

You smile, shy. “Thanks.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Wanna hang by the fire? Or you want the tour first? There’s a s’mores station with your name on it. I may have hoarded the good chocolate.”

You laugh genuinely, easily. “Fire sounds good.”

The party flows around you, but it feels like you’re in your own bubble.

You sit beside him by the fire, knees just barely brushing. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t pull anything bold but every now and then, he leans in close to say something. Something just for you.

And you don’t pull away.

You don’t even think to.

Because when Gojo laughs and leans into your shoulder, it feels like something you’ve already known for a long time.

Like it was always supposed to be this way.

“I missed this,” he says quietly, later in the night. “Missed you.”

You glance at him, eyes soft in the flickering firelight, his hands cupped around a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

“I didn’t go anywhere,” you whisper.

He meets your gaze.

“Felt like you did,” he says. “For a while.”

You look down. “I was just scared.”

“I know,” he says, and there’s no judgment in his voice. “Me too.”

You breathe in slowly. The fire crackles beside you.

Then:

“But I’m here now.”

He nods. “Yeah. You are.”

It doesn’t feel like a confession. It doesn’t feel like fireworks or declarations or “I’ve always loved you.”

It just feels right.

And maybe that’s better. People notice.

Of course they do.

Geto nudges Gojo when you’re off grabbing a drink. “You’re basically one slow dance away from being an actual couple.”

Gojo rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“You’re smiling like a dumbass,” Shoko adds, sipping her drink. “It’s weirdly endearing.”

Even Nanami, who barely raises an eyebrow at anything, mutters, “Took you long enough.”

Gojo doesn’t deny it.

He just glances toward the back deck, where you’re chatting with Yuuji, your laugh quiet but real.

And he smiles again.

-

Later, when most of the yard has emptied and only the glow of the fire remains, you find yourselves side by side on the porch steps. Close, but not touching.

The silence is comfortable.

Not like before.

He nudges your knee with his.

“You tired?”

You shake your head. “No. Just… happy.”

He looks at you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a long pause, the kind that holds too much.

And then, softly:

“Can I ask you something?”

You nod.

Gojo’s eyes search yours like he’s still scared you might disappear.

“Is this… okay?” he asks. “Us. Like this. Closer.”

You exhale. The warmth in your chest feels like it could light the whole backyard.

“Yeah,” you say, voice quiet. “It’s more than okay.”

And that’s it.

No kiss. No need to say more.

You just lean your head on his shoulder.

And Gojo who’s always loud, always dramatic goes still and soft beside you. Like the moment matters too much to risk breaking.

You stay like that until the fire burns out.

-

It starts with Sukuna.

Pierced tongue. Permanent smirk. Always skipping class.

He joins the same philosophy lecture you and Gojo have been half-ignoring all semester. But while Gojo mostly doodles on your notes and sends you stupid memes during class, Sukuna- Sukuna talks to you.

A lot.

He sits next to you one day when Gojo’s late. Offers gum. Comments on your handwriting. Makes you laugh, once. Gojo sees it when he walks in.

Sees you turn toward Sukuna instead of him. Sees Sukuna lean into your space, too close, too casual.

He doesn’t say anything that day.

But it sticks.

It builds from there.

You run into Sukuna at the library. Then again near the rec center. Then again when you’re with Maki grabbing food.

“Popular,” Gojo teases lightly. “He following you or something?”

You laugh. “I think he just likes talking.”

But the thing is, you don’t realize Gojo isn’t teasing. He’s dead serious.

He’s watching. Always. Quietly.

Watching Sukuna make you laugh in ways he used to. Watching him lean against walls and flash you that cocky little grin. Watching you not pull away.

And he hates it.

Worse, he hates how much it bothers him.

The realization doesn’t hit Gojo all at once.

It’s slow.

A sick warmth in his stomach when Sukuna shows up at the same party you and Gojo are at. Sukuna always attends the frat parties, why does this one feel so different? Gojo invited you. Sukuna just… appears.

He watches the way you talk with him near the drinks table. He doesn’t approach. Doesn’t pull you away. But he watches. Tight lipped. Drinking too fast.

Shoko eventually corners him. “You’re spiraling.”

“I’m fine,” he says.

“You’re glaring at that guy like he owes you money.”

Gojo sips his drink. “He’s weird.”

“You’re jealous.”

“I am not-“ he starts, then stops.

Shoko just gives him a look. And that’s when it hits him.

Oh.

-

That night, Gojo doesn’t text you.

The next day, he cancels plans. “Frat stuff.”

You shrug it off. You’re used to him being busy.

But you don’t miss the shift. The distance. And it hurts more than you want to admit.

Then comes the snap.

You text him to help you review for a quiz. He agrees, reluctantly. You meet in your dorm, like old times.

But he’s off the second he walks in. No teasing. No dumb jokes. No light shoulder bumps.

Just quiet tension.

You tilt your head. “You okay?”

He flips through your notes. “You and Sukuna are getting close.”

You freeze. “What?”

“I mean, he’s everywhere lately. Study buddies now, too?”

You blink, slow. “Why are you bringing this up?”

“I just didn’t realize you had a type.”

There’s a bite to it. You flinch.

“Gojo-“

“Satoru.”

You pause.

“Why are you acting like this?” you ask, softer.

He exhales hard. “Because I thought-“

He breaks off. Runs a hand through his hair. He needs to know. Needs to ask. Needs to tear the damn bandaid off before it gets worse.

“I thought it was me. I thought I was the one you looked at like that.”

The silence after is a vacuum.

“You are,” you say, quietly.

Gojo looks up. Stunned.

“I only laughed at Sukuna because he asked if you were my boyfriend and I panicked,” you admit. “I said we were just friends and he smirked like he knew.”

You look down.

“And I hated that he might’ve been right.”

Gojo is across the room before you finish breathing. You don’t miss the fact at how his pupils are more dilated than usual.

The kiss is slow and loaded.

No crash. No firestorm. Just weight.

Like the moment’s been waiting for months, and now it’s finally time.

His hands cradle your face.

“You’re mine,” he says. It’s not a question.

You nod. “Yeah.”

He kisses you again. This time deeper. Hungrier.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispers against your lips.

“Then take it,” you whisper back.

The room burns.

Your shirt comes off first, his hoodie next.

He kisses down your throat, slow and reverent. Like he’s discovering something forbidden.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs. “So fucking pretty.”

You gasp as his hand slips under your waistband. He’s careful. Focused. Watching you fall apart like it’s something he needs.

He hesitates, not wanting to force you. Not wanting to do anything out of your comfort zone. He loves you.

You notice his hesitation and tugged him closer. “Want you. Please.”

He sucks in a breath. “Say it again.”

“I want you, Satoru.”

He rolls his head back and groans like he’s losing his mind.

He pulls down the comfortable pajama shorts you’re wearing. Whistling upon seeing your lace panties. “You always wearing these?” he teases.

You put your hand up to his bare chest and push him away, jokingly. Your cheeks burned in embarrassment. “No, they so happened to be the first pair that I grabbed.”

He chuckles, the deep chuckle that makes your throat go dry, the bottom of your stomach twist with desire. “That’s hot, sweetheart. They’re my favourite color.”

He leans in to bite your ear, making you gasp. Satoru is quick, he knows what he wants. He slowly trailed his hand down towards your clothed pussy, rubbing it gently.

“Fuck- baby, it’s leaking,” he says with a smirk.

You can’t see his face but you already know what smug expression he’s making. That asshole.

“Satoru,” you warn, no malice or disrespect behind it, just neediness.

“Heard ya, princess.”

He slips his hand in your waist band, slowly circling his thumb over your clit, making you jolt. You lean your body against his, muffling your soft moans against his skin.

Then you feel the stretch. His long fingers entering you, slow and deliberate. Your slick coating it.

“All this just from me talking?” he grins. His lips trailing kisses down jaw all the way to your neck. His tongue licking your sweet spot.

“Just-“ you stutter, “just put it in, you tease.”

“Say please.” His hands grip your hips, then your waist, then your face. He walks you backwards toward your bed, lips never leaving yours.

You gasp when the backs of your knees hit the mattress. He pulls back, just a breath, eyes dark.

“Tell me to stop,” he pants. “If you want me to.”

You shake your head, already breathless. “Don’t.”

In a flash you were on your back with Gojo placed in between your legs, your panties tossed to the ground, the tip of his cock teasing your entrance.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your chest. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You arch beneath him, gasping as he kisses your ribs, your stomach, your hips.

“I dreamed of this,” he confesses, voice shaking. “More than once.”

You’re trembling when he finally slips inside—slow, deep, overwhelming.

You moan into his neck, gripping his shoulders. You cling to him, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the painful stretch and how good it feels, how real.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper. “Please, don’t stop.”

“You okay?” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours.

“Yes,” you breathe. “So much.”

He thrusts slow, like he’s savoring every inch of you.

“You feel like home,” he pants. “Like you were made for me.”

Your legs tighten around him. His hand laces with yours. It’s everything you never said, poured into movement.

You come first, body shaking, eyes glassy. He follows moments after, burying his face in your shoulder as he falls apart. Groaning in your ear.

-

After, you lie tangled in sheets, his fingers tracing circles on your bare back.

“I hate that it took Sukuna to get me to say something,” he mumbles.

You smile into his chest. “He was kind of helpful, actually.”

He groans. “Don’t ever say that again.”

You giggle. Then softer, “You’re really mine now?”

His hand curls into your hair.

“I’ve always been yours,” he says. “Even when I didn’t know it.”

-

Mornings with him are different now.

He’s still chaotic, still wakes up with bedhead and somehow makes pouring cereal sound dramatic but now he’s yours. And he acts like it.

You wake up to his hand on your waist and his breath in your hair. His leg always ends up tangled with yours. He grumbles if you try to get out of bed too early.

“Just five more minutes,” he mumbles against your shoulder.

“You said that fifteen minutes ago.”

“I’m serious this time.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. Because underneath the dramatic sighs and sleepy whining, Gojo’s hand never lets go of yours.

-

Breakfast becomes a thing.

Not fancy, usually cereal, toast, maybe eggs if he’s feeling ambitious. But he makes sure you eat before class.

“You’re not leaving here without food,” he says, sliding a banana into your bag. “Girlfriend privileges. I worry about you now.”

You snort. “You didn’t worry about me before?”

“I did! Silently.”

You raise a brow.

“Okay, loudly, but in my own way,” he amends, grinning. “Which mostly involved buying you Red Bulls and pretending it wasn’t concern.”

Walking to class together has always been in your routine.

He meets you outside your dorm even if it means being late himself. He carries your bag half the time, just because. He holds your hand like he needs to.

People stare now, but it’s not the usual Gojo-stare. It’s softer. Curious.

You overhear one girl whisper, “They’re really together?”

Another replies, “I thought she was just his best friend…”

And Gojo just smirks, squeezes your hand tighter, and loudly kisses your temple like the smug bastard he is.

His place becomes your second home.

You leave a toothbrush there. Then a hairbrush. Then half your sleep clothes.

“Is this a drawer?” you ask one day, opening a newly cleared-out space in Gojo’s dresser.

“It’s your drawer,” he says, smug. “Started making it after the first night you stayed over.”

“You’re insane. That was a long time ago.”

“I’m prepared.”

You roll your eyes, but later, you put your favorite hoodie in there. You kind of like that he planned ahead.

Studying together becomes dangerous.

He’s distracting.

He keeps poking your thigh under the table.

Keeps whispering stupid jokes.

Keeps staring at you with that annoying grin.

Keeps leaning over your shoulder, pretending to read, but really just wanting to be close.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you mutter.

“I’m studying.”

“You’re literally not.”

“I’m studying you.”

You shove his notebook at him.

He grins. “Was that foreplay?”

“Satoru.”

He memorized your schedule.

Shows up between classes with coffee. Walks you to the library. Waits outside your labs.

Sometimes, you don’t even realize he’s there until he slides next to you on a bench and offers half a cookie.

“Been waiting long?” you ask.

“Only forever,” he says, but he’s smiling.

And you know he’d wait again.

Some nights you stay in.

You curl up in his bed with Netflix on and snacks scattered across the blanket. His hand is always around your waist, even when he’s half-asleep.

He lets you steal his clothes. His shampoo. His chargers.

He lets you fall asleep on his chest and only shifts to kiss your forehead.

“Love you,” he whispers one night. It slips out between breaths, not even part of the conversation.

You freeze.

He doesn’t.

Just tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and repeats it.

“Love you. Not scared about it anymore.”

You kiss him, slow, soft, deep.

“I love you too.”

-

You don’t even tell the others.

But they know. All of them are varying levels of unsurprised.

The second you and Satoru walk in together, not just side by side, but together, like gravity pulled you that way it’s over. They can see it all.

Gojo doesn’t let go of you once.

His hand stays low on your back. Yours brushes his fingers every few steps. He’s smiling, but not in his usual chaotic way.

He’s softer tonight. Quieter. Like he’s not looking to be the loudest person in the room for once. Like his attention is already full.

You’d gone over together many times, obviously. You got ready in his room, shoved your lip gloss in his back pocket. He’d watched you get dressed from the bed, doing nothing to hide the way his eyes traveled slowly, unashamed.

“You always this pretty, or are you trying to kill me tonight?”

You threw a pillow at his head. He caught it and kissed it like an idiot.

Now, at the party, the others see it instantly.

It’s not just the handholding. It’s the way he leans into you when you laugh. The way you fix the collar of his hoodie without thinking. The way he watches you walk away, eyes glued to your back like you’re the only thing he’s ever followed in his life.

-

“God,” Maki groans as she watches you two across the living room. “It’s worse now.”

“They were already like this,” Shoko mutters, sipping something neon.

“No, but now it’s legally sanctioned.” Nobara gestures as Gojo tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “There’s nothing stopping him. He’s unstoppable.”

“They’ve always been like this. Now they just kiss in front of us.”

Maki is the first to say anything.

She corners you near the kitchen, squints like she’s solving a puzzle.

“You’re glowing,” she accuses.

You try (badly) to play it off. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bullshit.” She leans in. “You look freshly ruined and spiritually fulfilled. That’s Gojo glow.”

You nearly choke on your drink.

Before you can deny it, Shoko walks past. “Finally.”

You gasp. “You all knew?!”

Yuta passing through, uninterested mutters, “Yeah. We’ve been over it since last semester.”

Even Panda chimes in from the couch. “I lost ten bucks on how long it would take.”

Meanwhile, Gojo’s got his own interrogation squad.

Suguru smirks from across the pong table. “You seem settled.”

Gojo takes a casual sip of his drink. “I’m good.”

“Is that her hoodie?”

Gojo smirks. “Nope. Mine. But she stole it first.”

Suguru raises a brow. “So it’s official?”

Gojo nods, that stupidly satisfied look spreading on his face.

“You tell her you love her yet?”

Gojo blinks.

“Because you do,” Suguru adds casually. “You’ve been in love with her since that stupid Halloween party freshmen year.”

“Okay, relax,” Gojo mutters, cheeks flushing.

-

Gojo slips behind you while you’re talking with Panda, slides an arm around your waist and leans in like it’s instinct.

“You okay?” he murmurs against your ear.

You nod. “They’re all bullying me.”

He kisses your temple, shameless. “Good. You deserve it.”

You try to nudge him but you’re smiling.

And so is he.

There’s a quiet in his body tonight, not bored, not tired, but anchored. Like you settled something deep in him. Like he’s finally breathing the way he always wanted to.

You drift together through the party.

He holds your hand under the beer pong table.

You steal his fries.

He kisses your cheek without thinking.

You play with his rings when you’re bored.

Sukuna shows up around ten, smirking as always. He catches sight of the way Gojo’s arm is curled protectively around your hips, and just lifts a brow.

“Guess I missed my shot,” he says dryly.

Gojo grins, all teeth. “You never had one.”

You smack his chest, but Sukuna just laughs.

“Wasn’t trying to steal her, anyway. Just wanted to piss you off.”

“You did,” Gojo says, grinning harder. “And it worked.”

Sukuna laughs.

The night drips by in warm gold.

Gojo takes dumb pictures of you on his phone. You steal his hoodie halfway through the night. He sings part of a song into your neck even though he’s off-key and way too loud.

You end up on the couch together, you in his lap, his arms snug around you.

People pass and grin. Some whisper. Someone asks Gojo, jokingly, “Damn, did you finally lock her down?”

He laughs. Looks down at you. “Nope. She locked me down.”

You blink at him, and he kisses you. Again.

You lose count of how many times he kisses you that night.

Later, you find yourselves tucked on a porch bench while the music thumps inside.

The cold nips at your skin but Gojo wraps his hoodie tighter around you, tugs you between his legs.

“You good?” he asks again, gently.

You look up at him.

His hair’s a mess. His lips are a little pink. His eyes are soft in a way they never used to be like he finally let the walls down.

“I’m good,” you say honestly.

He leans his forehead to yours. “This doesn’t feel real.”

“It is.”

He cups your cheek. “We really did it, huh?”

You nod, teasing. “I mean, you could still ruin it.”

“Oh, definitely,” he laughs. “But now you’re stuck with me.”

You sigh dramatically. “Such a demanding boyfriend.”

You lean in and kiss him, just soft, just long enough to feel it in your chest.

He hums against your lips.

When you pull back, he whispers, “Let’s leave soon.”

You tilt your head. “Why?”

His hands slip under the hem of your shirt, warm on your skin. “Because I want you all to myself. Please, can you stay the night?”

[demie90s]

please do caitlin clark x hyper femme reader that attends her game! maybe reader isn’t super tall but always wears heels so same height, has custom jackets, etc

𝐂𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

All Eyes On You

MASTERLIST, MORE

Summary: You’ve been showing up to every game in custom jackets, heels, and lip gloss sharp enough to cut through tension. You don’t hoop, but you’re a problem. Especially for Caitlin, who can’t seem to stop looking your way.

Genre: Slow tension, flirtation, soft build, off-court vibes

Warnings: Mild language, flirtatious energy, one-sided pining (but mutual 👀)

Word Count: ~ 0.4k

Vibe: Femme power, ‘you’re on my mind mid-game’, heels louder than your thoughts energy

You didn’t need to go to every game.

You weren’t one of those obsessive fans with season tickets and group chats about stats. You had a life, a schedule, plans. You showed up when it made sense. But when you did show up? You showed up.

Black heels. Tight jeans. A cropped varsity jacket custom-made just for the moment—white and gold satin, her number embroidered near your heart in sleek black thread: #22. A little sparkle stitched under it, subtle but loud enough if someone looked too long. And they always looked too long.

Especially her.

Caitlin noticed you before you ever said a word.

At first, it was just curiosity. You didn’t dress like the rest of the crowd. You didn’t cheer like them either. You weren’t loud. You didn’t jump and scream. You leaned back in your seat, legs crossed, watching like you knew something. Like you were scouting her. Or challenging her. And maybe that was why she looked at you too long the first night.

And the next. And the one after that.

It became a thing. If you were in the building, she’d know before tip-off. Could feel it. The way her focus tightened. The way her passes got sharper. The way her game got just a little more electric—like she was performing for someone, but didn’t want anyone to know.

She didn’t even know your name. Until one night—mid-season—you weren’t there.

She’d been looking. Scanning the same section she swore you always sat in. But nothing. No heels. No hair. No sly little smile. And for the first time all season, her game was… off. Her rhythm shook. Her shots missed. Her mood? Gone.

“Rough night?” one of her teammates asked in the locker room.

Caitlin shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”

No one asked why. But if they looked close, they’d see her glance toward the stands one last time before leaving.

You didn’t come back until two weeks later. This time, in a black trench coat and a new custom piece. Gold chain, thin and sleek, the pendant resting just at your collarbone: C22.

She saw it when you stood.

And she didn’t miss a single shot after.

Y’all didn’t talk until after the season ended.

Post-game meet-and-greets were usually a blur, but that night she walked straight over to you. Not a word. Just stood in front of you, hands on her hips, sweat still clinging to her neck.

“Nice necklace,” she said, trying not to grin.

You tilted your head, playful. “You earned it.”

That’s how it started.

Messages. Banter. Video calls. A slow unraveling. You never pushed. You let her come to you. And she did. Every time. With stories about practice, little updates about film breakdowns, inside jokes from games you’d barely watched. You’d ask what she was wearing, just to fluster her. She’d ask what you were cooking, knowing damn well you were ordering Uber Eats.

Then came the first gift.

She opened her locker one day to find a new jacket—deep maroon, her initials stitched into the lining. Hidden on the inside collar, where only she’d see it, was a small embroidered script: “All eyes on you.”

No note. Just that. But she knew.

You didn’t have to show up all the time. That was never your thing. But whenever you did?

She played better.

The team noticed. Fans noticed. Commentators started asking who you were. Someone on Twitter dubbed you “the mystery muse in stilettos.” And Caitlin?

Caitlin stopped denying it.

“Who’s that in the stands tonight?” a reporter asked post-game once, nodding toward you.

Caitlin’s answer was simple, easy. “She’s mine.”

[caxde]

truly | eddie munson x reader

summary you and eddie are best friends, oblivous to each others' feelings until someone helps you realise (4.5k)

warnings fem!reader, fluff, mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn bestfriends to lovers, idiots in love!!!, , english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read! based on this ask!

You were a bit too deep inside your thoughts, as you often were. You hair was half up, hair loose on the front framed your face in a way that made you seem even more concentrated than you actually were. Your left hand was lost on the back of your neck, messaging that spot in a repetitive manner that soothes you. Your right hand was scribbling down the frame ideas for the essay that was due in a couple days. 

Eddie noticed as soon as he entered the dining hall. You had used your free period to set yourself into a quiet corner, bathed by the weak sunlight of the late morning. He knew you had barely moved from your spot, the crease on your blue jeans that always formed if you stopped moving had been there for a while.  He smiled shyly to himself before asking the lunch lady that was setting up everything if she could give him some water for you, he knew she’d say yes since it was for you. The kindness that you always showed her was something Eddie usually used to his advantage. A lot of snacks that he promised were for you were usually for him. A red apple if he was bored, whatever soda she’d give if he was still craving something sweet and whatever wrapped up candy bar she had left when he needed a bargain chip for something else. 

This time, the lunch lady smiled to herself as soon as she saw how he approached you. Slowly, trying his hardest not to disturb you. His right hand replaced your left, messaging that same spot you had been mindlessly rubbing for over an hour. Your eyes met in that same moment, when the bottled water hitted the table. The soft warm light framed the encounter, a perfect photograph. 

Eddie’s wild curly hair seemed longer when he was standing over you, and you enjoyed how it bounced once he sat down and shook his head. 

He didn’t say anything, there really was no need. 

He grabbed your notebook and eyed your scribbling right before trying to hide his chuckling. You playfully punched him in the arm, while you took the first sip of water in god knows how long. You hadn’t realised how thirsty you were until the water touched your lips.

 Half of the bottle was now empty.

 Eddie glanced at it before letting his lips curl, just as you pushed your hair behind your ear. 

“I thought you had already finished Mrs.White essay” He finally said, leaving the notebook right where it was, his body shifting so his legs were in between the bench, looking directly at you. 

“I did.” You pointed out, looking back at his brown eyes, the sun hitting them always makes them seem brighter, like melted chocolate you thought. “This one’s yours.” You shook your head, pushing the notebook into him.

“How…Why would you…” He didn’t really know how to formulate the question, a bit too dumbfounded to even process the information you were giving to him. 

“You have Hellfire tonight.” You say, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. “And you haven’t even started reading the book yet… so… Just copy it so it has your handwriting once I’m done, ‘kay?” 

“You’re an Angel.” He says, astonished. He can feel his cheeks getting warmer for a second before he shakes his head, leaning closer to you so he can leave a small kiss on your cheek. Partially to say thank you, though deep down he knows he’s doing it so he can see you bite down the inside of your cheek, in an attempt to not blush as quickly as he had done. 

“Yeah, you can pay me later.” You joke, returning his gesture with your knee bumping into his leg. “The water doesn’t count.” You say before he can, his index finger already pointing at it. 

“Oh come on! You were about to die of dehydration.” 

“Denise gave it to you!” 

“I did, loverboy.” You can’t help but giggle as soon as you hear her interfere. But maybe it was because seeing Eddie flustered and rolling his eyes made your chest tighten in a way you were unfamiliar with. 

“Loverboy?” Eddie questioned with his voice barely above a whisper, even you didn’t hear him. He cleared his throat, getting your attention once again. “You should clear the table.” He added in a hush tone, nodding to the opening doors of the dining hall. You smiled as you started to put your things away, tucked neatly into your beat-up backpack. Everything but Eddie’s half done essay was away. He left you scribbling away, while a hoard of hungry students invaded the previously quiet space. 

Robin sat down next to you, with her usual soft “hi” right before she peered over your shoulder so she could see what you were writing. She couldn’t help but chuckle at the words you were writing. 

“Eddie doesn’t know what perhaps means.” She points out teasing you with a smirk once you look right at her. 

“He has to.” You argue, not really focusing on her teasing, not wanting to get into it. Not really wanting to understand what it means. “He has read The Hobbit like fifty times.” 

“That’s why he keeps reading it.” She continues, unwrapping her homemade sandwich. The smell of melted cheese hits your nose, making your stomach rumble with hunger. “He doesn’t understand it.” You can’t help but laugh with her. That kind of laugh that makes your cheeks hurt after a while. 

“What are you up to on Saturday?” You ask in your usual cheerful voice, trying desperately to change the topic of conversation away from the curly headed boy. 

“I’m covering Steve’s turn at Family Video, so I guess I won’t leave until I close. Yey for double shifts.” She cheers in a monotone voice that makes the right side of your lips curl upwards. 

“Yay for money?” You try to make her chuckle, with little success. 

“I guess.” She plays a bit with the crust of her sandwich before she takes a bite out of it. “Why couldn’t my parents be made of money?”

“Hey, at least you have parents.” Eddie joins back at your table, closely followed by his little followers. You scoot so everyone barely fits. 

“Are you feeding a whole town by yourself?” Robin snaps back, as her eyes widen at the size of Eddie’s overstuffed plates. 

“Nah, just taking advantage of the American School System.” He chuckles as his little finger pushes the tray in your direction, in a subtle way, so you won’t notice. 

Robin does notice however. And so does Dustin. They exchange a knowing look that you both don’t see. You’re way too deep into the way his mouth moves whenever he is explaining a nonsense story like he is now, his hair softly brushing his pale cheeks everytime he ends a sentence, and Eddie is too enamored by the way your eyes shine at him, as he feels how every word makes your lips curl upwards, drawing a big smile on your face. 

You pick at his food, and he just smiles down at you whenever he catches you eating something. He knows you have a hard time remembering to feed yourself, even more so when you’re deep in concentration, once he saw you sitting alone being engulfed by various papers he knew you hadn’t eaten, and how you probably wouldn’t until you had finished or gotten home. He smiled back with his eyes half closed making those tiny lines appear next to his eyes, a type of smile you knew well. A please do anything you want, a please keep doing exactly what you are doing, a please never leave my side kind of smile. 

“psst” Dustin whispered into Robin’s ear, hitting her arm with his elbow. 

“What!?” She half whispered as she turned around quickly, her eyes almost out of her head, as she rubbed the spot where he hit her. 

“What do we do?” He asks, nodding to the both of you. The angelical image you both formed looked straight out of a painting. The looks of admiration between the both of you were enough for anyone else to realise something was happening. 

“We?” 

“Yeah, they’re smart, but they’re also idiots.” Dustin overenunciated every word, as he usually does when he’s whispering. Robin rolled her eyes at the image of you, falling deep and without breaks, with you not even realising it. 

“We could kidnap them.” She half jokes, talking to Dustin’s ear while her eyes were still fixated onto you. “Put them in nice clothes and chuck them into a restaurant.” She chuckled as she ended the sentence, her voice picking the paste as she got more excited about those nonsense ideas. 

“Eddie doesn’t do restaurants. Says they’re an elitist nightmare fruit of capitalism or something like that. He does like dinners though.” Dustin points out in a monotone whisper, his head now turned to both of you. 

“That’s your issue with what I said?” 

“Pretty much.” Dustin answers nonchalantly. “We could just talk to them.” 

“And tell them what, exactly?” Robin raises her eyebrow as she quickly glances at Dustin, right when you’re laughing at one of Eddie’s bad jokes. 

“Just… I don’t know. That they’re stupid, and they obviously like each other.” 

“Maybe we shouldn’t call them stupid.” Robin points out. 

“Yeah, I know.” Dustin waits for a moment as he watches Eddie shake his head just so he can see you smile widen. “But they are, right?” 

“Oh.” Robin waits as she watches you leaving your hand on the high part of his tight, squeezing it softly. Eddie’s eyes open a bit as they shine a bit more. “Absolutely they are.” 

-

By the time you reached your car, your backpack still half opened with a notebook blocking the zipper’s way, Robin was already sitting on the hood of the red chipped paint. You smiled at her as you pushed the little button on your keys, hearing the loud noise it did as it unlocked, making the short haired girl jump as she laid her feet on the ground once more, opening the passenger door as she found her way in. You opened your door, passing her your backpack as you dove in, head first and turning the key on the same movement, knowing that the sooner you had your windows down, the better the heat that had accumulated from a long day would be handled. 

Robin kicked her almost empty bag under her feet, as she tightly held onto the overly stuffed one that was hanging from your shoulders as she looked attentively at you. You playfully mistake that level of attention, guessing that she needed confirmation that you remembered that she was working that afternoon. 

“Don’t worry.” You chirp as your hands start changing the car gear’s. “I’ll have you at Family Video in ten minutes.” 

“What?” She mumbled as she was focused on the wrong thing once more. 

“Are you not working today?” You answer back as you stop at a red light, looking at her for a moment, your eyebrows furrowed as she nods her head yes. 

“Yeah, but what’re you doing?” She is speaking in that frenetic tone, the one she usually uses when she’s eager to make a point. So you decide to speak calmly, if only to bring some sense into the conversation. 

“I’m heading to Edd’s, I finished his essay and he has Hellfire. He told me I could stay in his room so I can keep working on homework. So I’ll already be there for pizza night once you and Steve get there.” 

“You do realise how that sounds right?” Her words were coated with honey, making you raise an eyebrow at her. She took your silence as a response and continued talking. “You’re practically dating.”

“Fuck off.” You warned. Cheeks burning red, your teeth biting the inside of them. 

“Oh come on dude!” She pleaded now, punching your arm as you turned left. “You obviously like each other! You do his homework, always try to be near him, laugh at every single one of his stupid jokes, you let him take care of you and you look at him as if he's the answer you can’t find in your books.” 

She runs out of breath by the end, looking at you, needing you to realise what everyone already has, but you just stay the same. A vacant stare through the windshield as the car slowly stops. 

“Robs…” There’s a sliver of pain in your voice. “As much as I’d like that to be true, it can’t be.” You shake your head as you take your backpack so she can leave the car. 

“It is true though…” 

“Maybe.” You add with a shy smile. “But I can’t have that in my head now.” You add, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“You want it to be true?” Robin asks with hopefulness clear in her voice, her eyes gleaming at the possibility. 

“Yes.” You admit not only to your friend, but to yourself. 

-

Meanwhile, Dustin had a very similar approach. He had followed Eddie closely to his van, screaming for him to wait, and reminding him that he promised a ride to his house, since Gareth would drive him back. Eddie agreed, with a snarl as he opened the passenger door. The van was old, and it needed a stronger approach for it to actually open and close, the windows never closed all the way and a vague smell of weed always emanated from the back. 

“Who’s coming to today’s session?” Dustin questions with a very openly hidden intention. 

“Uh, Mike, Gareth, Lucas, Jeff, Erica I think and uh… Angel.” He added your nickname last, with a soft grin appearing in his face as soon as it leaves his lips. 

“She’s playing?” 

“No, no. She’ll just hang out in my room, we’ve got pizza night with Robs and Steve” 

“Your room?” 

“Yeah” Eddie brushes it off, as if it is no big deal, as if it meant nothing. Dustin was staring with daggers in his eyes. 

“Dude…” 

“What?” 

“Oh. Come. On.” Dustin overly enunciates every word, his eyes opening wider with every syllable. “Did you ask her to? You know what, it actually doesn’t matter, you’re way too thick to even get it. You like like this girl. You make her laugh with every idiotic thing that leaves your mouth, she does everything in her power to help you and you always make time and an effort to be close to her, come on Edward!” Eddie stops the car suddenly, the use of his government name takes him by surprise, even more so than the overly explanation to his unthought actions regarding you and his -apparently- very obvious feelings. 

“You didn’t have to call me Edward.” He tries deeply to change the topic, a bit too embarrassed to actually talk it out. 

“Dude.” 

“Yeah, I know.” He apologises in a defeated tone. “Is it really that obvious?” Dustin nods as they look at each other, the van slowly starting again. “You really think she feels the same?” Dustin nods again. “Fuck.” 

-

It had been weird. 

For both of you. 

Dustin didn’t stop laughing, even if he did try to not make it obvious. 

The way he opened the door didn’t follow his usual routine. He didn’t tease you, he didn’t mess with your hair or make fun of you for obsessively positioning your shoes by the entrance. 

Instead, his voice shook a bit when he opened the door, the sound of your name in a raspy whisper you never had heard from him before. Instead a small conversation with a pleasant tone erupted, a very mechanical “hi” “hi” “you can wait in my room, shout if you need anything” before he sprinted off, his face red. 

You were left by yourself, inside his messily organized room. All of his black thick cords were neatly and carefully wrapped, yet left on a corner of his room right by his dresser. You also noted the half empty ashtrays on his table, the one he wanted you to use, and the faint smell they left. The array of magazines stacked by the foot of his bed, ranging from cars and mechanical magazines, gracing through music and a half hidden obscene one. He had various photos, drawings, drabbles and lyrics written on different pieces of paper glued to his walls. Corroded Coffin’s flyers, photos he had taken up on the lake, him smiling while he posed with the band, him concentrated in the middle of a D&D session. Right by his bed, there was a sunny day one. You remember that day, it was last summer, and you decided to walk through the woods in search of a cool spot, somewhere that would only be known by the both of you. You found that little pond, and you stayed there for hours, looking at the small frogs, collecting flowers for your room and singing songs he was obsessed with. You sketched a bit while he took a picture of you, peaceful, perfect, undisturbed you. You felt yourself smiling when you realised he had the drawing right next to it, a small heart had been added with black ink. 

You tried to concentrate on the remaining homework you had left, but you kept getting distracted, your eyes subconsciously landing on that photograph. 

With Robin’s words still ringing in your ear, you still didn’t know what to do, or what to feel. 

Eddie’s weirdness hadn’t helped. 

You usually spoke to him when you needed help to understand yourself, he usually did that better than you anyway. You started to realise how much of that was true, he always seems to know exactly how to calm you down when you have a million things going over your head at the same time, even the times you're not conscious about it, he does it. And it is quite simple. It's just a touch. The coldness of his rings finds your skin, leg, arm, neck; it doesn't matter. His hand lays on top of your skin and his fingers just hold you, a bit firm, right before moving softly. That is all it takes. You’re grounded again, and you know you’re safe, because he is there. And if Eddie is there, and if he is that close to you, nothing can be wrong. 

This feeling stays with you now. 

nothing can be wrong

You’re in his bedroom, because it’s full of him, every single thing he owns and loves is inside, and it smells of him. The freshly burned sandalwood that impregnates every piece of clothing he owns, in a desperate attempt to hide the cigarette smoke that you’ve grown to love. Candles have been blown out right before you came, the rim of them still burned. You can feel his panic, he must’ve gone through the room whilst Dustin was right behind him, and if you know something about that, Dustin must have been giving him the exact same speech Robin did to you. 

The carefulness that he had put out in making sure you were comfortable, because he is well aware of how much you despise being on such a big house by yourself, and the hard time you have concentrating and remembering to take care of yourself was clear now. He keeps inviting you to hang out, he keeps asking you to come over and there’s always food and drinks out for you, all so you don’t have to think about it. Because he cares. 

he cares. 

Nothing can be wrong, he cares. 

You are starting to wonder if that caring is the same kind of care you feel for him. 

You can’t really remember a time you haven’t known him. You can’t imagine your life without him if you’re being honest. That scrawny young boy with a buzzed head that was starting to learn how to play guitar had grown right beside you. You remember after school hours where you taught him how to play the guitar, and how he now tries to get you to play with him, even if he knows you’ll say no since you’ve got a new project or a new essay that needs a few tweaks. Wade will tease him, telling him how he needs to be more like you, but you’ve always dismissed it. 

You like being there for him, you like it when he asks for help with a paper he doesn’t quite have the energy to finish, you like it when he needs help with the final details of his campaign, you like it when he asks for your opinions in his lyrics because “I trust your mind more than I do mine”, you like it when he asks you to cut your hair with a big dumb smile in his lips… His lips, you think I also like his lips. 

Without really thinking, you abandon the homework, letting your body crumble into his mattress. The smell of his shampoo is intoxicating. You had made fun of him when you saw “amarath and jasmine shampoo” in his shower, but he had said that “those curls are expensive, darling” you giggled at the memory. Your eyes closed remembering the smile he had on his lips while he teased you back. his lips. 

You can’t seem to focus on anything else. They always looked pinker in real life than in your memories, not cracked but smooth. Everytime they said your name, some part of your skin bloomed with goosebumps, your heart skipped a bit, just to relax right after. They had the warmest smile and sang the most angelical laugh you had ever heard. Speaking of song, his voice when he had a mic in front of them was truly out of this world. 

It has to be true, you think at this moment this has to be what love feels like. 

You could feel your cheeks burning at the thought of it. That vulnerability was a different kind to the one you were used to share with him. 

It scares the fuck out of you. 

And yet, a sense of relief invades you.

You feel like you need to tell him, you’ve always shared your secrets with him, what’s one more?

Not now, you think, Hellfire’s still running. 

Your hand flings above your head, you want to scratch your own head, wanting to sooth yourself, instead, you find your fingers hitting the cold surface of his old acoustic guitar. 

The once light brown wood surface was not badly painted with black acrylic paint, and a faded sentence you could no longer read in chipped white paint. You smile at yourself, picking it up instead. 

You’re not really thinking, if you were you wouldn’t have started playing meaningless chords. 

You’re thankful you’re not thinking. 

You had forgotten how easily it calms you down, your fingers playing with the strings, whilst your brain thinks about playing with his tangled hair. 

It’s easy. It’s like breathing. 

You don’t really know how long it’s been. You just know you’ve started to play guitar and nothing else matters, you’re in love with him and nothing else matters. 

Eddie knows something has changed as soon as he reaches his door. 

You usually studied in silence, murmuring to yourself, repeating your notes aloud. As soon as he hears the soft strummings of his out of tune guitar he knows something has changed. 

He is hopeful that maybe you have realised what he had earlier. 

While he was cleaning his room with Dustin beside him, he was just telling him obsessively why you are such a great person, and why he’s so afraid to lose you to something so stupid like love. He had said that you are not only a good friend to him, but to everyone, you're empathetic and unbelievably kind, you make him feel like a warm shower after rain had left him drenched, you were the most beautiful soul he knew, inside and out. And it scared him shitless that you might not feel the same. 

But now, as he carefully opened his bedroom door, he could see you were smiling as you graced the strings, soft and calm notes escaping from the old guitar. Your perfume was mixed in the air, and he felt that flutter in his stomach. 

He walked slowly, not wanting to interrupt. 

You smiled as soon as you felt his eyes on you. 

His hand laid on your thigh. That touch. That nothing can be wrong touch. 

“You’re playing guitar.” He whispers, his breath brushing your cheek. You look back at him, your fingers still messing with the strings. You lock eyes, his pupils expand as soon as you look at him. You feel as if your heart was about to explode, wanting to communicate too many feelings at the same moment. 

“I taught you how” You whisper back. Stoping the notes so he could hear your voice, clearer. 

“Don’t stop.” He pleaded, his tone sounding more like a whimper. “I haven't heard you in years”

“Eddie.” You feel the shakiness in your voice, and so must he, as he tightens the grip on your thigh. “I…” 

“What?” 

“I think I may be in love with you.” It just slips out. So naturally, so casually. As if you’ve said it a million times before. As if it is no big deal. 

“What?” He asks again, his eyes widening, his heart beating faster. He can’t quite believe your words. Even if they are now forever engraved into his brain. 

You let go of his guitar, your fingers now playing with his hair, which is all they want to do. 

You find that one of your hands has found the back of his neck, and it pushes his lips against yours. 

They feel even better than you have imagined. And it’s natural, it’s as easy as breathing, as carefree as a bird flying. It is what it should be. 

His lips pressed against yours fit like the perfect puzzle they are, and his free hand is now under your chin, holding you closer so he can taste as much of you as he can. 

It feels like heaven. 

It’s a confirmation. 

It a I’m in love with you, and the response I am too. 

You don’t really need anything else, so you stay exactly like that for a long time, enjoying each other with no rush, with a calmness and a stillness that is unbecoming of both of you, who always seem to be in a rush. 

“I feel safe with you, and I always want to be next to you. Nothing else matters.” You whisper once you break the kiss, your eyes closed as you press your forehead against his. 

“Nothing else matters.” He whispers back. 

He can’t help but chuckle a bit, now that he gets to kiss you every time he wants to, now that he knows you feel exactly as he does. 

Deeply, truly, madly in love with each other. 

The smile on both of your faces and the knowing glances now have a different meaning, and it is obvious that something has changed, yet nothing hasn’t. There was love before, now it has just been declared.

[jazeswhbhaven]

Agares Origin Story Event: Hidden Lore | React/Summary Spoilers Didn't see the first react? -> Peep here! TW ahead: mentions of childhood abuse/trauma/violence and self-harm/descriptive gore

Alright y'all we're done with this event and there's been so many things revealed here that really brings it all into perspective about Agares and Belphie's impact on Niflheim (even though this was mostly about our orange lovin' royalty bby in the first place)

Grab yourself a drink and a snacky snack and let's get into it!

So as we left off in the last react, Agares had returned after a day of cleaning up Niflheim to the massacre of Vassago's clan and seeing Vassago still alive but barely breathing. Agares had a new mission now, and it was hellbent on getting back at those who dared to hurt devils who were merely minding their business.

I can just imagine the smell y'all....like I've driven passed a sanitation plant and a landfill before and man it stunk to high hell. Now imagine rotting garbage mixed in with someone just spraying like air freshener trying to cover it up but all it does is mix in with the stank 💀

Lmao he's literally ready for shit to hit the fan which oh man it's definitely about to go down....

So the royals were inside saying that since the stepmother's new son was on the throne instead there would be in order once again. Well...think again idiots because Agares came in flingin' bodies left and right...

Now this was something interesting that I noticed when reading. The royals were viewing Vassago as not how we and Agares see him, but as different horrific apparitions. Now this is something I'll go back to later in this react but for now...

Yeah, everyone is pretty much wondering why Agares is still standing. Was the assassin that much of a lousy shit that he didn't do his job correctly or? Either way everyone was only focused on the main thing, Agares' appearance had changed. No longer reminiscent of that beauty they once knew, or even mimicking that of a angel's beauty, but the face monster that THEY created.

So, we now get to the part of how he got that scar in the first place. What I originally predicted was that he lost his eye due to a major battle or from the angels coming down and attacking Niflheim. Nope.

He slashed his own eye, nothing more than a mere trick spearheaded by his stepmother and political enemies in order to get others to distrust him and throw him out as a child...unable to defend himself and had to go years with doubt about his heritage.

Vassago asks permission to grant his wish of fulfilling Agares' true vengence against the blood that was spilled. With this, he changes into a sword (the same blade we see in his artifact) and Agares begins to cut everyone down.

now when I tell you the descriptive writing of the blood carnage was possibly better than the smut? idk that's my opinion lol I feel the writer went all in on this.

I mean Agares literally grabbed a devil, slit his eyelids open, and had him crawl to the exit through the severed limbs of the other devils inside the mansion. Like...all reason is gone from this man.

Even to the point where he's mad at the slain clan, saying that they "betrayed" him, said that they would stay by his side to see him become King. I mean Agares is going through a lot right now, but I was like just

what are they suppose to do Agares bby, they're dead 😭

Gotta love more of that descriptive gore writing. Because gawddamn.

It also appears that he spared the soldiers/guards of the carnage being spilled. They just sat there and watched, pissing themselves and not even bothering to do anything. This truly shows that Agares is that powerful of a devil. If he's not the King, he's definitely worthy of being one of the 72 nobles.

He then tells Vassago to take the devils who aren't dead just yet, cut off their limbs, stitch wings on their bodies and send a message to Heaven. A simple warning to whatever angel dared to scheme this plan to bring him down...

It's on.

And obviously without any fight from anyone and well...he pretty much killed most of everyone in the mansion, Agares takes the throne. All the royals and nobles who were there before? Nada.

At least he still prefers the tastes of his oranges...peel and all (which I was learning earlier in the year that yes the oranges can be eaten with the peel on as it's edible...but I mean I don't like oranges anyway because of the pulp texture but the flavor/juice is fine!)

So as word travels around Niflheim of what occurred that day when Agares sliced and diced everyone, it has me believe that he allowed those soldiers to gossip...as all it did was just instill fear in everyone and to not challenge him...ever unless they wanted the same thing done to them.

Also, there were some who got away but that was taken care of very swiftly. He had Vassago do that, creeping in the shadows and takin' 'em down. Taking out the "trash".

And what's more is that this little clean up of his only took a week. Man works hard when he's on a mission.

He's still upset that he didn't get to pay back the clan, he made it to the throne but they weren't there to see it. He instead asks Vassago what it is that he wants and he'd get it done for him. Vassago's wish was already fulfilled when Agares rose to the throne. And with that...Agares asks him to leave.

Now we're back to the present again, where the gossiping devils are arguing about how Vassago should have not considered leaving at all or maybe Agares said that on purpose just to hear Vassago beg to stay.

They even called him the "exhaustin' girlfriend" if he was just trying to test Vassago's loyalty. I laughed because lmaooooo Agares does seem like the type.

Hires someone to flirt with you to see if you'd cheat and gets mad about it even if you didn't cheat

And so the two of them kept cleanin' up Niflheim, but I mean you can only do so much when there's THAT much damn trash. Also, Vassago and Agares were well known by the other Kings due to those rumors spreading around but they respected the borders and did nothing about it. (Interesting take....hm, makes sense though!)

Then, there's a shift to where our Niflheim boys are talkin' amongst themselves. Here it's Bathin that brings up that even though all of this happened to Agares and that Belphie is still the King of Niflheim, he didn't just take the role away from Agares just because.

And we know that's true, as we remember in one of Beel's events that the Kings get chosen at random by God himself, or in the event like Mammon's father and Mammon Jr, the throne was just simply passed down to him. Again, later we will go over more about Belphie's role and his agreement with Agares...

The real monster had yet to open its eyes yet....

He's so distressed....I just wanna massage his shoulders and give him forehead kisses.

Agares is truly torn. He had those intense feelings of hatred, pure wrath, power he's never shown before and yet he didn't feel any greatness of being a King. Then who could it be??

whelp... before that

Agares' message was clear and the angels bombarded that country over and over. They would make sure that Niflheim would never stand again.

And Agares was fighting these battles til near death each and every time. The grueling training methods he had the remaining devils go through were not for shits and giggles, and they realized that very quickly and had some form of respect for Agares in this way. They couldn't complain if these methods kept them alive, right?

The devils go to talk about how the other lands have themselves a proper "king" and that there was a "king" on the land of trash that opened his eyes once and then disappeared (lmao) so they just learned to accept Agares for what he is. A "monster" of a King.

But then we get Granddaddy Solomon mentions again! Apparently he's met Agares and made a deal with him????

wonder what that was....

like real talk I don't like these small crumbs of Solomon lore and then no explanation of what he did in that moment specifically pertaining to a devil who isn't even one of the main 7. Like PLS just give something more than "Solomon did this cryptic thing with said devil and went poof"

Anyways, we go into a small spiel of Agares reflecting everything he's done thus far. In order to get stronger, accomplished, clean up all the trash in his life and in the mansion...but the ones he's slain were always in the back of his mind, these hallucinations haunting him getting him to doubt himself all over again.

Even the words of Vassago are starting to just go through in ear and out the other, Agares far too gone now to even see reason or even want to rest or sleep. He had to be on guard, whether the devils in Niflheim were out to test him again or the angels reigning down their fire.

But...was he ready for this?

A darkness he had never seen before, a storm raging, a beast stirring and waking up once again...

Sorry...um I'll finish up here in a bit didn't mean to be so LOUD 😔

AHEM

This brings me back btw to where this guy was only flutter his damn eyelashes and it was causing earthquakes and explosions like excuse me???

THIS WAS CUTE LIKE. I think others here including myself had this theory where it was actually Beel that was coming around and piercing Belphie and such just randomly because there's no way he did those himself. Imagine Beel being so quick and swift he can just stab a hole in your body and poof away into the nothingness....

Lol

Beleth reminisces with the others, talking about how he almost died when he first met him (he in fact did almost die lmao all because he was giving Belphie pushback at first)

Belphie straight up just took his halo, enlisted Bathin and Gusion, Andrealphus too (who isn't present in this event but we all pretty much know where he goes). And they went together in their badass group photo to take down Agares

There we go! (blast from the past, the first Niflheim event)

But yes all three of them can recall just how they felt when in the presence of Belphie. They just knew just by looking at him that they were meant to fight alongside him, serve him, the true King's resonance with his nobles. Beleth event compares it to how he felt in Heaven, that feeling of "faith" deep in his soul.

Now in the meantime, the three notice that it's suddenly quiet and they find out that the slackers had stopped talking and now were begging for forgiveness for slacking off....as guard duty???? Lmao

But Beleth does admit that even though that's punishable, especially considering these devils are under Agares and he'd probably damn near beat them to death for gossiping about his past...they were eavesdropping anyway so he doesn't really care.

But Beleth goes on to tell the rest of the story, and we're back to after Belphie showed his true form, pretty much scared the fuck out of everyone and Agares called it, knowing he was outmatched

Pretty Please... ianslfkjnasjfnaskjnaksj I won't forget him saying that...

Also just look at the comparsion between Belphie and Agares real quick. Agares is like a royal, poised, demure but a little bit crazy from that trauma. Belphie? Chillin'. That's it. Like he literally just threw on his clothes barely tied it together and was like "damn it's loud"

Love him. Need him.

But it's strange here how he promises this to Agares, that after all his plans are done, Agares can be King...

Crying. He really is just a hot otaku gooner. (words i'd never use as a compliment toward any man irl)

So Agares was rightfully pissed off asking him why'd he even bother to show up in the first place. And truth is? It's too damn loud and he can't sleep. The angels are making a racket, he wants to kill all of them so it's quiet again and he can just sleep and do those other activities without having to be bothered. Doesn't care about peace, ending the war none of that.

He just wants silence.

agares: this bitch.....

LMAO

Agares accepted his offer to take things over once the war with the angels is completely eradicated. But I mean considering this shit has been going on for years now even with MC being back, let's get to hoping that actually comes to pass so Agares can take over the throne again.

BUT WE"RE NOT DONE YET

Beleth goes on to mumble to himself that there was one more thing that happened that day too...

So not only did Belphie hold Vassago back to talk to him more, he literally stabs him in the foot, and then gives us this ??????

Unmasked Vassago!!!

So turns out...big lore drop. Vassago ain't even real y'all.

An interesting detail is how he speaks, it's like he's using multiple voices all at once. The voices of his 'clan'. Vassago is a golem, a desperate wish in Agares' mind. Meaning that he literally manifested him during all of that trauma, and when he had hit his lowest point of being poisoned by that orange given to him that's when Vassago and the others appeared.

And then we go a little deeper, after it's clear that Vassago and Belphie have met an agreement that neither of them will tell Agares that he isn't real (that man would crash out I swear) because he simply isn't ready yet, we now have Beleth who has genuine concern about the entire ordeal.

Back when Belphie first used his powers, Vassago was perceived as a shapeless monster, but after being swallowed by the darkness he retained his form. This truly shows just how powerful Belphie is, because he's literally using his power to keep Agares' manifestation alive. His true intentions for doing so? Probably because it's easier to deal with it that way than deal with a rampaging triggered Agares because Vassago suddenly just stopped existing....a phantom that has been keeping him sane (for the most part)

It's funny though that during this part Beleth is like treating Belphie like his wife or something like that being like "Don't use your power just use mine, you need to save it for other things" and Belphie is like "yah mhm zzzzzz"

They're cute.

So thus, the conclusion of this gut wrenching, heart stomping lore filled event. And now it's time to address the things I mentioned earlier in the react...

🍊Others on how they see Vassago: He's a phantom so he has the ability to take whatever shape you see him as. This tracks. Of course Agares would see him as this beautiful similar looking devil that has elegance close to what a royal noble should have

🍊This means that Vassago and his clan are pretty much all made up and phantoms manifested into living devils who had the ability to keep him safe and be able to interact in this world. Meaning that the death that Agares saw that day was most likely due to the assassin sent down to tear up the place he was staying trying to find him, the debris crushed Vassago which caused the other apparitions to fall suit, that is////(theory time: Vassago couldn't be seen by the assassin who did in fact tear up the place, but Vassago depcited the death of his "clan" to give Agares the push he needed to go up to the palace and become King)

🍊Agares is truly alone from his previous family and the devils who stayed there before the newer generations. Vassago is quite literally the only thing in his life that he has

🍊Belphie's powers are definitely on another scale, and he doesn't even use much effort to use it. Truly, these events keep showing us the true power of the Kings in their own special ways and it's only a matter of time...before it all comes together on how it's going to help MC stop this war

I'm actually not sure of what else I wanted to touch on...? I think I may have forgotten something along the way but I'll edit this post if need be if I did lol. As usual thank y'all for stickin' through it readin' my stuff and interactions are always appreciated. This event was pretty lore heavy and I enjoyed it for the most part! I'm really looking forward to any Abaddon events in the future...I wanna learn more about Asmo now.

[lacedinheaven]

the warmth | chapter 1

Sorry it took so long! I had exam week, and I got sick :( but it's here!

Pairings: HBO!Ellie x Fem!reader

Summary: In which you run away from a cult and fall in love with your bestfriend.

Tags: SA, swearing, slowburn, pining, comphet, internalized homophobia, Ellie's still together with Cat (not for long)

I will add more tags in future chapters

WC: 2k words

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5 Years Later

This time, there’s no noise. I wake up slowly, the early morning sunbeams slipping through the curtains and landing softly on my face. It’s warm. Calm. For a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath. No gunfire. No yelling. Just birds outside and the faint creak of wood as the house stretches awake.

I have to get up. I’ve got a shift at the stables this morning. If I’m lucky, I’ll catch her before she leaves for patrol. Just a minute with her would be enough—maybe.

As I pull on my sweater and pants, I start to hear footsteps and voices downstairs. Sounds like Maria and Tommy are up too.

I head down to the kitchen, where the smell of coffee and something sweet lingers in the air.

“Hi, sweetheart. Have a good sleep?” Maria says, her voice light and cheerful as always.

“It was alright,” I mumble, already halfway through pouring a bowl of cereal. “I need to go, though. Shift at the stables.”

I shovel down a few bites, not really tasting them, and stand up quickly. Maria catches me in a warm hug on my way out.

“Okay, bye! Love you!” she giggles, waving me off like she always does.

Outside, the air is crisp, and I’m left alone with my thoughts on the walk to the stables. I can’t stop thinking about last night.

Cat danced with her.

I know I shouldn’t care—we’re just friends. That’s what we’ve always said. But still, every time someone else gets close to her, this slow burn rises in my chest. Not in a weird or possessive way. Just... I don’t know. I’m jealous, I guess. Jealous in a friendly kind of way. If that’s even a thing.

“Hi! You recovered from yesterday?”

Shit—I didn’t even notice Dina sneaking up on me. I jump slightly, then give her a tired smile.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You sure? You’re not your usual chirpy self,” she says, her brows knitting together.

���I’m fine, really. Just had a bit too much to drink last night. Nothing serious.” I offer her a quick smile, trying to brush it off.

She nods, not fully convinced, but lets it go. We walk together in silence after that—a comfortable one. I’m grateful for it.

When we get to the stables, I see her.

Els.

My heart lifts for a second—and then it drops like a stone.

Cat’s still talking to her.

Why the hell is Cat still talking to her?

Dina walks ahead and joins their conversation like it’s nothing. Els turns around when she hears us, her face lighting up.

“Hey, you,” she says with a grin. “Excited for your shift?”

I scoff. “Of course, Els. Been counting down the hours.”

She laughs at my sarcasm, rolling her eyes, and starts going on about something—details about her patrol route or who she’s paired with—but I can’t focus. All I can hear is the white noise in my head and the way my stomach twists every time I glance at Cat.

“Els, I’m really sorry,” I interrupt, rubbing the back of my neck, “but I’m tired and I need to get the horses ready. Maybe you can tell me about it tonight?”

She hesitates, her expression shifting.

“Oh. Okay. That’s alright. Just—take care of yourself today, please?”

I force a smile. “Of course, Els. See you tonight. Have a good patrol.”

She nods, and I watch her walk off before turning back to the stalls. I spend the next few hours mucking out hay and brushing down the horses returning from patrol, trying to bury the unease inside me with routine.

Then I hear footsteps behind me—steady, familiar ones.

“Hey, darling. You joining us for dinner tonight?”

I turn around and smile at Tommy. His voice always has that calm, comforting tone.

“Hey, Tommy. I’m not sure yet. Els invited me over, so I might have dinner at Joel’s. That okay?”

He gives me a knowing smile and nods. “Of course it is.”

I give him a hug and tell him I’ll see him tonight.

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“You should’ve seen its face—it was awesome. You would’ve loved it,” she says between fits of giggles.

I can’t help but laugh too.

“I’m so glad I don’t have to go on patrol anymore. That sounds like an absolute disaster. But of course it happened to you.”

Ellie had just finished telling me about a dramatic showdown she had with a squirrel during her patrol. Classic.

We’re lying on her bed, the late afternoon light soft against the walls. For a second, it feels easy—light.

But of course, she doesn’t let it stay that way.

“So... what was going on this morning?” she asks, voice playful but pointed. “And don’t say nothing, because I know you by now. You know you can’t lie to me!”

She says it like it’s the funniest joke, like it’s all just a game.

“Really, Els? It was nothing. Honestly.” I pause. I hate even saying this part out loud. “It’s just that... the anniversary is coming up. You know which one. And I always get like this around that time.”

I roll onto my side and lie next to her, our shoulders just barely touching.

She’s quiet for a moment.

“I get that,” she says softly. “Maybe you should try talking about it?”

I actually laugh at that—sharp and bitter.

“With Gail? Are you serious? How am I supposed to pay her—what, with the weed I don’t have? Or a bottle of whiskey from 20 years ago?”

Ellie chuckles, but it fades quickly.

“No, not her. I meant me. Or Maria. Even Joel. We just want to help you, you know?”

The air shifts. That familiar weight presses back in, the warmth we had just moments ago slipping away like water down a drain.

“Ellie, I don’t want to talk about it. Not with you. Not with anyone. I’ve told you that, more than once.”

She sighs, quietly frustrated.

“Yeah, I know. But clearly something happened, and it still sticks with you. Every time someone even brushes against you, it’s like your whole body shuts down. I think if you just let someone in—even a little—you might actually start to move forward.”

I sit up, my back stiff.

“Ellie... what do you think happened to me in there?” I say, voice low. “You were there for one day. One. Day. I lived there for years. Whatever happened to you in that single day—try imagining that, on repeat, for years.”

She sits up too, looking at me like I’m some wounded animal. Like I’m broken. Like I need to be fixed.

“No. Don’t you dare look at me like that,” I snap. “This—this is exactly why I don’t talk about it. That look. Like I’m some sick puppy that needs rescuing.”

I stand, shaking with something I don’t know how to name.

“I don’t need saving, Els. I saved myself.”

She starts to respond, mouth half-open, but I don’t give her the chance.

“Maybe you should call Cat again. She seemed to do a great job keeping you company.”

And with that, I walk to the door.

“Bye, Ellie.”

I leave without looking back.

By the time I get home, I don’t even bother with anyone downstairs. I sneak up the steps, my body moving on autopilot. I crawl into bed, hoping for peace—but knowing better.

And like clockwork, the nightmares come—vodka-soaked breath in my ear, cold hands on my back, and that same feeling I’ve never been able to shake.

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I wake up slowly, but not because of the soft sunbeams warming my face like before. No, this time it’s the noise—again. There’s always noise when I wake up. Like the world’s allergic to letting me have a peaceful morning.

Someone’s knocking on my door like it’s life or death.

“Hey, I’m sorry about last night, okay? I shouldn’t have pushed you so much. Please let me in?”

I roll my eyes and stay quiet. I don’t even bother acknowledging her—but of course, Ellie being Ellie, she doesn’t give up that easily.

“And also, just so you know... me and Cat broke up last night. Sooooooo... come out?”

I almost laugh—almost. I bite my lip to keep it in, but the curiosity’s already got me.

“Why?” I call out through the door, trying to sound indifferent.

There’s a soft thump. I think she just sat down on the floor, maybe leaning against the door.

“She said some really shitty stuff about my friends last night,” Ellie mumbles. “I just didn’t want her around after that. That’s all. Nothing dramatic.”

Something about the way she says it makes me pause. It’s honest. Quiet. No big performance.

I get up and walk over to the door. Without thinking too hard about it, I swing it open.

She literally falls into my room, landing flat on her back with a startled yelp, nearly cracking her head on the wooden floorboards. The scene is so ridiculous I can’t help it—I break into full-on laughter, loud and messy, the kind that makes your stomach hurt.

I laugh until my eyes start to water.

Happy tears. For once, happy tears.

Not the kind that come after fights, or panic attacks, or because my best friend can’t seem to understand the word space.

She looks up at me from the floor, clearly a little offended—but not really—and then starts laughing too. Our laughter blends together, messy and warm and exactly what I didn’t know I needed.

“So... you forgive me?” she asks, giving me that pathetic puppy-dog look she knows damn well works on me.

I grin down at her, still catching my breath. “Yeah, Els. It’s okay.”

And in that moment, it actually is.

“But... now I’m curious. What did Cat say about us?”

Ellie draws a slow breath, clearly trying to soften the blow.

“Well, a lot actually. She said Dina’s high more often than not, and that she’s a bad influence. She said Jesse acts like some holier-than-thou saint. And to top it all off...” she pauses for dramatic effect, “...she said you were like a lovesick puppy over me.”

I raise an eyebrow, but before I can say anything, she waves it off with a little grin and leans in like she’s about to boop my nose.

“But I know that’s total bullshit, so don’t worry.”

It’s weird. But I like weird. Especially her weird.

“Yeah, total bullshit,” I echo with a smirk. “And plus... I might have a boyfriend soon.”

The shift in her face is instant. Her smile drops. Her eyes narrow slightly, like I just cursed her entire bloodline.

“What?” I ask, raising my hands. “I told you this, Els! Wyatt asked me out at the party—remember?”

She gives me this strange, unreadable look.

“I guess I just didn’t think you’d say yes. Are you sure? He’s not exactly known for being a gentleman.”

I let out a sigh and flop back onto the bed dramatically.

“Yeah, I know. But no one else has asked me. And I really don’t want to spend the New Year’s Eve party alone. So... next best, I guess? And seriously, what’s the worst that could happen? If he so much as lays a finger on me in the wrong way, he’ll be facing the wrath of Ellie Williams. He wouldn’t dare.”

That makes her laugh, and she gives me a playful shove.

“Damn right. Let me know if he needs a good beating.”

She smiles at me, and I smile back. It’s soft. Easy.

“Thanks, Els. That means a lot.” I lean in and give her a light peck on the cheek.

Her eyes flicker. She doesn’t say anything at first.

“Hey,” I say, changing the subject, “don’t we both have the day off? Maybe we could go do something?”

She looks at me, thoughtful, eyes narrowing just a little like she’s weighing every possible answer.

“Maybe. But... we could also just stay in? I could draw, you could read. And maybe we finally bake those cookies we love?”

I laugh out loud at the suggestion.

“You mean I bake the cookies and you stand there and eat the dough?”

She grins. “Exactly.”

“You’re lucky I love you. It’s a deal.”

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

Hiii! Again, please leave tips if you have any!

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@angelreneeanderson

@abigaillovestoread

[metalmonki]

9-1-Scream

Buddie x Reader

2.4k word count

Summary When the new firefighter in the house Eddie Diaz becomes best friends with your boyfriend Evan Buckley you can't help but notice a change in him. A bad change. Late nights and hushed conversations are just the beginning of this thrill ride.

Slow Burn/Eddie - Buck Murder Scream AU

Next Chapter

The day started off like any other at the 118. The smell of coffee lingered in the air, Chim was already cracking jokes in the kitchen, and Buck and I were outside in the bay, sleeves rolled up and hands soaked in suds as we scrubbed down the firetruck.

“Bet I’ll finish my side before you do,” Buck said, smirking as he elbowed the bucket closer to his end.

I raised a brow. “Yeah? And I bet you’ll still leave streaks on the windshield like last time.”

He feigned offense. “That was condensation. Totally different.”

I was just about to throw a sponge at him when the bay doors creaked open. We both looked up, and that’s when I saw him—tall, sharp features, dark hair, confident stride. He had that look like he belonged here, but was still scoping out the terrain.

He stopped a few steps in, eyes flicking between me and Buck.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m looking for Captain Nash?”

Buck beat me to it. “Office is down the hall to your left. Door should be open.”

“Thanks,” the guy said, then added, “I’m Eddie. Eddie Diaz.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, offering a quick smile.

He gave a polite nod and disappeared into the hallway. As soon as he was out of earshot, Buck leaned in.

“New guy?”

“Looks like it.”

“He’s got that military posture. You think he’s Army?”

“Guess we’ll find out when Bobby tells us who he is. Could just be visiting.”

Spoiler: he wasn’t.

Later that afternoon, Bobby called us all into the dinning area. He walked in with Eddie at his side, and I had to admit—now that I was getting a better look, he definitely had that clean-cut, ex-military vibe. But not in a stiff way. More like... dependable.

“This is Eddie Diaz,” Bobby said, his hand resting on Eddie’s shoulder. “He’s joining us here at the 118. Transferred in from El Paso. Former Army, couple years as a firefighter down there, and now he’s here.”

Eddie nodded once. Confident but quiet.

Bobby turned to me and Buck. “I’m assigning him to you two for now. Help him get settled, show him how we do things here. And Buck—try not to scare him off.”

“No promises,” Buck said, already grinning.

Chim yelled from the back, “Hey, I’m the one people need warning about!”

“You’re everyone’s initiation,” I muttered under my breath.

As the room cleared out, Eddie came over to where Buck and I were standing. He looked more relaxed now, like maybe the first-day nerves had faded a bit.

“So,” he said, “looks like I’m with you guys.”

Buck stuck out a hand. “Welcome to the circus.”

Eddie chuckled, shaking his hand. “Been through worse.”

I offered my hand next. “We’ll see if you’re saying that after a shift with Buck.”

Eddie took my hand, his grip firm but not too tight. “Duly noted.”

And just like that, Eddie Diaz was part of our team.

t didn’t take long for Eddie to start settling in. The guy was quiet at first, observing more than talking, but when he did chime in, it was with a sharp wit that caught you off guard. He held his own with Chim’s jokes and didn’t flinch when Hen tossed him a mop with zero context during kitchen duty.

By late afternoon, the three of us were sitting on the tailgate of the firetruck, killing time between drills. Buck was sipping coffee like it was the lifeblood keeping him upright, I was leaning against his shoulder with a bottle of water, and Eddie was watching us both with an amused expression.

“So,” he said casually, “how long have you two been together?”

Buck raised an eyebrow. “How’d you know we were a thing?”

Eddie gave a small smirk. “You’re literally leaning into each other like it’s a rom-com poster.”

I laughed. “Busted.”

Buck reached over and dropped a quick kiss on the top of my head, grinning like a smug idiot. “Yeah, we’ve been together a while. Kind of snuck up on us.”

“Well,” Eddie said, “that saves me from putting my foot in my mouth.”

Buck gave him a faux serious look. “Would’ve had to wrestle you in the parking lot.”

I elbowed him. “Oh my god.”

“What?” he said, shrugging. “I don’t share well.”

Eddie chuckled. “Duly noted. Hands off the taken firefighter. Got it.”

“You’re catching on fast,” I said. “That’s a good sign.”

Before anyone could respond, the station alarm kicked on, shrill and urgent.

“Engine 118, Ladder 118,” Bobby’s voice came over the comms, “possible structure fire—commercial building, smoke reported on-site. Units responding code three.”

Instantly, we were all moving. I grabbed my gear, heart already shifting into high gear. Buck was right beside me, tugging on his jacket, his expression laser-focused.

Eddie moved with practiced ease, falling into step with us like he’d been with the 118 for years instead of hours.

“You ready?” Buck asked him as we loaded into the truck.

Eddie nodded once. “Always.”

I slid into the seat across from him, watching as he buckled in. He looked calm. Focused. A good kind of quiet.

Buck looked over at me, then back at Eddie with a lopsided grin. “Fair warning: if you save my girlfriend in a dramatic blaze, I will be jealous.”

I snorted. “I can save myself, thanks.”

Eddie smirked. “I’ll make sure not to interfere with her heroic moment.”

Buck bumped his shoulder against mine. “That’s all I ask.”

The sirens wailed as we took off down the street, the city blurring past us in streaks of sun and shadow. First call with a new guy was always a little tense—you never knew how someone would handle the pressure.

But glancing at Eddie, I didn’t see nerves. I saw someone who was ready.

And something told me—this was only the beginning.

The moment we arrived on scene, we were hit with thick black smoke curling out from the top floor of the office building. Civilians were already being ushered out by LAPD officers, and the smell of burning insulation clung to the air like a warning.

“Office building, third floor—reports of people still inside,” Bobby said as we stepped off the truck. “Buck, Y/N, Eddie—you’re with me on interior. Let’s move.”

We grabbed our gear, masks secure, oxygen on. The three of us moved as one, Buck in the lead, Eddie falling in behind me. As we climbed the stairs into the smoke-filled third floor, the heat hit us like a wall.

“Room-by-room sweep,” Bobby ordered through the radio. “Clear fast but don’t cut corners.”

“Copy that,” Buck replied, voice clear and steady in my earpiece.

The hallway was chaos. Smoke reduced visibility to a few feet, alarms were still screeching, and the sprinklers hadn’t kicked in yet. Buck kicked open one of the office doors while I checked another. Eddie handled the far side.

“Fire’s concentrated in the west wing,” I called over comms. “This side’s still clear.”

We moved as quickly as we could, checking each office. I found a woman in a corner suite, frozen behind a desk with tears streaking down her soot-covered face.

“It’s okay,” I said, crouching low beside her. “I’m with the fire department—we’re getting you out of here.”

She nodded shakily, and I helped her up, guiding her toward the exit.

Eddie appeared in the hallway, supporting another man—a middle-aged guy wheezing into his sleeve, clothes half-singed. He nodded at me, and we moved in tandem, navigating back toward the stairwell. Buck took the rear, constantly checking over his shoulder.

The smoke was getting worse. I heard glass shattering somewhere behind us, followed by the low groan of the structure under pressure.

“We need to move,” Bobby’s voice warned. “Backdraft risk is rising. Get out, now.”

We didn’t argue. By the time we burst out into fresh air, medics were already waiting. We handed our civilians off, pulled off our masks, and took a moment to breathe—lungs burning, adrenaline buzzing.

That’s when Athena pulled up.

She exited her cruiser with the calm precision that only came from years on the force, removing her sunglasses and heading straight for Bobby.

“We’ve got him,” she said. “He didn’t even run. Just stood there and watched the smoke roll in.”

“Who?” Bobby asked, wiping sweat from his brow.

“The arsonist,” Athena said. “It wasn’t some random accident. His girlfriend worked in that building—broke up with him last week. He thought she was sleeping with her boss, decided if he couldn’t have her, no one would.”

My stomach turned at that. I looked back at the building, at the people we’d just pulled out. She could’ve been one of the bodies we didn’t reach in time.

“She’s okay?” I asked.

Athena nodded. “Shaken. But alive. Her boss, too.”

Buck exhaled. “Guy really lit a whole office building because of a breakup?”

“Some people take rejection like a death sentence,” Athena said grimly, glancing back at her car. “He confessed to everything. Said he brought lighter fluid in his bag and doused the break room before lighting a match.”

“Jesus,” Eddie muttered under his breath.

Athena turned to him. “You’re the new guy.”

“Yeah. Diaz.”

“Welcome to L.A.” She gave him a nod before heading back toward her cruiser. “You’ll get used to it.”

After showers and some well-earned pizza, the station was winding down. I was curled up on the couch in the common room, exhausted but content, watching Buck change out of his turnout gear.

Eddie emerged from the locker room with his duffel over one shoulder. “Alright, I think that’s everything. You sure you don’t mind?”

Buck gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. “Not at all. I’ll follow you over, help you get your bed frame inside, maybe even assemble a sad bookshelf.”

Eddie smirked. “You offering to build my IKEA furniture now?”

“You’d be surprised what I’ll do for a guy who ran through smoke with me today.”

I raised an eyebrow at them. “Should I be jealous?”

Buck grinned as he crossed over to me, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, babe. He’s charming, but he’s not you.”

I smiled and tugged at his belt loop to pull him in for a quick kiss. “You sure you’re not just doing this to avoid folding laundry here?”

“Don’t expose me like that.”

I laughed. “Go. Help him out. But if you come back smelling like cardboard and frustration, I’m not letting you near the bed.”

“Noted.”

He grabbed his keys and turned to Eddie. “Alright, Diaz. Let’s get you officially moved in.”

Eddie gave me a small nod. “Night, Y/N.”

“Night, Eddie. Welcome to the madness.”

As they disappeared out the front doors, I leaned back into the couch cushions, the ache of the day starting to settle in my bones. Something told me this was just the beginning—with Eddie, with the calls, with whatever strange rhythm the universe had planned for all of us.

And honestly?

I was ready for it.

…

Two months passed in a blur.

At first, I hadn’t thought much of it—Buck helping Eddie settle in, showing him around the city, introducing him to the weird rhythm of L.A. firefighting. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being occasional. He was always with Eddie.

Late nights. Last-minute plans. Excuses.

“I’m just helping him out,” Buck would say with that same reassuring smile. “He’s new. Doesn’t know many people yet.”

And I believed him. I wanted to believe him.

But he started coming home later and later. Sometimes, I’d wake up and he’d be sliding into bed just before sunrise, smelling like street air and secrets. He always had an explanation—a broken sink at Eddie’s new place, beers after shift, helping Eddie with his kid.

And his phone? He never used to keep it face-down.

Still… it was Buck. He loved me. He said everything was fine.

So I told myself to trust him.

The kitchen was alive with the low murmur of conversation, the clink of forks against plates, and the comforting aroma of coffee and scrambled eggs. Bobby had the news playing in the background, volume just loud enough to hear over the chatter.

“…this morning, officials are continuing to investigate the death of Olivia Parks, the Brentwood woman accused of poisoning her husband over several months. Parks was released on bail yesterday afternoon and was found dead in her apartment late last night. Authorities have not released a cause of death…”

I froze, toast halfway to my mouth.

“I know her,” I said before I even thought it. “We were on that call two days ago. Her husband was unconscious. It was his daughter who called 9-1-1.”

“Yeah,” Hen added, frowning as she looked up at the screen. “Athena was with us. She arrested her on the spot.”

“She looked like a yoga teacher, not a killer,” Chimney said, squinting at the TV. “That’s, what… the seventh? Eighth person from one of our recent calls who’s ended up dead?”

That made the room go still for half a second. Bobby raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

Chim shrugged, casually picking at the edge of his muffin. “Just saying. It’s weird, right? That guy who torched the office building—stabbed two weeks after. That guy who OD’d during that domestic call—girlfriend confessed to killing him killed a week later. That college kid who survived that electrical fire they started? Hit by a car three days after discharge. I’m telling you, it’s like we’ve been cursed.”

There was a pause, then Hen smirked. “Don’t go getting superstitious on us, Chim.”

He held up his hands. “I’m not. Just pointing it out.”

But I wasn’t laughing.

Something about the way he said it hit wrong. Like puzzle pieces I hadn’t realized were sitting right in front of me were suddenly sliding into place.

The pattern. The deaths. The way Buck had changed.

The late nights.

The whispered phone calls.

The way he and Eddie sometimes looked at each other like they were holding some silent agreement between them.

I looked across the kitchen. Buck was sitting next to Eddie, the two of them talking low and fast, something close to a grin playing at Buck’s lips.

And for just a second—just one terrible second—I thought:

What if it’s them?

But then I shook my head. No. That was ridiculous.

I knew Buck.

I loved Buck.

He wouldn’t keep something like that from me.

Would he?

“Hey,” Buck called across the table, catching my eye. “You good?”

I forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

He smiled gently, like he bought it. Like he always did.

And I told myself to let it go.

Just another weird coincidence. That’s all it was.

[tittysuckersworld]

just askin, hypothetically, what if i did make an alternate au + animatic of mizu 6 being angst and ena 5 not happening the same way.....

[plainclothesdisaster]

DPxDC Mechanical Engineer Danny

Danny caught the attention of Batman while studying at Gotham University for his alternative energy projects. He’s hired right out of college to work on the Watchtower.

He shows absolutely no tell of his abilities till there’s a dire situation- Flash’s electric discharge messes with one of his projects in progress and the whole base would have lost air pressure if he hadn’t done a quick fix using telekinesis and ice.

Of course Batman notices.

Batman assumes the worst- he suspects Danny’s a rogue of some kind, someone who has infiltrated the Justice League with an ulterior motive. But he can’t just fire Danny now- he’s the only one who knows how the new Watchtower energy source works. Plus, he’s not letting Danny go anywhere until he’s figured out his true motives.

Cue Batman subtly testing Danny- tossing things at him to trigger inhuman fast reflexes, having him lift too-heavy machinery, setting up convenient opportunities to steal or snoop or otherwise be up to no good. Danny does take advantage but only once, to use a computer terminal with unlocked clearance. He didn’t plant any bugs that Barman could find, and he otherwise kept up his powerless civilian act perfectly.

Still, Batman’s not satisfied. He brings an infrasonic sound emitter to Danny’s lab one day, and that, of all things, is what gets Danny to break.

“I know what you’re doing,” Danny admits with a sigh, finally. “If you’re really that suspicious of me, I can leave, but I kinda like my job so I’d prefer not to. The benefits are insane compared to what’s standard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. yeah. How about you turn off the freaking noise generator and we can talk?”

“Hm.” Batman obliges, and he takes the stool next to Danny at his gesture.

“Number one, I’m not a meta. Despite all the data and conclusions you’ve probably drawn otherwise. Number two, I’m on your side. I’m here to work on the base, that’s it. I follow your rules to the letter.”

“The-“

“The classified files I looked at? Yeah that was the one exception. You already know what I looked at, I’m sure, but maybe you haven’t figured out why. It goes back to point one- I may not be a meta, but I am something that organization, the GIW, cares about. I looked at your files on them to sus out your relations. Seeing as I don’t particularly love being the victim to twelve degrees of human rights violations if I can avoid it.”

“Hm.” The Ghost Intelligence Ward was one of many government agencies that the Justice League hadn’t worked closely with. But they also hadn’t been flagged for Justice League investigation. Danny’s comments made him doubt that call.

“Any other questions?”

“If you’re not a meta, what are you?”

“I’m an engineer. A pretty decent one. And I’d really, really like it to stay that way.”

Batman considers, and ultimately lets him stay. He likes Danny (everyone likes Danny), and it would be a massive pain in the ass to replace him. He really is a good engineer.

It’s only much later that his faith in Danny is repaid in spades.

Batman finds Danny on the Watchtower command bridge. Alarms are blaring, the station has been knocked out of orbit, out the window there’s shrapnel floating everywhere as a space battle rages around them.

On the station it’s chaos. Technicians run around, shouts from the med bay, sparks from the walls.

Batman and Danny stand at the main controls, watching the battle outside, stoic, unmoving.

Wonder Woman’s harried voice crackles through on coms: “We need backup.”

“There is no more backup.” Batman replies, while looking pointedly at Danny.

“What?”

Batman doesn’t move.

“What.”

“The impact from Darkseid’s initial attack should have sent this station on a terminal trajectory toward the planet.”

“Well. We aren’t currently plummeting to our deaths, so turns out it didn’t do that.”

“You did something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe Superman nudged us back on course in all the chaos.”

“I’ve been watching the trackers. No one else with the capability has come near the station.”

“Can’t you just be grateful we got lucky?”

Sounds of peril screech over the coms. Danny’s face scrunches.

“Luck had nothing to do with it. As it is now, we are going to lose this fight.”

“Isn’t there anyone else you can call?”

“I’m asking you. You can help, can’t you?”

The glare-off lasts a long moment more before Danny breaks.

“Fuck. Fuckity fuck.” Danny runs his hands through his hair. “Shit. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you to save this and countless other worlds from a genocide. I’m also asking you to save my friends.”

Danny looks at him, hard, weary, and with a kind of deep resolve that feels far too ancient to be on the face of a supposed twenty-something.

“Fine. Fine. Okay.” He steps back and transforms. If Batman is surprised when he shakes off his human appearance like an old coat, he doesn’t show it. But what’s undeniable is the being in Danny’s place has the unmistakable presence of power.

“No one else can know.” His voice echoes in a way that’s sonically impossible, both sounding closer and further away than he should be.

He pulls a gear-shaped medallion seemingly out of thin air and puts it over his head in one motion.

“If I get in trouble for this, I’m blaming you.”

He vanishes. Outside, the shape of the battle changes instantly. The stars seem to glow brighter as the arms of the galaxy flash with the colors of the aurora. Then it’s like the void of space itself comes alive. It moves the spaceships back like they’re toys, plucking them from one side of the field to the other. It finds Darkseid at the heart of the chaos and massive arms of nothingness and darkness wrap around him. He’s screaming as it swallows him whole.

His armies scatter. The battle turns. The JL deal with the stragglers, but the air of relief is palpable.

Danny reappears next to Batman, once again donning his grease-stained coveralls. Arms folded.

“Happy?”

It took all of five minutes. Less, probably. Batman tamps down a thousand questions.

“Thank you.”

“I’m gonna need two weeks off minimum.” Danny snaps. “One to deal with the bureaucratic nightmare you’ve just caused me, and another to recover from the headache.”

Batman blanks. “Granted.”

Danny sighs. “And I’m not fixing the station until I’m back. It won’t fall out of the sky as is. Make up whatever excuse you want.”

“Done.” He considers. “I would prefer to tell them the truth. That you saved us.”

Danny glares. “I’m not supposed to save you. I made a pact not to use my power to influence the mortal realm.”

“A pact with who?”

Danny rolls his eyes. “The embodiment of Time. The concept of Justice. Among others.” He smirks at Batman’s confusion.

“And what, exactly, does that make you?”

He stands, framed by the space window, haloed by the stars. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

Batman frowns.

“Look. I like you guys. I like working on your base. I like supporting the work you do. But you can not go factoring me in to any of your plans or contingencies. This was a one time thing.

“So to answer your question again: I’m an engineer.”

[maskedbyghost]

Part 2 of Simon Leaving During Sex Like a Coward

It doesn’t hit him right away.

He’s used to walking away from things, from people, too. It’s not easy, and that night, when he left you sitting there, all soft and broken and still wanting him, he thought he was doing the right thing.

He told himself he was protecting you. He told himself he didn’t deserve to hear you say I love you, and told himself it would hurt less if he left before things got worse.

But the thing about lies—even the ones you tell yourself—is they don’t stick for long.

It starts with a dream. One of those dreams that feels too real. So real it stays with him long after he wakes up.

You’re smiling in it. Not at him—at someone else.

Some faceless man with his hand on your lower back and a ring on your finger. There’s a baby, too. Swaddled up in your arms, pressed to your chest like something precious, and Simon’s just standing there, watching.

He wakes up gasping, his heart fucking pounding.

It keeps happening. Every night. You in a new house, you in a sundress, barefoot in some sunny kitchen, you laughing, you holding a baby that’s got your eyes. Never his. And the man—he’s always just a blur, a shadow, but Simon knows he’s better. Kinder. Softer. The kind of man who wouldn’t flinch when you said I love you.

It fucks him up.

He starts thinking about you all the time. What you’re doing. Who you’re with. If you hate him. If you cried after he left. If you ever said it again—to someone else.

And it’s not just guilt anymore. It’s this awful emptiness, like something’s missing and no amount of sleep or work or noise can fill it.

He tries to move on. Tries to pretend he doesn’t miss you like a fucking limb. But nothing works.

Not when he catches himself checking his phone, hoping maybe you reached out, even though you shouldn’t. Not when he sees your shampoo still in the corner of his shower. Not when he wakes up hard and aching and alone, whispering your name into the dark like some pathetic ghost of the man he was when he had you.

So he gives in.

He shows up at your door one night, three months later, soaked from the rain, with his heart in his hands and his pride already long gone.

You open the door wearing that same old hoodie of his you used to steal all the time, the one you said smelled like safety. Your eyes go wide when you see him, and he swears his knees almost buckle.

He doesn’t even say hello.

“I fucked up.”

You blink, your arms crossed. You don’t invite him in.

“Yeah,” you say flatly. “You did.”

“I was scared,” he tells you, voice hoarse. “Not of you. Of—of what I felt for you. It was too much. You made me feel like I was worth something, and I didn’t know what to do with that.”

You just stare at him, jaw tight, mouth set in that way that used to mean you were trying not to cry.

“I thought I could walk away,” he says, louder now, desperate. “Thought I could forget you. But I can’t. I see you in every fucking dream. I hear you when I’m lying in bed. I miss your voice, your laugh, and the way you looked at me like I was good, even when I wasn’t.”

“You weren’t,” you say quietly. “You hurt me.”

“I know. I know I did, and I’ll never forgive myself for it. But I had to try. I had to come back. Even if it’s too late. Even if you’ve moved on and you’re happy. I had to see you again. Had to tell you I love you too.”

You flinch. He notices.

“You don’t get to say that now,” you whisper. “Not after the way you left.”

Simon nods, swallowing hard. Rain dripping from his hair, his lashes. He looks soaked and miserable and completely undone.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says. “But I’m still here. And I’ll keep showing up, every day, every hour, if that’s what it takes. I’ll beg. I’ll wait. I’ll prove it. Just tell me I haven’t lost you for good.”

Silence.

Just the sound of rain and your shallow breath and his heart beating too loud in his ears.

You narrow your eyes at him. Fold your arms tighter across your chest.

“If you’re serious about this,” you say slowly, “then you can start by showing me. And I don’t mean some pretty speech in the rain like we’re in a fucking movie.”

Simon just stares, barely breathing.

“I want a cinnamon roll. Warm. With extra icing. From that bakery that always spells my name wrong on the bag.”

His brow lifts just a little. That place’s queue was always ridiculous, and you used to complain every time, but never enough to stop going.

“They close in fifteen,” you add. “So if you’re serious, you better go now.”

He opens his mouth, probably to say something dumb, but you don’t wait to find out.

You slam the door in his face. Hard.

Simon stands there, rain dripping from his lashes, staring at the door like it just hit him with a brick. Then, after a second, a low chuckle slips out—rough and breathy, like he can’t quite believe you’re giving him hoops to jump through.

“Cinnamon roll,” he mutters, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he turns away. “With bloody extra icing.”

And yeah, he’s soaked and slightly out of breath already, but he’s going.

He’s getting that fucking cinnamon roll.

PART 3

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

starting with a cinnamon roll but don’t worry, we’re working our way up to a birkin 😌

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs

[missdynamighttt]

teehee, shopping with bf! katsuki for the first time is a whole new experience.

you dragged him to the mall under the pretense of just browsing. katsuki grumbles, complains the whole car ride, mutters something about how he'd rather "eat glass" than spend a weekend in a fluorescent-lit hellscape.

but the second you tug on his wrist and smile up at him, he shuts up and follows. what you don’t expect?

how much of a problem he becomes the second you enter the fitting room.

you're barely five minutes into trying on outfits when it starts. you step out, smoothing down a dress, turning side to side in the mirror.

you barely manage a “what do you think?” before he drops the phone he wasn’t even looking at and sits up straighter.

“turn around.”

you blink. “huh?”

“lemme see the back.”

you do. he whistles low, then squints. “try that in the other color.”

you raise a brow. “oh, so now you care?”

“tch. i care when it looks like that on you.”

from then on, it’s over. every. single. outfit. he's like that.

“yeah, do a little spin.”

“too tight in the chest. not that i’m complaining.”

“damn, sweets. you tryna kill me or sumthin'?”

he lounges on the little bench like he owns the place—legs spread, arms crossed, eyes locked on you like you’re center stage and he’s the only judge that matters. the store’s mirror might show you the front, but he’s giving full commentary on the back. and the sides. and the neckline.

he’s unreasonably hot while doing it too. hood half-up, jaw sharp, legs spread like he’s got thoughts about every skirt you shimmy into.

and the worst part? you start playing it up.

slipping out of the fitting room with a little strut. spinning slow just to watch his jaw tighten. running your hands down your sides, real innocent, then pretending not to notice the way he swears under his breath.

“you’re lucky we’re in public,” he grits when you try on a slinky little number that hugs way too close.

you blink. “so you like it?”

he growls. “i like it on the floor of our bedroom.”

you nearly explode.

one outfit later, you try something on that you already know is ridiculous—fluffy, sparkly, way too over-the-top—but you step out just to mess with him.

you expect him to laugh. maybe tease. instead?

he blinks once. then shrugs. “buy it.”

you pause. “wait… really?”

he smirks. “you look happy in it. that’s all i care about.”

by the time you're done, you're practically floating out of the store—arms light, mood lighter, cheeks a little sore from how much you've been grinning.

katsuki?

katsuki is not floating. katsuki is lugging six bags in one hand, two on the other, and somehow managing to balance the weirdly long one that holds the dress bag across his broad shoulders like a damn pack mule.

and the whole time? he looks pissed. jaw tight, bags slapping against his thighs as he stomps beside you.

you peek over at him, smiling sweetly. “you’re the one who said to buy everything, suki.”

“tch. only ‘cause you looked hot in it, dumbass.”

you giggle. “so it’s your fault?”

he stops walking. and glares. hard.

“i swear to god, if you say that again, i’m droppin’ all these bags and draggin’ you into the back of that h&m.”

you blink innocently. “so romantic.”

“try me, sweetheart.”

despite all his complaining, he doesn’t put a single bag down. not when you stop for a smoothie. not when you see a cute little accessory stand. not even when you wander over to look at shoes you’re not even planning on buying.

he just stands there, one foot tapping, arms full of pink and glitter and tissue paper, looking like a man who’s fought gods and monsters and still wasn’t prepared for the chaos that is dating you.

at one point, you lean up on tiptoe and kiss his cheek.

“thanks for carrying everything,” you murmur.

he huffs. “yeah, yeah.”

you kiss him again, this time slower, lingering by the edge of his jaw. “you’re the best boyfriend ever.”

and that does get a response. his ears go a little red. his mouth twitches like he wants to smile but is physically restraining it.

“hmph. i better be,” he mutters, looking away like a child, shifting all the bags in one hand just so he can wrap the other arm around your shoulders.

still grumbling.

still red.

still the best, grumpiest mall boyfriend in existence.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ bc i love procrastinating and dont write the shit i should write lmao💜 hope you guys enjoyed!!

[kenmaspuddinghair]

Honorably discharged partially disabled Simon pt 2

think I'm going to make this a series, this part ends a little angsty though. part one

You've been living with Simon for two weeks now and things have started changing with him. You make all his meals now, you can't stand to see him eating the terrible, small, prepackaged foods every night, you even tried to teach him how to cook which was an even bigger mess than you thought it could be. You wanted to start with something simple so you tried to get him to make spaghetti, everything was fine at first but you left once and when you came back the pasta was on fire and he put the pasta sauce in the microwave which then exploded making a giant mess, so you gave up any hope for him cooking from then on. 

On a happier note though, he’ll eat his food before you now, and he takes his mask fully off at dinner, you've also noticed some mornings he leaves it off for a little longer. He still rarely talks but sometimes you think he asks you things just to hear you talk, you've even noticed him following you around the house, he'll just stand in the doorway staring at you, after a bit he'll either leave or find a place to sit. But imagine your surprise when he decided he was gonna follow you as you run errands, he simply replied “jus’ keepin ya safe” when you tried to object. 

So here you are going down your list getting everything you need with a giant hulking shadow following around, you have to admit though you do feel safer knowing no one will even try coming up to you with Simon glaring at them behind you. Last thing on your list is meat, so you both head over to the butcher shop. You're looking around before Simon pulls you back “wha- Simon what is your problem?” “My problem is this store. Everything is overpriced, half the meat is cut with the grain not against it, and the other half is bad, we're not buying meat from ‘ere” he said plain as can be before walking out expecting you to follow, which you did cause you were still in shock you hadn’t heard him talk that much ever. 

But right as you got to the door an employee called out to you. “Welcome in, how can i help you” you stopped walking and turned around to answer him, but simon cut you off “don’ need your help, all your meats are bad” you immediately tried smoothing out the situation “n-no what he's trying to say is-” but the man behind the counter cut you off “you have no idea what your talking, these meats are the best in town, you know nothing about meat” he said coming around the counter “half ya meat is literally turning brown, worked at a butcher shop for two years, so ya i do know” simon replied getting in between you and the man “are we going have a problem, Simon?” That was the wrong thing to say, Simon immediately jumped forward slicing through the tension as he grabbed the man's collar lifting him off the ground. You were trying to get Simon to let the man down, but Simon wasn’t responding to you. You watched simon lean forward closer to the man “don’ talk to me like that if ya like breethin” 

that was it “simon enough” you pulled him away from the man, who was now flat on the floor, pulling Simon straight to the car. “Simon you can't threaten people, I get you were a lieutenant for years but here you're just a normal person, do you understand?”but when you looked at Simon he didn’t look well. “Simon, are you okay?” “y-yeah, let's go home, ya?” something was off but you just went home knowing he wasn't going to tell you.

Simon was off for the rest of the day, he refused lunch and stayed completely quiet in his room all day, now it’s dinner and he hasn't even picked up his fork “Simon, you need to eat” “price will bring all the meat you need later tonight” “Simon eat” you said plain and firm not letting him distract you, slowly he lifted his shaking hand as he grabbed his fork and tried to eat food but his hand kept shaking worse and worse, immediately you were up and standing by his side “Simon are you okay” you grabbed his hand feeling and examining it, then you felt him gently tug your shirt with his other hand “I can't feel my right side, I-it hurts”

part three

[digitaldaydreamm]

we need more rafe and bsf reader content pls☹️☹️

unspoken claim

rafe x childhood friend!reader

| summary | you just got dropped off from a totally casual hangout with a guy, but you didn’t tell rafe—because, well, he’s not your boyfriend… right?

warnings: possessive, overprotective, “he’s not even your boyfriend but acts like it” energy

a/n: i'm baaaaack, did you miss me? 🤭

part 2 | masterlist | taglist

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

You barely notice the tension in the air until the car slows to a stop in your driveway.

“So, this is you?” the guy—Noah or Nathan or whatever—asks from the driver’s seat, drumming his fingers nervously against the wheel.

You nod, giving a polite smile as you unbuckle your seatbelt. “Yeah… thanks for driving.”

“It was fun,” he says, then hesitates. “So… who’s that?”

Your stomach dips the second you follow his gaze. There, sitting on your porch steps with his elbows on his knees, brows furrowed, is Rafe. His truck’s parked all jacked up in the driveway like he’d swung it in with no care for lines or curbs.

He’s not even looking at you. Just staring dead ahead, jaw tight, tongue pushing against his cheek like he’s trying real hard not to lose it already.

“Oh, uh,” you say quickly, fumbling with the door handle, “that’s just Rafe. He’s my—he’s basically my best friend.”

The words feel stupid as soon as they leave your mouth.

The guy raises his brows. “He looks… pissed.”

You force a laugh and open the door. “He always looks like that. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

You don’t wait for a reply.

The second your shoes hit the driveway, it’s like the energy shifts—hard. Rafe’s eyes finally meet yours, sharp and cold and unreadable. He stands up slow, all six feet and something of him, broad and angry and radiating that you’re in trouble silence.

You swallow. “Hey…”

He doesn’t respond. Just nods toward the car still idling behind you. “That him?”

You glance back, awkward. “Rafe—”

“S'that him?” he repeats, firmer now, like he’s two seconds away from walking up and yanking the guy out through the window.

“Yes,” you snap, suddenly annoyed. “Not that it’s your business.”

He scoffs, stepping closer until you’re practically backed into your own front door. “Not my business?” he laughs bitterly, eyes flicking down to your outfit—casual but cute, the kind of thing you only wear when you’re trying. “You went out with some random asshole, didn’t tell me where you were going, didn’t answer your phone—nah, you’re right, not my business at all.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god, Rafe, it wasn’t a date.”

He gets in your face then, low and intense, voice full of venomous sarcasm. “Ohhh, right. Not a date. Just you, dressed like that, giggling in some guy’s passenger seat, letting him drop you off like he’s doing you a fucking favor. Real casual.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“And you’re outta your fuckin’ mind if you think I’m just gonna sit back and watch you get played by some dude who probably asked you out on Snapchat.”

You shove his chest lightly. “Jesus, Rafe, chill.”

He catches your wrist, holding it—not hard, but firm. “You forget who the fuck’s always been here, kid?”

Your heart skips. That damn nickname.

“You think he gives a shit about you?” Rafe sneers. “You think he knows how you take your coffee? That you can’t sleep with the closet door open? That you cry during vet commercials when the dog dies?”

You try to pull your hand back, but he doesn’t let go.

“He doesn’t know shit about you,” he growls. “But I do. And I always fucking have.”

Your voice is small. “So what, Rafe? You jealous?”

His jaw ticks.

And then, suddenly, he lets go of your wrist, takes a step back, and rips his phone out of his back pocket. “Nah,” he mutters, turning away and heading back down the porch steps.

He turns, takes two steps off the porch, then throws a look over his shoulder with that unhinged kind of calm.

“Is that the little fucker you’ve been giggling on your phone with?” he spits. “That the reason you’ve been ignoring me like some bratty fuckin’ teenager?”

You blink. “I haven’t—”

“Save it,” he snaps. “You think I don’t notice when you switch tabs the second I walk in? When your phone’s flipped face-down every time I show up? You think I’m fucking stupid?”

“Rafe—”

“Don’t,” he cuts in sharply, marching to his truck, fury practically vibrating off him. “Next time he drops you off, tell him to stop halfway up the block—unless he wants me waiting at the curb.”

You cross your arms. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re lucky I didn’t pull him outta the car,” he says, climbing into his truck like he didn’t just full-on stalk your casual hangout and threaten a guy with only eye contact and attitude. “Next time you’re bored, call me. Don’t go playing games with little boys who don’t know what the fuck to do with you.”

You stare at him.

Then he slams the door, starts the engine with a roar, and peels out like he’s doing it for dramatic effect—like the growl of the tires is part of the statement.

You’re left in the silence, heart hammering.

Not his girlfriend. Not his problem. And yet...

(you still haven’t blocked your location on Find My Friends.) (and he still shows up.)

[differenteagletragedy]

To me, Simon has the dumbest hair 90% of the time because he just buzzes it himself (I cannot believe that man pays money to one, do something he could theoretically do himself, and two, spend time with a stranger). The other 10% it's good -- when he first cuts it, an eighth of an inch of pale fuzz left behind, and when it just starts growing out, that's fine. But a lot of the time, especially when he's at home, he just lets it go.

And you, his next door neighbor, will never not give him shit about it.

"You look so goofy," you tell him when you see him in the hallway, one arm holding your groceries and the other fiddling with your keys. "Just cut it, Jesus Christ."

He rolls his eyes or tells you to fuck off, because you've known each other long enough for that kind of thing. He's lived in the building for years, never having seen a reason to leave, and you've been there for a few yourself. You're friends in the way that you may not call or text or schedule time to hang out, but you can scarcely think of anyone you see more often.

"Seriously," you go on, unlocking your door and speaking louder so he can hear you when you go inside. "It's just like two inches sticking straight off your head, why are you walking around like that?"

"Doesn't bother me," Simon answers, moving to lean against your doorframe and watch you as you put up your things. "Seems to bother you an awful lot though."

Your back is to him while you move around your kitchen, but you can tell he's smirking, and you scoff.

"Yeah, it bothers me. You get a face like that and you go and screw it up with the dumbest excuse for a haircut I've ever seen."

It's not the first time you've flirted with him, or even the most direct time, but it still gives him pause. He doesn't wear his mask when he's not working, most of the time anyway, because he thinks it draws too much attention and he'd prefer to just slip into the shadows wherever he goes. But you seeing him, and you letting him know that you like what you see, it does something to him, every time.

"You cut it then," he says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're the one so torn up about it, you fix it."

You snort, finally turning back to him, saying, "I'm not a barber, stupid."

"No, you sure seem like a coward though."

A few minutes later, you're both in Simon's bathroom. He's got his shirt off, straddling the toilet so you can reach his head, and you're behind him with clippers in your hand, looking down at him. You've never seen this much of him, never even seen the place where his tattoos stop on his arm, and it's a lot to take in.

You want to take your time, commit every scar, every freckle to memory, but he turns his head, smirking again.

"Told you you were a coward."

Without a word, you turn on the clippers and get to work.

It's not hard, it's just a buzzcut. The hard part is in touching his ears, gently pushing the lobes down to trim around them. It's in sneaking glances over his shoulder to watch his chest as it rises and falls while you work. In trying not to notice the tiniest little hitch in his breath when you lean in closer and rest your hand on his back while you get the hairs on the back of his neck.

The worst part though, is the beauty mark that sits perfectly in the place where his neck meets his shoulder. Specifically, the worst part is the strong, almost uncontrollable urge to bite it.

When you're done, you turn off the clippers and set them on his bathroom counter, then dust off his shoulders for him. Just before he stands, you can't deny yourself any longer -- you won't be able to reach it when he's not sitting so perfectly like this -- and give a quick, soft kiss to the mark.

During all the time you've known Simon, he's barely responded to your flirting. To you, he doesn't seem interested, and to him, you don't seem serious. But a kiss, faint as it may have been, is different, and before you can register it, he's on his feet, turned and standing over you.

"Hair looks better," you say softly.

He grunts in response, and before you know it, his mouth is covering yours, hot and insistent. It's a heady feeling, having him so close, and before you can get used to it, his hands are on you, first on your waist, then on your hips, then on the backs of your thighs as he lifts you up and holds you against him.

He maneuvers you both out of the bathroom and towards his bedroom, where he unceremoniously tosses you on his bed. You look up at him, letting your eyes trail freely over his body now, going down when you see him place his hands on his belt.

"Not so mouthy now, are you?"