#sometimes you just say something vulnerable

[eiralunaire]

Headcanos of Damian Wayne.

1. Small Gestures of Tenderness.

Although Damian would never admit it out loud, he always feels inexplicably more relaxed when he's around his girlfriend. He often watches her in silence, observing the small details, like the way she laughs, her expression when she's focused, or how she always has something to say, even when she doesn't feel like talking. There's something about those moments that makes him feel, for the first time in his life, that war and fighting aren't everything.

2. Defender of Her Well-Being.

Damian, who has been trained to be cold and calculating, can't help but become extremely protective when it comes to her. If someone looks at her wrong, even in jest, he'll step in without thinking, making it clear with his gaze (and sometimes his threat of "don't do it again") that no one can hurt her. He's convinced that it's his responsibility to take care of her, but it's more of an internal desire to make sure nothing bad ever happens to her.

3. The Typical Sarcastic and Jealous Behavior.

When it comes to other men, Damian is relentless. Although he would never express it in an obvious way, he feels extremely uncomfortable if any kind of unwanted attention is directed towards his girlfriend. It is common for his sarcastic tone to appear when some guy talks too close to her. "Really? Do you think she wants to hear that?" he would say, with an almost imperceptible smile on his lips, as he takes a step forward.

4. Thoughtful (albeit weird) Gifts.

He is not the type of boyfriend to buy expensive jewelry or flowers (because he doesn't know how those things work), but what he does do is remember the little details about what his girlfriend likes. One day, unbeknownst to her, Damian shows up with a rare book she mentioned in a casual conversation, or with that chocolate she is known to like a lot. The truth is, he's become an expert at listening to her, not just because of his tactical intelligence, but because he genuinely wants to please her, even if his way of showing it is... unconventional.

5. Intimate Moments of Vulnerability.

When Damian is with his girlfriend, his guard is down in ways that only happen with her. It can be something as simple as watching a movie together, or lying next to her after a long day of training, but in those moments, he doesn't have to live up to his last name or his lineage. It's just him, Damian Wayne, simply enjoying her company. It's a luxury he doesn't usually get with anyone else, but with her, it's something that constantly draws him in and comforts him.

6. Interactions with His Family.

Despite his reserved attitude, Damian has found himself talking more to his family about his girlfriend, albeit in a slightly brusque manner. With Bruce, for example, his attitude towards her is a kind of possessiveness that makes it clear that he wants her in his life, but he also knows that his father will never really understand what he feels. With Alfred, however, he seems more relaxed, because he knows that the butler sees what he sometimes can't recognize: how happy their relationship makes him.

7. Subtle but Efficient Jealousy.

Damian can't help but show jealousy, although he does it in a subtle and almost childish way. For example, if his girlfriend talks a lot with another guy (even if he's a close friend), he may make comments like: "Since when are you so interested in what he has to say?" or suddenly offer to take her back to her apartment, as if there was some "urgent" business to attend to, to prevent her from staying too long with that person. It's his way of saying "I want you all to myself" without having to say it directly.

8. He Likes Deep Conversations.

Damian isn’t a man of many words, but when he’s with his girlfriend, he finds it easy to open up and share things he never thought he’d say. He likes to talk to her about topics that have nothing to do with war or fighting, like his views on the future or what he thinks about life. Sometimes, he catches himself talking more than he planned, but he doesn’t mind, because he knows he can be vulnerable with her, something he’s learned to deeply appreciate.

9. The Vulnerability of Being “The Man”.

When he’s with her, Damian feels weird about not being able to show off everything he knows how to do. I mean, with his combat skills and tactical intelligence, he could defend her from anything, but what really attracts him to her is how she calms him down and makes him feel more human. In her mind, that makes him more than just Bruce Wayne’s son or trained assassin. He makes her feel a little more normal, like any other guy in love, and that thought baffles him, but he loves it at the same time.

10. Sudden Moments of Insecurity.

Despite all his training and his confident facade, Damian sometimes feels insecure in their relationship. There are times when he doubts himself: Is he really up to par with her? Will he be enough for someone like her, who has so much to offer? Although he would never admit it, he has those moments of uncertainty that make him more human. However, as time goes on, he realizes that all he really needs to do is be himself, and sometimes, even a more vulnerable and caring Damian can be what attracts her the most.

11. The Unspoken "I Protect You".

Although he never says it outright, Damian is obsessed with the idea of ​��protecting her. If she is ever sad, he turns into a wall of ice, willing to face anything to make her feel safe. This leads to more possessive behavior, but he doesn't see it that way. It's his way of showing her that even though he's not the traditional boyfriend type, he'll always be there for her, even if that means walking away from conflict and just offering his company.

[wandering-winchesters]

First Moments: Kiss

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Summary: The first time Dean Winchester kisses you Word count: 861 A/N: I am debating on making this a series, covering different "Firsts" with Dean.. Any interest in that? Let me know!

The first time Dean Winchester kisses you, it happens in the least romantic place imaginable—an old gas station parking lot on the outskirts of nowhere. The sun is setting, casting an amber glow over the cracked asphalt and the Impala parked nearby, her paint gleaming like polished obsidian. The faint smell of gasoline mingles with the crisp scent of impending rain, a storm brewing in the distance.

It wasn’t planned. Nothing about Dean ever feels planned, really. He’s a mess of contradictions—cocky and self-assured one minute, guarded and vulnerable the next. You’ve been riding shotgun with him for weeks now, chasing down leads, salt-and-burning restless spirits, and fighting things most people wouldn’t dare to believe existed. Somewhere along the way, you became more than just hunting partners. You don’t know what to call it yet, but there’s a connection between you, an unspoken pull that you’ve both been too stubborn—or scared—to acknowledge.

Until now.

It starts with an argument. Of course it does. Dean has this way of pushing your buttons, and tonight he’s doing it with the precision of a master.

“You can’t just run in there without a plan!” you snap, your arms crossed over your chest.

“And what was your plan, huh?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “To stand around and wait until the ghost decides to play nice? That’s not how this works.”

“It’s called strategy, Dean. Maybe you should try it sometime instead of going full kamikaze every damn hunt!”

He scoffs, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. “You know what your problem is? You think too much. Sometimes you just gotta act.”

“And you think too little!” you retort, your eyes narrowing. “One of these days, your impulsiveness is going to get you killed.”

The words hang in the air, sharper than you intended, and for a moment, Dean just stares at you. His jaw tightens, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or regret—but it’s gone before you can be sure.

“Fine,” he says, his voice quieter now. “If you’ve got it all figured out, why the hell do you even need me?”

It’s not the first time you’ve fought, but there’s something different about this one. The air between you feels charged, like the storm rolling in above. You don’t answer right away, and Dean takes a step closer, his boots crunching against the gravel.

“Why, huh?” he presses, his tone softer but no less intense. “Why do you keep sticking around if I’m such a screw-up?”

Your heart pounds against your ribs, a wild, erratic rhythm that matches the storm clouds overhead. You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. Because it’s not that simple. Because you don’t stick around in spite of his flaws—you stick around because of them. Because Dean Winchester, for all his faults, is the kind of person who will throw himself in harm’s way without a second thought to save someone else. Because he’s loyal to a fault, fiercely protective, and has a smile that could light up the darkest corners of the world, even when he doesn’t believe it himself.

“Dean…” you start, but his name barely makes it past your lips before he moves.

It’s not hesitant or tentative—it’s sudden, like he’s been holding himself back for too long and finally snapped. His hands cup your face, rough and calloused but somehow gentle, and then his lips are on yours.

The kiss is everything you didn’t know you needed. It’s not perfect—Dean’s lips are a little chapped, and the angle is slightly awkward at first—but it’s real. There’s an urgency to it, a raw, unfiltered emotion that leaves you breathless. His hands are warm against your skin, grounding you even as the world seems to tilt on its axis.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly your hands are fisting in his jacket, pulling him closer as if the space between you is unbearable. He responds in kind, deepening the kiss with a low, almost involuntary sound that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s like the dam you’ve both been holding back has finally burst, and there’s no going back now.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together. The storm is closer now, the first drops of rain starting to fall, but neither of you seems to notice.

“Wow,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dean chuckles, a low, self-deprecating sound. “Yeah, uh… sorry about that. I probably should’ve—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your fingers still gripping his jacket. “Don’t apologize.”

His eyes meet yours, and for once, there’s no wall, no mask, no bravado. Just Dean.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admits, his voice soft and almost vulnerable.

You smile, your heart swelling in your chest. “Took you long enough.”

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine, and the tension between you finally seems to ease. The rain starts to pick up, but neither of you moves. For once, the hunt can wait. For once, the only thing that matters is this moment—messy, imperfect, and absolutely perfect all at once.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers @jollyhunter

[ivyues]

Reconciling Comfort: pt.2 of Stray Kids' reactions to their S/O refusing a hug

Part 1: Rejected Embraces and Heavy Hearts

Bang Chan

The apartment feels oddly still as you stare at your phone, debating how to text him. You’d assumed Chris had gone to the studio like he planned, leaving the tense air of the argument behind to clear his head. You hate how things were left, hate the way his face crumpled as he turned away.

Finally, you decide to get up. While typing out a message you walk to your living room but out of the corner of your eye you see a silhouette sitting on the couch. Your heart jumps as you glance up.

Your boyfriend is sitting there, headphones on, his laptop balanced on his knees. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his fingers tapping away at the keyboard.

The sight startles you. “Chris?” you blurt out, breaking the silence.

He looks up sharply, pulling his headphones off with one swift motion. “Oh—hey,” he says, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You blink, still processing his presence. “I thought you went to the studio. Why are you still here?”

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing away sheepishly. “I didn’t want to go in case… you wanted to talk to me.” His words come out rushed, like he’s second-guessing every syllable. “But if you don’t – if you want me to leave, I understand. I’ll go right now—.”

He immediatly closed his laptop, as if to pack up, but you stopped him with a quick shake of your hand. “Nonono, I’m glad you stayed,” you said, moving to sit beside him.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, your voice heavy with sincerity. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I know physical affection is important to you, and stepping back like that… I didn’t mean to shut you out like that. I just—” You pause, struggling to find the words. “I wasn’t ready at the moment, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t care.”

His expression softens, a mix of relief and lingering vulnerability. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “That means a lot to me. But… you don’t have to feel obligated, okay? I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for, even if it’s just a hug. I’m not upset about that, I promise.”

Chris hesitates before continuing, his voice low. “And… I’m sorry too. For the argument. I think I let my emotions get the better of me. I wasn’t trying to put all that pressure on you. I just – sometimes I’m not the best at explaining what I mean.”

Instead of answering, you lean into him, wrapping your arms around him. It’s warm, grounding, and the tension that had built up between you dissolves. Chris lets out a breath he seems to have been holding and hugs you back, his arms encircling you tightly.

Lee Know

An hour passes, the weight of the day easing slightly as you reflect on Lee Know’s words and his quiet presence. You finally gather the courage to seek him out, hoping to mend the small gap left by your earlier rejection. The sound of gentle clatter of utensils lead you to the kitchen.

There he is, focused on the task at hand, the light from the stove casting a warm glow over his side profile. He’s stirring something in a pot, his movements precise yet relaxed.

When he senses your presence, he glances up. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, no words are said. The hurt you feared would linger is replaced by a soft understanding, though his brow lifts in slight surprise.

“Hey,” you say quietly, stepping closer. “I’m sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I needed a bit of time to digest my day.”

His expression softens, his lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. But before he can respond, your stomach betrays you with a loud grumble.

He blinks in surprise before breaking into a chuckle, the sound warm and genuine. “Well, I guess you’re not just digesting your day – you’re starving too,” he teases, setting down the spoon. “Have you even eaten?”

You shake your head sheepishly, and he lets out a mock sigh of exasperation. “Unbelievable. No wonder you’re feeling down. What am I going to do with you?”

Before you can reply, he grabs a couple of plates and starts dishing out the food he’s prepared. You watch him, the way he moves with care, the way he’s still here, doing this for you, and it makes your chest ache in the best way.

“Thank you,” you say, the words carrying a weight that goes beyond the meal. “I really don’t know what I did to deserve this – to deserve you.”

He pauses, turning to meet your gaze again, his eyes filled with something tender yet teasing. “Oh, don’t get all sappy on me now. Just eat.”

You hesitate, biting your lip. “Actually… before we eat, can I ask you something?”

He tilts his head. “What’s that?”

You step closer, your voice soft. “Are you still up for that hug?”

His lips twitch into a grin, though he narrows his eyes in feigned disapproval. “Now you want one? After I offered earlier? You know my hugs are exclusive, right?”

You roll your eyes, but before you can defend yourself, he’s already pulling you into his arms, wrapping you in warmth and familiarity. The scent of his cologne mixes with the faint aroma of the food, and for the first time that day, you feel like you can truly breathe.

“I missed out earlier,” you whispers, your voice gentle but playful.

Changbin

Hours later, after giving you the space you seemed to need, Changbin cautiously approaches your room. The quiet hum of the house feels heavier than usual. He pushes open the door gently, only to find you sprawled out on the bed, passed out.

Changbin’s expression softens as he steps closer. The tension on your face is still visible even in sleep, and it tugs at his heart. He sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb you, and studies your features for a moment. A sigh escapes his lips.

After a while, you stir awake to the dim light form outside. Blinking blearily, you notice Changbin sitting in a nearby chair, scrolling absentmindedly on his phone. He looks up as he senses your movement, offering you a gentle smile.

“You’re awake,” he says softly, setting his phone aside. “Feeling any better?”

“A bit.” You sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes. The weight of the day still lingers, but his presence is grounding. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Binnie,” you say suddenly, your voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to shut you out earlier. You had a tough day too, and instead of being there for you, I made it worse.”

His brow furrows with concern as he shifts to sit beside you. “Hey, no—”

“No, please let me finish,” you interrupt, tears welling up in your eyes. “I just… I’ve been so burned out lately, and I know that’s no reason but I took it out on you. That’s not fair. You deserve so much better than that.”

Your voice falters as you break into quiet sobs, the stress of the day finally overwhelming you. Without hesitation, Changbin pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly as if to shield you from your own thoughts.

“Shhh,” he whispers soothingly, resting his chin on your head. “It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to carry all of this alone.” His hand strokes your back in slow, comforting circles. “I know you’ve been going through a lot. I just want to help you, not make things harder.”

You cling to him, his warmth melting away some of the heaviness in your chest. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, muffled against his shoulder.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. His thumbs gently wipe away your tears. “I love you, even on the days when it’s hard to show it. And I’ll always be here, okay? We’ll figure it out together.”

Hyunjin

Later that evening, the cool night air brushes against your skin as you sit on the balcony, your gaze lost in the vast sky above, dotted with countless stars. The events of the day weigh heavily on your heart, but the stillness of the night gives you a moment of solitude, a chance to reflect.

The sound of footsteps breaks the silence, and you don’t need to turn around to know who it is. Hyunjin’s presence is unmistakable and you feel the space between you stretch even farther. He stands by the door, as though testing the waters, not wanting to disturb the fragile silence that exists between you two.

“I’ve been thinking,” he finally says, his voice soft and measured. “I don’t want to make you feel like you have to forgive me right away. But I need you to know I’m here, no matter how long it takes.”

You glance at him then, his words tugging at something inside you. The sincerity in his eyes doesn’t erase the hurt, but it reminds you of the person standing before you. Slowly, you lift up the blanket that’s shielding you from the chill of the evening. You shift slightly, creating a space beside you, a silent invitation for him to join you.

Hyunjin hesitates for just a moment before he slides closer, wrapping himself in the blanket with you. The quiet is comfortable now, not as heavy as it once was.

Minutes pass, neither of you speaking, but the tension between you seems to lessen. Eventually, you find yourself leaning closer to him, your head resting on his shoulder as the stars above seem to sparkle brighter in the stillness of the night.

You’re not ready to forgive him – not yet. But as the night stretches on, you realize that the hurt isn’t as sharp as it once was. It hurts more to be apart. Right now, this moment, sitting together in silence, feels like the only step you can take.

Han

Han was pacing quietly in the living room, trying to distract himself from the worry that had been growing in his chest since your refusal to be held. His eyes flickered to where you’d been earlier, feeling like a puppy abandoned by its owner. He couldn't help but wonder what you were thinking, what you were going through.

Then, suddenly, a sharp sound sliced through the quiet. His heart leapt in his chest, and before he could think, he rushed toward the kitchen.

When he burst into the room, his breath caught in his throat. There you were, crouched on the floor amidst the sharp shards of a broken glass. Your expression was a mix of shock and something darker, like the weight of everything inside you had finally spilled over.

"Omg, are you okay?!" Han asked urgently, his voice trembling slightly. His eyes wide, quickly scanned you for any sign of injury, but it wasn’t just the glass that had him panicked – it was the look in your eyes, distant and vacant, like you weren’t fully present.

You shook your head, looking down at the shards scattered around you. "I... I'm fine," you murmured, but the words didn’t sound convincing to him.

Your breath caught, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "I'm such a mess," you said quietly, a shaky exhale following. "I don’t even know why... I just... everything feels so broken right now, and I don’t know how to fix it."

Han’s heart ached for you, and he didn’t hesitate. With a gentle, almost tender tone, he spoke. "It’s okay to be a mess," His eyes never leaving you, he crouched next to you. "You don’t have to have everything together. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere."

You let out a long breath, the tension in your body easing just slightly as you allowed yourself to lean against him. Neither of you spoke for a while, the stillness of the moment offering a rare kind of comfort. You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, a quiet support, like he was holding you together.

Eventually, Han reached out with his free hand, carefully pushing the glass shards to the side, making a little space between you and the mess. "We don’t have to clean it up right now," he said softly, his voice gentle. "We can just be here."

For a moment, you just sat there, on your cold kitchen floor surrounded by the shards of one of your favorite glasses, your head resting against his shoulder, letting the quiet soothe the chaos inside your mind. The world outside could wait.

Felix

Felix sat in the airport terminal, his phone clutched tightly in his hands. The din of travelers blurred into white noise around him, but all he could focus on was the blank screen he fiddled in his hands. He had checked it at least ten times in the past minute, hoping for a message from you – a lifeline to soothe the ache that had been growing since your last conversation.

The past few days had been tense, the effortless flow of your texts reduced to short, clipped exchanges.

"Still nothing?" Chan’s voice broke through Felix’s thoughts as the older member settled into the seat beside him.

Felix shook his head, a small, resigned sigh escaping him. "I don’t blame them," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the screen. "I just... I hate leaving like this, you know? I don’t want them to think I don’t care."

Chan placed a reassuring hand on Felix’s shoulder. "They know you care. Sometimes, people just need time to process." 

Felix nodded, though the unease remained. He knew Chan was right, but the uncertainty gnawed at him. What if time wasn’t enough?

A soft buzz interrupted his thoughts. His heart leapt as he saw your name flash on the screen. Hesitating for only a second, he opened the message.

"Hey. I hope you have a safe flight. Let me know when you get to the hotel? If you want, we could call."

Felix read the text twice, his chest tightening with a mix of relief and longing. It wasn’t everything, but it was enough. Enough to feel like a small bridge had been built between the two of you.

Chan caught a glimpse of the soft smile spreading across Felix’s face and leaned back in his chair, giving a small nod of approval. He didn’t say anything, but the respect he felt for the bond between you two was evident in the quiet way he patted Felix’s back before standing up.

The flight was long, but the thought of hearing your voice made it bearable. When he finally arrived at the hotel and dropped his bags, he dialed your number without hesitation.

The days passed slowly, but eventually, Felix was home. His heart raced as he opened the door. The familiar scent of the place hit him first, grounding him, but it wasn’t until he heard your footsteps that everything felt real.

You appeared at the edge of the hallway, your expression a mix of hesitation and warmth. Felix froze for a moment, his breath catching as he tried to read your face. Then you smiled – small and shy.

Closing the distance between you, he wrapped his arms around you tightly, burying his face in your shoulder.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You held him just as tightly, your fingers threading through his hair. “I missed you too, Lix.”

It wasn’t just a hug; it was a reconnection, a renewal. It felt like the first time all over again – the warmth, the electricity. And in that moment, Felix knew you would both be okay. Even with the heavy talk standing in front of you, he believed that you'd both find your way through it.

Seungmin

The following day, you wake up to the soft light filtering through the blinds, your heart still weighed down from the emotions of yesterday. You go about your day until you find a small, neatly folded note on the kitchen counter, its edges creased from being gently set down. You recognize Seungmin's handwriting immediately.

The words are simple, but their meaning strikes deep:

“I know yesterday was hard. I’m here when you’re ready. Take your time.”

You feel a wave of warmth and gratitude surge through you, but also a familiar pang of guilt. His kindness, his patience – it almost feels too much, yet it's exactly what you need right now. You let out a breath, the tension you didn’t even realize you were holding releasing just a little.

Later, when you meet with Seungmin after his practice, your heart feels lighter but still raw. His usual bright, confident demeanor is softened by something deeper today. You catch his eyes and notice the faint hint of uncertainty behind his smile. He’s waiting for you, allowing you the space you need, just as the note said.

As you both settle into the familiar quiet, the words you’ve been holding back finally spill out, soft but genuine.

"Thank you for giving me space," you say, the gratitude in your voice clear. "I needed it, but I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate you."

Seungmin’s expression softens, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I just want to make sure you're okay," he replies, his tone sincere. "And if you need me to be closer or farther away, I’m fine with either. You don’t have to do anything until you’re ready."

After a moment of silence you ask “So… how would you feel about being a little closer right now?" Your words trailing off as you look at him, hesitant but hopeful. Your eyes search his, a hint of longing behind the question.

Seungmin's smile widens, though his expression remains gentle, and he shakes his head slowly, his eyes warm with understanding. "I think we’re already close enough," he says, his tone teasing but kind.

Without another word, he opens his arms, and you step into his embrace. The hug is quiet, comforting, and without the pressure of anything more.

I.N

You collapse onto the couch, your phone in hand, feeling a growing sense of isolation. The time passes, and you find yourself scrolling mindlessly through social media, trying to distract yourself from the emotional weight pressing on your chest. Each swipe seems to only deepen the discomfort, the posts making you feel even more alone as the world around you continues on without a care.

Your phone buzzes suddenly, and you glance down at the notification. It’s from I.N. The message is a simple meme – a picture of a dog wearing glasses with the caption: "Me when I try to act cool, but I’m actually an emotional mess."

A small chuckle escapes you, your heart lightened just a little by his attempt to cheer you up. It’s just a silly meme, but somehow, his gesture makes everything feel a bit more manageable.

The phone buzzes again, and you read his next message: "If you ever need to vent, I'm here. You don’t have to carry it all alone."

Your fingers hover over the screen for a moment, and you begin typing. "I’m sorry for earlier… I just don’t want to drag you down."

Almost instantly, a reply comes: "You could never drag me down. Let me know if you want a hug. I’m always here for you, okay?" Attached to that message was a GIF of two cartoon animals with big, fluffy arms stretching out in an exaggerated hug.

Your heart softens, the words hitting a place deep inside you that you didn’t realize was aching.

Without a second thought, you push yourself off the couch, phone still in hand, and head towards him. When he sees you standing there, his face brightens, and he opens his arms, welcoming you into a warm embrace.

“I’m sorry I pulled away earlier,” you whisper against his chest, the weight of everything from the day slowly melting away as you allow yourself to lean into his comfort.

[goblinontour]

Consequences

is there such a thing as too much love?

warnings: dad!alex (well, not quite), fluff, smut, raw fucking, ya know

word count: 7k

He had his eyes closed. He should’ve been dreaming. Instead, he was thinking of you. Not just you, but the spaces you occupied, the way you breathed air and made it yours. He wasn’t sure if it was obsession or something softer, something quieter but more profound, something that stretches across the distance between the two of you and doesn’t snap. Either way, it kept him awake, even now, as the rest of the world surrendered to sleep.  

They told him not to wait for it. Don’t wait for the world to align itself, for the stars to blink their approval. Create it yourself, they’d said. Your world. Alone. Stand alone. Build it brick by brick, carve it out of the nothingness. Then the love will come to you. Then it will come. But they never warned him what it would feel like when it did. How it would crash into him, fierce and unrelenting, how it would unravel him piece by piece until he wasn’t sure which fragments of himself belonged anymore.  

The day you met, the wind howled like it had something to say. A storm was caught in its lungs, a promise in its teeth. It yanked at his coat, bit at his neck, and wrapped itself around the moment like a ribbon tied to a gift neither of you knew you were giving. Later, he’d wonder if it wasn’t the universe itself exhaling, breathing out its relief as he whispered, under his breath, finally.

You were like that — something that wasn’t supposed to be here but was. A misplaced star, maybe. Or a stray thread tugging at the edges of his life, unravelling him just to see if you could put him back together in a new way. And he let you. Every time. No questions asked. Somehow, you always did it right, reassembling him into something unfamiliar yet more whole. A new version of himself, one he didn’t know he’d been waiting to meet.  

He hadn’t expected it to be so easy for you. The way you looked at him — steady, like you weren’t afraid of what you might find — left him feeling exposed. But it didn’t stop him from leaning closer. You had this way of throwing things off balance. He let you throw him too.  

You wandered into his orbit with the kind of quiet that still felt loud and changed everything without saying a word. And suddenly, colors tasted better on his tongue just from the sight of them, without even taking a bite. The sound of rain became music, no rhythm, no melody, just noise, and yet it sang.  

He swore — God, he swore — he could fly. Not in the grand, sweeping sense of it, but in the way a bird feels the wind cradle its wings, like gravity might just loosen its grip if he asked nicely enough. That’s what it was like with you. Effortless. Dangerous, too, because he knew he was risking the fall every time.  

There was something about you that turned the ordinary into something else entirely. The way you looked at the world — curious, amused, like everything was both a puzzle and a punchline — made him want to see it the way you did. And sometimes he could.  

He noticed the little things because of you. The sound of a door creaking open, the way sunlight moved across a room, the way your hands spoke a language he didn’t know he understood. You taught him how to look, not just at the world but at himself. And he hated it, at first. How vulnerable it made him feel. How much it made him want to be better.  

But then there were moments when it felt worth it. Like when you smiled at him — not just with your mouth, but with your whole face, your whole being. Like the universe itself was bending toward him, just for a second, just for the briefest of moments.  

He wondered if you knew what you were doing to him. If you knew how completely you’d taken up residence in his thoughts, in the spaces between them, in the cracks he’d refused to acknowledge until you. You were there now, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted you to leave or if he wanted you to stay forever.  

He told himself it didn’t matter. That he didn’t need to know, that the knowing wouldn’t change anything. But the truth was, he wanted to understand it — this thing between you. This force that felt too big to name, too wild to tame, and yet somehow quiet enough to fit in the silence between his breaths.  

You threw him off balance. And he let you.  

Because somehow, in the chaos, you always managed to put him back. Differently, but perfectly. Each time. No exceptions.  

And if he had to fall apart a thousand times just to feel this way again, he’d do it. Without hesitation. Without regret.  

Because with you, even the falling felt like flying.

There was silence and peace and dreams. Dreams of possibly him or possibly something else entirely — though most probably him. It was always him, even if you couldn’t be sure when the dream dissolved into fragments the moment your eyes opened. You could never recall them when you woke, no matter how tightly you tried to hold on. And this time, any hope of clinging to the memory of it was stolen by the sensation of something — someone — poking gently at your eyes.  

It was light, barely a touch, but the area was sensitive enough that it startled you awake. You blinked against the soft intrusion, vision blurry. But then you saw him, and suddenly, you didn’t mind.  

He was leaning over you, his face framed by soft curls and morning light. His smile was small but unmistakable, curling at the edges like it had nowhere else to go but wider. His finger was still hovering close to your face. Caught in the act.  

“You’re so cute when you sleep.” 

You frowned, not because you were upset, but because compliments always made you feel like you were being caught off guard, like a spotlight had been aimed directly at you. “Then why wake me up?” you murmured, your voice still heavy with sleep.  

“I didn’t mean to.” He tilted his head, and the way he said it was genuine but not regretful. Unapologetic in the way he always was. “You’re cute when you’re awake too.”  

Your nose scrunched instinctively, an automatic reaction you couldn’t control. You weren’t sure if it was because of the compliment or the sleepiness still clouding your mind, but either way, you turned your face slightly, almost embarrassed.  

And he laughed — soft, breathy, like he couldn’t help himself. The sound of it filled the room, made the silence feel alive again. He reached out with that same finger, brushing against your scrunched nose as if to smooth it out.  

“Don’t do that.” he teased, but his voice had softened.  

You closed your eyes for a moment, scrunching them too, tightly shut as if to escape him, but you could feel him leaning closer. It was a subtle shift, but you noticed it immediately — the warmth of him inching toward you, the space between you shrinking with every second.  

And then he was close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin mixing with your own. Your eyes fluttered open just slightly, enough to catch the way his gaze softened, how he looked at you like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.  

Maybe this was better than any dream you could’ve had. 

His thoughts tangled and unraveled in waves as he watched you. Watched you like he was trying to memorize every detail — the way your eyelashes fanned across your cheek, the way the light kissed your skin before he could, the soft part of your lips as you exhaled in quiet breaths. There was a gentleness to you in that moment, the kind of softness that made his chest ache. It wasn’t just beauty, though there was plenty of that. It was something more, something that couldn’t be captured in words or paintings or songs. And then he thought of nothing at all, because the need — the want — was too loud, too consuming.  

The longer he looked, the more the thought rose in him. It wasn’t impulsive, exactly — it was inevitable, a truth he couldn’t hold back any longer.  

“Kiss me.” 

You hadn’t moved a bone, a muscle, hadn’t even flinched or twitched in surprise, and there was no hesitation in your eyes. No question. There was no other choice but yes. In the stillness of your body, there was an answer.  

And in that moment, his chest swelled. Delight, relief, something brighter and bigger than both. His gaze flicked down to your lips, his own puckered, and for a second, he looked younger, freer, like all the weight he carried with him had been set aside in favour of this one, perfect moment.  

When he kissed you, he moved slowly at first, his lips brushing yours, feather-light, testing, savoring, like he was afraid to rush and ruin it. But the hesitation didn’t last long. It melted away as soon as he felt you leaning into him, your warmth meeting his, your lips parting just enough to let him in. But then you responded, tilting just slightly toward him, and that was all the invitation he needed.  

He tilted his head, his hand rising to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against the curve of your cheek. Every second of this must be engraved somewhere in his memory — how you felt, how you tasted, how you leaned into him like you too were falling and he was the only one to catch you.  

How could humans possibly be solitary creatures? How could they bear to live untouched when the dip of every neck and the curve of every palm seemed sculpted for connection, for closeness? The hollow of his hand fit against your face as though it had been waiting for this, for you. And in the way your cheek softened against his palm, like you were surrendering, he felt the answer to a question he hadn’t even known he was asking.  

His fingers traced lightly along the edge of your jaw, as though mapping something sacred, and it occurred to him — suddenly, achingly — that this was what people were made for. To hold and be held. To press themselves into the spaces of someone else and find that they fit. That they belonged.  

And as he kissed you, he thought maybe you knew this too. Maybe you’d always known, and that’s why you leaned into him so naturally, like the world itself had softened and settled just to make room for this. 

For you and for him. Together.

“Mhm…” he murmured.  

You pulled back slightly, just enough to catch your breath, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. “What?” you whispered.  

He stayed close, his forehead brushing lightly against yours, his lips curved in a lazy, lopsided smile. “I woke up wanting to kiss you.” The simplest truth.  

And then he kissed you again, slower, like he had all the time in the world. Like he didn’t want to stop. Like maybe, if he kept kissing you, he’d never have to.

Lips lingered on yours for a moment longer before he pulled back, just slightly. He couldn’t bear to move too far away. His fingers were still on your face, his thumb stroking gently along your cheekbone, a touch so light it felt more like a memory than a moment.  

“You once told me,” he murmured, quiet, like a secret being shared in the dark, “that the human eye is God’s loneliest creation.”  

You blinked slowly, still caught in the haze of sleep, of him, and his closeness. “Yeah.” you said softly, the word almost swallowed by the air between you.  

He tilted his head slightly, his lips grazing your temple, more instinct than intention, drawn there by some magnetic pull. “I don’t believe that.” he said, muffled against your skin.  

“God?” you asked.  

He laughed with a quiet exhale. “That too.” he admitted, brushing his nose against your hairline. You couldn’t help it — you laughed, and he smiled against you.  

“But…” His hand moved, slipping from your cheek to your jaw, his fingers tracing the curve there, trailing down your neck with the lightest pressure. “But…how so much of the world passes through the pupil, and it holds nothing. The eye, alone in its socket, doesn’t even know there’s another one, just like it, an inch away, just as hungry, just as empty.”  

Words sank. And for a moment you couldn’t respond. He didn’t seem to notice, his lips brushing a kiss along the curve of your jaw, so gentle it almost tickled. His other hand found your waist, resting there with no real purpose except to feel you beneath his palm.  

You swallowed hard. “That’s…sad.”  

“Yeah.” he murmured,  grazing your skin again, this time at the edge of your collarbone where your shirt had slipped just slightly. “But I don’t think it has to be. Not when there’s this.”  

His hand tightened, just slightly, at your waist. A squeeze. His fingers curled against the fabric of your shirt, pulling you just a fraction closer. His other hand stayed at your neck, thumb pressing gently at the hollow of your throat, like he could feel the rhythm of your pulse and was trying to match it with his own.  

Everywhere he touched felt like both too much and not enough. He seemed to be following some invisible thread that connected you both, pulling him closer, closer, closer. His lips pressed to your shoulder, his thumb brushed the curve of your rib, his fingers slipped to the back of your neck, tangling lightly in your hair.  

You felt his breath as he leaned in again, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your bottom lip, soft and slow, trying to draw out the moment forever.  

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “I don’t think the eye is lonely.” he said. “Not when it has this. Not when it has you.” And before you could answer, his lips found yours again, more sure this time. 

He pulled back just as slowly, resting his forehead against yours, his thumb tracing absent patterns along the curve of your waist. You opened your eyes and you forgot what words even were. His eyes held you there, heavy and unmoving, and you felt it — something alive and raw and impossible to name. Staring into him might undo you completely.  

“Maybe if we stare into each other’s eyes long enough,” you murmured, “they’ll reflect into a supernova.”  

You said it to lighten the air, to make him smile, to pull him back into something playful and safe. But he didn’t laugh. There wasn’t even a flicker of amusement on his face. He blinked once, and when he looked at you again, there was something there that made your stomach flip.  

“Maybe.” he said softly, and he wasn’t joking. Not even a little. “You think I’m joking.” he said, his breath warm against your mouth. “I’m not.”  

The way he said it sent a shiver through you, not because it was absurd but because you believed him too. The quiet in his voice, the steadiness in his gaze, the way his hand slid from your waist to your jaw, holding you gently, made you feel like the impossible wasn’t so far out of reach.  

“I know.” 

His touch wandered everywhere and nowhere all at once. He didn’t know where to hold you because there wasn’t a single part of you he didn’t want to touch.  

“Maybe.” he murmured again, quieter this time, like the word was for him, not for you. “Maybe we already have.”  

Heavy and electric, and you couldn’t tell if it was the room spinning or just you. All you knew was the way he was looking at you — like the supernova had already started, like the light was already spilling out of both of you, unstoppable.

His eyes were hungry. Not the kind of hunger that could be sated with a kiss, or even a touch, but something deeper, raw and untamed. It wasn’t desperation — it was desire, pure and unfiltered, like he’d been holding himself back for too long and now the dam was cracking.  

His lips were still parted, flushed from the kisses you’d already given him, but there was something else there now. Something darker. Lust, thick and heavy, dripping from him like honey. You could feel it in the way his hands twitched against you, in the way his chest rose and fell faster, like he was trying to keep control but failing.  

So you starved him a bit longer.  

You leaned back just slightly, enough to create space, enough to make him feel the loss of you. His hands followed instinctively, one on your waist, the other curling around the back of your neck, but you didn’t let him close the distance. Not yet.  

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and pleading, but you held your ground, tilting your head just enough to make it clear this was your game. You watched the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips, like he was preparing to speak but couldn’t find the words.  

“Please.” he murmured finally, his voice rough, hoarse, like it had been dragged through gravel.  

The sound sent a shiver down your spine, but you didn’t let it show. “Deprivation brings out our inner animal.” you said softly.  

His grip tightened on your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make you gasp. His gaze was molten now, his hunger bleeding.  

“Is that what you want?” he asked, low and dangerous, barely holding himself back. “To see me lose control?”  

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. You leaned in just enough that your breath ghosted against his lips, close enough that he could almost taste you. His eyes fluttered shut for half a second, his resolve cracking, but you pulled back before he could close the gap.  

You wanted him wild.  

And when he opened his eyes again, there it was — the animal, unleashed. His hand slid from your waist to your hip, gripping you harder, pulling you flush against him. His other hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back so your neck was exposed to him.  

“You want wild?” he growled, his lips brushing the sensitive skin below your ear. His teeth grazed the spot lightly, enough to make your breath hitch, enough to send a spark shooting through you. “Careful what you ask for.”  

His mouth was on you then, hot and demanding, trailing along your jaw, your throat, down to the curve of your shoulder. Rougher. Needier. His lips and teeth and tongue marked you in ways that felt dangerous.  

You gasped, your hands finding their way to his chest, his shoulders, clawing at him without meaning to. He groaned at the sensation, a deep sound that rumbled through his chest and into yours.  

And when he finally kissed you again — fully, deeply — it wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was everything he’d been holding back, all his hunger, all his need, pouring into you.  

It was wild. Exactly the way you wanted him.

Balance was easy. Everywhere else. In your day, in your mind, in your carefully crafted world where everything had its place. But not with him. Not with you. Together, you tipped the scales every time. Because balance required restraint, and restraint didn’t exist here.  

You both wanted all of it. All of him, all of you, all the time, every time. No measured doses, no patience. Just hunger, mutual and endless, spilling over like it had nowhere else to go but into each other.  

A hand cupped your cheek, firm but tender, grounding you even as it made you feel like you were floating. His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw, his fingers splaying out to cradle you. But the other hand — that was something else entirely.  

It slid down your side, slowly, before finding the curve of your breast. His palm was big, hot, and unrelenting as it pressed against you, his fingers dragging just so over the fabric covering your nipple. It was barely a touch, but it set you alight, your back arching instinctively into him.  

“You’re shaking.” he murmured, edged with satisfaction.  

“You’re irresistible.” you managed, breathy and uneven.  

He chuckled, low and quiet, his lips curving against your skin. “I know.”  

“Do you?” you said, trying to sound exasperated but failing when his thumb brushed over you again, teasing and firm all at once. “Because you-”  

“Did I tell you,” he interrupted, suddenly conversational, like you weren’t both teetering on the edge of something consuming, “that I had the weirdest dream last night?”  

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”  

“Dream.” he repeated, trailing maddeningly slow kisses down your neck. “I was on a beach. Except it wasn’t really a beach. There was no sand. Just water. Endless water. And fish, flying through the air.”  

You laughed despite yourself, your fingers curling into his shoulders. “Flying fish? Seriously?”  

“Yeah.” he said. “But they weren’t normal fish. They had wings. Big ones. Like hawks.”  

You shook your head, laughing softly. “I can’t tell if that’s poetic or just bizarre.”  

“Both…you know me.” he said, shrugging like it didn’t matter. His hand, still on your breast, gave a gentle squeeze, dragging your attention back to the moment. “But I woke up thinking about it. Wondering what it meant.”  

“Maybe it means you’re going insane.” you teased, trying to steady your breathing as his thumb traced slow, deliberate circles over the fabric.  

“Or maybe,” he said, his voice dropping again, “it means I was dreaming about you.”  

The sudden shift in his tone made your laughter catch in your throat. “Me?”  

“You.” he confirmed, leaning in again. “You’re the water. The endless part. The thing I can’t get enough of.”  

“That’s ridiculous.” you whispered.  

“Is it?” he murmured. “Why else would I wake up wanting to kiss you? Tell me it doesn’t make sense.”  

“I can’t.” you admitted, your voice barely audible.  

He smiled against your skin, his hand sliding from your breast to your waist, holding you. “Thought so.”  

There was silence for a moment, heavy and charged, before you broke it. “Do you ever think about what you’d do if you weren’t…you?”  

He paused, his head tilting slightly as he looked at you. “If I weren’t me?”  

“Yeah.” you said. “Like, if you weren’t…you know. This.”  

He laughed, fingers tightening on your waist. “I’d be a fisherman.”  

“A fisherman?” you repeated, incredulous.  

“Yeah.” he said, his grin widening. “Out at sea. Catching fish. Flying ones, obviously.”  

You rolled your eyes, your laughter bubbling up again. “You’re ridiculous.”  

“And yet,” he said as his lips found yours, “here you are. Laughing with me. Touching me. Wanting me.”  

“Don’t let it go to your head.” you muttered, but it was much too unconvincing.  

“Too late.” 

And just like that, you were back where you started — off balance, undone, completely at his mercy. But you didn’t mind. Not even a little.

He was the kind of man who understood the subtle difference between heat and warmth. He knew how to be both, how to burn without consuming, how to hold you close without smothering. His touch was calculated, precise, but it felt instinctive, natural, like he’d known your body long before he’d ever laid a hand on it.  

His hand moved on your breast again, his fingers tightening slightly, teasing just enough to make your breath hitch. “Tell me how it feels.” he said, his voice softer now, but no less commanding.  

“It feels…” you started, your voice trailing off as he rolled your nipple gently between his fingers.  

“It feels?” he pressed.  

“Good.” you admitted, the word tumbling out of you. “Too good.”  

He smiled then, not just with his mouth but with his whole body, like he was basking in the effect he had on you. “That’s the point, baby.” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.  

And then his hand left your cheek, sliding down your neck, your shoulder, until it joined the other. He was everywhere again, his hands roaming, exploring, mapping out every inch of you with the kind of care that felt almost reverent. But it wasn’t gentle. Not entirely.  

“Look at me.” he said suddenly. Your eyes fluttered open, and when you met his gaze, it was like the air had been sucked out of the room. “I want all of you. Every part. Every thought. Every breath. Don’t hold anything back from me.”  

And you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Because you wanted the same thing. All of him. All the time.

He took your shirt off, slow and unhurried. The fabric pooled somewhere behind you, forgotten, and he leaned in, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and steady against your skin.  

“I love breathing you.” he’d told you once, the words so simple yet so heavy they’d stayed with you. He was doing that now, his chest rising and falling against yours, his lips brushing your collarbone as though he was inhaling you, drawing you in, needing you to fill every corner of him.  

His hands moved with that same steady rhythm, skimming down your sides, tracing the curves, writing something only he and you could understand. He spoke to your body rhythmically, each touch a sentence, each kiss a line of poetry. He didn’t rush. He didn’t falter. It was with ease. He knew every word, every movement, by heart.  

“You’re beautiful.” 

“You’ve said that before.” you whispered, your voice barely audible.  

“I’ll say it again.” he said simply, grazing the hollow of your throat. “Every day, if you’ll let me.”  

You didn’t respond with words. You tilted your head back, giving him more space, more of you, and his lips followed the silent invitation, moving down, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin along your chest.  

He whispered something then, something you couldn’t catch. “What did you say?” you asked, your voice shaky.  

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours. “I said,” he repeated, “you’re going to ruin me.”  

“Me? You’re the one-”  

His hands moved again, cutting you off, his fingers brushing the underside of your boob. “You.” he said again, his voice firm this time, like a declaration.  

He spoke to your body, and somehow his whispers made you scream — not with noise but with feeling, with the way your whole being seemed to vibrate, caught in the current of him. You never did understand how he did it, how his voice could unravel you with nothing but a murmur, a word, a sigh.  

You never cared to, either.  

So long as he’d — “Please” — keep talking.  

And he did. His words came in waves, washing over you, soft and relentless. Compliments, confessions, half-formed thoughts spilling from him like he couldn’t keep them in.  

“You feel like heaven.” 

He murmured, his lips brushing your shoulder.  

“My little trouble.” 

He teased, his hands skimming down your sides.  

“You’re everything.” 

He whispered, his voice breaking just slightly. 

And each word, each syllable, sank into you, filling the spaces you hadn’t even known were empty. Arching into him, holding him closer, whispering back with every touch, every gasp, every shudder.  

You didn’t need words. He understood you just fine.

The routine of it never got boring. Same steps every time, same heat every time. The way his hands found your body, the way your body responded like it was made for this — for him. Never stale, never cold. It always took your breath away, the way his body would talk for him when words weren’t enough. Like it did now. Automatic, instinctive. Clothes off, parts touching, skin to skin, deeper than deep.  

Penetrating.  

“Oh…” you gasped, the sound escaping before you could catch it.  

“Oh…” he echoed, his voice vibrating against your ear.  

Just as good as the first time. Just as good as the best.  

His hands tangled with your pillow, gripping it because he just needed something to hold on to. Yours roamed over his back, your nails raking down his sensitive skin, leaving traces, marks, scratches. Little reminders that this happened, that you were here, that he was yours.  

“So tight.” he murmured. Agrowl, a confession, a prayer.  

“So big.” you praised, your words coming out breathless, like they’d been pulled from the depths of you.  

He moaned at that, a deep, guttural sound that sent shivers through you. Without thought, your body responded, contracting around him, pulling him in, holding him there. It was heaven on earth, this give and take, this rhythm you’d perfected together.  

The pure, seductive nature of eye contact. The kind that never breaks.  

It was impossible to look away, impossible to do anything but drown in him. Your breath hitched, your hands clutching at him, pulling him closer even though there was no space left between you.  

People don’t say “the eyes are the doors to the soul” for nothing. You could see everything in his — the hunger, the devotion, the way he was completely lost in you, with you. And you knew he could see the same in yours.  

Your lovemaking was slow and patient, yet filled with an intensity that made your head spin. It wasn’t about chasing an ending — it was about this. About feeling. About being as close to him as humanly possible. About holding him and being held, about losing yourself and finding him in the process.  

It was the best way to start a day.  

The absolute best way to fuck.  

“Harder?” he asked.  

“Yeah.” you moaned.  

He shifted then, adjusting his angle, his pace, his intensity. His hips moved against yours with more force, more urgency, and the sound that tore from your throat was pure, unadulterated pleasure.  

“Harder?” he asked again.  

“Yes.” you whispered, then said it louder, breathier, “Yes, please.”  

Alex grinned, slow and cocky, the kind of grin that made you want to kiss him and slap him in equal measure. He didn’t make you wait long, though, shifting his hips and giving you exactly what you asked for. The first thrust had your head tipping back, and he chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your exposed throat.  

“You’re so polite.” he teased, his breath hot against your skin. “Always asking so nicely.”  

“Shut up.” you countered, and his laugh turned into a groan as you clenched around him, just to make your point. “You’re cute.” you said, because you couldn’t help it.  

He rolled his eyes, but the grin didn’t leave his face. “Cute?”  

“The cutest.” you confirmed, teasing, but there was truth in it. He was the cutest thing you’d ever seen, and you were sure it would be the death of you one day.  

“Cute.” he repeated, as though testing the word. Then he shook his head, leaning down until your foreheads touched. 

And he kissed you again, slow and deep, and you sighed into it, your hands slipping around his neck to pull him closer. But impatience was building, a steady drumbeat in your veins that wouldn’t be ignored.  

“You feel…” he started, his voice breaking, his forehead pressing against yours as his thrusts slowed just slightly to drag out the moment. “My God, baby…you feel like everything.”  

You reached up, your fingers threading through his hair. “Don’t stop.” you whispered against his lips.  

“Never.” he promised, his hands sliding under you, holding you tighter, pulling you closer. “Never.” 

“More.” you begged. Or demanded. Or pleaded. Or somewhere in between. The word came out broken, trembling, desperate. How much more of him could there possibly be? He was already everywhere. Over you, under you, inside you, wrapped around you in ways that felt almost cosmic. And yet, somehow, he delivered.  

He gave himself to you more.  

It felt illegal, this level of connection. Like there was some universal law being broken, some boundary being shattered, some line you weren’t supposed to cross. This is too much, you thought, even as your body cried for more, for everything. It was too much. And still not enough. Never enough.  

“Baby.” he groaned, his voice cracking. He was unraveling in your arms. “I’m gonna come.”  

“Do it.” you whispered, your voice shaking with anticipation, your legs tightening around him, holding him to you.  

“God-” he choked out, his hips stuttering as his movements became frenzied. “I’m gonna fill you up-”  

Heaven. The words were heaven to your ears, a promise and a plea all at once. It felt obscene to think it, but you felt it, and he felt it, and that was all you needed. No logic, no explanation. Just this.  

And then he was gone.  

His body stiffened, his head dropping to your shoulder as his breath hitched, caught in his throat. He groaned, vibrating through you as his hips pressed flush against yours, burying himself as deep as he could go. You could feel it, the way his body gave in, the way he let go, spilling into you with a force that felt like surrender.  

It was warm, searing, a flood that made you gasp, made your body tighten around him instinctively, pulling him in, holding him there. He cursed under his breath, his voice hoarse and raw.  

“Fuck…” he breathed, wrecked and shaky. “You’re perfect. This is perfect.”  

You didn’t answer, couldn’t. Your mind was too hazy, your body too overwhelmed by the sensation of him filling you, completing you in a way that felt almost holy.  

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, all heavy-lidded and full of…disbelief. Like he couldn’t quite comprehend that this was real, that you were real, that you were his.  

“I love you.” he whispered. It carried his whole soul.  

“I love you.” you echoed, your hands sliding up to cradle his face, pulling him down for a quiet promise in the aftermath of the storm.  

And for a moment, just a moment, it felt like enough.

He stayed there, pressed deep inside you. You thought he might speak, but for a moment, there was only the sound of your shared breaths.  

Then, finally, his voice came, quiet and raw. “What are you thinking?”  

“I’m thinking…” you trailed off, your lips curving into a small, tired smile. “I’m thinking I might actually melt into you.”  

His laugh was soft, but his eyes stayed serious, searching yours. “Good.” he murmured. “That’s good.”  

You shifted slightly beneath him, your body instinctively starting to move, to stretch, but his hands tightened on your hips, holding you still.  

“No, don’t move.” he said, his voice suddenly urgent. “Please.”  

You froze, your brows knitting together. “Why?”  

“Because,” he said, hesitant, “that way I can imagine we’re a single body.”  

Your breath caught at the way he said it, at the vulnerability in his tone. His hands softened their grip, but he didn’t let you pull away. His eyes stayed on yours, wide and unguarded.  

“That’s…” You swallowed hard, your voice faltering. “That’s beautiful.”  

He smiled, a small, almost shy thing, his lips twitching like he wasn’t sure he should be smiling at all. “It’s true.” he said simply, his hands moving up to cradle your face again, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “I don’t want to lose this. Lose you. Not even for a second.”  

“You’re not losing me.” you whispered. “I’m right here.”  

“I know.” he said. “But I want more than that. I want…” He trailed off, his eyes closing as he took a shaky breath. “I want you to be a part of me. Like…physically, spiritually. All of it.”  

“You already have me.” you said, your voice trembling with the weight of your own emotions. “Every part of me. You know that, right?”  

“I do.” he said softly. “But sometimes it feels like it’s not enough. Like I’ll never have enough…enough of you.”  

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you didn’t. Instead, you kissed him, pouring everything you couldn’t say into the way your lips moved against his. And he kissed you back like he was trying to do the same, his hands sliding down to hold you closer, to keep you there, connected, inseparable. 

And you knew, somewhere deep in the quiet corners of your mind, that one day you would awaken with the bitter taste of regret lingering on your lips where his kisses used to live.  

Because he wasn’t the kind of lover you could replace.  

He was that Sunday morning, stay in bed till noon kind of lover. The kind who made the world outside your bedroom feel like it didn’t exist, who made time irrelevant, who made you forget there was anything beyond the warmth of his skin and the weight of his body pressed against yours. That lose ourselves between the sheets, forget where you end and I begin kind of lover. The kind who could turn every sigh, every gasp, every moan into a symphony, who knew the exact rhythm of your body like he’d been born to play it. That double climax, let me taste you again kind of lover. The kind who never seemed satisfied, who always wanted more of you, who could spend hours tracing your skin with his mouth like it was the most sacred map he’d ever seen.  

“Don’t leave me.” you whispered suddenly.  

His head lifted, his eyes finding yours, wide and questioning. “What?”  

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. “I mean…don’t leave this.” you clarified, your voice softer now. “Don’t let this, us, fade. Promise me.”  

His expression softened, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m not going anywhere.” he said, his voice steady, reassuring.  

“But what if-”  

“No.” he interrupted, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there. “No ‘what ifs.’ I’m here. I’m staying. With you.”  

You nodded, but the weight in your chest didn’t lift entirely. There was a part of you that knew nothing this good, this intense, this all-consuming could last forever.  

“Hey.” he murmured, tilting your chin up so you were forced to look at him and nowhere else. “You’re stuck with me, alright? No one else is ever going to make me feel like this. Like…” He hesitated, his brows furrowing slightly as he searched for the words. “Like I’m alive for the first time.”  

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. What could you possibly say to that?  

So you kissed again. And in that moment, you believed him. You believed in him, in this, in the impossible, fragile thing you’d built together.  

But somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew that someday you might wake up and realise it had all slipped through your fingers.  

And you would miss him like you’d miss air. 

But like everything touched by man, there would be consequences.  

Because now, you’re in that same bed, with that same man — your Alex, your same Alex — and she’s tugging on his hair with all the determination her tiny fists can muster. He’s wincing from the sting, his jaw tight, but he won’t pull away. He never does.  

She’s kicking him in the face with those minuscule  onesie-covered feet, relentless and uncoordinated, all raw energy and discovery. The kind of kicks that make you wonder how someone so small can have so much force behind them.  

And he’s tired. Bone-deep tired. The kind of tired that seeps into your soul and refuses to let go. His eyes are heavy, the dark circles beneath them a testament to too many sleepless nights and too many early mornings.  

But he keeps them open.  

He keeps them open because every time he blinks, every time his lids lower even for a fraction of a second, she stops. And then she waits. She waits for him to look at her again, and when he does, when his eyes meet hers, her tiny face lights up with a smile so pure, so full of joy, it’s as if the entire world was made just for her.  

And you’re watching it all unfold.  

You’re watching your daughter fall in love with the same eyes you did.  

Consequences.  

They’re everywhere now — in the scattered toys on the floor, in the half-drunk cups of coffee that go cold before he can finish them, in the tiny socks that never seem to stay on her feet.  

But they’re also here, in this moment. In the way Alex leans into her, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten, his hands gentle but steady as they cradle her wiggling body. In the way he whispers something soft to her, something you can’t hear, and she lets out a high-pitched giggle that fills the room like sunlight.  

“Did you hear that?” he asks, turning to you with wide, wonder-filled eyes, his voice hushed because he’s just witnessed a miracle. 

You nod, your chest tightening as you take it all in. “I heard.”  

“She’s perfect.” he says, his voice cracking slightly, and you know he means it with every fiber of his being.  

“She’s you.” you say softly, watching as his gaze shifts back to her, his expression so tender it makes your throat ache.  

“No.” he murmurs, shaking his head. “She’s…she’s us.”  

And in that moment, you know the consequences are worth it. Every sleepless night, every ache, every fleeting moment of doubt or fear. They are worth it for this — for the sight of your Alex, your same Alex, falling in love all over again, just like you did.  

Consequences.  

You wouldn’t trade them for anything. 

a/n: I think I’m getting a bit obsessed with the concept of him finishing inside. I went on about it for a bit too long in another thing you’ll see soon too. Ugh.

Also, adding this just because. I was scrolling through some old playlists and whatever, landed on this song randomly and it really gave me the vibe of this, like what I was tryna express in here.

[miwsolovely]

—can you love me (like i love you?)

𝜗𝜚 — in which, red robin likes to shows up at your apartment for an irenic moment from the harsh lines of Gotham. he meets you and you meet him, all of him.

TIM DRAKE x CIVILIAN! GN!READER mild angst. reader pining over tim, vice versa if you squint. 3.8k. — this was so fun — requested

The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain-soaked asphalt and blooming jasmine from the park nearby. You always found it comforting—an odd juxtaposition of Gotham’s grit and its rare moments of beauty. Tonight, however, it wasn’t the air that brought you solace. It was the quiet creak of boots landing on your fire escape.

You smiled before even turning to look. “You’re late,” You teased, peering over your shoulder at the figure perched outside your window.

“Got caught up,” Red Robin replied, his voice light but tinged with fatigue. He stepped into the room with a practiced ease, his cape swaying slightly as he entered. The mask didn’t hide much—the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his shoulders tensed from the weight of the night’s patrol.

“You okay?” You asked, setting down the tea you’d been preparing next to an additional mug, turning around to face him in the living room, ignoring the pressure of your island on your lower back.

It had become routine by now. After weeks of these impromptu visits, you’d learned his habits: the subtle signs of exhaustion, the occasional wince from a barely hidden injury.

“I’m fine,” He said, though the way he sank into your worn-out armchair betrayed him.

You sighed and let the warmth seep into your palms as you spun around and took a mug from the counter and handed it to him. He took it without argument, the warmth seeming to settle him as he leaned back. “Liar,” You quipped. His nose tensed when he lied.

It had started months ago, the first time he appeared outside your window like some wayward bird. You’d been startled, of course—who wouldn’t be? But he hadn’t come for trouble, just a quiet moment away from the chaos. And somehow, without ever planning to, you became part of his nightly routine.

The first few visits had been awkward. After all, how often does Gotham’s very own Red Robin show up uninvited? But over time, the strangeness faded. He was careful never to overstep, never to ask too many personal questions or reveal too much about himself. Instead, your conversations meandered—books, movies, music, even the weird quirks of Gotham’s neighborhoods.

It wasn’t just him who needed the company. You found yourself looking forward to his visits more than you cared to admit. He was steady, like the ticking of a clock in the background of your life, even if you only ever saw him at night.

Tonight felt different, though. He wasn’t as talkative as usual, his responses short and clipped. You watched him over the rim of your own mug, debating whether to press.

“Long night?” You ventured.

“Something like that,” He replied, staring out the window at the city below. “Some nights are harder than others.”

You hesitated. You didn’t want to pry, but there was a vulnerability in his voice that tugged at you. “Want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips. “You’d make a good therapist.”

“I’m just nosy,” You said lightly, hoping to draw out more of that smile.

And for a moment, it worked. He chuckled softly, the sound like a warm ember in the cold.

“Thanks,” He said after a beat. “For this. For letting me . . . just be here.”

“You say that like you’re intruding.”

“Aren’t I?”

“No,” You said firmly. “You’re not.”

The silence that followed was comfortable, the kind that didn’t need filling. You’d grown used to these quiet stretches, knowing that sometimes words weren’t enough to smooth over the rough edges of the night.

After a while, he stood, setting the empty mug on the counter. “I should get going,” He said, his voice softer now.

“Be safe out there,” You say, facing him on your place on your chair, the words automatic but heartfelt.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. Then he was gone, disappearing into the shadows as seamlessly as he’d arrived.

A foggy evening, after his patrol, he arrived later than usual. His uniform was damp, and he looked more worn than you’d ever seen him.

When his eyes met yours, you let out an amused huff, walking to the closet in the hallway to your room, grabbing a beige towel and making your way back to him. “Take a dip in the lake Red?” You teased, handing him the towel as he stepped closer to you.

“Something like that,” He said, echoing the same vague answer he always gave. Even with the mask, you could feel the dam that wanted to implode.

Your brows furrowed.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

He looked at you sharply, as if the words had hit a nerve. “I’m used to it,” He said after a pause, his voice low and guarded.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t be.”

The room fell silent again, the tension thick enough to cut.

“I don’t… I can’t risk that,” He said finally. “Letting people in. It’s complicated.”

“Life’s complicated,” Your countered. “But you don’t have to keep everyone at arm’s length. At least not me.”

He stared at you, something unspoken flickering in his eyes. Then, as if breaking under the weight of his own defenses, he said, “I wish it were that simple.”

You didn’t bring it up again, sensing it was a line he wasn’t ready to cross. But the moment lingered, coloring every interaction that followed.

You’d open up to him. Though it wasn’t as reciprocated, you didn’t mind because he listened. Sometimes, when the night was soft, you two would talk about the random things that reminded you of each other, it was your favorite part of when he’d come to your apartment, relaxing in each others presence; it left a sapid taste in your mouth.

You’d talk to him about your life in Gotham University, talked to him about the enigma your heart palpitated for. How his voice made your smile bright and cheeks warm, how it rang though your mind constantly throughout the day, echoing off the walls and finding it’s way back to your heart, the devil that wouldn’t calm down.

You hadn’t realized that underneath the mask, he looked at you with a smile lining his eyes, his own devil pounding in his chest.

When asked if he knew of your feelings, your smiled turned bashful.

“He doesn’t even know my name, Red. I’m just a random with a crush.”

You’re not random, you’re mine. Is what he wanted to say, he wanted you to know who he is. Not the man with the mask — rather the man behind it.

He distanced himself from you at school because he thought that if he didn’t, you’d figure out he’s ‘Boy Wonder’ a bit too easy for his taste. He scares himself every night thinking about what would happen if you find out.

And then one night, he laughed.

Not just the quiet chuckle you’d heard before, but a full, unrestrained laugh that lit up his face. It was over something stupid—a poorly told joke you’d heard from a coworker. But the sound warmed you to your core, and for a moment, it reminded you of your enigma, Tim Drake.

How could someone do that? Look so familiar but unknown at the same time? Your eyes seeing one person, Red Robin: Gotham’s hero. But your heart seeing, hearing, feeling—

“Tim.”

The name left your lips in a whisper, your heart hammering in your chest. You hadn’t meant to say it. You weren’t even sure how you knew, but it was there—like a puzzle piece falling into place.

He froze, his entire body going rigid. “What did you say?”

“Tim,” Quieter this time, you repeated it. “That’s—”

He didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes confirmed it.

“I . . . I didn’t mean to—” You started, but he cut you off.

“How?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I don’t know,” You admitted. “I just . . . knew.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of what you’d just revealed.

Red Robin—Tim—he stepped back slightly, his eyes scanning your face as if trying to read the truth there. You could feel the tension in the room, thick and unyielding, and for a moment you thought he might leave. But instead, he sighed, his shoulders slumping as though a great weight had finally pressed him down.

“I’ve been careful,” he said softly. “I’ve spent so long making sure you — no one could ever connect me to . . . to this.”

You didn’t know what to say, the gravity of his words grounding you to the spot. Finally, you managed, “I didn’t mean to—to figure it out! It’s not like I was trying. It just . . .”

He ran a hand through his hair, the motion uncharacteristically unguarded. “I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have let this go on for so long.”

“Don’t say that,” You pleaded, stepping closer. “I know you think you’re protecting yourself, or me, but you don’t have to do this alone, Tim.”

Hearing his name in your voice seemed to shake something loose in him. He looked at you, really looked at you, and the mask of Red Robin slipped away for just a moment. Beneath it was someone young, someone tired, someone who wanted to believe you. The enigma who became more familiar.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “I don’t know how to turn it off, how to let someone in without putting them in danger.”

You reached out, your hand hovering just above his arm. “You already let me in,” You said quietly. “That’s why you kept—” You stop yourself. “—that’s why you keep coming back.” Your hand connects with the rough material of his suit and you wish you could feel his skin on yours.

He didn’t pull away. For a long moment, the two of you stood there, the sound of rain against the window the only noise in the room.

Finally, he spoke. “You deserve better than this. Better than me.”

You shook your head, your throat tight. “Don’t decide that for me.”

The words seemed to hit him like a blow. He opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. Instead, he turned his head, staring at the rain running down the window as though it could give him the answers he sought.

“I’ve thought about it,” You continued, your voice soft but steady. “I’ve thought about what it would mean. What it would mean to care about you —really care about you. Even though it was for Tim at first, there’s more to you and I want to care for you and everything that comes with it. And I’m still here. I’ll always be here Tim.”

That seemed to break him. He sank down onto the edge of the couch behind him, his head in his hands. “You don’t understand what you’re saying. What my life is like. The people I go up against—they wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you to get to me.”

“And you don’t understand what you could mean to me,” You countered. You sit on the floor, right at his feet so you can lock eyes with him even though his domino mask hides them, you can still see the blue of his eyes you admire so much.

“I see the risks, Tim. I see them every night when you walk out that window, not knowing if you’ll come back. But I’m still here because I care about you. And you need to stop deciding what I can handle.”

He looked up at you then, the walls he’d so carefully constructed were crumbling, and you saw the man behind the vigilante.

“I care about you too,” He said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “More than I should, and — and it scares the hell out of me.”

You rose from sitting criss-cross to your knees, resting your arms on his, you wanted to get impossibly closer, closing the gap between the two of you. “Then let’s be scared together.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and real, and for the first time, neither of you looked away. You didn’t know what the future held, didn’t know if this thing between you could survive the dangers and secrets of his world. But in that moment, none of it mattered.

He reached for your hand, his touch tentative but warm. “This won’t be easy,” He warned you gently.

“I know,” You said, squeezing his hand. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time in a long time, he smiled—not the practiced smile of Red Robin, but something softer, something real.

“I don’t deserve you,” He murmured.

“Maybe not,” You teased, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But you’ve got me anyway.”

The two of you stayed like that for a while, the storm outside mirroring the quiet storm of emotions between you. And when he finally left that night, it wasn’t with the usual heaviness of his patrols.

This time, he carried a piece of you with him—and left a piece of himself behind.

©miwsolovely do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms . likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3

[alientee]

Shimmer Head

Ekko x reader

6k+ words

Fem reeader

Hazbin hotel Easter egg included. Addicted song describes reader.

Warning: suicidal thoughts and actions, drug use not by choice though.

Im sorry it took so long yall I’ve been crocheting blankets for Christmas and life has been lifting with work

You were an anomaly, or at least that’s what Silco called you. Apparently he saved you at birth; one calm walk through Zaun's lanes, and your mom was an overdosing shimmer head who was getting her last fix before she pushed you out. You survived. This was something Silco never thought possible; even when you looked like a shivering, whining skeleton, you were strong, a survivor, and from that day on, you were his daughter.

As life went on, you got stronger, faster, and a little more insane; your eyes changed, looking like a wild mix of two different colors. You changed so much it confused you every day to see yourself. How the voices in your head would go from telling you to slaughter everyone to offing yourself.

Silco had you microdosed with shimmer ever since you were a newborn till now, and you handled it each and every time. You were his creation, his wild card. Even as a child, he had you by his side with torture, robbing, and meetings. You’ve done it all. There were days the voices really did get to you; sometimes it was better to hurt yourself rather than to crash. You can remember the times Silco had to stop you from hurting him and yourself. The scars on your arms, the bloodstains left on your clothes, the burn scars from throwing bone down without any care, ready to give it all up. Either you survived, or Silco was just in time.

So when you first met Jinx, your first thoughts were, This poor kid, she’s just a dreamer.

But she followed you around everywhere, calling you sis, saying she’d never leave your side, she’d never leave you no matter what. Not like her sister did. You didn’t believe her; how could you? No one but Silco ever saw you; he’s the only one that loved you.

Until she followed you to a club one night.

You spin around in the chair, listening to the grungy punk music, drunk, horny prowlers, angry wannabes, and goofy dancers mixing into the crowd. You sit in your chair in the corner of the club, drink in one hand, revolver in the other. One bullet, one drink—it was all a game to you. The gun clicked three times, and you took three shots before it was snatched from your hand. And lo and behold, it was your new shadow coming to ruin the fun.

“Hey, what gives, Blue Jay!”

“How are you going to be the big shot legacy Silco says if you're dead, dumbass!”

“It’s none of your business!”

“We’re family now, so yeah, you are!”

“You going to love me even if I try to kill Silco in his sleep?”

“I’d still love you even if you killed me with him.”

Family, huh?

“Fine.”

For the first time you didn’t take your game too far, or get fucked up and pass out behind the bar; you didn’t even have a mental breakdown.

At least the voices got quiet for a while.

After a while you started to think of Jinx as a sister. Someone you could confide in, someone who gets you. Was Silco the best dad? Nah, but he was all you had. Now you know he had Jinx too. You thought everything was ok; you could be happy with your found family; even if you were broken, you still had people to fix you up, so everything was fine.

At least you genuinely believed everything was alright.

Until Jinx’s actual sister showed up, calling her Powder, the hugging, the crying, the family reunion was cute. You haven’t seen Jinx this vulnerable in a while. Everything was calm until some Piltie came out, and then the moment was gone. Jinx threatens the redhead with the gun, and boom, the Firelights had you all surrounded.

“Jinx, if you want your sister back, you gotta be smart about this.” The silence you got back let her know she was thinking up something stupid.

Smoke and ash covered the air, bullets flying and fighting at every turn. The firebugs just didn’t know when to quit, always trying to get into business that isn’t theirs. It was fun knocking them off their boards every once in a while. You’ve faced them before with Jinx killed a couple of times; you didn’t kill any of them, though. Never had the guts to really kill innocent people; you didn’t want to know what the voices would say if you did. You didn’t want to lose yourself all the way.

As always, Jinx is shooting bullets every which way in the sky, which wasn’t bad, but using bombs to blow up the platform is very bad. Your body hurt, your ears were ringing, and you could barely breathe. You tried calling out for Jinx but got no answer. You finally dragged yourself up; you can see some fire bugs down, but you couldn’t see Jinx. Couldn’t see her sister. Didn’t even see the body lying dead somewhere.

Huh, you were all alone.

Then it dawned on you: Jinx did it on purpose. She really was a genius, truly. She blew up the platform, making a distraction; a lot of people were down and out. Nobody could see what was happening; some too injured to chase.

Looks like she could only carry her sister to safety, though.

You’ll never leave me no matter what, huh?

Hehehehehe, yeah right!

You could finally breathe again and got the strength to stand up. It was all just so funny, really.

Bunch of bullshit hahahahaha

You didn’t notice anything going on around you, the shuffling of people standing; you didn’t feel all the cautious eyes on you. Not that you cared; all you cared about were the voices screaming at you so loud you could swear your ears were bleeding.

Walking towards the edge of the platform is easy. Turning around and giving a mock salute to the firelights with a smile on your face was easy. But dropping to your death knowing the last thing playing in your headphones was your and Jinx's song, it fucking burned every lyric you tried to sing just turned to ash in your mouth.

But at least now the voices would stop forever. The air rushed through your ears and then nothing.

Out like a light

You woke up in an eerily dark room; honestly, it was predictable. Down to the moldy smell, the silence, and the creepy guy in the corner with a mask. And you honestly should’ve been more mad at yourself for getting saved; you couldn’t even die in peace!

“Why am I alive, dammit!”

The silence was so annoying; there’s no need to try and be intimidating. You’ve seen worse. You hate people who try those tactics; you can’t torture someone who’s already tortured every day. Geez, just kill them if they don’t tell you what you want.

“Look, I’m not going to tell you shit, so just kill me already!”

And then the mask comes off. You don’t know him, but you knew him, apparently jinx’s past. The boy savior, she calls him; he looks just like she said he would. You also remember what she told you about him. “Better watch out; the boy savior likes to think he can save everybody.”

Ok, you can deal with a wannabe hero.

“Your on shimmer. You are an addict; Slico has you do his dirty work, and he gives you your next fix. Am I right?”

You’re really fucking wrong. Scratch that; you didn’t want to deal with the wannabe hero.

“So how about you tell me what I need to know, and you get to lay low somewhere secret and get off that shit before you try and die again while Silco just replaces you?”

The voices started to get louder, your throat tight and blood dripping from your palms for how tight you started to squeeze them. His words were like acid on your skin. Just who did this asshole think he was?

“First of all, dipshit, I’m his daughter! Ok, not some random street rat shimmer head he feeds. Second of all, shimmer makes people stronger. I should know; came right out of my druggie mom, still living and breathing, full of shimmer! I’ve been injected with it since Silco adopted me! He says I’m perfect; he says I'm his legacy. I don’t do his dirty work; I help him make Zaun better! So you're dead fucking wrong, wannabe!”

Now he’s looking at you like you’re crazy…. And you're used to that.

“This is better? Our people are dying all around us. Kids are abandoned! People are sick and starving. How is this better?”

“Blame Piltover! Duh!”

“It’s Piltover. And Silco, are you crazy??!!”

That word. It always did something to you. You didn’t care when people looked at you like you were... but calling you crazy? Different story. Something that made all the voices laugh, an itch in your brain that told you to break, hurt, destroy, kill, and show them your insane.

“FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU! Hahahahahahahahaha. All of Piltover and Zaun is going to burn you, and your fucking bugs are going to be ash! I’m not crazy. I’m perfect. I’m perfect he said”—

Your music!?! Where were your headphones?!!?

You were so numb, in a really dark place, you never fully remembered how your episodes went. When that singed guy injected you with your first microdose of shimmer, all you remembered was the screaming and Silco whispering how proud he was. But Ekko would remember it all even in his dreams. How you banged your head against the pole you were tied against over and over again. Crying tears of shimmer while laughing hysterically until blood dripped on the side of your head. Only to end up sobbing.

The voices screamed and screamed and screamed. Until they stopped, they never just stopped without music or silco. And you never had this heavy feeling over your ears without your headphones.

Oh, it’s this Ekko guy. What is he doing? Why is he holding his hands over your face? Why is he looking at you like that?

“I’m sorry. You’re not crazy. I promise, okay? Breath for me nice and slow.”

This was nice: everything quiet, everything nice and warm. This is new, huh?

“Hey!? Wai”—

Out like a light again

“She’s a danger to the base!”

“We can help her. She’s not like Jinx! She’s the product of a bad situation. She’s not with Silco because she wants to be; it’s because it’s all she knows.”

“She’s a mess; keeping her here is like bringing bullshit to our door!”

“He’s been injecting her with shimmer since she was an infant! We can’t kick her out!”

“Can y'all shut up sleeping here?”

Bat Guy and Ekko just stared at you.

“Look, I don’t care what you do to me; can I just have my damn headphones? The voices, ya know, they’re telling me to escape and kill everyone here. Soooooo, my earphones, pretty please.”

The boy wonder hands them over and puts them over your ears. And even with no music playing, everything feels peaceful. The whole time, he and Bat Boy are still going back and forth; this time you couldn’t hear it, though. Finally you get silence, if only for a moment. You almost bit Ekko when he moved one of them back off.

“Look, let’s compromise: you get a little freedom, supervised. And we get one shimmer shipment location… not the factory, just the shipment.”

“No bullshit babysitters; it’s you or nothing.”

“...fine.”

You could’ve told him to fuck off and die. Make him eat his sappy little words. But after the way he held your ears, he looked like a kicked puppy for making you freak out. How softly he said sorry. It was different; it was new. You didn’t do soft, not that much.Silco always told you to play your enemies, so maybe giving a little bait wouldn’t be too bad.

“Fine, boy wonder, I’ll give you a shipment that’s all.”

“Thank you.”

There he goes, looking at you like that again.

Like some kind of puppy. What a sucker.

Ekko took you outside, but you didn’t want to socialize, so he kept you both at a good distance from the others. While taking you out of the base, you didn’t want to look at anyone. If you saw any leering faces and judging eyes, you knew you’d lash out.

Oddly enough, you didn’t want to smack the fuck out of Ekko's face. Maybe a little bit, not a lot. You didn’t know what it was, but Ekko was calming; his presence was like a warmth in the dark murk of Zaun. You didn’t understand how he could be so... normal with all of this around him.

Maybe it was the fact that he actually took you out of the hideout and onto a roof to look over Piltover. You could’ve knocked him out, taken his board, and run. Why is he so stupidly trusting? “How do you do it?” He raises an eyebrow. “Do what?” You raise one back “Be so happy-go-lucky when we live in a place like Zaun.” That made him stop his steps, and he looks serious; you haven’t seen him unless he’s talking about shipments.

“I have to make a change for the people who can’t help themselves; I want to give people something to live for; the firelight is my way of doing that.”

And there he goes again, making your mind feel funny again. It sounds like he means it; everything Ekko says always sounds genuine, but somehow you can’t bring yourself to believe him.

“Alright then, help me by teaching me how to ride one of those hoverboard things.” Ekko’s eyes get wide, and his mouth even opens a little. “You want to learn? I’ve been trying to get you to do that for a week. What changed?” You didn’t want to let him know the real reason, so you decided to play it off.

“Just thought I could kick your butt at something, boy wonder,” he scoffed. You knew he hated the nickname; it was too fun teasing him to stop, though.

“Alright, alright. If you’re so confident, then I’ll teach you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you end up falling off a few times.”

“I’ll be a pro; just you wait and see.”

You were in fact not a pro. Your knees were scuffed, and the dirt on your clothes was a testament to just how many times you hit the dirt. “Sorry this is taking so long; I feel fucking stupid.” Ekko grabs your hands and pulls you up, grabbing the board. “Don’t; it takes everyone a minute to learn this is no different. How do you think I feel? I made it; I had to test it and fall a lot.” You give him a nod, deciding to take the board back with a little more confidence this time. “What a boy genius you are,” you got a snort in return.

“Now, remember, hoverboards are pretty sensitive. You have to find your balance and keep it steady. And be careful not to lean too far to one side or the other, or you’ll tip over.” Ekko watches you carefully as you mount the hoverboard, his arms crossed over his chest. The hoverboard begins to move forward as you lean, slowly at first, but steadily gaining speed.

You could hear Ekko yelling behind you, “There you go, you’re doing great! Just keep your balance and focus on the path ahead.”

“What about turns!? What if I fall??”

“Don’t worry; I’ll be right here to catch you if you fall.”

You got the hang of it after a while; you both went back to the base riding your hoverboard and even racing some of the kids. It was a good time, no responsibilities, no expectations. It still hurt you; there was no Silco, but at least you had distractions.

Ekko seemed to show up when he wasn’t asked; it’s like he knew when to butt into people's business.

He was there during your worst moments of loneliness. When the darkness was too much, when the voices kept repeating the insults louder and crueler. Telling you to kill yourself, that you're nothing, worthless, not good enough, burn the firelight base to the ground, and watch everyone around you die. You’ll only end up alone anyway. The smell of ash and blood, you could remember it by heart. Tears pouring out of your eyes continuously, you didn’t even sob. You had nothing to be sad about in the moment. You just naturally cried, and all you could do was scream, hoping I’d stop. Sitting in the dark waiting for it all to end. Thinking, hoping that just maybe one day you’d be blessed enough not to wake up.

It wasn’t until you felt Ekko's heavy gloves on your shoulder. Asking if you were ok, if you needed anything, if you needed him. Looking at you like you're the only thing that mattered in the moment. Moving to sit next to you, his shoulder lightly touching yours. “You don’t have to talk; just know I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere.” Those days were hard, but it always felt nice to have Ekko lying on the floor next to you, no words, just his company.

He even let you into his little workshop. His words: “You don’t have to knock. If you need me, just come in” You’d hand him his tools and use all the knowledge you had on tech to help. You used to make a lot of trinkets that helped your day-to-day life. You didn’t like to make weapons like Jinx, but you could make a mean bomb. You’ve even fallen asleep to his tinkering and his little nerd-out moments. “You're such a dork.” He wouldn’t even take his eyes off his invention.

“Shush if you're not going to help.”

“Touchy touchy. Here, let me look, boy genius.” When you actually put in effort to help him, he’d look at you from the side of his eye, and you’d pretend like you didn’t notice the small smile creeping up on his face. Sitting by his side until late at night, making new things to help out in the base. Both your giggles and the metal clanking were the only things heard at 3 am.

And that’s how it was for a month. Ekko is coming in, trying to coax you into giving up Silco; you give him a little info, and he folds and gives you what you want for the day. You had a good thing going. So why’d he want to ruin it now? You were fine seeing the kids; you made small talk with one of the firelight girls, but that’s it. Everyone else you dealt with in passing. So why was Ekko so set on you interacting with more people?

“How about we hang out with the group for a bit?”

“I’m fine; I hate people.”

“Look, I’m just trying to—“

“I don’t need help! I don't need friends! I—I need my dad; I need…. I need to feel in control. It still feels like I’m a fucking prisoner even if you say I’m not.

Ekko doesn’t talk for a minute; you can tell he’s trying to choose his words wisely, his white locs covering his face. “I don’t know what you see in Silco, even if he took you in…. You can’t tell me you truly see the good in what he’s doing.

You didn’t answer him. Afraid you’ll say something you’ll regret by lashing out. He didn’t get it; he didn’t get you! Silco was your dad; Silco helped you ignore the voices; he loved you even if he had a funny way of showing it.

“He’s not the best dad in the world, but he’s my dad. He helped me when I had no one. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Ekko didn’t answer you; it’s like he wanted to argue, but he knew you needed this.

“Just... just give it a chance; you may find your people.”

If he heard your scoff, he didn’t react to it.

I don’t have people; all I have is my dad and myself, even when I don’t love myself.

Ekko’s soft words pulled you out of your thoughts.

“You have me too.”

“Until how long, hmmm, till I run out of information?”

“That’s no—“

“Hey, Ekko, tell me how I survived the day I jumped.”

Ekko went back silent; he was giving you that look again, and you hated it. It’s like he saw everything within you, and it made you feel naked, like you couldn’t hide.

“Oh that… flew down to save you.”

“Why?”

“When you smiled at us before you fell, I thought you were asking for help.”

You giggled at that; only Ekko would think of saving his enemy who tried to off themselves in front of him. “Your something else, Sunflower.”

“Sunflower!? What kind of flower is that? We don’t have those in Zaun.”

“Alright, take me out or whatever it is you want.”

“D-don’t say it like that. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the kids.”

You never knew Zaun could look like this, or even have a tree, and now the name firelights makes sense: nothing but a lush green tree with the fireflies all around it. It’s peaceful, plush; it’s nice. You got a few looks here and there, but it’s fine; ekkos here, and you weren’t forced to hang out with who you didn’t want to.

And that’s how you spent your day bonding with Ekko and even the kids; they weren’t as judgy, and you appreciated it. Even when they had questions, it didn’t feel pointed. “Why do you always wear those things on your head?” your headphones; you never took them off, never could bring yourself to part from the one thing that helps stop the voices, no matter how battered and dingy they are. “They’re headphones. They help me when I’m scared or upset.” “Oooooh, I get it; my mask helps me! Makes me feel stronger!” “Good, use your strength to become the best firelight you can be.”

That’s how the day started and ended: you playing with the kids, running around, playing tag and hide and seek until the night came. The kids gathered around, using common objects around them to make a little band; music brings a lot of the firelights together, and somebody brings an actual scrap-made speaker playing louder music. Some even start to dance. And in this moment you couldn’t help but think maybe Ekko was right; maybe these people were ok.

You grab the overworking leader by the arm and pull him with you. “What is it?”

“Come on, Ekko, let’s dance!”

“Dance?”

“Yeah, you scared boy wonder?“

“Not at all, but um… why?”

“Who doesn’t like dancing!”

That’s when the music hits and nothing else matters. Ekko moves effortlessly, his body flowing in perfect harmony with yours. He keeps you close, his chest pressed against yours as he twirls you around. The world outside seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble. Your body’s moving in rhythm as the music gets Ekko pulls you closer, one hand resting on your waist while the other takes hold of your hand, spinning you. He begins to sway gently, guiding you in a slow dance. Holding each other’s sides, swaying back and forth. Every minute you got to look in Ekkos's eyes, seeing him smile at you like that did something to you; he really was something else.

You couldn’t let those eyes shake you, though. You knew it was only a matter of time before it all went to hell; no one really gives a damn about you, no one except Silco. But maybe if you were a better daughter, he would’ve found you by now.

Ekko could only look at you in confusion when you walked away from him, away from the gathering. He thought it was a good moment that he was finally getting through to you. But he wasn’t one to push, not when he knew what you’d been through, but he followed you up the stairs to the treehouse.

And when he found you, the silence was heavy but comfortable. That’s how it was with you too, and you’d never say it out loud, but he made you feel safe.

“Do you want to stay here?”

You timidly glanced into his eyes before you took a deep breath. “I don’t know,” you looked away, closing your eyes, trying to stop yourself from getting out of hand. Ekko hummed, leaving more silence in between you both, and then he asked another, “Even if you know Silco loves you, it isn’t healthy.”

You opened your eyes as a bitter taste remained in your mouth. Your face contorted into different expressions as you debated with yourself on whether or not you would share.

“My mother was a shimmer addict; she had me right as she overdosed. And Silco found me; I was different; I survived even with a small, premature body full of shimmer. He said I was unique, that I could change all of Zaun. I believe him. I’ve done a lot of great things… at least I think so. Even if you don’t agree with him, he saved me.

“But you're not okay—

“Don’t tell me what I am! I’m perfect as I am; he said so! I may not be normal, but I am living instead of surviving, Ekko! Can’t you see that?”

“I do. But you know what else I see? I see how happy you are riding your board; I see how sweet you are with the kids, especially when you steal yarn from the top side and crochet stuff for them; I see how you care for Raven when you think she’s not looking by finding her favorite things to surprise her without letting her know it was you; I see how you truly care for the people you're loyal to. You touch people's lives and leave light in your wake. I see how beautiful you are inside and out. You’re your own person, not what Silcos made you! You can do better than what he has you doing.”

“Is that what you’ve come up with in your mind? That I’m just this lost, misguided girl who was groomed to be fucked up? News flash! Boy Wonder, I’m in Zaun. I was going to be fucked up regardless of Silco! Who do you think I am, huh? Don’t act like you know me, 'cause you don’t! Stop trying to change me into something I’m not! I’m not some knockoff version of Jinx you can fix just because I decided to be nice a few times. What?! I’m your little powder passion project. Couldn’t save her, so you’re trying to save me because we both have family, daddy, and abandonment issues?!”

You knew it was a low blow, but even though she left you, you couldn’t help but think about Jinx’s words, taking them to heart, and everything she told you. “He likes to think he can save everyone.”

He narrowed his eyes at your response; you could see him clenching his fist and clenching his teeth. His eyes no longer looking at you with acceptance or worry like you were used to, only irritation

“I wasn’t trying to change her; I thought she was in danger. I didn’t know she went with that piece of shit willingly…. I thought I could save her; I needed to because she was my friend.”

“Ohhhhh, that’s right, you’re the boy savior!”

His eyes went from a glare to cold and lifeless.

“Fuck you. You know nothing; you only know Jinx's pain but not mine. You’re right about one thing, though: you and Jinx are similar. So I don’t know why I was stupid enough to try and help you; just like her, you don’t deserve it.” That just pissed you off more.

“I didn’t ask you to help me! I didn’t ask for you to save me from offing myself! I didn’t ask for you to try and fucking fix me or my life!”

“I’m not trying to change you; I’m trying to give you something better! A chance! Silco didn’t give you a chance; he used you! Your work, a tool! If you survived on shimmer this long since birth, you're proof that his product can lead to something greater than he thought. But it’s at the expense of you and your health.” His voice lowers, his breathing heavy. “Please… tell me you see it. You have to know that keeping you on shimmer as long as he has wasn’t to help you. Only him.”

In the back of your mind you knew; you always knew. And yet the faith he put in you gave your heart love you’ve never felt before. How he always stated he was proud of you, said you were the best thing to happen in his life, that you're his legacy, his daughter. But what was the cost for your heart, suicidal thoughts, breakdowns, nightmares, and dissociation? A mother that never wanted you, a father that loved you but not enough to see your pain, only your potential. “Hey Ekko, thank you. For saving me and making me realize. I don’t want people to end up like me... because I’m not ok.”

“Then let me he“—”. He didn’t get to finish before you pushed back, making him crash into the tree behind him. You jumped from the stairs on the tree; you didn’t care about the fall because it’s the freest you ever felt. You could hear the other fireflies yelling, but the adrenaline and the wind in your ears helped you ignore them. As soon as you fell, you pushed forward, not caring about the pain in your legs and ankles. Grabbing a hoverboard before speeding off and out of the hideout.

When Ekko got up, he didn’t chase you, nor did he call out for you; all he could do was watch. Scar rushed up to him, looking at him expectingly. “She’s going to go back to Silco!? We have to catch her before she rats us out!?” Ekko didn’t react to his words, only looking forward to where you had run. “Ekko!” And when Ekko finally looked at Scar, he just shrugged. “She’ll be back when she’s ready.” “She’s not coming back." Ekko, she’s been waiting for an opportunity to escape, and we let her!”

Ekko just shook his head, picking up something off the ground. “She’ll be back.” “How do you know!?” Ekko moved his hand in front of Scar, showing him what he picked up. “She left her headphones.” Scar just scoffed. “That doesn't mean anything.” Ekko just shook his head. “Trust me, if you knew her like I do, you’d know it meant everything.”

You wandered around one of Silco's biggest shimmer factories, where most of his shipments go. You walked around the rooftop, pacing back and forth. “I’m addicted to the madness~” You turned on your headphones, singing along, tuning out the noise below, scummy workers and henchmen everywhere. “Let me leave my soul a-burning; I’ll be breathing it in.” Sneaking down through the crawl spaces, you laid out bombs everywhere you could stick them. You set up trap after trap after trap after trap. You knew this place like the back of your hand, so it was easy to get in and get out.

“I’m addicted to the feeling, getting higher than the ceiling~” This place had meaning to you… this was the first place Silco took you when he felt like you were ready to work for him. The first place where he showed you the ropes was the same place he had you start your injections. The same place you had your first breakdown. This felt like a goodbye to the past, the pain, everything that made you feel inadequate. You don’t know what you’d be without Silco; you knew the voices would never fully leave, but at least with this you could let your dad know you were ok and that you were going your own way.

“Just concede and give in to your inner demons again~” You hit the button, and it all blew up—the building, the workers.

And you too. Hopefully, Silco can forgive you for not saying goodbye.

It’s been 3 months; Ekko waited for you to return. But after a while he could only assume you’d either gone your own way or something terrible happened. Missions still happened with no sign of you with Silco's goons, and there’s talk about the huge explosion that happened, so he couldn’t pinpoint what had happened to you; all he had to give him comfort about your departure was your headphones. He never touched them, only keeping them by his bedside with your memory lingering with him whenever there in his sight. But today at 12 am, he finally had the courage to tinker with them, hopefully fixing them up.

He was concentrating so hard he didn’t hear the door open; it was Scar. “Your stray is back,” and as soon as he came, he left.

“Hey sunflower,” he jumped and turned around so quickly you thought he’d fall out of the chair. He did slip a little as he rushed to hug you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to laugh.

“Missed me?” He squeezed your torso, chuckling a little. “Missed your humor, not your bullshit.” You poked at his side, making him jump. “Lies, you missed that too. Everyone else is boring.

He pulls you over to his patched-up couch, both of you plopping down. You lean into his touch, laying on his shoulder. Neither of you said anything; you didn’t need to. You don’t know what you expected when it came to his reaction. But you’re glad Ekko didn’t pressure you to talk about anything or question what you’d been doing. You’d tell him one of these days. The withdraws, breakdowns, you almost ending it all. But right now you just wanted to enjoy his company; being alone for months took its toll, so it’s good to be back in a warming presence.

It took everything in you to not go back to Silco, to everything that was easier. But you pulled it off, and you hope Ekko could see that you really are trying. “Was it you?” He spoke so softly you thought you just imagined it, but Ekkos looking into your eyes let you know it was real. And you knew what he meant; your explosion was nothing but destruction, but you wanted to leave that behind you. So you said the only thing that was closest to the truth. “I’m following my own path now, Ekko.” When you looked back at him, it almost took your breath away. Those stupid, big, brown eyes looking at you with so much warmth you could’ve melted right then and there. It made you sick.

“I’m happy for you... So you’re just visiting?”

“Geez, trying to kick me out already, huh?” He shook his head. “Of course not. I just…. I want you to be happy and go your own way, even if it’s not here with me.” You looked away, biting your cheek. “So what if I wanted to be happy here?”.

“Then I’d make a space for you right now; you’re always welcome.”

“Even in your room~”

“Yeah, you can stay with me if you want.”

You felt all your thoughts falter and come to a stop once the words were out of his mouth. You paused and looked at him, face red. “Easy there; we don’t want everyone jealous that the big boss in charge is playing favorites.” He pulls you so close, too close. His nose and forehead touching your own. You don’t know this Ekko, Ekko who always was too shy to flirt back, who was always the gentleman, who only gave fleeting touches like he was afraid to break you. “You are my favorite; you’ll always be someone special to me.” You couldn’t help pushing his buttons, not wanting him to see your face reddening.

“Leaders shouldn’t show favoritism, ya know. I’m going to need something for me to keep quiet; wouldn’t want to hurt the kiddies feelings, would you? out of all the things you expected Ekko to say, you didn’t expect what he’d do.

Ekko leans down, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. It’s slow and tender; the brush of his lips is so soft. He takes his time, savoring the feel of your lips against his, pouring all of his love and affection into the kiss. He leaned back and smiled warmly as he continued to gently caress your cheek. He looked at you with a soft, affectionate expression, his gaze filled with adoration thatyou’d noticed before. You just never had the guts to call him out on it.

“Is that enough to keep you quiet?”

“It's a start.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

same anon from the ace UM submission here HELLOOOO I JUST FELL TO MY KNEESSSSS imagine malleus in a fit lashes out because how could they understand the isolation he feels and it just forces ace to confront his own feelings. imagine the final confrontation he straightens malleus out in the usual way that he does considering ace also has a track record of setting people straight (like with riddle and in phantom bride) "just talk to them and let them know how you feel" "stop carrying all these feelings to yourself" his own words probably also came from somewhere deep inside of him that he refuses to face but it just comes up to the surface because he sees himself in malleus. pretty ironic that he'll be calling out malleus when hes doing the exact same. it would give ace the development that ppl say hes been lacking compared to the other charas who all had some kind of further development like the other first years for example

think of post ob where after the dust settled they just return back to their respective loved ones and finally having to come clean about their emotions once and for all.

i just want an emotionally vulnerable scene for ace, mister allergic to facing his emotions, trappola even if its just a side moment that gets overshadowed later HHHH

[Referencing this post!]

*nodnod* Malleus is arrogant and desperate enough to think that no one could possibly relate to these tumultuous emotions of his. It’d be so fitting for Ace to confront him (and, by extension, his own feelings)—because not only does Ace have a track record of speaking out against others, but he has spoken out against Malleus before in Endless Halloween Night. In fact, he was the ONLY character to continue harping on the guy after everyone else basically forgave him. Ironically, that event was also the one that foreshadowed Malleus’s ability to stop time (which is true of the space contained in his briar barrier). And it all comes full circle…

For Malleus, I feel like him verbalizing his feelings isn’t really the main struggle. He seems to lack the awareness of what he’s feeling in the first place, as he doesn’t realize he’s lonely until Yuu points it out to him in 7-18. Later in 7-29, Malleus speaks openly with Silver about how powerless he feels to stop his subjects from feeling sorrow. It’s true that he has a tendency to project his feelings onto others (hence forcing everyone into happy dreams to avoid reality), but unfortunately projecting is not necessarily the same as empathizing. Rarely does Malleus do the legwork to truly understand others on an intimate level. I think that projection is a function of how Malleus understands and interacts with the world since this is something he does even when he’s not being overly emotional. For example, in his own Dorm Uniform vignettes he thinks it would be easier to bring everyone to him (so as to not miss a dorm meeting) even though this act of magic is considered highly rude by other mages. He does communicate his feelings, albeit sometimes via talking in circles or vaguely—namely in how he speaks with Yuu, sharing stories about his past (in book 7) or sharing about gargoyles to impart advice on how to overcome adversity (in book 3). More blatantly, he declares his intentions to Lilia before sentencing everyone to sleep in 7-37: “Not losing you!”

I also think… to some extent, Lilia already understands how Malleus might feel if he leaves. I get the sense that Lilia was in such a rush to go in the same way that you’d want to rip off a band-aid quickly. The more you prolong it, the worse the pain will be, that kind of logic. And before he intended to depart, Lilia tried to set things up so that Malleus would still be in good hands—inviting him to the farewell party, making sure people from all the dorms were there (perhaps so that Malleus can make new friends).

Malleus could more clearly state his feelings, sure. But I think the true root of the problem isn’t him not communicating—because even if he did so more openly, what would that resolve exactly? Time still moves forward, change still happens, his loved ones still leave him. It might be emotionally cathartic for Malleus, but ultimately he’s still left feeling lonely. The challenge for him is less putting his thoughts into words and more him learning to accept these life-altering changes instead of fighting or resisting them.

I still think that Ace could relate to Malleus in this regard, especially if they call back to 7-17, in which Ace cheerily redirects the conversation. While Deuce, Grim, and even Yuu discuss changes to their lives come summer break (going to the next grade, changing classes, Grim staying at school on his own, not being able to study together anymore), Ace challenges them with lines like, "C'mon, why do you guys have to get all mopey?", "[...] no need to join the mope patrol", " I declare Mopefest officially over!", and, "Frankly, I'm still skeptical any of this is gonna help us figure out a way to send [Yuu] home." It registers as Ace being in denial about the events about to unfold and coping by reassuring others by distracting them (when that reassurance is also aimed at himself), Ace is dishonest with himself and instead redirects those efforts to calling out others, which makes him come off as too mean or pushy even with his own friends (particularly Deuce). It would be nice to get an arc about him learning to be more vulnerable with his own emotions and better understanding those of others.

I get the feeling that Ace will get most of his actual character development and tearful reunion with Deuce, Yuu, and Grim within his own dream rather than in the final battle (the timing of the latter would just be odd). Hopefully Ace's dream written well since he's the last first year to be woken up. Save the best for last, you know?

[loganhowlettshousewife]

logan howlett x disabled!reader with chronic pain (not specified)

series masterlist - my masterlist

you should have known better than to go on the mission yesterday, but there’s nothing you hate more than feeling weak and patronised. charles had told you to sit it out if you were in pain, and you’d snapped back that you could handle missions just as well as any other x-man which, while true, doesn’t mean you should push yourself past your limits.

you can’t even get out of bed, every small movement making you whimper and groan as pain shoots through you, unforgiving. after so long dealing with chronic pain, you sometimes think you should be used to it, but no matter how many years go by and how many flares you experience, it never gets any easier.

logan’s upset with you, huffy and fussing, repeating over and over how you should have listened to charles, how the professor only wants what’s best for you, and telling you that it’s idiotic to let your pride take over. he’s being hypocritical, but you know it’s only because he hates to see you this way, hates to see you vulnerable, worries that one day something will happen and the x-mansion will be attacked and you’ll be in too much pain to effectively defend yourself.

so you let him take care of you, because you know it makes him feel better. it allows him a modicum of control over an uncontrollable situation. he, unlike you, has not yet given up on the idea of finding methods to lessen your chronic pain.

he helps you take your medication, brings you food and water, goes so far as to feed you so that you don’t even have to shift your body in case it’s too much. he waits by your side until the drugs kick in, refusing to leave until you tell him to go.

he asks jean to check in on you, asks if there’s anything she can do with all of her medical knowledge - the answer is no, there is no cure to a condition like yours, only techniques to lessen the pain temporarily. he searches for the few mutants in the mansion with healing abilities and practically begs them for help; it’s the only time he lets anyone see him vulnerable, because he hates to see you in pain and would do anything to bring your usual smile back to your face.

you groan in annoyance when he returns to your room with a slightly scared-looking teenager that you vaguely remember teaching last year, but she takes some of your pain away and so you thank the kid. she blushes and whispers “you’re welcome” before skittering out the room, and you’re now able to move enough to turn towards logan with your arms crossed over your chest, an unimpressed stare leveled at his face.

“she asked to help!” he protests, “he overheard me talking to jean about your pain and she offered. i didn’t force her to do anything.”

you sigh. chronic pain can’t be healed even with mutant abilities, you’ve tried it all before. it can take away the worst of it in the same way that some medication can, help with the inflammation that comes with a flare up, bring it down to manageable levels. but you’ll never be free of this burden.

“come here,” you say, and he does, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to give you anything and everything you desire. it’s ridiculous and you laugh, the first real smile you’ve shown all day, now that every breath no longer feels like a battle not to cry out in pain.

you stay in bed the rest of the day. it’s better to take it easy for a while than to risk anything. and logan stays with you, massaging at your muscles until they relax under his strong grip, leaving only to bring you more meals and your medication. he kisses you every time you complain that he surely has better things to be doing, covering your mouth with his large palm as he reminds you that you’re the most important thing to him now.

main taglist: @raeinyourdreams @meetmypointlessaddiction @chubbyhedgehog @yxtkiwiyxt @isepod @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @deaky-with-a-c

[wrathofrats]

Let Me Slip Inside Your Ultraviolet Disguise

Mountain/Rain, explicit

Merry Christmas @forlorn-crows (:

Rain gave him a soft closed lip smile. His hands reached to overlap mountains that sat at the hem of his sweats, simply rubbing his hands over the fabric. He had never had his tentacle actually inside of anyone. Sure, maybe countless mouths but this? This was different. More intimate and strange in rains mind. No one else had something like this.

Maybe that’s what made it more exciting. The ability to feel something no one else could.

Or, mountain rides rains tentacle for the first time.

Small warnings for t4t, rain has top surgery, mountains big naturals, cunt and clit and folds used for both of their anatomy’s, tentacles, it’s literally all fluff

Read under cut or on Ao3

“Could I try?” Mountain sat back on his heels, biting his lip. Rain didn’t meet his gaze, instead opting to pick at a loose thread from the pillowcase. His sweatpants were double tied around his waist, probably stolen from Swiss or simply bought to be a size too big. The extra room was comforting.

Mountain pulled at the drawstring, simply wrapping his finger around and pulling for the first knot to come undone. Rains shirt had rode up to expose the soft part of his stomach. It wasn’t that rain didn’t want this, but the nervousness settled inside him like a rock. Heavy and uncomfortable as mountain continued to toy with the hem of his pants, careful not to brush over his skin as to not seem like he’s trying to take it too far.

“Are you sure? It’s just ..” rain finally plucked the stray piece, throwing it onto the floor before finally looking back up at mountain, “isn’t it weird?”

“Do you want it to be weird? Dew sometimes likes it better when I treat him like that” the last knot came undone, letting the sweatpants slouch a bit more under rains tummy. It wasn’t meant to be weird, it was just rain, that’s all mountain needed.

“No, I don’t think so. Can you just ..” Rain trailed his thought off, the combination of not exactly knowing what he wanted to say and not being able to get the words out even if he did. Mountain knew though, knew him better than he knew himself, rain was pretty sure. Even if mountain didn’t know what he needed, he trusted him to take care of him anyways.

“I’ve got you waterlily”

Rain gave him a soft closed lip smile. His hands reached to overlap mountains that sat at the hem of his sweats, simply rubbing his hands over the fabric. He had never had his tentacle actually inside of anyone. Sure, maybe countless mouths but this? This was different. More intimate and strange in rains mind. No one else had something like this.

Maybe that’s what made it more exciting. The ability to feel something no one else could. Rain watched mountain undress in front of him, pulling his shirt over his head with a crack in his back, the amber sunset making his skin look almost golden. There was no flair in the way he took his clothes off, something almost domestic in the prospect of not showing off. It made Rain feel more at ease.

Mountain turned back around to focus on rain once his pants were in a careless heap on the floor along with his sweater. He only added to the mess, neatness not a virtue of his but especially not when he needed to focus on the water ghoul in front of him. The sweats and thin t shirt that rain had on were quickly discarded, leaving him in the same vulnerable state. Delicate scars decorated his chest, ones that mountain found it almost impossible not to kiss and rake his teeth over whenever he got the chance.

The prospect of different tasted funny on rains tongue. Something bitter but not exactly bad. Sure, they had done things countless of times before but there was no plastic or silicone involved this time, not some quickie in a dark corner with mountains fingers shoved deep inside of him. The idea of being inside of mountain was for some reason intimidating, either just because of anxiety or the small amount of fear that mountain would get freaked out and stop.

Suddenly a large hand rubbed over rains thigh, snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts once again.

“Don’t think too hard, ok? I can practically hear your thoughts rainy. Im excited that you get to be my first time” there was a small chuckle to mountains voice, as if he was being half ironic to lighten the mood a bit.

“Your first time? Thought you were supposed to be the experienced one. Lead me through my first time”

“It can be both our firsts then. Together. How about that?” Mountain leaned over rain, pressing his lips softly to rains own. Chaste, even if he lingered for a moment over him.

Rain snorted and pushed against mountains chest to get him to sit up right again. Sappy fucker. An intimate experience even if mountain was exaggerating a little bit for the sake of the mood. Mountain knelt between his legs, hands rubbing closer and closer to his folds. Rain was already a little slick, mountain had the tendency to get him like that without doing much.

“Gotta coax her out” Rain practically whispered, almost sheepishly.

“She loves me” mountain spread rain open and thumbed at the smooth patch of skin right below his clit. Something wriggled beneath it, the tip of rains tentacle emerging from its sheath, “see, didn’t think she would take much convincing”

It slowly pushed itself out and wrapped around mountains hand. Surely just searching for warmth but still a bit endearing, especially with how the flush on rains face grew watch the whole ordeal.

“Come on- don’t just play with it, said you’d take care of me”

Mountain gave a playful roll of his eyes before moving his hips to be flush with rains. He used his free hand to open himself up, spreading his lips to rub the tentacle along his cunt hoping it would take. Rain is sure he started drooling. Thick hair from his navel down his thighs but pretty pink between them, warm and wet. It was hard not to completely zone out staring at him. A bit of hair covered his chest as well, large breasts bouncing slightly with every move and god mountain was just beautiful.

The tentacle removed itself from mountains hand before slowly pushing inside of him. The two released a punched out groan in tandem, mountain slamming his hips down with a tight grip on rains waist. Rain was right, he felt fucking perfect. Silky and soft inside, absolutely tighter than he thought he could be but it was all entirely new. His mouth fell open and eyes screwed shut, tangling his fists in the sheets below him to hold on to a semblance of reality as his tentacle explored mountain from the inside.

Sweet little suckers pumped in and out, practically kissing the rim of mountains hole. He rocked back and forth, working up to ride him in earnest. Rain had never seen him like this before, sure he had mountain ride him countless times but this was, again, different. His eyes were practically in the back of his head and his thighs shook with every small downstroke. His long hair fell into his face as he threw his head forward, giving a low moan seeing how rains tentacle entered him.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful waterlily”

[glitter-stained]

On villains with tragic backstories

Sometimes I'm like "is it really psychophobic, maybe i'm reaching, the character did say that they're not actually crazy they just like killing people" and then the narrative will hit me with "some terrible, dark horrors have happened in your past and this is why you are killing people but it's not too late to get admitted in a psych ward" and I wanna throw the comic through the window and myself with it.

The "mentally ill villain" trope isn't just saying that the villain is crazy or giving them hallucinations. If you're giving a villain a tragic backstory, and that backstory has caused them severe suffering the memory of which is still painful to the day, and the story expects you to believe that the villain's horrible behaviour is explained by the fact that this suffering broke something in them... It's worth examining if you're not just vilifying or demonizing mental illness on accident.

The issue isn't that your villain can't have a tragic backstory, or that the tragic backstory can't explain their actions: the issue is when the suffering itself is treated as a sufficient cause for the behaviour. Say a character was raised and abused by a cult that taught them killing puppies is good and then they kill puppies: not psychophobic. Say a character who used to love puppies was kidnapped and tortured by some guy just for the fun of hurting someone, no brainwashing or anything just pain, and then they get out and kill puppies because of the torture: psychophobic. There's a missing link in the reasoning here, a question of "what about this event taught/brought the person to the conclusion that it was a good idea to kill puppies or gave them a desire to?" The psychophobia is insidious, hiding in the implication that the trauma (because this is what it's really all about) is what made them kill puppies. Sometimes, people with trauma kill puppies. But killing puppies (or exploding buildings with children in it, or shooting someone in the spine, or severing heads and putting them in a duffle bag, or, or, or) is not and has never been a symptom of ASD*, PTSD, CPTSD, BPD, DID, DDD or any other trauma-induced disorder. It's a good idea to verbalise the logic, emotions, needs and desire that motivate your villain and where they stem from, to avoid falling into the trap that thinking their trauma, because of the magnitude of the empathy it's meant to generate for the character, is enough of an explanation for their behaviour. A villain being sympathetic because of their backstory doesn't mean that their actions are necessarily coherent.

On top of that, it's important to take in account other factors such as the original background of the character, their vulnerabilities, their age (super important when writing childhood/teenage trauma/young villains!), but also their ethnicity, gender etc etc. This is important for realism and accuracy, because trauma is neither a magical button that creates heroes nor sociopaths, but also because psychophobia interacts so easily with other forms of discrimination slipping through the cracks. Now that you've identified that your woc character becoming a manipulative, sociopathic "crazy ex" because of her trauma was not just a consequence of her trauma but the interaction between the trauma and personal factors, what are those implicit factors that contribute to make her manipulative, obsessed with her ex, etc.? And now that you've extracted them explicitly, like a zip file, can you examine them to see how many of these personal characteristics have to do with her being a woman of colour?

I hope it's clear that I'm not telling you what to write- I think imposing the idea that villains can't be poc, or queer, or working class, or disabled, or mentally ill, etc. is harmful, because it reduces potential representation, it's based on the assumption that I know what you're gonna write and it's gonna be fundamentally ableist, and it puts this pressure on fictional characters to be perfect icons of representation rather than actual characters with depth and personality (kinda like thinking you can't write a female character who cries because it implies women are weak). This is just to encourage you to be mindful about what you're doing when writing that tragic backstory, because it's not necessarily what we think about when we talk about mental illness, and it's important to analyse what you're writing with a measure of introspection: why am I writing this? What does this imply about the character? What's my reasoning for this character's reasoning?

I have zero issue with a mentally ill character kicking a puppy as long as the narrative isn't trying to tell me that it's a symptom of mental illness to kick puppies. But of course, perhaps the story could also be a critique of those stories about mentally ill people kicking puppies, and the satyre is flying way over my head; or perhaps there will be a secret plot-twist that happens after I stopped reading that explained why the character was kicking puppies, perhaps the book was an attempt at guiding and manipulating the reader into realising the flaws in that reasoning on their own, or perhaps it was a metaphor for something else entirely, etc, etc. I don't know. The point is, write whatever you want; but write it self-aware.

*in this context, ASD meaning Acute Stress Disorder

Two examples of comics I think do it pretty well:

> Arkham Knight Genesis: for all its flaws (i didn't really like this one), I think it does a pretty decent job of getting us to understand how Jason got where he is, that it wasn't just "tortured until evil", all the reasons for his resentment, all the brainwashing and manipulation are pretty explicit. Kind of an "easy mode" because the plot revolves around brainwashing, but solid on that front.

> Red Hood Lost Days: this one I'm more mitigated because there's this whole "pit madness/the pit made him a psychopath" thing Winick introduced to limit the damage of previous runs (and rightfully so imo, Pit Madness is a much better explanation for some of Jason's most batshit ooc runs than just trauma), but there are some pretty solid elements, especially when you know earlier comics. I'm thinking specifically about when Jason says something around the lines of "you murder people; i put down a lizard", as a direct echo to Judy's "I put down a mad dog", that's one of my favourite comic lines ever, I cheered seeing that parallel like yes, I can see the reasoning, I understand where you learned the lesson and what the thought process is and I support it.

[sheriffaxolotl]

Rough Hands and Gentle Strokes: Arthur Morgan x Art Teacher

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Headcanons on if Arthur was to fall in love with an Art Teacher

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How You Meet

You’re teaching art to children in a small town when Arthur stops by to resupply. He first notices you when he hears the children’s laughter, drawn to the cheerful atmosphere of your outdoor class. Curious, he lingers nearby, watching as you patiently guide the kids through a drawing exercise. One of the children notices him and insists he join the lesson, much to his embarrassment. Despite his protests, your gentle encouragement convinces him to stay. By the end of the lesson, Arthur has sketched an awkward horse that earns him a soft, amused smile from you.

The First Real Connection

After the lesson, you thank him for his participation and make a passing comment about how rare it is to meet someone who sketches in town. Arthur’s curiosity gets the better of him, and he shyly shows you a few pages of his journal. His modesty about his work tugs at your heart, and your genuine admiration breaks through his guarded demeanor. The two of you spend the afternoon talking about art and life. Beneath his rugged exterior, you discover a quiet depth and a warmth that draws you in.

Balancing His Secret Life

Arthur doesn’t tell you about the Van der Linde gang at first. He says he’s a traveling ranch hand, not wanting to scare you away or put you in harm’s way. As your relationship deepens, he struggles with the guilt of hiding the truth, but his protectiveness outweighs his desire to be completely honest.

Discovering His Life

Over time, you start piecing things together—rumors in town and inconsistencies in Arthur’s stories. When you finally confront him, your heart sinks at the truth. Though shaken, you listen as he explains his complicated life. Despite your fears, you recognize the goodness in him and choose to stay, believing he’s capable of so much more than the life he’s stuck in.

Making It Work Around the Gang

Arthur visits you whenever he can, cherishing the stolen moments of peace you bring to his life. He’s careful to keep you safe, often leaving supplies or money behind for your art classes. You insist you’re not a burden, but he can’t help wanting to provide for you in his own way. If the gang’s activities bring them too close to your town, he warns you to lay low, even if it means not seeing each other for a while.

Gentle Encouragement

Arthur is mesmerized by your passion for teaching art to children. He doesn’t fully understand your craft, but he listens intently when you explain it, marveling at your talent. One day, a child gives him a drawing they made during your lesson, and he proudly keeps it in his satchel, carrying a piece of your world with him.

Sketchbook Bonding

One evening, Arthur hesitantly shows you his journal again, admitting it’s “just a habit.” When you praise his sketches, he feels a warmth he hasn’t known in years. You offer to teach him shading techniques, and soon, the two of you are sketching side by side under the stars, sharing a quiet intimacy.

Childlike Joy

Watching you interact with the children melts something in Arthur. Whether you’re showing them how to mix colors or encouraging their creativity, your kindness tugs at his heart. Occasionally, he joins in, awkwardly holding a paintbrush while the kids giggle at his attempts.

Creative Surprises

Arthur isn’t poetic, but he expresses his feelings through thoughtful gestures. He carves you a wooden palette engraved with flowers or brings you rare pigments he finds during his travels. Each gift is a quiet declaration of how much he cares.

Artistic Muse

Sometimes, you secretly sketch him while he’s focused on a task, capturing his rugged charm and vulnerability. When he discovers these drawings, he’s flustered yet deeply moved, secretly tucking them into his journal as a cherished keepsake when you’re not around.

Teaching Him Perspective

Your lessons on how art helps children “see the world differently” resonate deeply with Arthur. Slowly, he starts to apply this philosophy to his own life, finding beauty in small moments, even amid the chaos of the gang.

Tension Between Worlds

The weight of Arthur’s life sometimes scares you, and there are nights when you lie awake wondering if he’ll come back. Arthur wrestles with guilt, occasionally trying to distance himself to protect you. But you always bring him back, reminding him that you love the man he is, not the world he’s in.

Handmade Gifts

Knowing your love for crafting, Arthur surprises you with small tokens: a handcrafted easel, a leather case for your brushes, or flowers he’s picked himself. Though awkward in giving gifts, his sincerity makes each one precious.

Art as Healing

You introduce Arthur to the idea of using art to process emotions. While initially skeptical, he begins sketching moments that weigh on his mind, from memories of loss to serene sunsets. Your encouragement helps him find solace in his journaling.

The Children Love Him

Despite his gruff demeanor, the children adore Arthur. They rope him into art lessons, and while he pretends to be annoyed, he secretly enjoys their laughter. You tease him, calling him your “assistant.”

Escaping Together

When the weight of life becomes too much, you and Arthur retreat to a quiet meadow or lake. With your sketchbook and his journal, you find peace in the simplicity of nature and each other’s company.

A Shared Dream of Freedom

In your quiet moments together, you talk about what life could be like if you left everything behind. You dream of opening a small art school for children, and though hesitant, Arthur admits he likes the idea of a peaceful life by your side. While he rarely considers settling down, being with you makes him wonder what it would be like—perhaps helping you run a small art studio for children. Though he never says it aloud, the dream lingers in his heart, giving him purpose and grounding him amidst the chaos of his world.

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This is shamelessly self-indulgent, as I'm working towards my degree to become a teacher and stressing over assignments that are due. To destress for a bit, I ended up writing this. I hope someone enjoys it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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[bokutosbabe]

hihi ignore this if you want :D but my top artist was newjeans and my most listened song was meddle about by chase atlantic

if your top artist was newjeans / your top song was meddle about by chase atlantic, i'd pair you with...

eita otoya

AND

tabito karasu

જ⁀♡⊹｡° if i could figure it out

♡ a/n — for my spotify wrapped event! - masterlist -

♡ content — eita otoya x gn! reader, tabito karasu x gn! reader, reader otoya and tabito are in a throuple, karasu questions if it's normal, kinda ooc otoya (he's not a silly billy), set in the future

♡ synopsis — being with tabito karasu and eita otoya was a dream come true, but will your dream come crashing down because of some insecurities?

It started like everything else between the three of you—casual, easy, and with that undeniable chemistry that hung between every glance, every touch. But what people didn't realize was that beneath the carefree exterior, things were far more complicated than anyone could ever guess.

The world could see Otoya and Karasu as friends. That’s how they usually appeared—two different sides of the same coin. Karasu, the aloof, always-shrouded-in-mystery soccer star, and Otoya, the cool-headed enigma who always seemed to know exactly what to say at the right time. But between the three of you, there was something else. Something no one really saw.

It was a quiet night at Karasu’s apartment, the soft sounds of a playlist humming in the background, a glass of wine held loosely in your hand. You were all sprawled out on the couch—Karasu with his legs stretched out, his usual smirk softened by the dim lighting, and Otoya, who’d quietly tucked himself beside you. He always seemed to gravitate toward you like that, his gaze lingering just long enough to make you wonder what exactly was going on behind his calm demeanor.

But tonight? Tonight was different. It wasn’t just the usual silence of the room, or the lazy chatter that flitted through the air. No, tonight was the sort of tension you hadn’t expected. Karasu had been… distant. You’d noticed it in the way he’d retreated into his phone, his usual teasing smirk now absent. And Otoya, ever the observant one, was more pensive than usual, his fingers gently brushing against yours but not quite reaching out.

"You alright?" you asked, eyes locking with Karasu’s for a moment. The question was simple, but the weight of it hung between the three of you.

Karasu didn’t look up from his phone. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

But you knew him better than that. Karasu wasn’t one to stay quiet unless something was wrong. And tonight, there was something off, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You glanced at Otoya, who simply nodded, giving you a soft smile, but even he seemed more subdued than usual.

It felt like something was brewing under the surface, and you weren’t sure what it was, but you could feel the growing sense of unease. Maybe it was the constant whirlwind of attention, the pressure that came with being in the spotlight together as a trio. The way the world expected things of you that never quite fit into what you actually were.

You leaned forward, setting your wine glass down on the coffee table. "Karasu," you said softly, “What’s going on?”

He finally looked up from his phone, but the smirk that usually accompanied his eyes wasn’t there. Instead, there was something raw in the depths of his gaze—something vulnerable, something rare.

“Nothing,” he muttered, then exhaled like he was releasing a breath he’d been holding for too long. “It’s just… this whole thing.” His hand waved vaguely toward the apartment, as if the walls themselves were suffocating him. “You, me, and Otoya, it’s... weird sometimes.”

It wasn’t what you expected him to say, and for a moment, there was a strange silence. You felt the air shift, the unspoken tension building. You’d been with Karasu long enough to know that this wasn’t the playful back-and-forth you’d grown accustomed to. Something was bothering him, and it had nothing to do with the outside world. It was about the three of you.

Otoya shifted beside you, his voice calm but quiet. “We’re fine, Karasu. We’ve always made this work.” He paused, leaning forward as if trying to get Karasu to meet his gaze. “There’s nothing wrong with what we have, okay?”

Karasu scoffed, his usual teasing smirk flickering for a moment before it faded again. “What we have?” he repeated, glancing at Otoya and then at you. “How do we even define that? It’s not like anyone’s asking us what we want. They just throw labels on us and expect us to fit into whatever box they’ve made. We don’t get to say anything about it.”

You felt your heart tug at his words. His frustration was palpable, but you didn’t have the answers. You didn’t know how to untangle what was happening in his head, or what you should say to make it stop feeling so complicated. But you knew one thing for sure—you didn’t want to lose this. Not this. Not him. Not Otoya.

“Karasu…” You reached over, gently placing a hand on his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles. “We’re still figuring it out, aren’t we? But we’re doing it together. That’s what matters. We’re not the same as anyone else, and that’s fine. We’ve got something they’ll never understand. We’ve always been us—just like this. Nothing’s broken. Not unless we let it be.”

For a moment, it seemed like Karasu was about to say something more, but then he just leaned back, letting out a long breath. “You’re right,” he muttered, his eyes softening just a bit.

Otoya’s hand gently brushed against yours, and you looked at him. His expression was unreadable, but there was a quiet certainty in his eyes that made you feel like you weren’t as lost as Karasu had made you feel. Maybe things weren’t perfect, but they didn’t need to be. You were all learning how to navigate this uncharted territory together.

“I don’t want this to break us,” Otoya said quietly, his gaze flicking to both of you. “No matter what people say, or what they think, this… we’re still figuring it out. Together.”

And just like that, the heaviness in the room seemed to lift. It wasn’t an immediate fix, and it wasn’t going to be easy. But it was a step in the right direction—a step toward holding onto something that felt like it could withstand the pressure, even if it meant getting a little lost along the way.

The night carried on, quieter now, but still filled with the soft understanding between the three of you. Karasu was no longer distant. Otoya no longer seemed so cold. And for once, you weren’t just lost in the chaos—you were together, in it, figuring out what “us” meant.

No labels. No rules. Just three tangled hearts, beating in sync, no matter what anyone else thought.

i need to be in a tabieita sandwich tysm

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciate!

[niallerspayno]

The Line - Part 1

Masterlist

You and Zayn are inseparable childhood best friends, until one night when you make a pact to be each other’s rebound whenever one of you has a break up. Things get complicated when you start dating Louis, Zayn’s bandmate, and the line between friends and more begins to blur.

Tags: Zayn x childhood friend!reader, Louis x reader, friends to lovers, fluff, mutual pining, some smut

Part 2 | Part 3

…

You’ve known Zayn for as long as you’ve known yourself. Your childhoods were spent as neighbors, running between each other’s houses as if the fences weren’t even there. Your mums always said you two were a pair of troublemakers, joined at the hip and scheming from the moment you could talk.

It never mattered that Zayn was quieter than you, or that you sometimes pulled him into your whirlwind of ideas when he clearly wanted to stay on the sidelines. He always followed anyway, his steady presence grounding you when things inevitably spiraled out of control. He’s always been like that—a constant in your life, someone you’ve never had to question.

By the time you were teenagers, he knew everything about you. Your favorite songs, what you hated on your sandwiches, the kinds of movies that made you cry. And you knew him just as well—how he hummed when he was thinking, how he’d hide behind a cigarette when he was nervous, how his laugh could fill a room when he let it.

It wasn’t that you didn’t notice how good he looked as you both grew older. You did. How could you not? His sharp jawline, his dark eyes, the tattoos he got when you were still debating whether or not to dye your hair—it all caught your attention, made your stomach twist in ways it hadn’t before.

But Zayn is your best friend, and the thought of risking that—of losing him—has always kept you in check. It’s easier this way, you tell yourself, to push the feelings down, to ignore the way your heart beats faster when he throws an arm over your shoulders or leans in close to tell you a secret.

You’re the one he comes to when things fall apart, and he’s the one who can always make you laugh when you feel like crying. That’s enough. It has to be.

Because if it’s not, you don’t know what you’d do.

…

The pact is made on a vulnerable night after your first break up. You’re curled up on the couch in your living room, your head resting on Zayn’s shoulder, the steady rise and fall of his breathing grounding you. The tears on your cheeks have dried, but the ache in your chest remains, raw and heavy. Zayn’s arm is wrapped around you, his thumb brushing soft, absentminded circles on your shoulder. He hasn’t said much since he arrived, just held you, his quiet presence doing what words couldn’t.

“He was such an idiot,” you mumble, your voice hoarse from crying.

Zayn hums in agreement, the sound low and steady. “The biggest idiot.”

You glance up at him, catching the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. It makes your own lips twitch in response, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “You’re supposed to say something encouraging, you know. Like, ‘you’ll find someone better.’”

His chuckle is soft, warm. “You don’t need someone better. You’ve got me.”

The words settle between you like a weight, light enough to brush off but heavy enough to make your chest tighten. You snort, trying to defuse the strange pull in his voice. “Yeah, every girl’s dream—a best mate as her backup plan.”

Zayn shifts, his brow furrowing as he looks at you. There’s no teasing in his expression now, just a steady sincerity that makes your pulse flutter. “What’s wrong with that?”

You blink at him, caught completely off guard. “You’re joking.”

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching in that familiar, crooked smile that always feels like home. “Not really. I mean… think about it. You trust me, yeah? I trust you. If the world keeps throwing us idiots, why not help each other out? No strings. Just… comfort. When we need it.”

Your breath catches, your mind racing to figure out if he’s serious. His gaze is steady, unwavering, but there’s a softness there too—an unspoken understanding that only the two of you could share. “You mean, like… a rebound?”

“Exactly.” His lips curve slightly, but his voice is quiet, careful. “One night, no strings. No expectations, no weirdness after. Just you and me.”

It’s reckless. A hundred ways it could go wrong flash through your mind. But there’s also something heartbreakingly simple in it—something about the way Zayn looks at you, like he’s offering a lifeline without asking for anything in return.

“That’s ridiculous,” you whisper, shaking your head.

“Maybe.” His thumb brushes against your shoulder again, soothing. “But at least it’s real. Better than wasting time on people who don’t deserve you. We know what we’re getting—no lies, no games. Just us.”

Your heart twists, torn between the comfort of his presence and the terrifying vulnerability of what he’s suggesting. “Zayn…”

He leans closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours. His voice drops, soft but resolute. “It’s just you and me. Always has been, yeah? This doesn’t change that.”

The conviction in his tone makes something inside you give way. You’ve never doubted him before—why should now be any different?

“Okay,” you whisper, the word trembling in the air. “But only if we have rules.”

His lips twitch into a small grin, though his eyes remain serious. “Of course. Lay them on me.”

“One night only,” you say, your voice firmer this time. “No repeats. No feelings. And we never, ever talk about it after.”

Zayn nods slowly, taking each word in. “One night. No repeats. No feelings. Got it.”

“Promise me,” you urge, your voice cracking slightly.

“I promise.” His voice is steady, his hand warm against your skin. “Nothing will ever change between us.”

You meet Zayn's eyes, searching for any flicker of hesitation. There's none-just warmth, steady and unshaken, like he's holding the weight of the moment for both of you. He reaches out, his hand brushing your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. His touch is soft, reverent, as if he's memorizing this moment, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

"You're sure?" he murmurs, his voice low, careful.

"I'm sure," you whisper, the words barely audible, but he hears them.

Zayn leans in slowly, giving you every chance to stop him, but you don't. His lips meet yours, warm and soft, and the kiss is tender at first— a question, a promise. His hand moves to the back of your neck, drawing you closer, and the kiss deepens, the weight of his love and care pouring into every movement.

Your fingers find the hem of his shirt, tugging gently as if asking for permission. He pulls back just enough to help you, lifting the fabric over his head and letting it fall to the floor. You take a moment to drink him in, the planes of his chest, the tattoos you've seen a hundred times but never like this.

He smiles softly, a little self-conscious under your gaze. "What?"

"Nothing," you say, your voice thick with emotion. "You're just... you."

His expression softens, and he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. "And you're you. That's all I've ever needed."

You pull him back to you, your lips meeting his again as his hands begin to explore. He's slow, deliberate, tracing the lines of your body like he's committing them to memory. His touch leaves a trail of warmth in its wake, and you can't help the way your body responds, leaning into him, needing more.

Clothes are discarded piece by piece, each movement careful, unhurried. Zayn watches you with an intensity that makes your heart race, his gaze never leaving yours as he guides you back onto the couch. The weight of him above you is comforting, grounding, and you feel a strange mix of vulnerability and safety in the way he holds you.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he says softly, his forehead resting against yours.

You shake your head, your hands tangling in his hair. "I don't want. you to stop."

He kisses you again, deeper this time, his body moving against yours in a rhythm that feels instinctive, like you've done this a thousand times before. The heat between you builds steadily, every touch, every movement drawing you closer together.

Zayn is careful, attentive, his hands and lips mapping every inch of your skin, making you feel seen, cherished. His movements are slow, deliberate, as if he's afraid to rush and break the fragile connection between you.

When he finally enters you, it's with a care that makes your breath catch. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and emotion that leaves you clinging to him, your nails digging into his shoulders. He pauses, giving you time to adjust, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispers your name like a prayer.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice barely audible.

You nod, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, though you're not sure why. "Yeah. I'm okay."

He begins to move, his rhythm slow and steady, and the world seems to fall away. It's just the two of you, tangled together, your breaths and heartbeats aligning. The intimacy is overwhelming, not just physical but emotional, a connection so deep it feels like it's always been there, waiting for this moment.

Every touch, every movement feels deliberate, like he's trying to show you without words how much you mean to him. You lose yourself in the rhythm, the heat building between you until it's almost unbearable.

"Zayn," you whisper, your voice breaking as the tension inside you peaks.

He holds you tighter, his movements becoming more deliberate, and together you reach the edge, falling into it like you've done this a hundred times before. The release is intense, shattering, and you cling to him, his name tumbling from your lips like a lifeline.

Afterward, he stays close, his body still pressed against yours, his forehead resting against your shoulder. The room is silent except for the sound of your breaths, slowly evening out.

"You okay?" he asks again, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

You nod, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back. "Yeah. Are you?"

He lifts his head to meet your gaze, his eyes searching yours. "I am."

There's an unspoken understanding between you, a fragile peace that feels like it could shatter at any moment. But for now, you hold onto it, letting yourself rest in the quiet comfort of Zayn's arms.

…

A few years later you smooth the hem of your dress for the third time, the nerves in your stomach twisting tighter with every second. Zayn’s been your best friend for as long as you can remember, but his world has changed so much over the past few years. The small-town boy you grew up with is now part of the biggest band in the world, touring stadiums and gracing magazine covers.

Still, he’s never changed with you. He calls when he can, texts when he can’t, and always makes time to see you when he’s back home. Today, though, feels different. Today, you’re stepping into his world.

The door to the hotel suite opens, and Zayn’s familiar grin immediately puts you at ease. “There she is,” he says, pulling you into a hug. His cologne surrounds you, warm and familiar, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you again.

“Big deal now, huh?” you tease, stepping back and taking in the plush room behind him. “Fancy hotels, famous friends.”

“Shut up,” he says, laughing. “You know it’s still me. Come on, the guys are dying to meet you.”

He leads you inside, his hand resting lightly on your back, and your nerves spike again. The room is buzzing with energy—laughter, chatter, the faint hum of music playing in the background.

“Guys, this is Y/N,” Zayn announces, his voice cutting through the noise. “My best mate. Play nice.”

You barely have time to process the faces turning your way before a whirlwind of introductions begins. Harry, all dimples and charm, greets you first, followed by Liam’s warm handshake and Niall’s cheeky grin.

And then there’s Louis.

His blue eyes meet yours, and for a second, the world tilts. He’s leaning casually against the arm of a couch, his smile crooked, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to your heart.

“Louis,” he says simply, extending his hand.

You take it, your fingers brushing his. “Hi,” you manage, your voice softer than you’d like.

Zayn’s voice cuts through the moment, his tone light but pointed. “Alright, Lou, don’t scare her off.”

Louis smirks, not breaking eye contact. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The rest of the introductions blur together after that, but you can’t shake the feeling of Louis’ eyes on you, watching, assessing. It’s unsettling and thrilling all at once.

Zayn steers you to the couch, making room for you beside him. The conversation flows easily, stories and jokes flying across the room, but you’re hyper-aware of Louis, who’s taken the seat across from you. Every so often, your eyes meet, and his grin deepens, like he’s caught you in some unspoken game.

“Alright,” Niall announces after a while, clapping his hands together. “Who’s up for food? I’m starving.”

As the group begins to stir, Louis leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on you. “You coming out with us?”

The question feels loaded, though you’re not sure why. You glance at Zayn, who shrugs. “Your call.”

“Yeah,” you say, surprised at your own boldness. “I’d like that.”

Louis’ smile widens, and something about it makes your pulse race.

As the group files out of the suite, Zayn falls into step beside you, his arm slung casually around your shoulders. “So?” he asks under his breath. “What do you think?”

You glance back, catching Louis looking at you again. “They seem great,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral.

Zayn hums, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Just remember—he’s trouble.”

The warning is playful, but the edge in Zayn’s voice lingers, making you wonder if he knows just how drawn to Louis you already feel.

…

The restaurant buzzes with the kind of energy that fills the room with a comforting hum. Laughter spills from your table, the clink of glasses punctuating each conversation. You’re nestled between Zayn and Harry, but your focus is steadily being stolen by Louis, sitting across from you, who seems to have this effortless way of drawing your attention.

“So,” Louis begins, leaning forward slightly, his elbows on the table, eyes locked on yours, “Zayn’s told us loads about you.”

“Loads,” Harry adds with a teasing grin. “Like how you’re the only one who can put up with him.”

“Shut it,” Zayn mutters, nudging Harry, but there’s a hint of a blush creeping up his neck.

Louis smirks, enjoying himself far too much. “What I’m wondering is how someone like you”—he pauses for effect, his eyes sparkling—“ended up wasting time on someone like him.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “She’s not wasting time.”

“I would be,” you tease, laughing lightly. “Honestly, I don’t even know how I put up with him.”

Louis raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Exactly. You’ve got a bit of that troublemaker look about you.”

“Troublemaker?” You tilt your head, the challenge in your gaze matching his. “You’ve got the wrong idea.”

He leans closer, his voice dropping slightly. “Oh, I think I’ve got it right.”

Zayn shifts next to you, clearing his throat. You catch the way his hand rests on the back of your chair, the motion subtle but protective. “Let’s not make this about me,” he interjects. “She’s not a troublemaker.”

“Oh, she definitely is,” Niall chimes in, looking at you with a knowing grin. “She’s always been drawn to the bad boys, hasn’t she?”

There’s a flicker of something in your chest at Niall’s words, but you laugh it off. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Louis’ eyes narrow slightly, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “You can try to deny it all you want, but you’ve definitely got that dangerous energy about you. Bet you’ve never been able to resist a bit of trouble.”

You bite your lip, the heat from his gaze making your pulse quicken. “Maybe… I’ve been known to fall for the wrong type, now and then.” You try to make light of it, but it feels a little too close to the truth.

Zayn’s jaw tightens, and you glance at him, catching the subtle shift in his expression. But before you can say anything, Louis speaks again, his voice low and teasing. “Well, I like a challenge. What about you, Zayn? You think she’s too much trouble for me?”

Zayn doesn’t immediately respond, his gaze unwavering. “Just keep it friendly, Lou.”

“Of course, mate,” Louis replies smoothly, his grin never faltering. “Just having some fun.”

As the night continues, you notice how Louis keeps his attention on you. He asks questions, not the usual casual ones, but deeper ones—about your childhood, your life outside of the chaos. It makes you feel something unfamiliar.

“Okay, maybe you’re not as much trouble as I thought,” Louis says with a laugh, his eyes softening. “But still, I’m pretty sure you keep life interesting.”

You smile, shaking your head. “I just get caught up in things sometimes. But trouble’s never far off, is it?”

Louis’ grin widens, but there’s something more sincere about it now. “I think it’s my favorite kind of fun.”

The conversation shifts again, but now it’s like the dynamic has subtly changed. There’s an undeniable pull between you and Louis, a chemistry that’s only been intensifying as the night goes on.

As the group starts to filter out, Liam gives you a knowing look. “Watch yourself,” he says in a teasing tone. “Looks like Louis has his eyes on you.”

You roll your eyes. “I can handle myself.”

Zayn, however, is unusually quiet. His gaze is sharp, flicking between you and Louis, his hand still resting on the back of your chair.

Louis glances over to Zayn, his expression almost too casual. “I’m just making conversation, mate. Relax.”

But Zayn’s voice is low when he responds. “Just keep it respectful.”

Louis doesn’t flinch, his smile not fading in the slightest. “Always.”

The tension in the air is thick now, and when the others start heading out, you’re left alone with Louis. He steps closer, his smile turning more earnest.

“Can I see you again?” Louis asks, his voice quieter, more sincere than it’s been all night.

You glance at Zayn, who hasn’t moved, his presence like a silent challenge. But you can’t deny the pull toward Louis.

“Sure,” you say, your heart thudding in your chest. “I’d like that.”

Louis’ grin spreads, pure mischief and warmth. “Good. I’ll make sure it’s worth your time.”

Zayn watches the exchange with a quiet intensity, and as you head toward the door, you feel the weight of his gaze on you, even as Louis’ presence lingers like a promise.

“Are you really going out with him?” Zayn asks softly, his tone almost too careful, his voice low enough that Louis can’t hear.

“Why not?” you reply lightly, but inside, the tension coils tighter.

Zayn doesn’t respond, his lips pressed into a thin line. You can’t help but wonder if this will be another one of those times when the attraction to the bad boy and the allure of danger come with consequences.

…

Part 2

[esoteric-crow]

hey actually isn’t there something kind of really sad about the fact that the hardest difficulty (that isn’t just like. hell or hell. which is just ‘haha hehe Blow up.’) is called Dante Must Die. i think about it a lot. i can’t quite put my finger on why it makes me miserable but maybe someone else can.

but you know what i CAN talk about and i DO have actual fully formed thoughts about?

regenerating like crazy is great. but isn’t there something kind of inherently fucked up about the fact that, because of the regeneration dante and vergil have, neither of them will ever have tangible evidence to themselves or others of their suffering? asking themselves, was it really that bad? did it even happen at all? no matter how much you put vergil through hell and how afraid he is inside, there will never be a mark on his skin that says “i have suffered”. the world leaves no proof, nothing to take home from this experience aside from a more broken mind. vergil doesn’t say his feelings, or even allow them to surface properly, because that’s a kind of vulnerability he cannot handle. the only way he could perhaps earn someone’s sympathetic care is by expressing what he has suffered through, but he cannot verbalize that. and he looks perfect. unmarked by time or trauma. there isn’t a single part of his body that could scream out for him that something horrible has happened that he cannot figure out how to deal with alone.

and dante is just as poor off. and he’s very difficult to figure out emotionally to a passerby. dante purposefully puts on a happy face every day, and to the majority of the world, it’s convincing. there’s certainly no evidence to themselves contrary. not a scratch on him. but he is like kind of constantly getting the ever loving fuck beat out of him. stabbed and jabbed. when you look at him, you see happy, sweet, goofy dante. for all the years of pain he’s gone through, there isn’t a single marred inch of his skin that could tell you even a day of the agony unless he told you. and why would dante do that when he can pretend it simply isn’t happening until he’s alone and can sit with the terror that’s constantly in him and the loss he’s been living with, over and over losing people and being surrounded by the ghosts of their presence. whether the ghost is a wayward descendent, a gun, or just a lingering smell of ash in his childhood home. but that will only be private. he can be the walking dead, he can treat himself like shit, but his body refuses to show anything for it. and he’s certainly not going to die.

obviously, the same thing can be said for the opposite side of the spectrum: scars can be a constant reminder in the mirror of what happened that you cannot erase, always to some degree a part of you. among other stuff. so both sides of the coin are full of The Pains and The Anguishes.

on a side note, i really like when people give them like, one scar. i don’t really have a favorite one that people give vergil but i really like dante with just the one bigass gnarly one in the middle of his abdomen from the rebellion gettin jammed in there. his One scar. a treate. like it defies his regeneration somehow.

i love making a scarred up guy. i have plenty of scars n marks myself, and i feel like they should definitely be more normalized, so like, no this post isn’t anti scars or something. they’re normal and not ugly or whatever the hell people try to say. this side note is probably entirely unnecessary, but i’m tired and i’m worried about someone misunderstanding me i think. anyway i’m trying to say ooh scar angst yeah but sometimes No scars is also fucked up too. that’s the point here.

to sum up: i believe there can be something Fucked Up and angsty to be said about the fact that the sparda boys heal perfectly fine, but only externally. it is 3am. this is not articulated as well as it could be i don’t think. aaaand post.

[vaguely-concerned]

teia and viago's idle animations when you first approach them in the cantori diamond before a slow poison being them just gesturing vehemently at each other is something that can actually be so personal. to meeee. as is the way teia's body language stays open and bold if clearly frustrated and 'vi c'mon please work with me here' at points through the whole thing/animation loop, while viago has a defensive kind of vulnerable-seeming one-arm-crossing-his-chest-to-grab-the-opposite-elbow pose he retreats to between bursts of gesticulating exasperatedly or beseechingly back at her. there really was no reason for bioware to put this much of an individualized touch on a set of animations that no one but crazy people like me and fellow eight little talons heads are going to look at for more than say two seconds, but I really appreciate that they did do it haha. it builds up under their characterizations so well that they emote with specificity, even if most players will only see it for a split moment. there are so many good little character animation details tucked away in this game I swear! sometimes I think about how much work goes into even these little things like establishing the sets of 'non-flashy' animations in game dev and I feel my sanity start to slip away. no one should ever make a game that's fucking nuts.

(also viago being like 'yes yes it's an atrocity and ongoing injustice and everything but more importantly it's insulting' sfsdkjhfsadfjaskj I LOVE him so bad. king of Priorities if nothing else always and forever)

[cannibalistickitty]

—HEAD IN THE

WALL—

୨୧ plot: you knew your boyfriend had trouble showing affection but did he even like you?

୨୧ warnings: angst, happy ending, ooc!megumi but IDGAF!!!!

୨୧ notes: help this has been rotting in my drafts for months anyways happy b-day megumi:3 here’s an angsty fic for y’all😇

you knew he loved you, maybe you hoped he did . it was fine that he couldn’t show his affection, that was okay . but sometimes you needed it . you were understanding, but when he gave a girl his number because she seemed “nice” you wanted reassurance, you wanted to feel it, feel and know that he loved you . megumi sat on the edge of your bed, you had been talking for about a half hour, every once and a while he would nod and give short responses, was he even listening to you? he wanted to keep your relationship a secret, you didn’t know why but he said it would just be for the best

the doorbell rang, you quickly opened the door to see nobara and yuji outside your house . you four had planned to go out and get lunch, megumi quickly put on his shoes, you had already been ready for an hour . now you were walking to the small cafe where you were gonna eat, today you felt brave, so you brushed your hand against megumi’s, trying to hold his hand . yet he just pulled away and went to catch up with nobara and yuji who were in front of you both, leaving you to walk alone

you felt like crying . you didn’t even feel like talking to him, you knew he had trouble showing affection but it felt you questioning if he even liked you . you could only hope he did

lunch was…interesting, you stayed quiet the whole time . megumi had seemed to notice but he didn’t quite care . you and him lived on the same street so when you all split up to go home you were stuck with him, it shouldn’t be awkward, you love each other . but it was, it was really awkward . the walk home was silent, occasional throat clearing was all that was heard . “you wanna come over to my house?” you asked megumi in an almost pathetic tone

“oh—uhm—I have some things to do . at home .” you awkwardly nodded, “kay” you unlocked your door and slipped inside your house, you ran up to your bedroom and grabbed your phone, playing your favourite cry song, what else was a hurt girl supposed to do? you sobbed into your pillow, you missed him . you missed when you were friends, somehow he was more open before . you cried on your bed for what felt like hours, you couldn’t take feeling like this, you felt unloved . you turned off the music playing in your headphones and sighed

days went by where you didn’t see him, you completely ignored him, you truly didn’t want to see him . yet you were the only thing on his mind, he wanted to see you and feel you again, he regretted not holding your hand, he knew it meant a lot to you . he felt like he failed you . lucky for him you were only a minute away from him . on a Sunday night he made his way over to your house, he missed your voice, maybe you’d be up to hanging out?

he rang your doorbell, you were usually the one to answer, and just like every time you when the door opened there you were dressed in your pjs . “megumi? what are you doing here?” he froze, he didn’t know what to say, he probably should have practiced what he was gonna say . “I—miss you?” it came out more like a question, the frown on your face indicated you interpreted it as a question . “that sounded like a question, megumi” you said in a flat tone

“fuck” he whispered, the one time he tried to finally share something with you he did it wrong . “do you wanna come…inside?” he nodded and you stepped aside, closing the door and leading him to your room . he sat down on your bed with you, “can i ask you something?” his head perked up, “uhm—sure” you sighed, “do you actually love me?” his eyes widened, he didn’t know what to do, he didn’t want to be vulnerable but he didn’t even want to let you down again

“please don’t..lie to me” the fact that you thought he’d have to lie about loving you hurt him . he wanted, no, he needed to show how much he loved you, so he thought what better time to do it then now? “i love you” he gently grabbed your hands in his, his sudden action shocked you . he let go of your hands and hugged you, everything that didn’t happen was happening at once . “megumi what has gotten into you” you chuckled, “i love you, a lot” he mumbled into the crook of your neck . he wanted to hold you forever and reassure you that he did love you, but for now he could just hold you

since that night he’d been more affectionate, not too much but enough for you . he told a couple of his friends about your relationship, and now he would hold your hand in public, sometimes . your connection felt stronger, sometimes when you would kiss him you noticed a light tint of pink of his cheeks . you felt like you had him back, like your megumi was finally here . you had planned your first sleepover, it was on a saturday night and it just you and megumi

saturday night came quickly, you and megumi laid in your bed, no lights on except your small salt lamp next to your bed . you were both getting sleepy, rain tapped against the window as megumi read a book to you, he noticed how you started to look very tired, like you were about to fall asleep . “okay i think that’s enough for tonight” he said and you nodded, he put the book down on your nightstand and shifted into a more comfortable position . he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you against his chest, what was he doing? he absolutely never did this

“gumi what are you doing?” you said in almost shock, “cuddling my girl, what else would i be doing?” he muttered into your hair, “mh—okay, goodnight…” you said in a suspicious tone, he kissed your neck, “goodnight” he said before turning the lamp off