#so it was nice to just get to have that conversation

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - EIGHT

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy; abortion.

MASTERLIST

Topper prided himself in keeping out of people’s business.

He hadn’t noticed anything was off with you on his own, he wouldn’t have; he didn’t do the whole “emotional radar” thing.

But Rafe had practically cornered him, demanding he figure out what was going on with you.

You were his cousin, after all. 

That didn’t stop the way his stomach twisted from thinking about lying to you, or how every part of him had always silently rooted for you and Rafe. He’d loved seeing you two together. You were a mess most days, for years, sure, but it was the kind of mess that made sense in a way, and Topper couldn’t help but admire it.

You were like fire and gasoline.

But that was before the break-up, before everything got fucked.

Now, you were just… distant. He never knew how to approach you without feeling like he was crossing a line, but the way you’d passed out on Rafe at the beach had him worrying in a way that was more personal than he wanted to admit.

He wasn’t a thinker, not really, he liked simple things: good waves, cold beer, and not getting roped into drama.

But there he was, standing outside your door with Korean fried chicken. He didn’t do feelings, and he didn’t do heavy conversations. Rafe owed him big for this. The conversation had been good, even when you started talking about Sarah and Ruthie. 

Topper was all in—laughing along, throwing in a dumb joke here and there, the usual. It felt nice, like when you were kids, sneaking your dad’s beers and pretending you weren’t gonna get caught.

But then he had to go and ruin it by asking if you were okay.

You went all stiff, then weirdly far away, laughing it off like he’d just asked you to explain calculus or something. You mumbled something about being fine and then bolted to the bathroom before he could even follow up with his usual Topper-brand wisdom.

He sat there, feeling uncomfortable, which wasn’t a thing he usually did. You were acting off, and it was messing with him more than he wanted to admit.

Finally, he decided he needed to move, so he got up to grab some water. Except, as he walked past the counter, his hip caught a pile of your mail, and an envelope went sliding to the floor.

“Crap,” he muttered, crouching to grab it. It was just some random envelope, but there was a phone number written on the front in messy blue ink.

Topper didn’t think about it—because thinking wasn’t really his strong suit—he just whipped out his phone and typed it in. Curiosity, man. It got him every time.

He hit call. He wasn’t trying to snoop or anything. It was just one of those things you do on autopilot, right? Call a number just to see who answers? Except this time, someone did answer.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Then:

“Women’s Health Center, how can I help you?”

His brain short-circuited, full-on panic mode. He stared at the phone like it had grown a second screen, then frantically hit the hang-up button just as the bathroom door creaked open.

You were back.

Topper, sweating for no reason, slapped the envelope back on the counter like it was about to explode and turned to you with a smile that definitely didn’t match his pounding heart.

He got out of there as soon as possible, as he drove to meet Rafe, the whole thing was still playing on a loop in his head. That phone number, the voice on the other end of the line, the way you’d acted when he’d asked if you were okay—he couldn’t stop trying to force the pieces into place.

Something was going on, he wasn't sure what, and he wasn’t exactly the guy you went to for deep insights, but he felt something was up.

When he pulled into Tanyhill, he spotted Rafe leaning against his truck, scrolling through his phone with that permanent scowl he seemed to have these days. He barely had the car in park before Rafe was pushing off the truck and heading his way.

He climbed out, doing his best to act normal—which, for him, meant cracking the same goofy grin he always did. His mind was still spinning with a dozen half-formed thoughts about that phone call, that clinic, and how the the fuck he might fit into all of it. 

The only thing he knew for sure was that Rafe knowing could be catastrophic. Like, meteor-hits-earth catastrophic.

“You gotta chill,” Topper said, slamming his car door shut and giving Rafe a once-over. “Why do you look like you’re about to punch somebody?”

Rafe just glared, shoving his phone in his pocket. “What’d you find out?”

He blinked, thrown by how fast he cut to the point. “Nice to see you, too. Second, what makes you think I found out anything?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Top. Did you figure it out or not?”

“Yeah, I figured it out,” Topper shot back, crossing his arms. “But why the hell did you make me go through all this work if you already know what’s going on?”

Rafe shrugged, leaning back against the truck like this was all just some casual conversation. “Didn’t think you’d actually get it, to be honest.”

“Bro, I’m not that stupid. How did you get to the bottom of this shit? I’m still confused as fuck over here.”

Rafe’s mouth twitched like he was deciding whether to smirk or yell, hesettled on neither. “She passed out on me, remember?”

“So?” Topper shot back, frowning. “I’ve seen you pass out for, like, way less.”

“It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t a hangover or heat stroke, it was different. And she’s been weird lately, avoiding everyone.” Rafe leaned back against his truck, arms crossed, talking fast. “The hospital did blood work.”

Topper, who’d been zoning out halfway through his little doctor act, suddenly perked up.

“Wow,” he mused, dragging the word out. “Okay. So, how’d you take the news? I mean, shit, you look pretty calm for once. Didn’t think that was in your wheelhouse."

Rafe frowned, his sharp blue eyes narrowing, the crease between his brows deepening like it always did when he thought someone was wasting his time. 

"The fuck are you talking about?”

Topper shrugged like this was totally normal. “I just expected you to, like…freak out or somethin'. Throw a punch, maybe.”

“Throw a punch about what?” Rafe snapped.

“About—” Topper paused, squinting at Rafe like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “Wait. What are you supposed to do?”

Rafe’s hand twitched toward his jaw, fingers brushing over the stubble there, a telltale sign that he was gearing up to lose patience. He didn’t wait for Topper to answer before shaking his head, the movement quick and irritated. 

“Don’t do that, man,” he added, pointing a finger “I’ll help her figure it out. What else can I do?”

Topper tilted his head, genuinely impressed. “Damn. You really matured, huh? I mean, good for you.”

“Top, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Rafe demanded, his tone sharp now like he was finally catching on to the fact that they weren’t on the same page.

Topper blinked, “I’m just saying you’re handling it better than I thought. Especially since she’s not—uh, showing yet.”

“Not showing what?”

“…The bump?”

He immediately realized he’d said the wrong thing, or maybe the right thing, but in the wrong tone, with the wrong level of context, and—okay, maybe he should just stop talking. 

Abort mission, abort mission. Topper immediately wanted to crawl into a hole. Dude, shut up, shut up, shut up.

“What the fuck?” Rafe’s voice cracked; his eyes blazing as he stepped closer. “What bump?!”

His laugh fizzled out under Rafe’s glare, it was starting to feel less like “concerned ex-boyfriend” and more like “interrogating cop.” He felt a bead of sweat slide down the back of his neck. 

Cool. Stay cool.

“Wait,” Topper held his hands up, trying to physically stop the situation from spiraling. “What do you think is wrong with her?”

His brain was spinning in a way it wasn’t built for. He was a simple guy—he liked clear problems and easy fixes. But this? This was a category-five disaster, and he was stuck right in the middle of it.

Rafe let out a sharp breath through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair, the small strands sticking up in every direction.

“I think she’s got a fucking infection! Why the hell would I think she’s pregnant?”

Topper hesitated, glancing toward the house like maybe Sarah or Wheezie might miraculously appear to save him. No such luck.

“Well fucking shit,” Topper blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush. His heart was pounding, and he was pretty sure he’d just signed his death warrant. “I—I didn’t say she’s pregnant, okay? I found this number, and it was for a women’s health center, and—fuck, man, I’m dead. I’m so dead.”

Rafe grabbed him by the collar, yanking him close. “Start talking. Now.”

“I wasn’t snooping, okay? It just—happened. I wasn’t trying to get in her business, but—”

“But what?” Rafe barked. His other hand twitched at his side, curling into a fist before flexing out again, a warning of how close Topper was to eating pavement, but Rafe wasn’t the one he feared right now.

You were going to kill him.

He could already picture the look on your face when you found out—those cold, furious eyes, the way your voice would drop, he was officially dead meat. He gulped, his mouth dry as his brain scrambled for something—anything—that wouldn’t get him killed or disowned.

“You better explain what the fuck you mean by ‘happened,’” Rafe growled, his grip tightening, giving Topper’s collar a shake, just enough to make his point clear.

Topper was done, leaving nothing but pure panic and the faint, distant sound of his voice saying things he definitely shouldn’t. 

“I called the number!” Topper yelped. “I didn’t even mean to, it was—dude, she’s gonna kill me, and I mean that literally. She will.”

“Not if I kill you first,” Rafe shoved him back, his grip finally loosening, his face unreadable now, which was somehow worse than when he’d looked ready to punch him. “You’re telling me you think she’s pregnant? And you didn’t remember to tell me sooner?”

“I didn’t!” Topper said quickly, panic bubbling over. “It’s not like she’s gonna tell me this kind of stuff.”

“Did she say anything to you? Anything about seeing a doctor or being sick?”

Topper shook his head so fast it made him dizzy. “I asked if she was okay, but she just brushed it off and changed the subject.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, both of them staring each other down.

“No, no way. She’s probably… I don’t fucking know, changing her pill or something.”

Topper raised an eyebrow. “Changing her pill?”

“Yeah,” Rafe said quickly, “Or—what else do they do there? Those check-up things. Maybe she’s getting one of those.”

“Uh-huh,” Topper replied, not convinced but also not dumb enough to call him out on it outright. “Sure. Just a… routine check-up?”

“Exactly,” Rafe agreed a little too loud, his tone almost defensive as he started circling again, his hands gesturing wildly. “They don’t just deal with… y'know. They do all kinds of shit. Tests, prescriptions, all that stuff. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Topper scratched the back of his neck, his expression caught between agreement and unease. “I mean, yeah, they do other stuff… but don’t you think—”

“I don’t think anything, there’s nothing to think about. She’s fine. She’s—she’s fine.” He stopped pacing, standing rigid with his hands on his hips, glaring at the ground like it had personally offended him.

“Okay,” Topper started, his tone cautious. “I get that you don’t want to jump to conclusions, but—”

“I’m not jumping to conclusions!” Rafe barked, spinning around “You’re the one making it into something it’s not! She’s not—she wouldn’t—she hasn’t told me anything,” He muttered finally, “And if she’s hiding this… from me…”

He’d never seen Rafe like this—angry, yeah, but there was something else there, either way, it wasn’t good. His glare burned into him, but for the first time, there was hesitation behind it. He wasn’t just mad—he was scared. Topper couldn’t decide if that made him feel better or worse. 

“Holy shit,” Rafe muttered, gripping the side of his truck for balance. His vision going fuzzy as his heart raced like he’d just sprinted a mile. “Holy shit, what if—what if she is?”

“Dude, breathe,” Topper said, stepping closer cautiously like Rafe was a live grenade. “You don’t even—”

“Even if—if—she was, how the hell would that even—” He cut himself off, his face twisting like he couldn’t decide whether to finish the thought or abandon it entirely.

Topper didn’t need him to finish, he understood exactly what Rafe was thinking. The timeline, the breakup, the way everything had gone down between you.

Rafe’s breath hitched as he let go of the truck and paced a few steps, his hands on his hips, muttering under his breath. “No. No way. It’s not—she’d tell me, right? She’d fucking tell me.”

Images started flashing through his mind in rapid succession, each one more ridiculous and unhinged than the last. You, standing in some clinic, staring at a test with a blank expression. You, trying to figure out how to tell Rafe.

You, holding a baby—Rafe’s baby—in your arms.

“This doesn’t make any sense. We were careful. She’s just stressed, girls go through shit. Hormones or whatever. Right?”

“You’re asking me? I barely passed bio. I’m not exactly a walking textbook on—” He stopped himself, seeing the look on Rafe’s face. “I don’t know what’s going on with her, okay? But if this is what I think it is, you gotta handle it right. Don’t screw it up more than it already is.”

“And if I don’t handle it right?”

Topper forced a shaky grin, even as his stomach twisted in knots.

“Then I guess I’ll see you in hell, man. Because she’s gonna kill us both.”

Rafe’s hands went to his hips, his thumb brushing the edge of his pocket as he stared past Topper, he was trying to work out an equation that wasn’t adding up.

“She hasn’t said a word to me,” Rafe muttered, “Not at the hospital, not since. And you think…” He trailed off, dragging a hand over his face. 

Topper shifted on his feet, resisting the urge to bolt to the other side of the world.

“I guess, but I swear, it wasn’t on purpose.”

Rafe shot him a look, his brows knitting together, and Topper felt like he was under a microscope. “You called a random number. How does that ‘just happen’?”

He huffed, throwing his hands up. “I was grabbing some water, and her mail fell, and there was this number—I didn’t think! I just… acted.” He groaned, his head falling back as he stared at the sky. “I didn’t mean to put two and two together, but what was I supposed to do? You’re the one who made me go digging in the first place!”

“You really think that’s what’s going on?” Rafe asked finally, his voice quieter.

“You said she’s acting weird, and then there was that number, and…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Do you even understand what this means? If she’s—if there’s a—” He broke off, “I’d have to—Jesus Christ, what would I even do? I’m not—God.”

His hands gripped the edge of the truck bed so hard his knuckles turned white, the veins in his arms standing out as he glared at the ground like it had personally offended him.

“If she didn’t tell me—” His voice was low, quiet in a way that made Topper wince because he knew what came next.

“Maybe just... ask her?”

 “Ask her?” he repeated, his voice disbelieving.

“Yeah, you know,” Topper said, gesturing vaguely. “Talk to her? Maybe find out what’s going on instead of losing your shit over worst-case scenarios?”

Rafe shook his head, “No. If she wanted me to know, she’d tell me. She’s... she’s dealing with her own stuff. It’s not my place to push.”

 “Since when do you not push?”

“Since now,” Rafe snapped, though even he didn’t sound convinced.

“Rafe—”

“No, seriously,” Rafe interrupted, his voice rising now, the tight restraint unraveling with every word. “If she’s—if she’s going through this, if she’s pregnant, and she didn’t tell me?” He let out a bitter chuckle, “What the fuck does that say? About me.”

Topper opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. This felt like a minefield, and if anyone was good at stepping on the wrong spot, it was him.

Rafe pushed off the truck, he couldn’t physically stay still. His eyes were burning as he raked a hand through his buzzed hair.

“I was—fuck. She thinks what? That I wouldn’t show up for this. She didn’t tell me because she doesn’t think I deserve to know.”

“That’s not true,” Topper said quickly, stepping closer, but Rafe’s empty laugh stopped him.

“Isn’t it?” Rafe’s voice was hollow now, all the fire drained out of him, turning his head slightly, just enough for Topper to see his throat working as he swallowed hard. “What the hell have I ever done to make her think I’d be there? That I’d—” He broke off. “Shit. I wouldn’t blame her. I can't even fucking blame her.”

“You still care about her, right?” Topper pressed, knowing he didn’t have to ask to know the answer.

Rafe’s head snapped up, “She’s the only thing I’ve ever cared about.”

He nodded slowly, “Then prove it.”

The envelope sat exactly where you’d left it, the faintest corner of folded. You froze for a second, your pulse quickening.

No. No way.

It was fine. Fine.

The number wasn’t even labeled—just digits scrawled hastily, you hadn’t touched it in days. Still, you couldn’t stop the tiny seed of panic attaching itself to your chest. There was absolutely no way Topper could’ve seen it, let alone put two and two together.

You exhaled slowly, placing it back on the counter.

He didn’t see it. He couldn’t have seen it.

Then why had he acted so… off? The pale face, the sudden excuse, the jittery energy—it was all so unlike him.

You shook your head, trying to push the thought away, a million things could’ve set him off. 

Maybe Ruthie had texted him something awful, or maybe he’d remembered he had to pick up his dry cleaning before the shop closed. Knowing Topper, it was probably something stupid and unrelated to you entirely.

Still, the nagging lingered as you cleaned up the counter and threw away the napkins. You glanced at the envelope one last time, then slid it into a drawer and shut it firmly. Whatever was going on with your cousin, it couldn’t have anything to do with that. It was impossible. And yet…

You sighed, rubbing your temples. 

“Pregnancy brain,” you muttered to yourself. “Making me paranoid over nothing.”

Of course that didn’t stop your heart from jumping every time the drawer creaked, or when you saw anything even remotely similar to that envelope’s color lying around the house for the entire night. Not that he’d ask, of course—Topper wasn’t the confrontational type, especially not with you. But he noticed things. And when he noticed, he worried.

The next morning you sank onto the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest. Topper was close, but he wasn’t like Sarah. She had been able to look you in the eye and say, You know I’m here, right? and mean it without any strings attached. Topper, though…

Your fingers itched toward your phone, even though it was stupid to call her so early over this. Still, you needed someone to remind you that you weren’t losing it, that Topper’s weirdness had nothing to do with anything serious.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you found Sarah’s number, pressing the call button. She picked up on the second ring, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You could picture her, sitting in her car or probably stretched out somewhere in Poguelandia with her feet propped up on a table, looking concerned.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just…” You trailed off, fiddling with the edge of a pillow. 

“Topper’s been acting strange. And I think I’m just overthinking it, but it’s making me crazy.”

She made a sound between a hum and a laugh. “So the Topper panic spiral. That’s what we’re dealing with?”

“Basically,” you muttered, trying to keep your tone light. “But this time… He was here last night, and I thought he saw this random piece of paper I had with, you know. A number on it.” You took a shaky breath, embarrassed for how paranoid you sounded. “But he couldn’t have, right? I mean, it was buried under five other things.”

“Okay,” Sarah said slowly, clearly choosing her words. “First, let’s just say that if he did see anything, which he probably didn’t, he wouldn’t assume the worst. He’s your cousin; he knows you don’t tell him everything, and he respects that. Right?”

“Yeah… I guess.” You chewed your lip, feeling a little stupid for even calling her.  “But what if he does put it together, Sarah? I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

“He won’t,” she reassured, like she could see right through your anxiety. “And you don’t need to feel bad for wanting to keep this private. You’re allowed to handle it however you need to. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

You exhaled, the knot in your chest loosening a little. She always knew how to talk you down, "Okay,” you murmured, and a shaky laugh slipped out. “Maybe I'm being paranoid.”

“Pregnancy brain,” she teased, and you couldn’t help but smile.

You hung up feeling marginally better.

Sarah had a way of calming you down, but the uneasiness stayed with you, the way it always did when you couldn’t fully explain something.

But the relief was fleeting, by lunchtime, the nagging voice in your head was back. Topper wasn’t malicious, but he did have a habit of talking without thinking, and the last thing you needed was for this to get out before you were ready. Not only was this a huge scandal, but it was your business.

You busied yourself with small tasks—folding laundry, wiping down the counters, pretending that everything was fine. It wasn’t until almost noon that your phone rang. The hospital’s number flashed on the screen, and your stomach dropped.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Miss Thornton?” the voice on the other end asked politely, too polite for comfort.

“This is she."

“This is Linda from the hospital. I’m calling about your recent bloodwork. We had a bit of an issue with our system, and unfortunately, there was a delay in getting back to you. We also lost some patient information temporarily—”

“Wait, what?” you interrupted, not liking where this was going, “What do you mean you lost information?”

“Oh, nothing to worry about,” Linda said quickly, as if that would make you feel better. “We managed to recover most of it, but in the meantime, we had to rely on emergency contact information to reach out. Dr. Harris called yours last night.”

Your breath caught. “Called... my emergency contact?”

“Yes.”

“Sarah Cameron? She didn’t tell me someone called.”

“She’s not listed as your emergency contact in our system, Rafe Cameron is. It might be an older record?”

Fuck.

Your heart was in your throat. “What... what did he tell him?”

“He only left a generic message asking for you to follow up about your bloodwork. Nothing specific.”

“Nothing specific,” you repeated, more to yourself than to her. Relief and panic warred within you. If Rafe knew, he’d already be there, the night before, demanding answers. Right?

“We need you to come back in. It’s possible you may have an infection, and we need to run a few more tests.”

You didn’t even hear the rest of her explanation.

Your fingers felt numb as you mumbled something that vaguely resembled agreement and hung up.

Infection, that was what she’d said. That was all it was. Not… not anything else. If it were anything else, they wouldn’t have just called—they’d have told Rafe.

“Stop,” you muttered aloud, shaking your head. “Stop spiraling.”

But your brain wouldn’t listen.

“Generic message,” Linda had said, but did it sound generic? What did he think when he got it? Had he laughed it off, or was he running his stupid pristine bedroom, piecing together clues you hadn’t even realized you’d left?

You didn’t want to text Sarah again.

You could imagine her smirking, “I told you, he’s not going to magically grow psychic overnight.” Yeah, sure, but this was Rafe.

He didn’t need magic. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on Sarah’s voice in your head. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

Except it didn’t feel like that. You hadn’t thought about Rafe as your emergency contact in months, hadn’t needed to. 

You sank into the couch, hugging your knees to your chest.

“This is so stupid,” you muttered, but your voice didn’t make it feel any less real. You weren’t even sure what you were spiraling over anymore. The envelope? The hospital? The baby?

“Okay,” you said out loud. “Okay, it’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

The sound of your voice didn’t even convince you. Your brain wouldn’t stop jumping from one thing to the next, spinning every scenario you didn’t want to think about. 

What if he did know? If that was enough to set him off, to make him call someone, pull some strings...Shit, what if he did show up, and you had to explain why you were dodging everyone and keeping things from him and—stop. 

Stop. 

You were doing it again. The spiraling. The pregnancy brain Sarah teased you about like it was some sort of cute quirk, but wasn’t cute.

You sat up straight, squeezing the couch pillow so hard you thought it might burst. Breathe. Just breathe, you’d made it this far without imploding.

You glanced toward the drawer again, the one with the envelope. You should’ve burned it, shredded it first. No, you had to keep it—just in case. But just in case of what? Just in case you needed more reasons to feel like a lunatic.

Oh my god. What if Topper saw the stupid number, and then Rafe got the hospital call, and then—bam—suddenly, they had the whole damn thing figured out?

You could feel it already—the panic. You liked to think they were both too stupid for their own good, but they were also observant. Rafe, that bastard always knew how to put things together faster than anyone. 

What if—what if it’s that simple for them? What if they both saw it, and then they were just sitting there, having some stupid-ass conversation, connecting dots you didn’t even realize were dots?

No. Stop. Stop thinking like that.

You were getting carried away, jumping to conclusions like some manic soap opera character. You weren’t that girl. Not really. But the thought of them talking—Topper with his concern and Rafe with his overbearing intensity.

Your fingers tapped a frantic rhythm against the pillow. The idea of him figuring it out? Oh, that made your skin crawl. Not because he’d be cruel—no, that wasn’t his style. He’d just be so… himself.

Overwhelming, determined to “fix” things for you, even when you didn’t ask for it. 

You groaned, dropping the pillow and standing abruptly, like the movement might kill the growing dread. No, you told yourself firmly.

You weren’t spiraling over things that hadn’t even happened yet.

But the voice in your head, the one that always sounded a little too much like Rafe, had other plans: What if it’s already too late?

You paced the living room, arms crossed tightly over your chest. This was ridiculous, you were ridiculous. Nothing had happened, nothing was going to happen. The number wasn’t even that suspicious, it could’ve been anything.

You groaned again, flopping onto the couch like the dramatic mess you were currently embodying. Rafe had probably gotten the hospital call, rolled his eyes without a second thought, too busy with his new precious life.

Your stomach churned, and you pressed your hands against it instinctively. It wasn’t showing yet—thank god—but you couldn’t help the way your mind spiraled back to it, to all the ways this could go wrong.

You grabbed your car keys without thinking, maybe it would clear your head. A drive—that’s what you needed. Get out of the house, and put some distance between you and the stupid envelope, the phone calls, all of it. You turned the knob, yanked the door open—

—and froze.

Rafe’s hand was raised mid-air, clearly about to knock. You didn’t even try to hide the way your breath hitched. 

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Standing there on the porch like he hadn’t just derailed your entire plan. As if it was still perfectly normal for him to show up unannounced, one hand shoved into his pocket and the other gripping his phone, his head tilted in a maddeningly familiar way.

His hand hovered uncertainly on the doorframe as you stepped back, your arms folding protectively over your chest. He didn’t push past you, didn’t move his weight forward—just stood there.

He glanced down at the spare key still in his hand, turning it over like he was considering whether he even had the right to use it. “They called me last night.”

Okay, he was just here because of the hospital, a coincidence, that’s all it was.

“And? You could’ve ignored it.”

His hand flexed at his side like he didn’t know what to do with it. “I thought something might be wrong.”

“It’s not.” Your voice was clipped, cold. “They called the wrong number. End of story.”

He didn’t rise to the bait.

“I thought—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “I thought you were sick.”

“Like I said, it was a mix-up.”

His jaw ticked. That tiny muscle in his cheek twitched, the one that always flared when he was suspicious.

“Funny, they didn’t sound mixed up when they said your name,” he drawled, his tone probing. “Wanna try again?”

“Mind your fucking business,” Your voice was defensive, and you hated the crackle of guilt in your chest when he flinched. “I don’t need you to pretend to care. Why are you even here?” you snapped, taking a step back. The space between you felt vulnerable. “Don’t you have someone else to worry about?"

You felt cornered with every second he stood there.

“We need to talk.”

Maybe if you acted calm, like nothing was wrong, he’d stop looking at you like that. Vulnerability wasn’t something you were good at, he’d already taken too much. He always took too much.

“I don’t owe you shit. Not explanations, not answers, nothing. Leave.”

He didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

Rafe didn’t know how to let shit go, not when it came to you, he didn’t back away.

“You’re right,” he said, surprising you. “You don’t, but I’m not leaving until we talk.”

The way he said, it wasn’t even a threat. It was worse than that. It was calm, resolute, like he’d already decided, and nothing you said or did could change it. 

That scared you more than anything.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you hissed, “Whatever you think you know, you don’t.”

He arched an eyebrow, his eyes flicking to the edge of the couch where your phone still sat, “You sure about that?”

“God, you’re always like this. Always overstepping, always assuming—”

“I know."

All the noise in your head—your spiraling thoughts, your excuses, your endless denials—went silent, except for the way your heart thudded in your chest, so fast, it hurt. He hadn’t raised his voice, but those two words hit you like a kick to your chest.

No, he couldn’t—he didn’t, he was bluffing, he had to be. Air caught in your throat, and for a moment, you thought you might choke on it. He didn’t move, didn’t repeat himself. He couldn’t know.

Your tongue went dry. 

“What are you talking about?” You couldn’t breathe. It felt like someone was squeezing your chest. You shook your head again, more violently this time, stepping back, “You don’t know shit.”

“I think I do.” His voice was quiet, and that made it worse, it wasn’t cold or angry; it wasn’t even accusing. He didn’t sound like he wanted to be right, he just sounded tired.

You prayed to come up with something—anything—to deflect, to deny, to keep the truth buried where it belonged. 

“You’re delusional,” you took another step back, putting more space between you and the man who had always known you too well.

He just shook his head, “You don’t have to lie to me, you’re scared, you’re not even trying to hide it.”

It was the way he stared with those stupid blue eyes, he was peeling back your layers. He always did that, made you feel like he could see something in you that you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

“Oh, fuck off.” You threw your hands up. “You don’t know shit about what I’m feeling. You’ve got no right to—I’m not lying.”

It still hurt how much you missed him, hurt to even look at him.

“Don’t pull this cryptic bullshit with me, if you’ve got something to say, say it.”

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

The thing you’d been running from, denying, hiding, you simply stared at him, trying to decide if there was any way to lie your way out of this.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You tried to laugh, but it came out strangled, desperate. “T-That’s insane. You’ve lost your mind.”

Rafe wasn’t gloating or triumphant—he just looked… resigned, he’d pieced it together before he showed up.

“Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me, not about this.”

You wanted to scream, to shove him, to do anything that would make him stop looking at you like he cared. Like he knew you. Because if you stopped long enough to think about it, you knew it was over.

He’d already seen it.

“I mean it, Rafe.” Your hand tightened on the door, nails digging into the wood. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

God, this was so fucked. You wanted him gone, but wanted him here, needed him to leave you alone, but at the same time, you hated that he could just leave.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

You thought about what he’d do if he knew—really knew. Not just the vague sense he had now, but the details. Would he try to stop you? 

Your lip quivered, and you hated yourself for it. “You’re wrong.”

You stared at him, at the way his shoulders hunched slightly, his usual confidence worn down. You hated him for being calm for once in his fucking life, for being here, for not letting this slide when it was none of his fucking business.

“Am I?”

Your hands clenched tighter, nails biting into your palms. “Why? Why do you even care? It’s not like you—”

“Because it’s mine.”

Your breath hitched again, and this time, you couldn’t hide it. You wanted to deny it, to throw something—hell, anything—back at him to make him shut the fuck up. But your throat felt like it had shut off entirely, and your mind had gone blank.

“I—” you stammered, shaking your head violently, “No. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re—”

“Hey, hey, just—just stop,” he said, his voice careful, as if he was trying not to spook you. “I’m not—Jesus, I’m not here to fight with you, okay? I’m not here to make this harder.”

Your chest heaved, a bitter laugh escaping before you could stop it. He was too late—late to care, late to help, late to fix anything. Five days, that’s all you had to get through.

Five days until you didn’t have to think about it anymore. 

This is the right choice, you told yourself for the hundredth time. You couldn’t bring a baby into this mess.

“You’re doing a hell of a job at that.”

“I just want to help. If you let me—”

“No,” you interrupted, grabbing the edge of the door. “I’m fixing it.”

“Fixing—?” Rafe’s brow furrowed, his confusion almost comical He started to step forward, but you stopped him with a resentful glare that made him stop. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you can take your fake concern and shove it up your ass.”

His brow furrowed. “It’s not fake—” His face twisted in confusion, mouth opening like he was about to argue, but you didn’t give him the chance, slamming the door in his face, so hard the frame rattled.

“Of course. Of course, it’s mine,” you muttered to yourself, mocking his stupid, self-righteous tone.

You leaned back against the door, sliding to the floor, arms crossed over your knees as your brain whirred like it was trying to kill you.

It wasn’t like you had a choice.

Technically, you did, but what were you supposed to do? Keep it and become a tragic sob story? The words almost felt like you’d ripped them out of someone else’s mouth, right or wrong didn’t even matter anymore. There wasn’t space in your life for this—for him, for a baby, for any of it.

A muffled knock sounded from the front door—tentative, like he was giving you a moment.

“Go away,” you yelled, your voice hoarse.

“Open the door.”

Your thoughts taunted you with memories and possibilities you didn’t want to entertain. The way Rafe had looked at you—like he knew—it was unbearable.

How had he put it together? Maybe you'd slip up in tiny ways, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for him to follow. You hated yourself for being so careless, despised him even more for being so fucking relentless.

You wiped your cheeks roughly, not realizing you’d started crying until your sleeve came back damp.

“Please, just open the door. We can talk—just talk, okay?

“No,” you muttered to the empty room. “No, I’m not doing this.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning your head back against the door and pressing your hands over your ears to block him out. 

“Don’t shut me out like this,” he begged. “I can’t—fuck, I can’t stand it when you do this. Just open the door. Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”

He had a key. If he wanted to, he could let himself in at any moment, but he didn’t, that wasn’t the Rafe you were used to.

Before, he'd have barged right in, shouted until your ears bled, and demanded answers. He would’ve tried to fix it or destroy it, maybe both. 

You hated that he still acted like he cared, that he was trying to be so fucking reasonable now, when just a few months ago, he would’ve lost it, broken through any barrier to get what he wanted.

This was worse, this Rafe was wearing you down.

Another hushed plea made it through the door, but all you could think was how thin the wood felt, how it barely drowned the sound of his voice. A new door might be better, something heavier, more solid, that could drown out everything—the desperation, the crack in his voice.

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, and you bit hard on the inside of your cheek to keep them from falling. 

“I know you’re scared,” he continued, “And I know you think I’ll screw this up—God knows I probably will. But please don’t keep me in the dark. Just tell me what’s going on.”

You pictured flipping through hardware store catalogs, weighing your options: oak? steel? soundproofing foam?

“Please,” Rafe whispered, and the rawness in his voice scraped against you like nails on a chalkboard. You tilted your head back against the door, willing yourself not to cry again. 

Steel doors don’t warp as easily as wood.

You swallowed hard, your body aching as you fought the sob threatening to escape. He didn’t deserve this—didn’t deserve to sound so wrecked over you. He'd done this to himself.

Your fingers twitched against the door handle, the temptation to open it curling around you, but instead, you thought about bolts.

Deadbolts, a second lock could work, something he couldn’t get through even if he had the key.

His voice wavered again, you thought he might start crying, too, yet all you did was glance at the base of the door. A better seal would muffle the noise more. Maybe weatherstripping? That could help.

You pressed your hands tighter over your ears, as though it would help. It didn’t. Nothing would—not until you replaced the lock, the door, the memory of him standing there and breaking himself open for you.

God, you really needed a new door—and a new heart.

One that didn’t twist at the sound of his voice, that didn’t flinch every time he called your name like it was a prayer. A heart that didn’t feel for him, you told yourself, over and over, like a mantra. If you could just stop the way your chest tightened at his pleas, stop the ache in your ribs when he said he couldn’t let this go.

You wanted steel walls, that could keep everything out—his voice, his touch, the memories of all the good parts of him that had kept you hanging on for so long. Because of this heart? It was useless, too soft, too easily swayed, still willing to believe him, even when you knew better.

“Please, just talk to me,” Rafe begged. You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood.

You couldn’t help but wonder if this calmness came from Sofia.

Perhaps she was the reason he’d changed, maybe she had somehow made him different, had softened the sharp edges of the guy you used to know. She was calm, collected—nothing like you. It hurt like a bitch, the thought that someone else could make him this patient. You wondered if she’d taught him how to handle his emotions, how to be this way—he’d learned some secret he never bothered to share with you.

You couldn't let yourself go there, couldn't let the bitterness of that thought settle in your mind for too long.

“Talk to me.”

No. Not this time.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[luveline]

Hii, Jade 🤍 please bring back singledad!spencer, reader and Amanda 🥹 they r so special

—Spencer experiences your first Spencer-brought-upon baby fever, to his shock. fem, 2k 

(cw: reader is written as enthusiastically wanting kids) 

Spencer’s been reading to Amanda since the moment she could open her eyes. By two months she was cooing in delight whenever he spoke, and that included during story time. He didn’t mind that she didn’t understand, he just loved being with her. He still does. 

So when Amy interrupts your conversation to beg for him to read her something, he gives you an apologetic look, asking, “Do you mind?” 

“Of course I don’t mind.” You wouldn’t, you’re like an angel, leaning back on the couch with little urgency as Amy climbs into Spencer’s lap.

“Thank you. Sorry for interrupting,” Amy says. 

“Gosh, you’re so smart,” Spencer says, tucking a curl of her hair behind her ear. “Interrupting, that’s a big word.” 

“Go ahead,” you say, getting comfortable in front of one of Spencer’s woven cushions. “I’ll listen too, if that’s okay.” 

Spencer opens the storybook to the first page. Amy likes this one. The corners of the pages are soft with use. “Cerys’ Brave Day,” he begins, grinning as Avery pushes herself up his chest to look down at the illustrations. “Cerys wakes up without mommy. Cerys makes her own way out of bed. There is no mommy to wipe her face or brush her hair. My mommy, she thinks, is not there.” 

Amy smiles into Spencer’s cheek. He wraps an arm around her, as if to say, I know, angel, it’s exciting. “Her mommy must be having a slow day. She doesn’t appear to give Cerys any help. And Cerys says–”

“No way!” Amy finishes, pointing at the drawing of a bathroom sink and toothbrush. “I don’t want to brush my teeth by myself!” 

It goes on like that for some time. Spencer notices you getting closer as he goes on, your arm pressing to his side. 

Cerys finds that her mommy is having a slow day. Cerys’ mommy is just as loving as the other mom’s, but sometimes she takes longer to help Cerys brush her hair, and get dressed. Cerys has to be a brave, smart girl, and help her mommy with the small things. Spencer enjoys it, and thought it was a great expression of empathy for Amy to one day understand.

“Later, when mommy feels better, she says I’m sorry for being so slow. Mommy didn’t mean to forget her, she just struggles to get up and go. 

“Cerys doesn't want her to be sorry. She loves helping her mommy out. Because mommy loves Cerys, and Cerys loves mommy, and that’s never been in any doubt.” 

Amy turns her face to Spencer with a huge smile, somehow bigger than when it started. “I love that story,” she says. 

Spencer lets the storybook fall closed in her lap. “It’s a good one, huh?” 

“What do you think, Y/N?” Amy asks. 

You’re delighted by Amy in a way Spencer’s used to seeing in the mirror. “I loved it. Daddy’s a good storyteller, and you’re such a good assistant. You know lots of the big words.” 

She preens. “Thanks.” 

You can’t resist her, pushing against the top of her head with a nice palm. “You’re welcome.” 

“Can we have another one?” she asks. 

Spencer checks the time on his watch. Amy realised it was bedtime before he did, it seems. “Come on, lovely girl. Let’s start getting ready for bed, and you can have any story you want.” 

He’s obviously not expecting you to leave, but at the same time, things are new enough between you that when he asks if you want to sleepover, your grinning “Yes, please,” throws him for a loop. 

You have spare clothes and toiletries in the bedroom. You ask to take a quick shower and get all smiley and shy when he says you never have to ask. 

“So dad,” Amy says. 

“So Amy,” he says, pulling down the blankets on her bed. She has five layers because suddenly November is cold. He wonders if she needs a sixth. 

“I can’t sleep in the big bed tonight.” 

“Well, that depends on how badly you want to.”

“Really?” 

“You’ve known Y/N for a long time, right? She’s been my friend for a long time, before she was my partner. I think she’d be okay with having you sleep in the big bed again if you need to. It was your place before it was her place, and she knows that.” 

“Well…” 

He grabs her under the arms and places her in bed. She could use her stepping stool, but he likes picking her up and putting her down. It makes him feel super paternal. “Just think about it, angel. If you change your mind, you can just come and knock the door. 

“Promise?” 

“Honey.” He kisses her forehead twice, before pulling the blankets up over her, and turning on her mushroom night light. “How’s that? Okay, I promise you can still come knock my door. Cross my heart.” 

“Can you stay for a little?” she asks. 

Spencer sits on her bed by her legs. They feel weirdly small under his hand despite the padding he’s given her. “Babe, are you sure you’re warm enough? This does not feel like enough blankets.” 

“It’s loads. Give me a hug.” 

Spencer lays down in her bed, almost falls off, and covers her with his arm. Their curls tangle together on the pillowcase. 

“Like this?” he asks. 

“Exactly.” 

“Amy, you’re using such big words, you’re so smart.” He’s gonna take her for an assessment at some point. He doesn’t care if she’s super intelligent or not, but lately it’s like she’s so much older than she is. A few days ago she said the word discombobulated. “My smarty-pants.” 

“I like big words,” she says. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“Remember what Amanda means?” he asks. 

Amy giggles as he shakes her by the tummy. “She who must be loved.” 

“Exactly. Loved by everyone, deserving of love. Always, from the second you were born!” He leans down to kiss her cheek, meeting her eyes as he pulls back. “Okay?” 

She certainly feels loved, he’d wager. He loves her so much it’s like an extra part of his soul in another person. “Story?” she asks. 

“Yes, I did say we’d have one, didn’t I?” He’d almost forgotten. Spencer grabs a couple of her soft backs from the book stand and lets her choose. 

After he’s read a few books and given her a couple of cuddles, Amy begins to list. She presses her nose to his shoulder and mumbles something he doesn’t hear. 

“What did you say, sweetpea?” he mumbles. 

“Just goo’night.” 

“Goodnight. I’ll tuck you in, okay?” 

“Spence?” 

He’d almost forgot you were here. You’re standing in the doorway, arms still damp, pyjama pants stuck to your calves. “Where’s the fire?” he asks. 

“What?” 

“In a rush?” 

“Oh, I just wanted to hear story time. Did I miss it?” 

Spencer kisses Amy again. “I think so. I’m just saying goodnight.” 

You lean against the door. “Goodnight, then, lovely girl.” 

Spencer forces himself up to tuck her in. “Goodnight,” he says again, stroking the hair from her eyes, though they’re closed already. She doesn’t manage to say goodnight back, just touches his arm before he goes. 

You take his hand when he’s close enough. He follows, pressing his face to your shoulder from behind. 

“I like watching you be a dad.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mm, you’re good at it. It’s… I don’t know, I know Amy isn’t my baby, but I do love her, so it’s never not gonna be nice to watch you, and… I’m worried to say this.” 

“Just say it.” 

“Maybe one day, I…” You catch his eye and give him a panicked smile. 

You climb into bed together. He tries to get you to finish what you’d been saying but doesn’t succeed, no matter how nicely he draws that shape you love into your neck. It’s alright, though. It doesn’t matter. He nearly forgets you’ve brought it up at all until you’re lifting yourself up from your place on his chest. “Spence?” you ask, so close it makes him nervous, his stomach twitching of its own volition. 

“What?” he asks. 

“I know it’s soon. I know we’re not… locked in. I was just thinking about our future and our family, and I’m really happy. And– and if you did want to, I guess I wanna know if… would you ever have more?” 

“More kids?” he asks, dumbfounded. 

Your pupils are massive, staring down at him, giving your eyes this darkness so rare in your gaze. “Have you ever thought about it?” 

“Of course I have, especially with you.” 

You fluster but push through. Your laugh warms his lips as you lean down. “Don’t say that.” 

“Isn’t that what you just said?” 

You kiss him. He lifts his chin too fast to follow you and ends up pushing you away. His cheek is burning in your hand, your index finger to the corner of his eye and so, so tender where it touches an eyelash. “Amy’s so much like you, honey,” you say, tucking a long flyaway strand behind his ear. “And it’s all you.” 

Spencer wonders if you’re perhaps entering the ovulation stage of your period, but forbids himself from asking, should he sound like a freak. But surely you can’t be feeling as strongly as you are about this from story time alone. He’s not that good at telling them. 

“It’s not all me. Amy’s herself, and she’s parts of everyone she’s ever met. I think she’s been a lot braver since she met you,” Spencer says. 

He’s not sure what he said there, but you peer down at him like he’s entirely new. 

“Spencer,” you murmur, drawing a line across his cheek.

“I’d love to have a baby with you, I just thought saying that might be too much too soon.” 

“Well, it is,” you say, sounding insanely pleased, at odds with your words, “that’s so soon. You shouldn’t say stuff like that.” 

He thinks he gets it. Spencer covers your hand where you’re been caressing his cheek and brings it to his mouth, giving your knuckles a kiss. “You’re already so caring, you’ll make an amazing mother.” 

“Not just if we have babies though.” 

“No, I know.” His hand acts for itself as he tucks your hand against his neck. “Amy loves you.”

“She’s brilliant, Spence.” And whatever adoring you’d been ladening on him comes to an end. “Her vocabulary is insane for her age, she really is her father’s daughter.” 

You lay yourself across his chest again for a hug. 

Spencer applauds himself for surviving whatever that was. You, eyes dark and imploring, asking him about babies and touching him like that. “Amy would love a baby sibling,” he says. 

“How many should we have?” 

He laughs loudly. The taboo of everything being too soon is forgotten as you and Spencer talk about babies, houses, what middle school Amy might go to, what daycare you could send your babies to. It’s so exciting it makes his chest pang, thinking about living with you, about marrying you. And your enthusiastic answers make it worse. It’s clear you’ve thought about some of this stuff at depth. 

You could really get married one day, Spencer thinks. There’s a real possibility you might say yes. 

“Do you really think Amy wouldn’t mind a sister?” you whisper. 

“She’s asked me a couple of times how she can get one, so yeah. I think we can safely assume she’d like that.” 

“She asked you that?” you coo. “Aw, lovely girl, what did you tell her?” 

“Well, I told her she came from a pumpkin.” 

“You did?” 

“Mm. It was my fault then when she got very excited at Halloween.” 

You giggle into his neck. “When we have a baby, we’ll buy her a pumpkin.” 

“Or a squash, but I don’t think we could fit a baby in a butternut.” 

You hug him nice and hard. Spencer isn’t sure, but he suspects this is the beginning of a very new, very enjoyable chapter of your lives. Even more so when you nose at his jaw and mumble something about his ‘kissability’. 

[soundwavefucker69]

I don't share this often, but I am a trans man named Minty.

awhile after I got my legal name change, I asked my mom what she would have named me if I was a boy. she said Sebastian, and I groaned and complained that I should have asked before I got the name change, because I really DID like Sebastian now that it was occurring to me as a possible name and had ALWAYS liked Sebastian, even before my MCU days as a teenager. I had even considered it as an option but worried I'd end up looking like a weird fandom kid that had never let go of the MCU. if I had known that was the name my mother had picked for me, I would have had justification to choose it.

she asked me why I picked Minty then. i kinda paused in surprise because I thought it was obvious. and I was like. well. I wanted a name i felt like I could associate with childhood me.

after the first house we lived in was foreclosed on by the bank, we had to rent while my parents fixed their credit and swore never to get a fixer upper again. so we picked a nice house in our small town with only two real neighbors of note: an old lady, whose kids had forgotten about her, that lived way down the alley, around the point it turned from paved to dirt, the only house down there, who had a pomegranate tree in her ill-tended front yard, and a nice old lady next door that for some inexplicable reason had a miniature horse and a beautifully tended flower garden she had foolishly once planted mint in. she also had a very, very old fashioned rotary telephone. I mean the kind hardwired into the wall, of metal, with a speaker with a smooth wooden handle that sat neatly on top. not one of the plastic ones. the ones you see in old movies.

we loved these old ladies very much. the pomegranate lady was too old to keep up on her yard, so my brother and I would go with our dad to help weed whack and scrape up the dead leaves. we didn't offer too much, she was a proud sort, and couldn't pay us, but just enough to help out a little. and the mint in her flower garden lady loved it when we came by to say hi to her horse whose name I forget and loved to teach us how to garden.

she would send us home with mint. obviously. because when you have a mint infestation, well. it's pointless, but you gotta try anyway. and my mom would take that mint and make sun tea, just on the edge of not sweet enough, bc she was a bit of a crunchy mom, but not enough to reprimand me for sneaking a bit of sugar into my cup after to mix it up. (the sugar never dissolved right, especially after it was chilled, and i would always make a racket trying to get it to do so)

I told her I picked Minty because it ties me to my childhood. I didn't want to just cast it away. I wasn't Minty yet, but I also wouldn't be Minty without those days.

mom hasn't fully come around to me being trans. but she was quiet for a long, long time before she kind of whispered. I think I like Minty better than Sebastian. you should keep it.

my mom has always beat herself up over our childhood. she lacked a lot of stability in her upbringing and thought church was the way to go with my brother and I. unfortunately, she picked the wrong church. it was intensely traumatizing for us. we've had a lot of tough conversations about it. but I was able to tell her that day, you know Mom, I know you think you didn't do enough, but just know I'm not trans because you put me in a place where womanhood was miserable and I'm running from it. I don't remember much of the church, even though it consumed my life. what I do remember is my mother, the woman I may have complicated feelings towards, but have always admired and was always my standard for womanhood, being criticized by the other women for allowing me to read this book or that book and not bending or breaking under their rebukes for twenty years. I remember finding out as a twenty year old that I was the only "girl" in church that got the HPV vaccine, because you wanted to protect me, and not rely on chastity alone, like some sort of egotistical maniac who believed I'd always be your daughter, not a living breathing person that would make choices you didn't approve of as an adult, that shouldn't have to suffer for no reason from those choices. I remember you reading to my brother and I well into our teen years, using your acting talents that didn't blossom into the career you wanted to bring the characters in Peter and the Starcatchers to life. I remember listening to Lord of the Rings on cassette tape in the mini van, even though they said it was demonic when they found out. I remember the mom that let me be a tomboy. I remember the mom that would put on the Wind and the Willows on cassette from the library on rainy summer days and we'd listen to it and eat meatballs and spaghetti in the kitchen.

I told her, you're not a failure as a mother, and I didn't hate womanhood because of your example. it just didn't fit me. you made mistakes because you're human. I never thought of you as less than because you're a woman, and I didn't want to escape the cage you're thinking i wanted to escape.

my mom cried. I think that was the first time i made her cry and didn't feel bad about it.

anyways. not a soft memory, but it feels soft to me.

Tell me a soft memory

[savanir]

I found your missing cat

It had taken a lot of work but about a month ago Danny finally got deep enough into A.R.G.U.S to be allowed into its Black Room. and my, what a treasure trove it is.

In the following weeks Danny has spent a lot of time finding all the lost Infinite Realms artifacts he was supposed to locate and return, as was part of his kingly duties. The Observants had been constantly on his ass about this but now that the results of his efforts are actually visible they have finally shut up.

Today though something new has gotten brought in and he’s eager to take a proper look, he could feel the Tyrant king’s influence from a distance emanating from it after all.

While on his way he noticed one of his colleagues, Miss Barbara Minerva if he remembers correctly, talking to who looks to be Wonder Woman. Danny hasn’t had the chance to do so himself yet, he’d love to introduce himself properly but he’s also a little worried about all the knowledge he has on Amazons from Lady Pandora (which he very much shouldn’t have) coming out the moment he tries to have a proper conversation.

Still he hopes nothing bad comes from those two ladies being on friendly terms. Miss Barbara's vibes are all over the place, and most often nowhere good, but who knows, maybe her being around Wonder Woman more will fix that.

He gets to his little section in the compound with the big examination table all decked out and ready for whatever. Today he gets to look at one of Pariah's lost blades, the godslayer sword.

Danny is working on getting all the murderous enhancements off of it and depowering it into something nowhere near so dangerous and deadly when something perks up within the weapon. 

Sensing a kindred protection spirit it leaps up from the blade and into Danny, happily nestling around Danny's core and starts purring up a storm. 

Danny however is violently startled out of his work. It's hard not to notice the sudden claws he feels both on his hands and feet. The spotted fur that covers seemingly his whole body now, his shifted ears, eyes and nose. And the fact he's now sporting a tail of all things. 

The Cheetah may be pleased with this new development but Danny is certainly not. 

Footsteps thunder his way, followed by a shout, "what is wrong!? I heard sounds of distress and- oh!"

"Uuuhhmmm..." What does he say!? How is he supposed to explain all this to Wonder Woman!?

She marches forward and firmly grabs his clawed hands in her own, not worried in the slightest about his now razor sharp nails, "worry not, we shall break this beastly curse that has befallen you, you have my word" 

She gives him what he thinks must be a reassuring smile, "I am Diana of Themyscira and-"

Danny isn't really listening after that, she's probably just giving him more reassurances. It's nice but she's also pretty intense. And Danny is still freaking out a little. 

"- so no need to fret"

Danny blinks,"Uh thanks, I- I'm Danny Fenton" 

"It is most pleasant to meet you Danny Fenton, even if the circumstances are quite unfortunate"

"Yeah uhm, just Danny is fine"

"Very well you may call me Diana" She nods and lets go of his hands.

Diana then wishes to see the artifact that cursed him so, aka the blade (which didn’t curse him), Danny thankfully already fully depowered the damn thing safe for some minor traces of whatever Pariah saw fit to stuff in it. 

By now Steve as well as Barbara have come to take a look themselves and though they appear startled at his new catlike appearance they are mostly just worried once Diana tells them he's cursed. 

Which he's not, this isn't a curse at all. The big cat spirit still tightly curled around his core is clearly a blessing of some sort, that'll make dealing with it all so much more complicated...

But at least Danny got to meet wonder woman right? That's cool.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 20

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 1 || PART 13 || PART 14 || PART 15 || PART 16 || PART 17 || PART 18 || PART 19

Chrissy is willing to admit that when Steve doesn’t call her after his date, she panics. If her mom wasn’t such a light sleeper, she would’ve snuck out to check up on him. But instead, she wallows, dozing on the couch, not even able to call Jeff to bitch because what if Steve chooses that moment to call?

So, she can admit, when he finally calls a few minutes after seven in the morning, she’s a little short with him.

“Finally, Steven,” she hisses into the phone, keeping her voice quiet so as not to alert her mother to their conversation. “I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere!”

“Sorry, sorry!” he rushes out, sounding contrite. “We sort of fell asleep.”

Chrissy gasps, a smile slowly spreading on her face as the implications set in. “You guys slept together?” she demands gleefully.

“We didn’t have sex!” he shouts, and she’s glad, for the first time, that his parents are so absent from his everyday life. “We just fell asleep!”

She’s still smiling, twirling the phone cord round and round her fingers. “Does that mean it went well?” she wheedles.

She doesn’t think that Eddie would suddenly realize he’s straight and renege on the date, not really, but Steve had, and she can’t get the terrified tone of his voice out of her head.

“Well—” he drawls, leaving her on tenterhooks for a few seconds more. “He took me to see some shitty horror movie.”

“Oh my god,” she whispers, full-on grinning now. “What a stereotypical move.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he replies so wryly that she can almost see the way his eyes must be rolling. “Except he barely talked to me the whole time and didn’t even try to hold my hand.”

“No!”

“And then he took me into the woods like some sort of serial killer, and then tried to kiss me so abruptly that my lip split a little.”

“No!” she shrieks with laughter before catching herself and slapping a palm over her own mouth as Steve’s own amused chuckle filters through the phone line. “And you still spent the night?”

“He was nervous!” Steve defended. “And besides, the second kiss was much better.”

“Your boy’s a fast learner, huh?”

Steve hums, and she wishes he was here with her, so she could see the dopey grin that must be on his face as he says, “yeah,” with a dreamy sigh. “He took me stargazing.”

Chrissy coos, can’t help it, not when this whole thing’s been building for so long now. Not when there’s been an edge of fear to everything Steve’s said for months. He deserves something nice for once.

“And you’re going out again?”

“Oh, definitely,” he replies, and a knot of fear she’s had tucked beneath her sternum loosens.

He sounds excited, happy, hopeful. If Eddie does anything to jeopardize this, Chrissy will be digging a very deep hole and tossing him into it. She’s got a shovel, and the muscle strength built up from years of cheer—she’ll manage just fine.

So, when Eddie walks up to her in the cafeteria in some sort of fucked up parallel to that first time and bends at the waist in a showy bow, hand outstretched as he asks, “a word, madam?” she’s ready to kill him.

But, when she glances at Steve at her side, his ears are red, and he’s smiling up at Eddie from beneath his lashes. And when she looks back toward Eddie she catches the tail-end of a wink that has Steve sputtering.

Even Jason doesn’t protest from the other side of the table where he’s quietly seething.

So, she takes his hand and follows him out of the cafeteria.

Eddie doesn’t seem to know where he’s going, as he walks through the halls, peering into nooks and crannies until he finds a corner he deems suitably vacant enough. He flops down, legs outstretched in front of him, uncaring of the dirt caking the floor.

He pats the spot next to him, smiling up at her, so she slides down the wall and crouches beside him, unwilling to let her bare legs touch the floor.

Eddie leans away from the wall and wrestles his jacket off before placing it on the floor in front of Chrissy. Gratefully, she sits atop it, crossing her legs to keep them safe. She turns her body so she’s facing Eddie dead on, and he follows her lead.

When he doesn’t say anything, she breaks the silence with a quiet, “I hope you know that if you hurt my friend, I’ll kill you.”

“I have no doubt, Lady Cunningham,” Eddie replies, drawing an X across his heart with his finger. “But, I’m not here to talk about Steve.”

“Then—what?”

He’s grimacing now, no longer meeting her eyes as he fiddles with his rings, one of his fingers bizarrely missing its usual adornment. “We’re friends, right?” he asks hesitantly, like he’s choosing each word with deliberate care.

“Of course,” she replies, eyes trained on the little furrow between his brows. He’s picking at a hole in the knee of his jeans, further fraying the edges. “Why would you ask that?”

He sighs, slumping into himself in a way that makes him look small. “I’m glad I’m here, okay?” he asks, not waiting for her to answer before he continues. “Steve’s great, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything. But, you still lied to me—"

"We never lied to you," she cuts in, and he waves his hand in assent.

"Yeah, yeah, but you all like, conspired behind my back, and that feels…”

“Shitty,” she continues for him when he seems to lose his words.

“Yeah! Shitty, it feels shitty that you were all talking about me behind my back all so you could keep this from me."

Chrissy sighs. She’d known they’d have to talk about it eventually–clear all this stale air so they could move on–but it doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable. But, he’s right; no matter their intentions, they’d all made a mess of things. She’d known that even as she’d been in the thick of it.

So, she starts where these things should always start, and looks him dead in the eye as she says, “I’m sorry.”

He finally looks up, seeming almost surprised. “Just like that?”

“Yes, Eddie, just like that,” she replies, maintaining eye contact even as her gut squirms. “We were just trying to protect each other, but that doesn’t mean it was the right choice.”

His eyes are wide, still shocked, and she wonders, something uncomfortably close to pity bubbling up within her, if he’s not used to receiving apologies at all.

“Both of you?” he asks.

Chrissy averts her gaze, mouth twisting up. “You know how Steve said Jason has been kind of stalkery?” she asks, watching Eddie nod out of the corner of her eye before she continues. “Well, it was worse before. He kept coming to my house and cornering me at school, and I just wanted to move on.”

It was more than that, though. She still remembers the way fear crept down her spine as cold sweat when she’d opened her door to Jason smiling at her like they’d never broken up, the way her throat had closed up when he’d scooted far too close to her side at the lunch table.

The way he kept cornering her in the hallway when no one was around to witness it. 

“So, when I found Steve trying to write that first letter, I struck a deal,” she continues. She feels bad about that, even now, even still. “He’d be my boyfriend, and I’d help him with the letters.”

She finally turns back to Eddie, braced for, what? Condemnation? But he’s squinting at her like she’s a puzzle he’s trying to crack as he says, “you totally would have helped him anyway,” with so much conviction that it warms her. 

“Oh, definitely.”

He’s still looking at her, but he’s smiling at her, eyes warmer than she’s ever seen them. 

“Alright, I forgive you,” Eddie says, like it’s easy.

It’s too easy. 

“Just because we had reasons doesn’t mean it was fair to you,” she replies, steel in her voice as she squares her shoulders and looks at him dead on. “It doesn’t mean you weren’t hurt,” she finishes, reaching out to pat his knee.

He doesn’t jerk away, just looks at her hand on his knee with a peculiar smile on his face. “You know there was a time when you touching me like that would’ve sent me into a tizzy,” he says, still looking down at her hand.

“And now?”

“Nothing,” he replies, shrugging. “It was never you, Chrissy Cunnigham.”

“You either, Eddie Munson,” she replies, matching his smile as she smacks his hand once before withdrawing. “Now is that it, or was there something else you needed?”

He looks away, cheeks darkening to a blotchy red, she’s almost worried he’ll faint. “I, uh, well, the jacket?”

She thinks of Eddie’s jacket beneath her first, but that’s not where he’s looking. His eyes are planted firmly on the sleeve of Steve’s letterman with a sort of longing that’s almost funny in its intensity.

She doesn’t ask any follow up questions—if he wants the jacket, he can have the jacket. After all, it’s Steve’s no matter how attached to it she’s become, and Steve had looked up at him with the sappiest look she’s ever seen on his face.

She’d do more than give up his letterman to keep him happy.

Still, it feels strange when she pulls it off her back. A shiver runs through her–she feels almost naked without its familiar weight. 

Since that first day in the library, it’s been her shield against Jason’s pushy advances, and her reminder that, no matter what happens, she’d still have Steve. 

But, Jason’s backed off, and everywhere she turns, she sees her people: Steve, yes, but Jeff, and Eddie, and the Hellfire boys–even Robin. Her life’s full to bursting in a way that it’s never been before. 

Chrissy will miss it, but she doesn’t need it anymore. Besides, she knows where Steve keeps his spare key, and she’s not above stealing something else from his closet. 

“Jeff’s going to be sad,” she says, patting the bundled fabric in her arms like it’s a favored family pet, feeling strangely choked up. “He really liked it.”

Eddie grimaces down at it and asks, “do I need to get this thing dry cleaned?”

Chrissy throws her head back and laughs. “No, but if you would’ve waited a few more days, you might have.”

He makes a gagging noise, but when she holds it out for him, he readily takes it, even if he doesn’t put it on. She wonders if it’s fear of homophobes or the thought of her and Jeff’s bodily fluids that stops him. She’s polite enough not to ask, even as Eddie says, “Wait, is it you wearing it or him that Jeff likes?”

She opens her mouth to reply, ready to offer up a vague “both,” but Eddie holds up his hand and cuts her off, talking quickly like he’s afraid of what she might say. “Wait, don’t tell me. I really, really don’t need to know.”

Chrissy springs to her feet and picks Eddie’s own leather jacket up off the floor and sliding it on. It’s even baggier than Steve’s was on her, clearly designed for layering. “I’m borrowing this,” she says, turning her back on him and making her way toward her next class just as the warning bell rings. “It’s cold today.”

“Don’t do any weird sex things with it!” Eddie calls.

She laughs again, making a point to neither confirm nor deny her intentions no matter what he yells after her retreating back.

When Jeff slides into her passenger seat after school, he quirks a brow at her new look, and asks, “that Eddie’s?” as he buckles his seatbelt.

“He wanted Steve’s,” she says, reaching out to pat his knee consolingly.

“I’m going to miss that jacket,” Jeff sighs, looking genuinely forlorn for a second before he gets a particular gleam in his eye that Chrissy’s becoming increasingly familiar with. “You know—”

“Eddie requested that we don’t ‘do any weird sex things’ with his jacket,” she cuts in, putting her car in reverse and slowly backing out of the spot.

Jeff groans like he’d been shot, and throws his head back into the headrest. She reaches out to dig her fingernails into his knee, just this side of too-hard so his groan shifts into a hiss.

“I know, baby,” she says, smiling sweetly at him as they pull away from the school. “But, I’ll get your mind off it in no time.”

Jeff gulps, and doesn’t utter another complaint for the rest of the night.

***

Robin watches Chrissy follow Eddie out of the cafeteria. Even after the door closes behind them, she keeps staring, wanting desperately to know what they’re talking about. This might have all started because of her crush on Chrissy, but Robin’s nosy at heart, so even as the flames of her crush burn down to embers, she wants to know.

Steve had called her on Saturday, spilling all the details of what sounded like a truly horrible date as if it was some sort of fairy tale while Robin cackled in his ear. But he’d sounded buoyant with exhilaration, and all Robin had been able to think about was that he’s like her and he’s happy.

Maybe there’s hope for her, too.

Robin’s broken out of her reverie by a shoulder bumping into hers. “Should we help him?” Vickie whispers, and it takes Robin a minute to snap her eyes away from her vibrant green eyes to follow her gaze over to Steve.

All the losers he’s still pretending to be friends are jeering at him, Tommy H. going so far as to slip into Chrissy’s vacant seat so he can jostle Steve around with a decidedly unfriendly look on his face while Steve picks halfheartedly at his lunch.

Robin’s out of her seat before she can even think about it, palms slapping noisily on the table as she calls. “Harrington!” Steve perks up, metaphorical tail wagging as he meets her eyes from across the room. “Come help me win a bet!”

He’s up and out of his seat in a matter of seconds, leaving the remains of his lunch abandoned on his table as he trots over, slipping into the empty seat across from her while all the other band kids look at him like he’s got the plague.

“What’s the bet?” he asks, looking far more relaxed already than he had while surrounded by his supposed friends.

Robin kicks him under the table as she replies, “the bet was whether you’d come when you’re called.”

“Oh, hardy har har,” he mocks, kicking her right back until she links both her feet around his ankle and yanks him so he damn near falls off his seat.

“Poor little puppy,” she coos, reaching across the table to pat his head while he bats her hand away.

Vickie’s laughing from beside her; it rings through Robin’s ears like church bells. She gets stuck, staring at the pink of her cheeks, the red of her hair, the mirth in her emerald green eyes, hand still outstretched toward Steve’s hair.

He kicks her again, and she snatches her hand back, grateful for the intervention until she catches sight of the knowing look Steve’s shooting her. In retaliation, she grabs one of her carrot sticks and tries to shove it down his throat.

“Not a word, Harrington, or we’re through,” she hisses, finally succeeding in shoving the carrot into his mouth.

“You guys are so funny,” Vickie says, still laughing.

Steve smiles, carrot sticking out of his mouth like it’s a cigar until he bites into it with a snap, seeming oddly satisfied.

Chrissy and Eddie don’t come back, and by the time lunch is over, the rest of the band kids have finally stopped sitting there like scared lemmings, waiting for King Steve Harrington to attack. She’s sure they’ll soon learn what Robin already knows: the king is dead, long live the king.

She loves him so much, it’s almost stupid.

“So, Steve Harrington, huh?” Vickie asks, inexplicably walking out of the cafeteria with her even though Robin knows for a fact her class is on the opposite side of the school.

“I mean, yeah?” Robin replies, feeling her face heat from the inside out. “He’s just like, not what I was thinking at all, and maybe the best friend I’ve ever had, which is crazy—it’s crazy, because it’s Steve Harrington, right?” Her hands, she realizes with horror, are miming an explosion above her head while her mouth makes a weird, crackling explosion sound. “Who would’ve guessed?”

When she finally gets her mouth flapping under control, Vickie’s smiling at her, walking close enough that the sleeve of her sweater brushes against Robin’s bare arm.

“I don’t know, I always thought he seemed nice.”

Robin’s nodding along like one of those bobble head hula girls that boys are always putting in their cars, even though Steve Harrington isn’t nice. He’s an unmitigated bitch with a sacrificial streak a mile wide, but he’s not nice.

“He’s like a stray that I let into my house one time, and then my mom fed him, so now he keeps following me home,” her mouth says.

Vickie’s mouth laughs in return, so maybe it’s not all that bad.

Robin’s mind replays the angelic sound as she walks into her class, waving goodbye to Vickie as the other girl rushes away in a mad dash to make it on time to her next class.

God, Steve’s going to be such a bitch about this.

 ***

After Eddie’s talk with Chrissy, things shift.

Steve doesn’t sit with the jocks at all anymore. He and Chrissy, still joined at the hip like they really are dating, shift back and forth between the band geeks and the hellfire tables at lunch on Tuesday, prompting hushed whispers to filter through the entire cafeteria.

For his part, all Gareth says is, “does this mean you two’s weird feud over Chrissy is finally over?”

Jeff snorts chocolate milk out of his nose while Eddie laughs so hard he nearly falls off the bench entirely, only staying upright because Steve props him up.

“What?” Gareth demands, tearing into his chicken strips with a viciousness that betrays his ire.

“They’ll tell you when you’re older,” Doug replies despite having no idea himself.

Eddie loves his friends so fucking much.

By Wednesday, a clearly fed up Robin frog-marches the pair of them to the Hellfire table and plops down beside them.

“Munson, I can’t do this split custody thing anymore,” she says, making the red-head that’d followed her over giggle. “They’re too much of a handful.”

“Or maybe even two handfuls,” Steve replies, across the table at her like he’s not playing the most overt game of footsie right below it.

“Don’t be gross, dingus,” she scoffs, and Eddie’s mind goes galloping off with thoughts he shouldn’t be having in a room full of teenagers just waiting to push someone a few more rungs down the ladder.

“Are you guys coming back to Hellfire?” Gareth asks, clearly unable to stand not knowing what’s going on a second longer.

Steve looks at Eddie, brown eyes devastating beneath his lashes. “I’d like to.”

Eddie opens his mouth, ready to grovel at Steve’s feet to get him to come, to get him to keep looking at him like that, but then Robin cuts in with a sly, “you know this means you’ll have to come to Steve’s basketball games,” and he slams his mouth shut.

Steve grins, all seduction dropping off his face as he reaches across the table to give Robin a high five like they’re already on the fucking court. She slaps his palm hard enough that the sound of skin on skin damn-near shatters the sound barrier.

“We can sit together,” Jeff says, but he’s not even looking at Eddie, eyes trained on Chrissy’s blushing face. “It’ll be fun.”

Eddie groans and lets gravity overtake him, dropping his head to the table so suddenly that it would have hurt if Steve hadn’t put his palm over the spot just in time. Eddie turns his face so he can glare up at the other boy, but Steve looks so hopeful and excited that he has to look away again, burying his face into Steve’s palm.

“Fine, I’ll go,” he drawls, lips brushing against Steve’s hand with each word.

“What the hell is happening?” Gareth demands.

Much to his dismay, no one replies.

Things slide back to normal after that—Chrissy and Steve showing up to band practice and hellfire and lunch like nothing had ever come between them. But, it’s better now because Steve knocks their feet together beneath tables, and lets his hands settle on knees and stares just a little too long at Eddie’s lips.

It’s driving him crazy; he wants to reach out and touch, reach out and take.

But that’s not something that’s allowed. Boys are born in their own, invisible bubbles to keep them from touching other boys. Eddie doesn’t know how he never noticed it before, but he wants to shatter it like glass, let it cut up his feet if it means he can brush his lips against Steve’s.

There are all these rules left unwritten, but flung at their feet like slurs: don’t stand too close, don’t look too long, don’t dare to touch.

He wants to, though, thinks maybe in the confines of Gareth’s garage and behind the closed doors of the drama room he could, and it would be safe.

But they live in Hawkins, Indiana, and he’d like to live long enough to get the hell out of here.

So he lets their feet tangle beneath tables and doesn’t lean across them to have a taste, no matter how often Steve licks his lips.

Friday can’t come soon enough.

***

Robin’s been twitchy for days by the time she pulls Steve into their bathroom stall. He follows her dutifully, only laughing a little as she pulls a towel out of her backpack and lays it down before sitting on the floor.

“You plan this, Birdie?” he asks, settling across from her, the towel beneath them insulating him from the cold that’s seeping up from the floor.

Robin’s face turns a blotchy red like a blood vessel burst and dispersed beneath her skin. “Boobies,” she blurts, staring at him with beseeching eyes before she slaps her hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

Steve nods, his attempt at sage wisdom undercut by the way he has to bite his lip to stop from laughing at her. “Boobies, yes,” he chokes out. “I’ve, uh, heard of them.”

That’s all it takes for Robin to kick out at him. When her foot gets dangerously close to his crotch, Steve grabs her ankle and cradles her foot in his lap, rubbing the bone.

“Don’t make fun of me!” she whines, still trying to kick him.

“Okay, okay!” he cries out, chuckling as he holds onto her leg for dear life. “Sorry, just—what’s this about boobies?”

“Stop saying boobies!”

Steve uses his free hand to lock up his mouth and toss the invisible key into the toilet, smiling as the blush on Robin’s cheeks creeps up her nose and onto her forehead until she resembles an especially square tomato.

“Vickie—”

And Steve can’t help it, he really, really can’t. “Has nice boobies?” he cuts in, already grabbing at both her legs to stop her jackrabbiting feet from finally landing a blow to his balls.

“I hate you!” Robin shrieks, but even she’s laughing now as she writhes atop the towel, scrunching it as she earth-worm-inches closer to him so she can slap at his ribs while he’s defenseless. “Steve Harrington, you’re the worst thing that ever happened to me!”

She tries to say it with conviction, but Steve’s hands have crept beneath her crew socks, and his fingers are tickling against the inside arch of her foot, so her words come out more as shaky exhalations of laughter. He wiggles his fingers as she squirms away, kicking out with such reckless abandon that one of her feet breaks free and kicks him far too high on his inner thigh for comfort.

“Get your boy cooties off me!” she demands, and he does, pulling his hands out of her socks as she backs away until she’s leaning against the opposite side of the wall again, pouting at him. “You’re the worst.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies, feeling lighter than air. “Now tell me about Vickie’s girl cooties.”

Robin smiles bashfully, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them. “Vickie doesn’t have cooties,” Robin replies, gaze distant. She looks wistful, enamored, hopeful. “She walked me to class the other day, even though I know it made her late.”

“Yeah?” Steve prompts, helpless to do anything but to smile back.

“Yeah,” she replies. “And maybe it’ll be like Chrissy again, you know? But you and Eddie…” Robin kicks out at him again, nudging her foot into his and then leaving it there, their soles pressed together. “Maybe there’s more of us out there than I thought.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, absolutely in love with brave, hopeful, honest Robin, here in this stall, in this moment. “Maybe there are.”

They smile at each other, two queer kids in the bathroom together, seeing themselves in each other, again, and again, and again. Steve hopes they’ll always be like this, here, on the bathroom floor, finding hope in each other’s smiles. He has Chrissy, and Jeff, and Eddie now, too. But, Robin will always be the first person who looked at him and made him feel seen.

“We should get married,” he says, not thinking about it before it comes out of his mouth and hangs in the air between them, making Robin’s eyes bug out of her skull. “Just think about it! Eddie and I can’t get married, and neither can you and Vickie—”

“You’ve literally gone out with the guy once, and we don’t even know if Vickie likes girls yet—”

“—but we could totally just marry each other instead!”

The silence of the bathroom rings once Steve’s declaration is out there. Robin swallows, throat bobbing, eyes wide enough that Steve can see the little red veins near the back. Suddenly, Steve wonders if he’s stepped over some line he didn’t even know was there.

Before he can spiral too far, Robin launches herself across the space between them, knees bracketing Steve’s hips as she leans over and bites his shoulder, hard.

“Ow, Robin!”

“You’re insane, Dingus, you know that?” she asks, moving away from his shoulder to plant a kind of wet kiss against his forehead. “I’m sixteen, and you’re proposing in the boy’s bathroom.”

She rubs her hand against his head, likely fucking his hair up beyond repair, but he doesn’t even care because she kisses him again, this time on the top of his head.

“I meant like, later?” Steve says shyly.

He’s always fallen hard and fast, knows that about himself. It’s a fundamental law of the universe: gravity makes things fall down, the earth’s always spinning on an axis, and Steve Harrington puts his whole heart into people who don’t always give it back.

But Robin’s on his lap, kissing his head, and leaking what’s either snot or tears into his hair. “Alright,” she warbles, sounding embarrassingly soggy. “When I get a girlfriend, we can just be permanent beards for each other.”

Steve puts his arms around her and hugs her tight, mashing his face awkwardly into her neck as she laughs. “Grow old in separate bedrooms,” he replies.

“Gotta keep our cooties separate,” she says, like she’s not currently dripping on him on the floor of the boy’s grimy bathroom.

He just squeezes her tighter and gives her a little shake, like a dog with its favorite toy. “Tell me about Vickie,” he demands, but it sounds a whole lot like I love you when it comes from his mouth.

“Okay,” she replies, and it sounds a lot like I love you, too.

[dissapointu]

hiii can i request a fic of the reader having a crush on viktor but theyre too dense to realize that viktor reciprocates the feelings so they try setting him up with someone but viktor only wants them? <3

“Just a bit Dense” (viktor x reader)

You had always been the kind of person who focused on fixing others rather than yourself. Whether it was patching up bruises or tweaking machines, you were always the one in the background, quietly doing what you could. Viktor, however, was the one constant in your life, the one person whose intelligence and determination captivated you. He was kind, brilliant, and compassionate, and he had always taken the time to notice the small things about you.

But you didn’t see it. You were too thick-headed to realize Viktor’s subtle glances, the small touches that lingered just a bit too long, or the way he leaned toward you during conversations. You were too busy convincing yourself that you were just friends—just colleagues. That’s what you told yourself every time your heart fluttered at his smile, or when your face grew warm after a few too many innocent exchanges.

You noticed, of course, the way others seemed to admire Viktor too. His brilliance, his charm—how could anyone not? And that’s why you had a plan, an idea that had been brewing for weeks: if Viktor was going to be swept off his feet by someone, it might as well be someone who would appreciate him like he deserved.

So, you decided to play matchmaker.

One evening, while you two were working late in the lab, you casually mentioned someone you’d been thinking about. “You know, Viktor, I met someone today,” you said, carefully watching his reaction. “They’re really nice, and I think you’d get along great.”

Viktor paused, his pen still in hand, his attention fully on you. “Is that so?” His voice was soft, almost amused. “And who might this person be?”

You described them, knowing full well Viktor wasn’t quite as perceptive about relationships as you were. “They’ve got this brilliant mind, and they share so many of your interests. I think you two would make a perfect pair.”

Viktor set his pen down and looked at you, his eyes sharp with an intensity you didn’t understand. “I see.” There was a moment of silence as he watched you, and you couldn’t help but shift under his gaze. “But… what if I’m not interested in them?”

You froze, blinking. “Oh, come on, Viktor, don’t be shy. You’re a great catch. They’re a great catch. I’m just trying to make sure you’re happy.” You laughed nervously, your heart racing as you shifted in your seat. You weren’t sure what to expect, but Viktor’s reaction didn’t seem to match the excitement you’d imagined.

He leaned back in his chair, his hands folding together, his lips curling into a faint smile. “You’re quite the matchmaker, aren’t you?” He leaned in a little closer. “But the thing is… I’m not interested in anyone else.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you gave him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

Viktor’s smile softened, and for the first time that night, you saw something in his gaze that you had never noticed before—something almost shy, but incredibly sincere. “I’m only interested in you,” he said quietly, his voice steady despite the warmth that spread across your cheeks.

You blinked a few times, your mind racing. “Wait, what? Me?” You couldn’t fathom what he meant. “But… I’m just your friend, Viktor…”

He shook his head slowly, leaning forward now with a hint of vulnerability that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re more than that to me. I’ve been trying to show you for some time, but… you seem to be rather dense about it.”

You were caught off guard. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. All the times he’d touched your arm, the gentle conversations late into the night, the way his eyes lingered on you—it all clicked in your head like a jigsaw puzzle finally coming together.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out, and Viktor chuckled softly, reaching out to gently brush your cheek with his fingertips. “It’s alright, my dear. I know it’s a lot to process. But I’m not looking for anyone else. Just you.”

Your mind raced, but your heart… your heart was already telling you what you wanted, even if your brain was still catching up. You bit your lip, feeling like an idiot for not realizing sooner. “I’m sorry, Viktor. I didn’t… I didn’t realize…”

Viktor smiled, a mixture of amusement and warmth in his eyes. “It’s alright. I’ll give you some time to process it.” He pulled back slightly, but not entirely, his gaze still focused on you with an intensity that made your heart flutter. “Just know that I’m not going anywhere.”

The weight of his words settled in, and you finally allowed yourself to breathe again. Maybe you were a bit dense, but with Viktor, you knew you were safe to be a little slow to realize the obvious. And in that moment, it felt like the world was finally in place.

Viktor had always been the one who patiently pieced things together—his machines, his plans, and now, maybe… your heart.

[creamflix]

your xmas event looks so cute !!! can i have midnight kisses with satoru (naughty/suggestive) if it’s taken then can i have glitter (nice)

you’ve received a gift! ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ want your own gift? ・:〃➜ click here! 

GOJO during the holidays? an absolute menace. he’s not just sneaky; he’s downright insufferable.

in the most endearing way possible.

you’re in the kitchen, diligently focused on the gingerbread cookies, sleeves rolled up, flour streaking your cheek like war paint. it’s a serious operation. but your boyfriend? he’s got other plans.

“you’re so cute when you concentrate,” he purrs, leaning against the counter like the picture of casual mischief. before you can even reply, he swoops in, lips brushing against your temple. it’s fleeting, featherlight, but enough to send a jolt of electricity through your body.

“satoru!” you squeak, a wooden spoon brandished like a weapon. “i’m going to burn these because of you!”

he only grins, impossibly smug. “soooo dramatic. they’re not even in the oven yet.”

and just when you think he’s done, he tilts your chin with his fingers, stealing a quick kiss. it’s soft, warm, and entirely too distracting. you’re left frozen in place, spoon clattering onto the counter as he walks away whistling, knowing damn well he’s left you short-circuited.

later, at the bar, it’s worse. much worse.

the atmosphere is cozy, christmas lights strung across the room in warm, colorful hues, soft music mingling with the hum of cheerful conversation. it’s perfect. 

“it’s so festive here, huh?” he murmurs against your ear, arms slung lazily around your waist.

“yeah,” you reply, still blissfully unaware of his schemes. “it’s —”

he cuts you off with a kiss. a proper, knee-weakening kiss that catches you completely off guard. you gasp against his lips, and it’s all the invitation he needs to deepen it, hand sliding to the small of your back to press you closer.

“satoru,” you whisper when you finally pull back, breathless. “people will see!”

but he doesn’t care. oh, no. he’s diving right back in, peppering kisses along your jaw and down to your neck. the way his lips linger, how his teeth graze your skin ever so lightly — it’s infuriating how much it gets to you.

“i think they’re too busy being merry,” he says, voice low and teasing. “besides, what’s wrong with a little pda?”

you push at his chest, a feeble attempt at best. “you’re so embarrassing!”

“embarrassing?” he gasps dramatically, but the smirk on his lips betrays him. “baby, i’m romantic. there’s a difference.”

and despite your protests, despite your flushed cheeks and stammered excuses, you can’t bring yourself to stop him. not really. it’s satoru, after all — your sneaky, ridiculous, absolutely perfect boyfriend.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[mattsredgaphoodie]

introducing.... ndn!matt !!! (nextdoor neighbor)

everyone who reads this, PLEASE go checkout my chris au also!! #cfs!chris its so much better than this one!!!

warning!! this is NOT a story yet. im planning to make it one but not anytime soon. for right now its blurbs and headcannons!!! ask away about their relationship!!

- ndn!matt whos... known for being the "shyest" out of his brothers.

-ndn!matt who... you unfortunately met the last when you went over to your best friend, chris's house.

-ndn!matt who... immediately stutters when you first say hi, immediately becoming shy after seeing bold you were.

-ndn!matt who... avoids you at all costs whenever you come over to see chris or nick, and prepares his room with snacks and drinks before you come over to avoid running into you.

-ndn!matt who.. when you do eventually see him for the first time since the 2 of you met, (which unfortunately was 4 months ago..) immediately tries walking away, but when you start a conversation, freezes up.

-ndn!matt who hasn't had good experiences with relationships and is currently not looking for a new one, anytime soon. (uh oh.)

-ndn!matt who denies all feelings for reader, because hes scared of her. but still jerks off thinking about her, every night.

-ndn!matt who hates the idea of love….?

-reader who doesn’t have romantic feelings towards matt.. yet.. but does still think hes very hot.

-reader who is lowkey a bitch. to those who disrespect her or people close to her. mostly.

-reader who DESPERATELY wants to leave somerville, no matter how happy she is here. baby just misses her home.

-reader who denies all feelings towards matt.

-reader who has mommy issues….

-reader who cares about the triplets more than herself.

-reader who has been around matt max 5 times in the past 9 months of knowing him.

-reader who smokes to get her mind off of matt.

-reader who gets described as “nice in her own fucked up way…” by chris and nick, her closest friends.

-reader who loves jimmy and marylou and talks about them like her own parents.

-reader who gets deathly wet seeing matt in his glasses, or seeing him in general.

backstory...

when you first heard you had to move from your beautiful, quiet, town in east coast florida to somerville, massachusetts, you were much less than happy.

it was sophomore year of high school when your parents divorced and your mom dragged you along with her to her beloved homecity. you didn't want to be there, and you wanted to go home. unfortunately, that option is long gone off the table! in your first class of the day, pre-calc, you got assigned to a relatively handsome boy who seemed somewhat reserved, possibly due to not wanting to be there. both of you guys hit it off, immediately.

you learned his name was chris, and that he's a triplet to 2 other brothers, and has a older brother named justin. he told you how his 4-minute older brother was named nick, and was gay, and how it seemed like you and him would get along. then, he told you about his 2-minute older brother named matt. he described him as somewhat, shy, and kept to himself if he wasn't around his close family and close friends. as time went on, you later discover that you and nick both have art together, which to no surprise and chris's words, you bonded.

as weeks went by, chris invited you over to hangout with him and nick and to meet matt, which ultimately led to founding out you moved right next door to the infamous triplets. when you walked in, you saw a boy with his headphones in sitting in an armrest, and 2 other boys sitting on the couch, patiently waiting for your arrival. chris and nick greeted you, and led you to meet matt. as you walked up, matt's eyes flickered up, his jaw slightly dropping as he took out his left airpod. "hi, im y/n." "h-hi. 'm matt."

[writings-of-a-rando]

To anyone reading this congratulations. It means that you're about to make a nice living. The down side? You're about to enter a world you never wanted to. When I started i was just as clueless as you are. This is why I wrote this: The Hellyard Survival Guide. Contrary to the name this place isn't so bad. I'll start with the rules of this place, and than move onto the spirits that appear.

Rule 1. The graveyard HAS to have someone in it at night. If a living isn't here than they can get out.

Rule 2. Once midnight comes you won't be able to get out. So make sure you have everything you need for the night. Make sure to bring books. Electronics don't work once midnight comes.

Rule 3. The shack you're in is the safest place to be as long as you DO NOT touch the runes. Made that mistake my second night. Those runes are there to protect you in case the really violent ones come out.

Rule 4. Treat the dead with respect. They're not all bad or evil. Some of them are just enjoying their afterlife here.

Rule 5. NEVER accept anything from them. If you take something into that shack they can get in. If you take it home they come with you.

Rule 6. They all have unfinished business. If you can help them resolve it than do it. If it works than they'll be able to move on. However none of them remember what that unfinished business is. So it's all guess work.

You'll probably ignore some or all of these rules. So until you finish your first night I don't recommend going any further. You need to truly believe what is next before you continue. If you didn't just toss this in the bin. Lucky for you I embedded the leather with runes that protect it. And call it back here.

Now, let's start with the types of spirits you'll encounter. I'll go from least to most harmful. And if you encounter ANYTHING non-human than you get your ass back to the shack, and you hunker down. More on that in a bit.

First are the roamers. They just walk around, acknowledge you, and keep going. Some of them will stop and engage in conversation. They are the best source of information for who, and what, is out.

Next are the triksters and screamers. These ones are just going to scare the shit out of you. They do all kinds of things, and will mimic roamers. These are usually children, or those who had tragic deaths. Their bodies usually have marks, or are younger than roamers.

Next are geists. They can touch you. But that's about it. Sometimes when they touch you you'll get a premonition. It's in your best interest to follow-up on it.

Second to last are Ghouls. They've possessed their old bodies. Take a shovel and give them a good whack to the head. Than return them in the right grave.

Finally are demons. DO NOT ENAGE THEM. GET YOUR ASS TO THE SHACK AND BUNKER DOWN! The one way you'll know that they're out is that only the ghouls will be out.

Feel free to add to this guide if anything new happens.

You've been hired to clean a graveyard every night for 80 bucks an hour. Its haunted. And by god you are going to make that 80 bucks an hour

[lovemebutleavemewild]

You'd been vaguely aware that Johnny was religious when you started dating, in the sense that you knew he wore a silver cross around his neck and carried a tiny bible with him while he was deployed, but you never discussed it and it hadn't affected your relationship in the slightest.

Until he'd taken you home for Christmas.

You were so happy to be asked, to know that what you had was serious enough for him to want you to meet his family, and you'd found it endearing when he rubbed the back of his neck as he told you he had to sleep on the sofa downstairs, that his mum wouldn't like to know you shared the same bed before being married.

You go to church on Christmas eve and then for drinks afterwards, and it's nice, a proper traditional Christmas. You meet his friends and talk to dozens of people, and you spend most of the time with Johnny's hand a reassuring weight on your back.

Even the priest comes for a few, though you're the only one who seems a bit surprised by this. He must talk to everyone in the pub and Johnny stands up to hug him when he gets to your table, spine straight in a way you usually only see right before and after his deployments. After Johnny introduces you, you leave them to chat in private, glancing over every once and a while to see that Johnny looks utterly absorbed, nodding seriously. You flush when the priest looks up and catches you staring, hurrying to start up a conversation with Johnny's cousins.

After the priest bades the pub goodnight, Johnny's parents follow, and then the drinking really ramps up so you're both pretty drunk when you stumble home. You don't mind when he follows you into your, his, room and kisses you against the door. You have to remind him to be quiet a few times, especially when he starts babbling in your ear.

"'M so sorry, love. Gonna fix it after t'night. Just need ya t'night and then I'll make everything right and all'll be forgiven" he mutters in your ear.

You don't even know what he's saying, don't really care, not when he's making you feel the way he is.

You've become so used to not waking up next to him here that when you do come to, it takes you a few seconds to realize the loss of not having him in bed next to you. Of course, he'd have had to go back to the sofa when you fell asleep, you think vaguely, and it's so early that sleep soon pulls you under again.

Except, when you next open your eyes, you're pleasantly surprised to be wrapped in his arms again and you smile as you stretch, only frowning slightly when you feel something unfamiliar on your hand scrape against the bedsheets.

Johnny's grip on your waist tightens almost instinctively and he presses a kiss to the back of your head. His hand reaches out and covers yours, temporarily hiding the new ring on your left hand, and his voice when he speaks is raspy and still sleep-heavy.

"Merry Christmas love."

[callmecoke]

sugar baby headcanons!

CW: Mention of sex work, This is sfw generally but still deals with adult topics so proceed with caution.

Tf141 x reader

What you’ve realised about your favourite mystery account is that A) it's run by multiple people, and B) At least one of them is called Price.

You can’t exactly pinpoint who the rest are or how many, but you’ve managed to identify a few common themes when interacting with the account.

First, you know who Price is, and you can almost always tell it's him when he’s interacting with you. He’s the one you go to first regarding bills and fees you physically can’t pay. Within seconds, he transfers you the money and never lets you thank him for any of it. He also does his weekly check-ins to make sure everything is good. “Have you eaten?” “How’d you sleep?” “Did you take your meds last night?” That kind of thing. He’s also the one who calls you ‘Dolly’, a nickname he reserved for you. 

But you're also pretty sure this other guy (Simon) lurks in the chat when you’re streaming. He won’t ask questions; he just sends you random tips throughout the stream while he watches silently. He’s not as talkative as Price or the others, and that’s kind of how you know it's him. But you’ve realised that just because he’s quiet doesn't mean he doesn't want to talk. It’s quite the opposite. He enjoys hearing you talk about your life and day and silently rewards you. When you DM him, you even get a little conversation. Nothing more than money and a “Nice”, but still conversation nonetheless.

You know one other fellow spends most of his time in the livestreams and not in your DMs (Gaz). He’s the one who engages with you in conversation the most, asking endless questions about your life. And he always comes back on the next live stream, remembering everything you said in the last. He’ll want the update on that project you were working on for school or if that job interview went as well as you both had hoped. If you weren’t Live to complete strangers, you’d probably open up to him about stuff you’ve never told anyone.

Now…One more person shows up now and again, mainly in your DMs. Part of the service for the website is that people can pay you to take a selfie and give it to them. They can be dirty or completely innocent; it all depends on what you’re advertising. There’s this one person who rather frequently asks for pictures of you, especially those with you smiling. You know it’s a different guy from the others you’ve spotted because he’s the only one who's outright flirtatious with you. Initially, you were wary. A man spending a lot of money on pictures of your face and upper body just screams trouble. But you grew to trust the account, so when you sent them the image, you were surprised by how quickly he showered you with praise.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’ll give a strong man a heart attack walking around that gorgous.”

“Makes me wonder how cute you look in person.” “I’m surprised no ones come along and snatched you up all ready. Can’t complain though. Means I get more of you to myself.”

You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a slight blush on your cheeks after reading his responses.

[strnilolover]

NNN - chris sturniolo - long distances

You and Chris had been together for a little over a year, content with one another and the company each of you had to bring.

Before hand — you were good friends, best friends to be exact. Not with just him, but with his brothers too, and it was nice to know nothing really changed after putting a label on the two of you.

Chris and his brothers were already in their filming career when you had gotten together — making videos and posting them twice a week for their fan base that was already growing so large within a short amount of time.

Though, one day, while cuddled up with chris on your couch at your home — he broke the news to you.

He was moving to LA with Matt and Nick. Having already made enough money to afford a nice little place there. It was shocking to hear, and at first you were upset — upset with the fact you couldn’t see him everyday and you wouldn’t be around him when you needed him or wanted him.

But, the upset had been replaced with excitement over time. Thinking of all the possibilities for Chris and how amazing it was that he was able to do this with his brothers. And of all the stories you would be able to hear about his new life in a busy and bustling city.

When the day had finally come for him to move — it was spent with tears and hugs and promises to one another that everything would be okay.

And for the most part it was, you called every night — texted each other too many times through out the day and stayed connected. But, at some point things started to change. Chris grew more busy with work and with his clothing line he was starting, and the absence made you feel empty. Like he wasn’t even really there.

There were less calls, more messages being left on read or delivered — but Chris at least would tell you when he was busy and couldn’t talk, which you appreciated.

Eventually, everything began to weigh down on you. And you needed to tell him — needed to let him know how you were feeling. That you were having doubts.

-

Your room was quiet except for the faint hum of your laptop. Chris’ face filled the screen, his familiar features bathed in the soft light of his LA room. He looked tired, his curls messier than usual and his celtics hoodie hanging loosely on his frame. You tried to ignore the hollow ache in your chest as you smiled at him.

“How was your day?” you asked, forcing a casual tone as your eyes looked around your screen, taking in the view you’ve seen hundreds of times already.

Chris shrugged, leaning back against his chair. “Same as usual. Filmed with Nick and Matt, ran some errands. We tried this new sushi place for dinner. It was good, but, uh… not as good as Boston sushi.”

You let out a soft laugh, even though it stung a little. “Boston sushi is definitely better. How’s the apartment coming along?” you asked — a question that would slip here and there.

Chris shrugged slightly. “Fine, I guess. Still trying to figure out where to put everything. Matt thinks we need more stuff on the walls, but Nick keeps saying we don’t. It’s a whole thing.” He gave a faint smile, his voice lacking its usual warmth. “What about you? How was work?”

“Busy,” you said simply, picking at the edge of your blanket. “Came home, made dinner… I made too much again. I keep forgetting I’m just cooking for one now.” you admitted. Being so used to his presence all the time, you often made dinner for two people — it was still a hard adjustment.

Chris’ smile faltered, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

You shook your head quickly, brushing it off. “It’s not your fault. I just need to get used to it still — even if it’s been a little.”

The conversation then faded into silence, and for a moment, all you could hear was the faint rustle of Chris adjusting his laptop. He looked away, his jaw tense, and you felt the words building in your chest — words you’d been too scared to say for weeks right on the tip of your tongue.

It was now or never.

“Chris,” you began hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can we… uhm - can we talk about us?” the words slipping past your lips felt like a burn on your own tongue.

His gaze snapped back to you, his expression guarded. “What about us?”

You hesitated, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I just… I feel like things have been different lately. At first, we were doing so well — texting all the time, FaceTiming every night. But now… I don’t know. It feels like we’re drifting apart.”

Chris’s brows furrowed at your words, his shoulders visibly tensing. “I’ve noticed it too,” he admitted after a pause. “I just didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t want to make things worse.”

You blinked, surprised by his honesty. “You didn’t think I’d feel the same?”

“I don’t know,” he said, running a hand through his curls. “I didn’t want to say anything and make you think I was doubting us or something. And I’m not. I love you. But this…” He gestured vaguely, his hand moving between him and the screen. “This is hard. Harder than I thought it’d be.”

The crack in his voice made your heart ache, but you nodded, tears stinging the corner of your eyes. “It is hard. I miss you so much, Chris. Some nights, it’s all I can think about — how empty this place feels without you here. And then I start wondering… what if we can’t do this? What if it’s too much?”

Chris’s eyes widened slightly, his panic evident. “Wait, are you saying you want to—”

“No!” you interrupted quickly, shaking your head. “No — Chris, that’s not what I mean. I just… I don’t know how to fix this. And I hate feeling like we’re not as close as we used to be.”

Chris let out a slow breath, his shoulders slumping. “I feel the same way,” he said quietly. “I hate that I can’t just drive over and see you when you’ve had a bad day. I hate that I can’t be there to hold you. And honestly… sometimes, I feel like I’m letting you down.”

“You’re not,” you said firmly, leaning closer to the screen. “Chris, you’re doing the best you can. We both are. But we need to be honest with each other if we’re going to make this work.”

He nodded slowly, his jaw tightening as he processed your words. “You’re right. I’ve been holding back because I didn’t want to make things worse, but… I guess that’s only made things harder. I’ve missed you so much, and it’s been killing me not to tell you how much I’ve been struggling with this.”

Tears now spilled down your cheeks, and you wiped them away quickly with your sleeve. “I’ve been struggling too. And I was scared to tell you because… what if it made you think I didn’t believe in us anymore? I do, Chris. I love you so much. I just… I didn’t know how to deal with all of this on my own.”

His expression softened, and he leaned closer to the camera, his voice gentle. “You don’t have to deal with it alone, okay? We’re in this together. And if that means being brutally honest about how much this sucks sometimes, then that’s what we’ll do.”

You laughed softly through your tears, nodding. “Deal. And… maybe we can try to plan our visits better. I need to see you, Chris. I think that’ll help a lot.” you whispered, feeling yourself ease up a little at the thought of him here — with you.

His lips quirked into a small smile. “Funny you should say that… I’ve been looking at flights to Boston. I was going to surprise you, but… maybe we need this sooner rather than later. I’ll come next month. No excuses.”

“Really?” you asked, your heart swelling with hope.

“Really,” he said, his smile growing. “I need to hold you again. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work.”

A weight lifted from your chest, and you smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks. “I’ll hold you to that,” you teased, your voice lighter.

Chris chuckled, the sound warming your heart. “I love you. And no matter how hard this gets, I’m not giving up on us. Ever.”

“I love you too,” you said softly. “And I promise… I’ll do everything I can to make this work too.”

It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was a start. The rest of the night felt lighter — the ache in your chest still present but less. You both were more cheerful — joking around about random things and teasing him about how his hair was too messy — along with his room.

You smiled at your screen, watching as Chris did the same. His hand coming up to his lips and blowing you a kiss through the screen — and you blushed.

You’re just hoping that whatever was said tonight…was going to stick.

© strnilolover

[call-me-chips]

Alrighty this is gonna be long but I'm bored so HERE WE GOOO

Kyomu Mori questions

1.Are they associated with a certain colour? What colour do they wear the most?

Because if his hair colour, I'd say he's accosiated with light blue. He usually wears more muted-ish colours like grey, dark blue, and white, but he loves wearing yellow

2. What sort of music would they like? Have you thought about what genres or bands do they lean towards? Do they have a favorite song?

He prefers rock music. Basically any music that makes you feel like you can take on the world. He loves vibing to those. And just because I don't have a fav song, neither does he 😅 (my fav songs change within a week)

3. Weapon of choice? Any particular reason they chose their weapon?

Guns. Any kind of gun, though he prefers pistols and other small, handheld ones. He likes guns because he's always been talented with them. That, and that he was raised by Snipe

4. How crafty/resourceful are they?

I'd say about a 7-7.5 out of ten for this one. Not the greatest, but he can conjure up some resourcefulness when he wants to

5. How do they typically dress? Does their wardrobe lean more toward practicality or aesthetics?

Depending on how he's feeling, his clothing choice changes. On a good day, he'll go for a nice-fitting tank top. On a bad day, he night go for a loose-fitting t-shirt. His clothing style is casual, but kinda aesthetic in a sort of steetsy-kinda way(??). Fashion/aesthetics are important for him, but you'll never catch him wearing anything with pockets he can't shove his whole hand into

6. How do they wear their hair? Do they care a lot about how their hair looks?

He almost always wears his hair in a high ponytail. Although he does this to get his hair out of the way, he always makes sure his hair looks presentable. He's the kinda guy to use a bit too much conditioner

7. Favourite animal? Why?

Dogs. Specifically german shepherds. Because he thinks guard dogs are cool af

8. Do they have a nickname? Who gave it to them? If it's not derived from their real name, what's the story behind it?

His nickname is Kyo. Ashido gave him it randomly one day, and Kaminari immediately started using it too

9. Favourite food? Least favourite? Are they a picky eater? Do they have any dietary restrictions?

Fav: Burgers. Specifically bacon burgers. Least fav: Tomatoes. He's not really a picky eater, but he's not even TOUCHING anything woth tomatoes in it. And he doesn't have any dietary restrictions

10. If they wear jewelry, what kind? Do they prefer silver or gold? Do they have a favourite gem?

He wears earrings and has an eyebrow piercing, but he'll toss on a necklace or two if he wants to look presentable when going out

11. What do they have in common with you? How are they different? Would you get along with them?

He doesn't have a lot in common with me. Ig we both question authority?? Also we both live guns. Overall, he's MUCH more confident than me. We are quite different. I'd say I wouldn't get along the greatest with him, mainly cuz he likes physical touch, and that is something I HATE. You touch me randomly and I freeze, as well as shoot you a dirty look XD

12. How long have they been around? Do you know their birthday? Is their birthday the day you made them or another day? What do they think of celebrating birthdays?

He has been around for 16 and a bit years, and his birthday is on April 6th. This is not the day I made him (actually this is the first I'm hearing of making their release date into their actual birthday. I shall do this for another of my ocs :) ). He loves his birthday cuz it gives him attention xD

13. What languages do they speak? How fluently?

He can speak Japanese, English, and Filipino. He speaks Japanese fluently. His English isn't the greatest, but he's learning from school. His Filipino is REALLY rusty, but he can hold a basic conversation. He knows Filipino because his father is from the Philippines, and he learned the language as a kid, but he hasn't really used it since highschool

14. Are they any good with numbers?

Not really sure how to interpret this, but he's not the greatest at math

15. How big or small is their family? Who did they live with growing up? Do they live with anyone now?

His parents died. He lived with Snipe growing up. Currently, he's living in the UA dorms

16. Do they have any pets? What do they call their pets?

He doesn't have any pets, but he wants a dog. He also kinda maybe sorta wants a bird

17. How did they spend their summers/free time as a child?

He spent a lot of his time at the shooting range growing up, and it's always been a place of comfort to him

18. Their opinion on lying, stealing, and killing?

He thinks they're bad, obviously. But,,, he does think they are justified, and even necessary, in many cases

19. Are they quick to anger? What sets them off?

He doesn't really anger quickly. He's more laid back. And although he does get angry when someone hurts/threatens his friends, he also gets angry when many little things go wrong. Like, you know those days where everything seems to go wrong and you're tripping on things and dropping things? Yeah that gets him angy quickly

20. If applicable, can they drive? If they have their own, what colour is their vehicle? Is the inside neat and tidy, or a mess?

The legal driving age in Japan is 18, so he can't drive. But he may or may not fail many a driving test in the future... Also he has sworn that his future car WILL have racing stripes.

21. Their favourite place to be?

The shooting range

22. Do they sleep well at night?

Kyomu sleeps like a little baby, if that baby takes up the whole bed while sleeping and falls off the bed randomly in the night

23. How would you describe their voice? Can they sing?

His voice is on the louder side. I don't have a voice claim yet, but I may find one eventually. Also he can't sing. Granted, it's def not the worst out there, but it couldn't be considered "good"

24. Do they have any creative hobbies? (Art, writing, music, etc.)

He likes doing graffiti, tho he doesn't do it often. Other than that, he likes to listen to music

25. How good/bad is their hearing? What about their eyesight?

His hearing is a little better than what is considered normal, and his eyesight is good. Little fun fact about his eyesight: He sees yellow slightly better than any other colour. Yellow is very slightly more vibrant and bright to him

26. How do they move? Are they clumsy? Light on their feet? Do they use mobility aids?

Because of how his legs are built, he is slightly more light on his feet. His footsteps don't make a lot of noise. He can be a bit clumsy tho. He's not the most careful with his actions

27. If applicable, do they have a favorite sport? Do they play any sports or prefer to watch?

He likes basketball (probably cuz Kyomu has a height advantage over his friends). Watching sports is boring to him, and he prefers to play some friendly basketball with his friends

28. How do they show they care about someone? How do they express that they don't like someone?

Kyomu shows he likes someone by doing things with them and touching them (not like that. Stop it.). He'll ruffle his friends' hair or playfully poke them, and he's always down to give a massage if asked. Sometimes he'll even find his tail involuntarily grazing by the legs of those he loves.

29. Are they accosiated with any particular element (air, earth, fire, water)?

I don't think he's really "accosiated" with an element, but he'd probably be water

30. Do they smell like anything notable?

Nope. The only notable smell-related thing I can think of is that he sometimes uses women's deodorant because it smells better than men's "forest mud deodorant" or whatever it's named xD

31. Do they like receiving gifts? Giving gifts? What is their ideal gift?

He loves receiving gifts, but not giving so much, because he rever really knows what to get people. His ideal gift is any like, small, neat, unique, silly trinket. He loves collecting silly shit his friends give him

32. Do they have any hobbies that aren't particularly self-destructive, just maybe odd?

Not a hobby, but he drinks the pickle juice out of the jar when he finishes all the pickles.

33. If applicable, how would your other characters describe them? I mean specifically the people around them.

I don't have any other Mha ocs as of rn, but I can do this for his friends. Also I'm not gonna go into how each character would describe him, so ima do how the characters see him Kaminari, Ashido, and Sero see him as kinda like a cool older brother, and they live hanging out with him Kirishima and Jirou see him as a wee bit much, but they still love him and love the energy that he brings to class. Bakugou doesn't like him. Especially cuz Kyomu is taller than him and he doesn't like that Others like Iida, Midoriya, and Ochako don't care for his rebellious personality, but they will admit that he brings up the mood of just about whatever situation he finds himself in

(The thing above is being a bitch and is refusing to be coloured blue and now we must all suffer.)

34. How would your character describe themselves? It doesn't have to line up with who they really are.

Kyomu thinks of himself as more or less the "popular kid" that just about everyone likes. He would describe himself as brave, strong, and willing to stick up for what he thinks is right

35. Do they ever return home?

. . . . ?? He never "left" home?? I mean, he is living in the dorms rn, but idk what this question is getting at :/

Tagging @bluespider008 because I found these questions cuz you posted yours, but I didn't want this to take up a ton of space on my blog, so I just reblogged the original post 😅

Idk if you wanna see this, but you're seeing it now!

Also feel free to reblog with your oc :)

i wanted to make an oc ask game 😋 things i like to ask people abt their characters:

are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?

what sort of music would they like? have you thought about what genres or bands do they lean towards? do they have a favorite song?

weapon of choice? any particular reason they chose their weapon?

how crafty/resourceful are they?

how do they typically dress? does their wardrobe lean more towards practicality or aesthetics?

how do they wear their hair? do they care a lot how their hair looks?

favorite animal? why?

do they have a nickname? who gave it to them? if it's not derived from their real name, what's the story behind it?

favorite food? least favorite? are they a picky eater? do they have any dietary restrictions?

if they wear jewelry, what kind? do they prefer silver or gold? do they have a favorite gem?

what do they have in common with you? how are they different? would you get along with them?

how long have they been around? do you know their birthday? is their birthday the day you made them or another day? what do they think of celebrating birthdays?

what languages do they speak? how fluently?

are they any good with numbers?

how big or small is their family? who did they live with growing up? do they live with anyone now?

do they have any pets? what do they call their pets?

how did they spend their summers/free time as a child?

their opinion on lying, stealing, and killing?

are they quick to anger? what sets them off?

if applicable, can they drive? if they have their own, what color is their vehicle? is the inside neat and tidy, or a mess?

their favorite place to be?

do they sleep well at night?

how would you describe their voice? can they sing?

do they have any creative hobbies? (art, writing, music, etc)

how good/bad is their hearing? what about their eyesight?

how do they move? are they clumsy? light on their feet? do they use mobility aids?

if applicable, do they have a favorite sport? do they play any sports or prefer to watch?

how do they show that they care about someone? how do they express that they don't like someone?

are they associated with any particular element (air, earth, fire, water)?

do they smell like anything notable?

do they like receiving gifts? giving gifts? what is their ideal gift?

do they have any habits that aren't particularly self-destructive, just maybe odd?

if applicable, how would your other characters describe them? i mean specifically the people around them.

how would your character describe themselves? it doesn't have to line up with how they really are.

do they ever return home?

[antimonyandthyme]

2k, paul/carlos

(written after the c2 / paul vid, and this post came out with the brilliant @formulahs suggesting an auction LMAO)

He goes without the expectation of buying anything. He looks forward to a good time, even with all the cameras around. The shoes his stylist wants him to go in are fanciful, shiny monstrosities, and he nearly insists for the sneakers to stay on. Then he remembers that he’s technically there for Ferrari, and dutifully swaps them out.

Technically. Paul can go for other reasons too. Charles is lovely, if a little vacant around him. Carlos is. Carlos is, he’s—

It’s early days and Paul isn’t one for poetry, and yet here he is. He hopes to god he isn’t being obvious. Not to the staff when he spots Carlos and lights up like a schoolboy with a crush. Not to Charles, when he holds on to Carlos for a handshake that’s a little longer than necessary. Definitely not obvious to whoever watches these videos, when he mouths all of the answers to Carlos.

Can’t deny having a favourite. He can turn his nose up all he wants at the reputation that follows any young actor these days, but he can’t deny his appreciation for nice things. There are no trophies in his world—yet, just good food, good drink, good people. Beautiful people. For the third time since they rolled cameras, Paul is caught staring. Carlos always looks slightly lost, staring back, like he’s trying to figure Paul out, before he ducks his head and curls up. Large hands clasped in his lap. Maybe a little shy. Maybe a little pleased.

“He’s a little expensive,” Charles says, “but you should be able to afford him.”

Paul attempts to tamper his face into something palatable. Ungracious of Charles to lay out his desires so plainly. And then in the same breath insinuate that his ability to pay might not stack up. Somewhere past Paul’s eyeline, Carlos is returning his mic to the staff with a relieved smile. Unpacking his spine into something looser, now that the cameras are off. He tips his head at Paul, eyes inquisitive, as if guessing that they were discussing him.

Paul has to look away, guilty.

“I didn’t plan on buying,” he says. It’s the truth. Mostly. In his defense, it wasn’t like Ferrari were being subtle about shoving them in a room together, especially after they made this tradition known. It’s like asking someone not to think of elephants. On command, a safari blooms open in Paul’s mind.

Charles shrugs. “We’ll have another event later. Someone else probably will.”

The flippant way Charles speaks about it grates against Paul’s skin. He can’t tell if Charles is trying to rile him up. The thought of Carlos having to hang off a faceless person’s arm makes distaste churn so violently in his belly that it manifests into an ache.

“Carlos wouldn’t mind, if it’s you.”

“How would you know,” Paul grits out. The mental fidget spinner he has for Charles keeps going around in circles, flickering from Empty to Dickhead to Helpful, maybe?

“Ah, he’s used to it no? People looking at him like that.” Charles’s voice dips low, like he’s sharing a secret. Paul’s an actor for fuck’s sake. He knows when someone’s selling him something, a mediocre contract, a shitty line. Still, he can’t help leaning in closer, puts his ear right next to Charles’s mouth.

Further away, Carlos’s mouth twists down, his gaze shutters. Just a minute, baby, Paul wants to tell him. Just—give me a minute.

“He looks back, when it’s you,” Charles says, and Paul’s done convincing himself otherwise.

--

They tell him, in one of the most bewildering conversations Paul’s ever had, that Carlos will be delivered in the evening, at whatever time suits Paul best. Delivered, like he’s some kind of package. What the fuck, sings one part of his brain. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what have you just done. The other part, the part that’s mostly primitive and hedonistic, somehow takes charge and sends him off on multiple errands. He gets his hair trimmed, just a little at the sides. He buys some wine. He changes into the sneakers. He considers getting another tattoo, before he snaps himself out of it.

Poetry and tattoos. Paul’s lost his mind.

The time in between gives him room to vacillate between wanting to feed the open maw within him and growing shamefully aware about the shape of his yearning. He hadn’t realized he had enough space within his ribcage to stuff another man entire. There are so many other ways he could have gone about this. But he doesn’t have Carlos’s number. He can’t text. Even if he could, Paul wouldn’t know what to say.

Tick tock, tick tock. Paul rearranges furniture, door dashes some flowers, after spending half an hour reading up on flower language, interspersed with vapid scrolling of his socials. Tick tock.

By the time Carlos arrives, he’s in a bit of a wreck. People who move in Carlos’s world would certainly be familiar with Ferrari’s clauses, and would know how to act. The muted greeting Carlos gives doesn’t help either. He’s dressed up but down, in a plain, almost translucent shirt that leaves little to imagination. He toes off his shoes with an unconscious gracefulness, and comes to stand in front of Paul. He’s waxed, which Paul knows, just from being so close to him this afternoon, had to have happened in that space where Paul was questioning all his life choices. He looks wonderful, except for the fact that he looks so visibly uncomfortable.

“Do you,” Paul starts. Swallowing around the dry lump in his throat. “Do you want something to drink?”

Carlos fidgets. “If you’d like,” he says.

That’s, ow.

They’d assured him, again and again, that Carlos always had the final say, but his teeth are buried in his lower lip, hard enough to blanch, and his toes dig into the carpet like a lifeline. It’s not like Paul’s hung out with Carlos more than a handful of times, but it’s hard to ever picture him in such distress. Carlos is—larger, than what he’d ever seen on screen. You have to witness him in person, to understand.

Faced with this shrunken version of Carlos, Paul can’t bring himself to continue.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I really am. I assumed you’d want—I’m sorry.”

Carlos flinches, jerks his head up. “Wait.”

“It’s alright,” Paul says. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. You could just leave. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Wait,” Carlos says, more urgently. “I don’t want to—” His voice grows small. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Of course not,” Paul nearly yelps. “But you’re. You’re…”

Carlos’s cheeks are very pink. His toes tap an erratic beat on the floor. His hands are clasped in front of him, almost in supplication.

“You’re nervous!”

“Yes!” Carlos blurts out, before looking very mortified. “I’m. Ah, fuck. Paul, I’m never. Never like this.”

Tension bleeds out of him. Something so relieved escapes out of Paul’s mouth in an embarrassing giggle. “Carlos. You should have just said.”

“I don’t know why…” Carlos trails off, scrubbing at the back of his neck vigorously. “With you, I’m like this. I don’t know. I want.” His toes tap some more. “I want to.”

“Want to?” Paul says, coming closer, watching Carlos sway in eagerly.

“Make it worth it,” Carlos mutters. “What you paid.”

Paul groans. He wants to shake Carlos. Then decides, hey, he actually can shake Carlos. Gentle hands around his shoulders, shaking him like a beloved ragdoll. “Oh my god. You can’t be serious.”

“It’s a lot of money,” Carlos protests, but the corners of his mouth are turned up now.

“Shut up, you’re ridiculous. Do you think I would have even paid that if, if I. Oh my god, Carlos. You have to know, right?”

“Know what,” Carlos says, enjoying being a little shit now that they’re joking.

“Can’t take my eyes off you, when you’re in the room,” Paul says. “I thought I was being obvious.”

“You were,” Carlos says brightly. “I thought I was obvious right back.”

“Okay, so. So why are you—?”

Carlos’s face twists. “This season has been. Ah.” He shakes his head reluctantly. “You don’t have to listen to this.”

“Go on,” Paul says. “Come on, tell me. Twelve hours of your time, remember?”

“Been hard to live up to expectations, this year,” Carlos says. “I didn’t want that with you.”

“You are so.” Stupid. Hot. Stupidly hot. “I’m going to shake you some more,” Paul says. “I cannot believe you.”

“That’s fine,” Carlos says. He goes along with the shaking, in a way that shows exactly how much of his body he’s putting into Paul’s hands. A neck as thick as that and he’s somehow limp under Paul’s touch. That’s, well. That’s a lot. “Then maybe, maybe. You could kiss me?”

Yes, yes. Yesssssssss, sings both parts of Paul’s brain. Yes.

Carlos is still now, expectant. A long, lean line of muscle, rooted to the ground, that Paul can trace hungrily with his eyes. He could pull at Carlos with all his strength and Carlos would not move, if he did not want to. But when Paul nudges a finger under his jaw, Carlos goes, looks up, right at him. Leans in.

--

He’s a greedy little thing, isn’t he. Swallows Paul with ease, every which way. He makes insane noises, deep, and guttural when Paul fucks him hard, high, and breathless when Paul thumbs at his nipples. Carlos clutches at Paul like it’d physically hurt to let go. Everything he’s meant to do, he does and is wonderful at it. And somehow, he’d managed to assume he wouldn’t live up.

“Unbelievable,” Paul says to the ceiling, some time after he’d come so viciously it felt like he’d been wrung out like a dish towel. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Are you still mad at me,” Carlos says, amused.

“Yes.”

“Ay, don’t be,” Carlos says, softly. “I really was nervous.”

Paul turns on his side, hand supporting his head as he gazes at Carlos. Crazy intimate. Terrible, the way he’s setting himself up for the worst time. He can’t bring himself to care.

“You’re allowed to stay the night?”

“Twelve hours,” Carlos says. “You can ask me to do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything,” Carlos confirms. “Sleep at the foot of the bed, if you want.”

Why would he even say such a—Paul is going to shake him again. If he can unpretzel himself from all that easy comfort following an earth-shattering orgasm. He nudges at Carlos’s hip instead. It’s the closest body part he can find.

“I kick in my sleep,” Paul says seriously, delighting in the way that makes Carlos giggle. He pats the scant space next to him. “I’d rather you be right here.”

“I’ll be right here,” Carlos says, then clears his throat. He probably was just parroting Paul, didn’t mean for it to sound so much like a promise.

But Paul… is also a greedy little thing, isn’t he? So greedy he paid for it, and so greedy he wants more now that he’s had a taste.

“And after?” Paul says. Will you be…?

“After,” Carlos says, “after Las Vegas is Qatar. Then Abu Dhabi.”

“Fine,” Paul says. As let downs go, this is pretty devastating, but he’ll live. It’s not like he had expected—never mind.

Carlos shifts. His jaw unlocks, then clicks back. “You get discounts, after, did you know that? Very good discounts.”

“Oh,” Paul says, a little wobbly. “Do I?”

“Yes. And after Abu Dhabi, it’s. It’s free.”

“Ah.” His chest is squeezing tighter than a fist. The space in his ribcage! Expanding and contracting to accommodate whatever Carlos sees fit. He lets himself imagine pressing up close to Carlos in a quiet apartment, pulling out every sound in Carlos's vocabulary with time, unlimited, on his hands. Buying flowers he knows for sure Carlos likes.

“I guess I need to stick around."

“Guess so,” Carlos says, smiles. “Make it worth your while.”

[bonelyheartsclub]

for the swap versions of eachother (undertale/underswap and underfell/fellswap) what was it like seeing themselves essentially swapped with their own brother? and do you think the swapped versions of themselves get along for being like minded or are opposed to each other for it (at least when they first met i know they get along now lol)

Stretch: Was definitely…… overwhelmed when he met Papyrus and Boss. Imagining himself running around, doing everything like that every hour of every day made him feel tired just thinking it. More power to those guys. And he gets along with them as easy as his “lazy” counterparts, just conversation naturally oozes out with them.

Blue: Was absolutely astounded to see Sans and Red, how could he ever be that lazy in any universe? Though given he also shares their trait of lacking motivation in some things, he supposes he can relate. Papyrus was a great make-up gift, though, and the two became quick friends! Boss not so much, but that was for other reasons. Mainly dissimilar wavelengths. If anything came from it, though, it was nice to see that no matter the universe, his brother still kept his sweet tooth.

Red: Felt right at home with Blue and Nox. Even with the switching, he just saw it as more people to playfully antagonize with puns and pranks a plenty. He knows himself, he'd enjoy some April fooling, even if they were a bit more uppity. Stretch and Rus were a bit odd; he never thought he'd see his brother be so lackadaisical about anything. It took a bit of adjustment, but he considers them good buddies now. Though he does try to tone things down a little bit for them, moreso than he does for Sans; the part of him that still sees his little brother deems it so.

Boss: The swap siblings were a bit of a surprise to Boss, initially. Though over time, he realized Stretch still had ambition in his own way. Maybe not for the same things HE did, but nonetheless. Blue was a bit more difficult to understand, but gradually he noticed more similarities with Red. Particularly in their need to mess with each other; something he was glad to not be a part of. He was most perplexed by Rus. Knowing he came from such a harsh universe, he was initially surprised someone so clumsy could make it out of there. Though seeing Nox, he supposed it wasn't too much of a surprise: his brother would look out for him in any universe.

Papyrus: For Papyrus, seeing other versions of himself was a little earth-shattering, since before he had assumed it was just he and his brother. At first, he's ecstatic that there's more skeletons!! More friends who understand, especially with Blue!! He does realize later on that not all of his alternates have had the best life, but he wants to make sure they're comfortable from now on.

Sans: Was initially a bit surprised by the swapped siblings (and he for sure had some thoughts about multiverse theory when he met them), but once he got over the moment of shock, he found it easy enough to get along with all of them. Both Stretch and Blue remind him of Papyrus at times, just in different ways. Nox and Rus don't exactly have that same odd familiarity, though he likes them enough to be a general nuisance to them.

Nox: Was defensive and confused at first; seeing different versions of himself and his brother disheartened and enlightened him a bit. Seeing that others had better lives than them had him disappointed, but knowing Boss and Red having similar experiences of the underground had him feeling a sort of comradery- especially with Boss, even if they don't see eye to eye all the time.

Rus: Was a bit overwhelmed in general by the different versions, but he finds them all to be good company now. Papyrus was the oddest version of himself to see, but he admires Paps' energy. Boss reminded him a little of his brother and Rus admires him for his drive and ability to get things done. Stretch is the easiest to get along with for him, and Blue is a bit perplexing to him at times. Sans and Red are odd and definitely different from Nox, but he likes them both well enough (as long as Red keeps any big pranks to himself.)

Via @/Buttergriffin332 (Stretch), @/DuskySkye (Blue, Red, Boss), @/Creative-poptart (Papyrus), @/Lost-immortality (Sans), @/ChrysanStarset (Nox), & @/Goatdadjaxx (Rus).

[heeseungiez]

nothing i don’t have | pjs (1)

pairings! park jongseong x reader, ft. huening kai x reader

summary! it was supposed to be simple, you and jay would fuck whenever either of you felt horny — no feelings. but it was hard not to catch feelings where park jongseong was involved. so you took the easy way out: you ended it.

genre! texts, written fic, college au, love triangle (corner)

word count! 1500

content warnings! swearing, jay is delulu and jealous

author's note! toenze is my new roman empire... i don't think i'll ever shut up about it. also realistically i'm only posting this bc yolo since i have nothing ???

masterlist | next

It didn’t affect Jay anyhow, really. That you ended whatever the two of you had for another guy. Like, this was all just casual. And you still wanted to be friends which was exactly what the two of you were before… so not much had to change between the two of you. Other than, well, the lack of physical intimacy.

He didn’t care, really. It wasn’t like you were the only girl he hooked up with (you were) or that he couldn’t get any other girls, but… you ending the situationship was kind of exactly why he liked you. Because you understood everything was casual and there were no expectations, no feelings. The others, they always got attached.

And, look, Jay understood that maybe he was being too nice or whatever, but it was in his nature to help out when necessary, or to cook for people in the morning — it wasn’t like he made breakfast only for those girls anyway. He had roommates to feed, too.

You ended the deal because you had no feelings for him. Which was exactly what he wanted. So why the fuck did it bother him so much? And for Huening Kai, no less? The tall emo kid that barely spoke and people thought he was being mysterious or whatever.

What could you possibly see in him?

What did he have that Jay didn’t?

Jay let out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through his hair, eyes still fixated on the conversation between you and him. So Huening Kai asked you out. And you liked him enough to say yes. That was certainly not on his bingo card. Realistically, he thought the type of guys you liked were someone like Sung Hanbin or Choi Soobin or… him. Not Huening Kai. 

What the hell?

“What’s up? Someone steal your cat?” Heeseung entered the shared living room with a grin. Jay had to dryly laugh at the irony of his question since, in a way, yes.

“Nah. It’s Y/N,” Jay replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “Wants to be just friends.”

“Damn, got tired of you already?” Heeseung teased, but he knew not to go further when Jay’s scathing glare nearly burned him. “What did she say?”

“Huening Kai asked her out and she said yes.” Jay shook his head. You and Kai weren’t even dating yet, and you already wanted to be exclusive with him? Why? Who even does that?

“Oh, Kai? He’s got music classes with me,” Heeseung said with a grin. “He knows how to play like five instruments. He’s kinda cool. A band kid, too. Pretty sure he has a band.” Jay didn’t need to know any of that. Not yet anyway. And then Heeseung added: “I think he was planning to ask Y/N out for a while. I caught him asking around about her once.”

Jay clenched his jaw. How long had you been talking to Kai before he asked you out? Was it out of nowhere or did you befriend him before? Which gave him another reason to be upset because if you did befriend him before, you didn’t tell Jay anything. In fact, you hadn’t been telling him anything about yourself or your life for a while now.

Which stung.

“Kai’s a good guy. You should be happy for her.” Heeseung made a point, giving Jay a long, meaningful look. There was more he wanted to express, but chose to not push his limits. 

Jay huffed.

Thinking about it, maybe he’d have actually preferred it if you were in love with him.

Upon entering the Sanctuary Café, you noticed that it was already packed. But you were instantly recognised by Taehyun, who greeted you with a bright smile and led you toward a table that was empty, save for your reservation. It was in front of the stage set up for live performances, and it occurred to you then that Kai’s surprise was very likely just that. He prepared a performance for you.

Your eyes widened as you stared at the stage. It had a full instrument set up for a band. Drums, bass, keyboard and an electric guitar. The sight of it made you think of Jay for a bit, but you shook your head and got rid of the thought.

This would be your first date with Kai. The boy who actually doesn’t only want to sleep with you, but also wants to do everything else that real relationships include. Like holding hands and hugging in public and being affectionate without being judged. (The things you wished you could’ve had from Jay.)

A group of three guys entered the stage, none of which were Huening Kai. They glanced toward your table every now and then with a knowing smile, though. You watched them set up their instruments — the guitarist, the bassist and keyboardist. But the drums were empty. 

Because of course, he knew how to play the drums. He was a genius that never flaunted his skills, and the reality of it hit you just now. Huening Kai was a drummer — which was actually sexy as hell.

“Hello, everyone, welcome to the Sanctuary Café,” the guitarist spoke into the microphone with the largest smile. He had a cute dimple as well, and you thought he perfectly fit Kai — whenever he wasn’t closing in on himself. “I’m Kim Taerae, lead singer and guitarist of our band, Toenze. We’ve prepared a very special performance today because one of our members wants to dedicate it to a special girl.”

A round of awes went through the crowd. You looked around in hopes of catching a glance of Kai, but he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, your eyes locked with a person you did not expect to see today — at all.

Jay stood at the back of the café with Heeseung by his side, and you wished you could unsee him. Your heartbeat raced, and your mind felt like you needed to come up to him and apologise. But what would you even be apologising for?

“On my left is our bassist, Choi Beomgyu, and on the keyboard, you’ve got Han Yujin. And, of course, we’re missing a key member — the drummer,” Taerae spoke lightly, his smile hearable in his voice. “Some of you already know him from our previous performances, but for those who have yet to meet him — please give a round of applause to Huening Kai!”

Kai wasn’t even inside the café. He entered through the main door in a dark grey hoodie, the hood covering his face. The whole shop held its breath as he looked up. And when his eyes met yours, a smile spread across his lips. Taking off his hood, he revealed his face and carefully styled bangs. 

From the pocket of his hoodie, he pulled out a bouquet, and when he aimed through the crowd toward you, your heart nearly melted. All thoughts of Jay being here, too, evaporated from your mind. All you could think about was Huening Kai, looking beautiful as ever, heading toward you with a bouquet of flowers.

“For you, my lady.” He knelt down to hand you the flowers, and you stared at him with wide eyes. Grinning, he winked before standing up and heading toward the stage, leaving you absolutely flustered and frozen in place.

“Hello, everyone! This performance is dedicated to the girl that didn’t reject me. It’s for you, Y/N,” he said into the mic jokingly, but there was a hidden meaning behind his words.

The memory of how he asked you out lingered, and you giggled. You could still picture him, approaching you with his hands hidden in the pockets of his jeans. And then he asked you, in the most embarrassing way possible, if you were dating Jay. The smile that spread on his lips when you said that what you had with Jay was only casual was an unforgettable sight, really.

“I can make you forget him,” was Kai’s closing argument, and the confidence with which he had said it sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t possibly reject him then.

Jay’s glare was palpable. You could feel it at the back of your neck, but you ignored him. Why was he glaring at you anyway? If there were no feelings involved, he shouldn’t care about any of this. 

“The first song we prepared for today is called Higher Than Heaven,” Taerae informed the crowd. “And the second song is Kill the Romeo. Hope you guys like them!”

Both songs were amazing, and both conveyed one pretty clear message: I’m better than him. You couldn’t help but laugh and enjoy yourself while Kai’s band performed. They were good — really good. And eventually, you even stopped sensing Jay’s gaze burning through you. 

Naturally, you turned around to check on the spot where Jay had previously been. Except he wasn’t there. Instead, you were met with Heeseung, who shrugged when he noticed you looking at him.

“He left,” Heeseung mouthed.