#sorry if this sounds rude it genuinely doesn’t mean to

[aimseytv]

hey gamers! if reposting my photography please make sure to credit me in the post :) i’m trying really hard to push my photography insta and i’m super glad you all like it but this is just a small reminder! :)

(i know i’m a creator and usually i don’t mind but specifically for my photography insta it would be cool just to have my name mentioned somewhere!!)

[cherrylibby]

The Waiting Game

word cout: 1492

You and Hangman’s relationship had always been a tangled web—confusing, infuriating, and impossibly magnetic. A near-decade of history bound the two of you together, filled with fiery arguments that often teetered on the edge of something far more dangerous. For every biting insult Jake threw your way, he fought the overwhelming urge to press his lips against yours, to push you against the nearest wall, and lose himself in the chaos of you.

Then came the detachment mission. High stakes, adrenaline, and close calls. In the heat of it all, Jake finally gave in. He kissed you, hard and desperate, in the confined space of your shared bunk room. It was wild, raw, and messy—a moment of surrender neither of you could deny. But when the mission ended, so did Jake’s acknowledgment of what had happened. He acted as if nothing had changed, as if you hadn’t nearly died and left a piece of yourself with him.

The dance continued—a few more clandestine hookups, moments of passion followed by an endless, aching void. Now, standing at the Hard Deck, you watched him flirt with a stunning Lieutenant named Echo. Jealousy coiled in your chest, sharp and bitter. Was it really too much to ask for consistency, for something real?

You sat at the bar, nursing a drink and doing everything in your power to block out the sight of him.

After a few long minutes, Jake’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and taunting as always. “You know it’s rude not to say hi when you see me, Spitfire.”

Without looking up, you muttered, “Go away, Jake.”

His scoff was almost amused, but it carried a thread of disbelief. After bidding Echo goodbye, he slid onto the stool beside you. His smirk was maddening as he ordered a beer.

“Don’t act so sour. It doesn’t suit you,” he teased, his tone light but his gaze heavy as it lingered on your profile. His voice dropped, low and smug. “You should stop being so jealous. You’re terrible at hiding it.”

You clenched your jaw and stared straight ahead, refusing to meet his eyes. But when his words landed, your composure cracked. Your vision blurred as tears welled up, spilling over before you could stop them.

“This is just a joke to you, huh?” Your voice broke as you finally turned to him, tears streaking your cheeks.

Jake’s smirk faltered, his cocky mask slipping. He blinked, caught off guard by your raw emotion. “You’re crying?” His voice was laced with genuine surprise, even a hint of concern.

“Just leave me alone,” you whispered, shaking your head and turning away.

Jake sighed, his tone softening as he leaned closer. “Hey… look, I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t realize—” His words faltered as he reached out, his fingers brushing your chin. He gently tilted your head so you were forced to meet his gaze.

His eyes searched yours, softer than you’d ever seen them. “Talk to me,” he murmured, his voice quiet and trembling. “Please.”

You swallowed hard, your chest heaving with unshed sobs. “Why do you care now?” you whispered, bitterness seeping into your words. “You never cared before.”

Jake’s face fell, his brows knitting together. “That’s not true,” he insisted, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Your voice was barely audible, but it hit Jake like a punch to the gut.

His eyes widened, panic flickering across his face. “W-what do you mean?” he stammered, his grip on your chin loosening.

“I can’t keep waiting for you to pick me,” you said, tears spilling freely now.

Jake’s breath hitched as the weight of your words settled over him. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, his hand falling away as he stared ahead, unable to meet your gaze. He was selfish—he knew that. He wanted it all, wanted you, but he’d been too afraid to commit.

“…But you’re the only one I want,” he said finally, his voice breaking. “I can’t lose you. I can’t imagine it.”

And then, something you never expected: Jake’s voice cracked, and his eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He turned back to you, his expression vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before.

“I know I’ve been an ass,” he said, his voice shaking. “I push you away because I’m scared, okay? I’m terrified. Of losing you, of screwing this up. Of not being enough for you.”

A single tear slid down his cheek, and he quickly wiped it away, but his composure was slipping. “You’re not just some fling to me, Y/N. You never were. You’re… you’re everything. And I don’t know how to be the guy you deserve, but God, I want to try. I’ll do whatever it takes, just… don’t walk away.”

The silence between you was heavy, his words hanging in the air. Jake’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he waited, his heart on the line for the first time in his life.

“I need time,” you admitted softly, your voice trembling.

“Please,” Jake started, leaning toward you, his desperation palpable. “Let me—”

“Jake,” you interrupted, your eyes meeting his. “Please. Just give me time.”

Jake’s breath hitched, and he nodded slowly, his chest heaving as he tried to hold back another wave of emotion. “I’ll wait,” he promised, his voice cracking. “For as long as it takes, I’ll wait.”

The silence between you was heavy but laced with hope. Jake’s heart was on the line, and for once, he was willing to risk everything.

The accident happened on a routine flight—a bird strike, engine failure, and an emergency ejection. The force of it left you battered and bruised, but alive. Barely. By the time the rescue team found you, you were unconscious and bleeding, your flight suit torn and scorched.

When Jake got the news, he felt the ground drop from beneath him. The call came through from the base, and he didn’t even wait for the details. He raced to the hospital, his heart pounding in his chest, a silent prayer tumbling from his lips over and over: Please let her be okay. Please.

Hours later, Jake stood in the sterile hospital hallway, staring through the glass window into your room. You lay there, pale and fragile, machines beeping steadily around you. It felt wrong—you were never fragile. You were a force of nature, strong and defiant. Seeing you like this twisted something deep inside him.

The nurse gave him a small nod, allowing him to enter. Jake pushed the door open and stepped inside, his boots heavy against the tile floor. He hesitated at the foot of your bed, his hands trembling as he clenched them into fists.

“Spifire…” he whispered, his voice cracking.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound, groggy but aware. When your gaze met his, tears immediately welled in your eyes.

“Jake,” you croaked, your voice barely audible.

He couldn’t hold back any longer. Jake dropped into the chair beside your bed, his head falling into his hands as his shoulders began to shake. It took a moment before you realized he was crying. Crying. Jake Seresin, the cocky, unflappable Hangman, was breaking apart before your eyes.

“I thought I lost you,” he choked out, his voice raw with emotion. “God, Y/n, when they told me what happened, I—” He shook his head, his tears spilling freely now.

“I’ve been such a damn fool,” he continued, his voice thick. “I’ve spent so much time pushing you away, pretending like what we have doesn’t matter because I was scared. Scared of what it would mean to love you. But I do,  Y/n. I love you so much it scares the hell out of me.”

Your breath hitched, tears streaming down your cheeks as you listened to him bare his soul.

Jake reached for your hand, his fingers trembling as they closed around yours. “I can’t lose you. I won’t survive it. You’re the best thing in my life, and I’ve been too blind to see it until now. Please,  Y/n… give me another chance. Let me be the man you deserve. I swear, I’ll spend every day making it up to you.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed by the raw, unfiltered vulnerability in his eyes. Despite the pain coursing through your body, you managed a small, trembling smile.

“I’m not going anywhere, Jake,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm. “But you have to promise me… no more games. No more running.”

Jake nodded fervently, his grip on your hand tightening. “No more games,” he vowed, his voice steady despite the tears still streaming down his face. “I’m all in,  Y/n. For you, for us.”

The room was quiet except for the steady beeping of the monitors and the sound of Jake’s quiet sniffles as he leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. For the first time in years, the tension between you dissolved, replaced by something deeper, something real.

[moonstruckme]

i cannot stop thinking about oblivious reader and remus where she’s talking about how she’s never been with anyone before bc no one likes her so remus is like i like you!! but she’s like haha ok yeah bc we are friends!! and he has to be like no i like you but she just thinks he’s taking piss but he’s actually being real with her i’m so 🤧

Thanks for requesting :)

cw: mention of alcohol

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 870 words

“Ugh, they’re disgusting.” You take a sip of your drink, looking at James and Lily over the rim of your cup. Lily’s eating an ice cream sandwich she’d found in Sirius’ freezer, offering James bites while he traces lines between her freckles with his pinkie. “I want to be them so badly.” 

Remus hums. It’s the tail end of one of Sirius’ parties (or his soirees, as he insists upon calling them), and the atmosphere is heavy with a pleasant lethargy. The music is still playing from his record player, some slowish, bass-heavy rock, but most everyone has cleared out, and Sirius himself has fallen asleep on the opposite side of the couch from Lily and James, his mouth hanging open. 

“I wonder what it’s like to be in love,” you sigh. Remus turns to you, catching the longing in your look just before you hide it away. 

“You’ve never been in love?” he asks you. 

You give him a funny look. “No.” You shrug. “I’ve never dated anyone before.” 

Remus hadn’t known that. He has to remind himself, again, that he doesn’t know all that much about you. You’re new to their little group, a coworker of Lily’s that she’d started bringing around recently. Remus doesn’t know you very well, but he’s found the learning process surprisingly enjoyable. He likes being around you. 

“How’s that?” It slips out before he can think it through, brash and unlike him. He backpedals immediately. “Sorry, that was rude, I only meant that I’m a bit surprised. You don’t have to answer.” 

“No, it’s okay.” You give him a smile, infinite in your benevolence. “People just don’t seem to think of me that way. No one’s ever liked me.” 

You sound so casual about it, but Remus can’t help but think that must not be a nice way to think of yourself. He’s sure you’ve been considered romantically by plenty of people, even if they never had the guts to tell you about it. You’re lovely. You deserve to know it. 

He musters his courage. “I like you.” 

You laugh, and he thinks Sirius is going to have to mop his self-esteem up off the floor tomorrow morning as part of his party cleanup. 

“Thanks,” you say, “but you don’t count.” 

 Why the hell not?

“I mean, I’m glad you don’t mind me,” you go on, taking another sip of your drink, “but it’s different when you’re friends. I meant that nobody’s ever liked me, like, romantically.” 

You go a bit shy at the last word, self-consciousness pulling your shoulders almost imperceptibly upwards. Remus forgives your oversight instantly. 

“Do you really think it’s so unlikely that anyone could like you romantically?” he asks, refusing to lower his gaze even when you shrink a bit at the question. “You’re a catch, love, trust me.” 

You shake your head and smile, frustratingly good-natured. “Easy for you to say, you don’t have to date me.”

“Have to?” Remus’ voice rises incredulously. He glances towards James and Lily on the couch, lowering it. “I would love to.” 

“Ha ha,” you monotone, rolling your eyes and raising your cup to your lips. 

He can’t believe you think he’d joke about this. He can’t figure out what’s more cruel, the way you keep inadvertently shooting him down or the fact that you seem so heart-wrenchingly prepared to be made fun of. “I mean it.” Remus lets his voice drop into a more genuine register, and something in your look softens. “I would date you. I want to, if you do. You’re far from impossible to like.” 

Your lips actually part in surprise. “Seriously?” 

“Yeah, I…” He looks over at the couch, but James and Lily are effectively as dead to the world as Sirius, and at the volume you’re both speaking he doubts they’d be able to hear you over the music anyway. “I think you’re really lovely. I’ve been meaning to do something about it, I just…I didn’t know how. But would you want to?”

“To go on a date?” you ask, looking a bit dazed. Remus smiles, but before he can confirm you laugh at yourself, the sound rich and sweet as dark chocolate. “Sorry, that might be a stupid question. I haven’t done this before.” 

“I can’t believe that.” He shakes his head, astounded. For a girl like you to never get asked out? Well, it makes things a bit easier for him, jealousy-wise, but objectively it’s criminal. Remus supposes he’ll have to make up for it himself. “But yeah, I’d like to go on a date.” 

You nod, smile sticking on your face. “Me too. I’d like that.”

“Good,” he says, finding that your smile seems to have stuck to him too. “Tomorrow, maybe? We could go for coffee.” He looks out the window behind you, where a faint line of gold on the horizon shows promise of sunrise. “I think we’ll both be needing it.” 

You laugh again. Remus decides that he likes it better than any song Sirius has played all night. “That sounds perfect. Thank you, Remus.” 

He’s not sure what you’re thanking him for. He’s the one who gets to take you to coffee tomorrow. He ought to be thanking you.

[clover-the-awesomest]

Sorry for using classic meme images as a reaction to this but I honestly don’t really know what to say… I don’t understand in the slightest as I am not an adult and don’t quite get that feeling of hopelessness yet, but I do still wish the best for you. I want to understand, to give proper advice or words of encouragement but I just. Don’t know how??

However, I do think that things will get better for you. You’re still so young, you’re still so new to this life, you are just starting out. You’re barely even 32, judging by this post, so please. Do not tell yourself that it’s over, that you’ve wasted your life. Don’t keep believing that you’ll never amount to anything in life, that you mean nothing to anyone. Do not listen to those voices that say you’re a waste of space or anything like that at all! Because none of it is true!

You are a wonderful artist! Your attention to detail is immaculate, and you’re really great at hyper-analyzing things that others wouldn’t even batt an eye at! You are funny, you are kind, and you are incredibly considerate. I don’t know what you do IRL since you value your privacy and I greatly appreciate that about you, so I can’t really judge you otherwise. But I still do know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you matter. You matter to me. You matter to others. You matter to your family, your friends, your pets, the strangers online that you’ve adopted, the random people on the street that pass you by, YOU MATTER.

And don’t you dare let anyone ever tell you otherwise.

❤️💖💞

I don’t feel like I belong anywhere. I’ve cried. I’m bitter. I’m bitter watching people get to travel and explore and go pretty places. I’m bitter that i can’t get help for my medical complications. I’m jealous that others can go swimming and experience nature while I’m confined to a tight little space and a bathtub. I’m sad that i have no IRL friend/peer group. I feel alone. I’m exhausted. My best is never good enough. I feel my family doesn’t take me seriously when i say “I’m checked out.” I wish i was impressive to them. I wish i was intelligent or competent to them. I wish i was useful. But I’m not. I’m dependent and trapped and, in this moment, fairly convinced my future is dull and bleak. I live in a world beyond my reach. Everything is dreams. My 20’s are almost completely gone. I feel like dreams don’t come true.

It’s just an episode. They pass. I got triggered and i’ll get over it. But lately the sensation of being trapped and feeling like it’s impossible to have the life i want has been very persistent. There’s been loads of progress in some spaces, but in this one idk. All that keeps me going are my dog, my gecko and Ash. This has been all that’s kept me alive for a long time. It continues to be the only thing. I genuinely do not see a way out of this tunnel. Not tonight. There is sorrow, and sleep. But at least i have a place to sleep and a dog to snuggle.

Tomorrow is another world, most likely as uneventful and stagnant as the last…

[avocado-writing]

Can I request companions + Halsins reactions to a tav who snorts when they laugh really hard and is embarrassed about it so they try to control their laughter as much as possible?

OH i love this one!!

Astarion

oh he is delighted when he first hears you.

will 👏 not 👏 stop 👏 teasing 👏 you 👏

but you know he doesn’t really mean anything by it. if you tease him back about things in return, he thinks it’s all good fun.

eventually becomes quite fond of your laugh. it’s nice to hear something so genuine when he lives a live of exaggeration and attempting to hide his emotions.

begins to smile whenever he hears it.

Gale

so so so so pleased to have made you laugh that hard.

he sees the way you cover your mouth in embarrassment and lets you know that he finds your laugh charming. he can see how flustered that makes you but you seem pleased, too.

goes out of his way to make you chuckle from that point on. more than usual, anyway, and he looks so happy whenever you snort because of him. expect lots of daft puns.

you think maybe you’ve laughed more with Gale than you have for the rest of your life.

Wyll

genuinely taken aback, but doesn’t mean to be rude.

when he sees you’re humiliated by it, he quickly reassures you that there’s nothing wrong with how you laugh, he just didn’t expect it.

you’ve been so solemn on this journey so far, after all — he thought you were just averse to humour, not that you were trying to hide how you sounded!

encourages you to laugh more, not cover up this lovely thing about you. if anyone has anything to say about it?? well your Blade will step in ❤️

Karlach

“oh my GODS I love your laugh!”

she’s so chuffed to hear it properly! you sound so lovely!

her laugh is loud too, big and booming and takes over the whole camp.

she tries to get you to laugh more. if she knows you’re ticklish, she will descend upon you until you’ve lost it, just left in tears.

it’s hard to feel self conscious about it when she’s there, making you so happy!

Lae’zel

also not known for her sense of humour… but something happens to make you laugh one day, and you snort so loudly.

she is so shocked that she starts to laugh too, and it’s such a strange sound! like a croak. you can’t help but giggle in response.

and then the two of you are just there, like you’ve had Hideous Laughter cast on you, losing yourselves at the silliness of the situation, stuck in utter joy at each other’s laughs.

eventually you compose yourselves. she looks you in the eye, wipes away a tear.

“we never speak of this again.”

Shadowheart

giggles when she hears you, then manages to get ahold of yourself.

“sorry, sorry. I just wasn’t expecting… that.”

confesses that she’s unused to much laughter due to her upbringing, so she understands your serious nature.

but, at the same time, encourages you to express your feelings. she knows she’d love to hear you laugh more. she finds it quite sweet, actually.

and if anyone mocks you? well, no heals for them.

Halsin

also overjoyed.

does what he can to bring the sound out of you more. it quickly becomes one of his favourites.

when you confide you’re self-conscious about it, he reassures you:

”my heart, there are many wonderful sounds in nature that perhaps we don’t expect. maybe yours is one of them. it makes it no less beautiful.”

then he turns into a bear and does a forward roll which leaves you in stitches 💕

[sabertoothwalrus]

I’ve seen you post some labru stuff and I’m curious what your thoughts on it are. personally I don’t see it? I can buy Kabru having feelings for Laios, but I think Laios wouldn’t be interested in Kabru, so it makes me wonder why so many people ship them. (Tbh I feel like Kabru has more chemistry with Mithrun anyway)

Sorry if this ask sounds rude, I just genuinely don’t understand the appeal of the ship, but I want to understand and I trust your analysis of characters very much :] maybe there’s something I’m missing

I really like both ships, actually!

For labru, there’s sooooo much I could talk about. The inherent homoeroticism of being narrative foils. The inherent homoeroticism of being the king’s advisor. All of chapter 76. The fact that Kabru has mask upon mask upon mask, and Laios is the first person that made his facade absolutely crumble.

Kabru struggles with being genuine!!! Everything he says and does is so perfectly calculated, even when he sort of means it. But since Laios doesn’t get social cues, Kabru gets thrown for a loop.

I get so frustrated when people act like Kabru still hates Laios by the end of the manga!!!!! He killed those corpse retrievers for being corrupt, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to kill Laios. He has such a strong sense of justice, and knew that killing Laios would be a mistake. Because, after meeting him, he could tell he wasn’t actually evil. He’s strange, sure, but not evil.

Kabru DEFINITELY wants to be friends with Laios!! He was not lying about this!!!

But this last comic shows how much Laios wants to be friends with Kabru, too. He’s so nervous after calling Kabru his friend 😭 he doesn’t want to be presumptuous and fuck it up again.

Laios does show an interest in Kabru, at least when Laios thinks he’s interested in eating monsters too. Like,, what was up with THIS

Laios’s gaze is LINGERING. Plus, (this is before that bit at Thistle’s house when he forgets his name) he brings up Kabru when they first form their plan to eat Falin.

And maybe this is just because of my own personal experiences, but Laios reminds me a lot of my own girlfriend. I think they have a similar flavor of gay/aspec & autism combo where, had I not asked her out first, she probably never would have considered being interested in me. But she was very down when I did.

The tricky part about labru is more the political aspect. Regardless of whether you see Laios as aroace or not, he’s in a situation where he will probably get married. He had a fiancée before he was age 13, likely betrothed since he was a baby. He’s already comfortable with the idea of getting married because He’s Supposed To.

However, Laios is king, and could make gay marriage legal if he wanted to (He would probably do this for his sister and Marcille before considering it for himself ). But at the same time, I think Kabru would object to Laios making whatever policies he wants without considering the repercussions of how other kingdoms might react, especially when they’re just getting Melini off the ground and need lots of support from other countries. Laios and Kabru getting gay married anyway and dealing with the aftermath could make for a really compelling story.

I do think Kabru would be a good ruler. He’s already fit for it. He speaks a dozen languages, he knows people and their motivations, and likes politics. The manga already joked about Chilchuck’s daughters trying to marry a king, so it seems like noble blood isn’t too important, but Kabru’s foster family IS nobility. When it comes to heirs, I do like trans Kabru headcanons, but at the same time, I think it’d be cute if they adopt anyway. Kabru seems like he’d have strong feelings about adoption given,,, yknow.

The alternative version of labru to this is Laios gets straight married out of obligation, and Kabru is his mistress hdhdhshsj. I don’t know if I could see Laios doing that? or if Kabru would risk the scandal of being outed as Royal Advisor and Regent trying to seduce the king. It could go SO downhill. but maybe that would be fun.

NOW FOR KABUMISU.

I knew people shipped them, and I could see the basis for it while reading, but I wasn’t really sold on it until the very end. There’s something about “I had no desires left. I decided to create new desires, and one of them is you” that’s really charming.

There’s also something funny about “the demon ate my heterosexuality so I’m gay now”

I think it’s interesting that Kabru hates elves. He was raised by them, and he hates them. He hates feeling patronized by them. He made absolutely sure that elves wouldn’t take control over Melini, not just for his sake, but for Rin’s.

But Mithrun’s interactions with Kabru are founded on more mutual respect. Though, that’s not to say that Mithrun doesn’t still have his biases towards short lived races..

Where Laios doesn’t understand social cues, Mithrun does but just doesn’t care. For that reason, I think Kabru would enjoy spending time with Mithrun. It’d give him a break from his compulsion to calculate all of his social interactions. But at the same time, Kabru is the KING at bottling his emotions. Mithrun is blunt, but also doesn’t care enough to pry. If Kabru had anything bothering him, I could imagine him seeking Mithrun’s company to avoid thinking about it. Could make for a fun dynamic.

I do think it’s funny that Milsiril 1) took care of Mithrun for potentially 20 years and 2) is only four years older than him. I imagine this could lead to funny situations.

I don’t ship things for no reason! I think both of these could work platonically, romantically, one-sided, or even “requited but they don’t do anything about it.” Their relationships compel me and I think it’s sort of bad faith to brush off either like they’re nothing more than baseless yaoi pair-the-spares. To me, I see just as much of a foundation in the source material as farcille.

After all, dungeon meshi isn’t a story about romance, but it IS a story about love. It’s a story about life and death and grief and the love that comes with it. Regardless of shipping, these characters love each other!!! And I love talking about it!!

[luv4fushi]

omfg i litr read everything uve written off ur masterlist I NEED MOREEEE. i love the way u write megumi especially, i couldn’t get enough of it. i hope you write more of him, my heart aches for more tbh 🥹 tysm for being such a good writer and feeding us starved readers well

tysm! i'm sooo glad i can be a good source of megumi content for you >_< i looove writing megumi so you'll be seeing sooo much more of him, dw! happy holidays!

this december

jjk fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

it’s always colder on your own, especially around this time of year. you should be at home, bundled up with a warm cup of hot chocolate, but here you are in shinjuku, exorcizing curses with your ex boyfriend two weeks after your breakup with him. great.

content: post break up, aged up megumi (19/20), megumi is terrible at feelings, getting back together, fluff if you squint, a bit of angst, miscommunication, one bed (but it isn’t the main plot point sorry), megumi calls you baby like once, gojo is the best wingman, SHIBUYA ARC NEVER HAPPENED AND LIFE IS GOOD, not proofread im very sorry guys pls forgive me, kinda a word dump sry

word count: 5.8k (sigh this was supposed to be 2k words max)

click on my masterlist for more & merry christmas to those who celebrate!

it’s december 19th when satoru gojo tells you that he has a mission just for you. you’re less than ecstatic about it to say the least. the last thing you want to do is be sent to your death just shy of christmas day. you just want to rest your sore muscles and bask in the presence of your best friends. you’re not in the mood to kill any curses, mainly because you’ve just recovered from a previous mission.

“why me?” you groan.

gone are the days where you used to be a goody two shoes for satoru. you’re old enough to talk back now, not like when you had been a shy fifteen-year-old girl. besides, you’ve been around the silver-haired sorcerer long enough to know that he doesn’t mind the bite.

“sorry, kid,” satoru says with a shrug. at least he sounds genuine about it. “the higher ups requested for you specifically. they say you’ll get the job done in the cleanest way. we can’t have things getting messy before the holidays, right?”

“and you wouldn’t be the best choice?” you quip.

satoru only laughs. he ruffles your hair. even with your growth spurt and merciless training, he still towers over you. in a way, he’ll always be your mentor. “hey, i’m going out of town that weekend. give me a break.”

you huff petulantly. something about this mission seems fishy to you. you’re not nearly the strongest sorcerer out of the bunch of kids under satoru’s wings (not that you guys are kids anymore, but sometimes it’s hard to feel otherwise). hell, there’s the kyoto students. it feels like they never have to do anything. you wish that you were rebellious enough to chew utahime out for it.

“why couldn’t they just make yuta or megumi go?” you mutter under your breath. you stammer out megumi’s name and hope satoru doesn’t catch on to the way you can barely say it.

satoru knows about the breakup. why wouldn’t he? he’s basically megumi’s dad, even if the raven haired boy refuses to admit it. satoru’s six eyes mean you can’t hide anything from him (he’d been the first to know that megumi was head over heels for you).

satoru raises a brow. “oh, right. megumi’s coming along too.”

your face twists and you immediately whip around to glare at him. “you’re lying.”

“i wish,” he jokes. “i was really hoping i’d get a wedding invitation one day, you little rascal. i can’t believe you two broke up. maybe this’ll be a good thing!”

“i appreciate your honesty, but—”

“but megumi’s an emotionally constipated kid, yeah, that i know,” satoru laughs. he makes his way to the exit of his office which has you furrowing your brows. is your former teacher actually gonna just leave after making you come all the way here? how rude and so very in character of him.

“please, gojo,” you call out after him, “i don’t wanna go with him.”

“sucks for you,” satoru responds halfheartedly. “merry christmas. try not to take more than a week on this. you’ll have to pay the rest of the fee for accommodations if you do.”

“gojo!” you whine.

“it’s not a hard mission!” satoru insists like it’ll make your life any easier. “y’know, this time of year is when things get ugly. think of it as saving as many people as you can while putting in the least amount of effort!”

and then he teleports. your former teacher teleports away rather than being normal and walking out of the door. you roll your eyes and hope that he can sense it (you know he can’t).

so that’s why you’re here now. with your ex. on the elevator to your assigned room on the tenth floor. you’re so glad that it’s a normal hotel and not a love hotel. lord knows what you’d do if you had checked into a love hotel.

megumi hasn’t spoken a word to you since he broke up with you two weeks ago. it had been in the doorway to your apartment a few days after a particularly rough mission assigned to the both of you—the one you’re still recovering from. he’d pulled you in for a hug, whispering sweet words into your ear. he gave you a look, one of those looks that made him soften his usually sharp eyes.

“i think we should break up.”

and then came the pathetic whimper of yours. he had wiped your tears, even kissed them tenderly, before telling you that it wasn’t your fault—it was his. how cliche.

now as you stand next to him, you want to beat yourself up for not asking for closure. neither of you had explicitly stated that you two were going to be no-contact, but it hurts a lot less to push the idea of forever with megumi away to the back of your mind. besides, you two aren’t confrontational like that. not with each other, anyway.

“need help?” his tone is soft, tender—the tone he reserves specifically for you, the one that tells you he still cares.

you stare down at the luggage at your feet. you’ve always been a chronic overpacker, a habit that megumi knows of by now. he watches you curiously, hands itching at his sides. you can tell that he wants to reach out and grab your suitcase like he always does. he thinks he isn’t obvious, but you can always read through the lines, especially when it’s megumi.

“i’m okay,” you croak out, clearing your throat awkwardly.

the elevator dings and you make your way to your room. as much as you hate to admit it, you’re sort of glad that you and your ex boyfriend are sharing a room. perhaps his’ll be a good way to get closure, though you’re not really sure what closure entails.

what you don’t expect is to unlock the door and be met with a singular bed.

if satoru gojo didn’t have a layer of infinity coating his body (and if he wasn’t the strongest sorcerer alive), you would’ve wrung out his neck.

megumi simply walks into the room, setting his duffel bag down on one of the dressers opposite from the foot of the bed. he doesn’t comment on the lack of double beds, seemingly already aware of the set up.all he does is puff out a weary sigh. you suck in a breath and follow him inside, slipping your shoes off at the entrance.

you lug your suitcase in after you along with your duffel bag and backpack. you stumble forward and megumi’s arm snakes around your waist, steadying you.

“careful,” he mutters, nonchalantly taking your bag off our your shoulders.

it’s a quick series of movements; he swings your bag over his shoulders and places it on the dresser next to the one he’s claimed while guiding you softly to the side of the bed so that you’re not standing in the middle of the doorway.

you scrunch your face, feeling your heart thump against your ribcage. it’s stupid how he still has such a hold on you, even after two weeks of not seeing or talking to him. he’s just so caring, so gentle. it stings, like little the little cuts you get when fighting curses, when you realize that this is something you’ll have to learn how to lose.

“thanks,” you manage to mutter. you don’t trust yourself to say anything else. you know from the way your throat tightens that you’ll be crying soon if you force yourself to talk any more.

“i can take the couch,” megumi says.

it’s that easy with him; he’s a gentleman, so of course he’d take the couch. that’s the way megumi fushiguro is—he offers a solution before you even have the chance to complain. in your year and a half long relationship, that skill of his had been a saving grace.

“no, don’t bother,” you croak. “i’ll book another room.”

“really?” he asks. he stands up a little straighter, awkwardly reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “i mean, i don’t mind sharing a room with you… we’ve..”

we’ve shared a room countless of times before.

megumi doesn’t have to continue his sentence for you to understand what he’s implying. you part your lips to speak, but nothing comes out except for a long, heavy sigh. your shoulders drop as you let the exhaustion seep into your bones. there’s no use arguing about it, not when you don't’ mind sharing a room with megumi, either.

“we’ve broken up,” you remind him in a quiet voice, like you’re afraid saying it out loud will make it truer than it already is.

megumi pauses. you see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. “i know that, but … it’ll be fine. we’ve shared a room as friends before.”

he’s right, like he usually is. you two have shared a room before as just friends, but that had been as teenagers—back when you both harbored such hardcore crushes on each other that you two somehow didn’t notice.

“right,” you find yourself agreeing with a small nod.

“you should go get ready for bed.” megumi begins grabbing a few or the decorative pillow off of the bed. he places them gingerly on the brown couch tucked in the corner of the hotel room. “we’ll be getting up pretty early to deal with the brunt of the mission.”

to finish this mission as quickly as possible, you think.

and so you oblige and head to the bathroom. it’s december 19th, just a few days shy of christmas day, and you’re in bed with your ex boyfriend on the couch just a few feet away.

december 20th greets you with megumi hovering over you. he peers down at you with his messy bangs covering his eyes. they’re piercingly blue as he blinks. his lashes flutter perfectly, even in the early morning. your eyes meet his and you jolt awake.

“good morning,” he says. “your alarm has been ringing for a bit now, so i turned it off.”

you blink rapidly, getting the tiredness out of your eyes. “oh.”

he chuckles softly, just enough for you to catch it with your ears. he rises from his crouched position and heads to the front door. he spares you a glance over his shoulder before he heads out, presumably giving you the privacy you need. you let out a strangled breath before you swing your legs over the bed and head to the bathroom.

by the time you’re finished putting on your uniform, you swing the door to your hotel room open and see megumi leaned up against the wall, tapping away on his phone. his dark blue eyes flicker up to you and he turns away to head down the hall.

you furrow your brows. you can’t help but think that he’s being a little cold to you. it isn’t like you initiated the breakup. despite your frustration with his behavior, you can sort of understand why he wouldn’t want to be sweet around you; you two aren’t dating anymore and so it makes sense that he’d go back to being aloof in your presence, the usual way he acts around everyone else. losing that position in his life makes your stomach churn for reasons you’re less than willing to uncover.

your mission is a vague one; all you know is that it’s a clean-up mission. rather than a level 1 curse (or even a special grade), the mission consists of an acclimation of weak curses surrounding shinjuku. these missions are normally given to younger, more inexperienced sorcerers with the help of a senior sorcerer, but for an odd reason, it’s been given to you and megumi this year. megumi could’ve probably handled it himself. actually, you could’ve handled it yourself.

you bite your tongue to hold back on your complaints as you walk just a step behind megumi. he pauses regularly, waiting for you to catch up to his side. you roll your eyes in secret. does he not realize that you don’t want to walk next to him?

“it’s all just bars,” you mutter.

with that, you earn a tiny laugh from megumi. “well, yeah. this is the red-light district of shinjuku.”

you pale. “this sucks.”

“why do you think i wanted to come out here in the morning rather than at night?” he says, his tone strangely light.

“to deal with the brunt of the mission,” you repeat his words from last night sarcastically. you’re unsure as to what he’s talking about, so you think that it’s okay to give him a little bit of attitude.

he raises his brow but doesn’t comment on your sarcasm. instead, he says softly, “no, stupid. it’s because this is the red-light district. it’s unsafe for anyone, especially a pretty, young girl alone at night.”

your first thought is to coo and tease him. you think i’m pretty? it takes you half a second to remember that you two are broken up. you scoff, “i’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“i never said you weren’t,” megumi shoots back. “it would just be annoying explaining to the higher ups why you were fighting people and not curses.”

“i’m sure they’d understand,” you retort, frowning. you cross your arms.

“don’t be so pouty,” he says in that stupid, gentle tone he uses with you when you’re acting bratty.

you both decide to split up. well, it’s more like you demand the two of you to split up. you say it under the pretense that it’ll get the job done faster. besides, you both want to be home before christmas day, right?

there’s about two curses you cross paths with every hour. you’re starting to lose your mind. shouldn’t the streets be infested with them? you don’t even need a veil! all you have to do is give the weak curses just one punch and they vaporize on the spot. your head is running with hundreds of thoughts.

that’s when it hits you: the first years at the tokyo jujutsu school did come out here a week prior! maybe they did a bad job? but you remember nobara had been the one to lead the group. she may half-ass almost everything in her life, but she wouldn’t jeopardize her underclassmen for the sake of her freetime.

so why on earth are you here? it’s not like there are enough harmful curses for a mission to be assigned to you right before christmas, and to you and megumi of all sorcerers. you’re both strong enough to the point of having some kind of importance in the jujutsu world. the higher ups wouldn’t send the two of you on some stupid mission for the sake of it unless they’re planning some sort of secret execution. but even then, satoru gojo should’ve known through their lies to not send you or megumi. unless…he wants you two dead…?

you shake your head and bite your nails. the sun begins to set and you realize that you’ve been out here for longer than you expected. you’re starting to feel a chill in your bones—you had argued petulantly with megumi earlier about not wanting to wear your jacket despite it being the dead of winter; “it’s gonna get in the way!”

you always seem to forget the the sun sets earlier in the winter. it’s stupid how bright all the lights are in shinjuku. there isn’t a square foot of anything that isn’t lit up with neon signs reading out the names of clubs and bars. you see couples and large groups of people walking along the streets.

it’s lonely, you realize. it would’ve been less lonely with megumi.

you make your way to the meeting spot with megumi. you both share a few small words before retiring for the night. megumi says he wants to go sightseeing, even though there’s really nothing much to see. he doesn’t return to the hotel room until late at night.

when he slips into the only bed that the room offers, you chalk it up to the slight alcohol you smell on his lips. it feels so natural that you don’t push him away even though you should. his body is warm and you fit so perfectly against his broad chest that you think it’ll be okay for you to be a little selfish tonight.

“g’night,” megumi mumbles in his sleep.

you smile and nuzzle closer.

it’s december 21st as you realize how late it is in the day. megumi is back on the couch. you feel a tinge of disappointment in the bottom of your stomach.

to no one’s surprise, the sun is barely peeking over the buildings when you’re finally back in the red-light district. you’re doing the last bit of cleanup, but there’s really nothing much for you to clean.

tomorrow, you’ll be heading to a shopping mall, so you suppose you should do your best to sniff out the rest of the curses littering the place unless you want to stay here an extra day. the day is, yet again, slow.

it’s nearing 8 PM and you're finally sure that you’ve gotten rid of all the curses in the general area. you’ve been done for quite a while now, but you just haven’t found the courage to let megumi know that you’re ready to go back to the hotel room. a little sightseeing on your end wouldn’t hurt, right?

“hi, pretty.” a gravelly voice, battered by cigarettes, whispers in your ear.

you jump in surprise. you need to remember not to get too far into your head. you should’ve felt his presence coming from a mile away. it’s a terrible habit and satoru has scolded you for years about it.

“hi,” you mutter, pushing past his larger frame.

the man isn’t as nicely built as the men you know (but then again, your friends are jujutsu sorcerers, so it’s kind of hard to beat that), but he still towers over you. he’s got a squad of rough-looking guys behind him, smirking down at you.

“why’s someone like you alone?” he says, shoving his arm to loop around your waist.

you roll your eyes, getting ready to punch the man square in the nose. will you get in trouble? probably yes. will it be a funny story to tell? also probably yes.

“don’t touch my wife.”

the group of men turn their heads along with you to see megumi. his expression is shrouded with a mixture of anger and frustration. you blink in confusion—megumi usually looks pretty pissed off, but this is the most angry you’ve seen him in a while. and ‘wife’? what’s up with that?

“oh, my bad,” the man chuckles. “didn’t know this pretty thing was married.”

“this ‘pretty thing’ wants you to let her go,” you say with an overly sweet smile. your teeth clench and you hiss, “right now.”

the guy scurries down the sidewalk with his buddies trailing along, making fun of him for hitting on a married woman. nobody mentions the lack of a ring on your finger. nobody mentions the lack of a relationship, either.

“wife?” you scowl. “we’re broken up.”

“guys tend to back up when they know a woman is married. it’s the only way you can really, uh, get them to go away around here.”

you glare at him. “and how would you know? you come here often with girls?”

“...no?” he blinks, unable to comprehend your sudden burst of jealousy. “i sometimes get missions around here, though. pretending to be married was the easiest way—”

“we aren’t, though. we’re not even in a relationship.” you seem to be throwing that into his face a lot more than you should. you can’t help it, though. you still feel a little bitter about not getting a real reason as to why megumi wanted to break up.

“i was trying to help you.” he’s calm and collected, as heard through his voice. he walks up to you and takes your freezing hand into his much warmer ones. “let’s go home.”

“i don’t want to,” you argue.

“stop being a brat,” he says, but there’s no bite to his words. “you’re cold and you’ve been out here all day. if i hadn’t stopped those guys, you probably would’ve beat them up pretty badly.”

“i’m not a fucking brat!” you try to retract your hand, but megumi’s grip only tightens.

“baby, stop,” the pet name rolls off his tongue with ease. megumi sighs softly and pulls you to his chest. “why are you so worked up, hm?”

from the way he speaks, you can tell that he already has an inkling. the breakup. cuddling last night. hugging you now. everything.

you don’t realize you’re crying until he gently wipes his thumb under your eye. he has the audacity to have an amused grin plastered on his stupidly pretty lips. your vision is blurry but if it hadn’t been, you would’ve thrown a punch.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair. “it’s all my fault.”

“it is,” you whimper pathetically. all the tears and the emotions you’ve been holding back bubble up to the surface.

“don’t be upset,” he almost pleads. “let’s go back, okay?”

the night ends with megumi on the couch. neither of you bring up the argument or the fact that he had slept in your bed with you last night. you two don’t talk about the usage of pet names, either.

when you open your eyes on december 22nd, you’re surprised to see that megumi has already headed out for the day. you click your tongue in annoyance—he’s always been good at avoiding his problems when it comes to dealing with them, especially problems involving his emotions. you already know where you’re supposed to be headed, so you suppose that it’s for the best that he’d left before you.

the shopping mall is a long line of vendors and stores among other things. the snow on the ground is fresh—it must’ve snowed late last night after you’d fallen asleep. it crunches underneath your beat-up sneakers with each step you take. you’re not shocked when you end up wandering aimlessly, dipping in and out of stores with no real urgency to finish your mission.

there’s nothing to do anyway.

you’ve killed about 3 curses total and it’s really starting to look like you’ve been sent out here for busy work. you really should’ve figured that out the first day of the mission when you had to practically beg the curses to come out and fight you.

you find yourself in the front of a jewelry store, eyeing a pretty bracelet that you know would look stunning around megumi’s wrist. it’s one of those bracelets that clasp tightly. there’s a thicker band in the center with pretty carvings that seem to resemble some sort of swirly heart. it’s pretty, you have to admit.

without much thought, you buy the gift.

the seller has to clear her throat to get your attention when you don’t answer her question. “um, would you like this to be wrapped?”

you nod absentmindedly. “oh, yes. sorry. please wrap it.”

she nods in return and proceeds to wrap the bracelet in a tiny box, adorning it with a festive bow. you ask her to change it out for a different color, explaining that it isn’t a christmas gift and instead, it’s for someone’s birthday. she offers you a warm smile before switching it with a muted blue ribbon.

you return to the hotel, having to take an expensive taxi. you don’t mind—the bracelet has already made a decent-sized dent in your wallet. why not spend an extra amount on getting home? it’s not like jujutsu sorcerers are paid poorly.

reality hits you when you finally get back to the hotel room. you want to punch yourself for being so stupid. did you really just buy a birthday present for your ex-boyfriend?

you’re thankful that megumi hasn’t arrived yet. he seems to be determined to avoid you for as long as he can. you can’t blame him, either. you did give him quite a hard time yesterday.

you toss the box on to the dresser and head to the bathroom to splash some much needed cold water on to your face. maybe that’ll wake you up enough to clear your mind. you’ve acted out once during this trip already and you’re not really looking forward to any other possible outbursts.

you rinse your face and pat yourself dry with one of the face towels provided to you by the hotel staff. you hang it over the rack again and tiredly make your way to your bed. you halt your movements when you see megumi standing by the dresser, admiring your gift.

he looks up at you in surprise with the smallest grin on his face. it’s so subtle that you would’ve missed it had you not been dating him for nearly two years.

“is this for me?”

“no,” you quickly deny. his face falls and you cough out, “um, i mean.. yeah. i-i didn’t… i… happy birthday.”

he brightens, lips pulling up into a real, genuine smile. “you remembered?”

“why wouldn’t i?” you blurt gently. you bite your inner cheek to stop yourself from saying anything more.

“i dunno.” his voice is distant and low, like he’s trying to hold back his tears. “i just…i didn’t think i was deserving of a gift from you. thank you. i like it.”

you stand awkwardly, shifting your weight onto your other foot. “yeah, well…”

“can you help me put it on?” he asks, sitting at the edge of your unmade bed.

you feel your body heat up. part of you screams for you to stop. you shouldn’t do that. it’s far too intimate and you two are broken up. you’ve never been good at making decisions, though, so you sit next to him and feel the mattress dip.

he gives you a grateful look, one that you willfully ignore, and gives you his wrist. you clasp the bracelet on, fingertips just barely grazing his skin. your heart skips a beat and you have to inhale sharply before pulling away.

“thank you,” he whispers.

december 23rd is a sore reminder that life goes on. you had half-expected something to spark between you and megumi. perhaps he’d beg for you back, or maybe with less wishful thinking, he’d give you his real reason as to why he doesn’t want you anymore.

“i don’t think we need to go anymore,” megumi says when you come out of the bathroom after freshening up.

“huh? why not?”

“there’s nothing out there.” megumi’s voice is flat.

“i know, but we’ll get in trouble if we…”

“gojo probably sent us out here for fun.”

your lips part. megumi turns to you with a slight frown.

“don’t you think so too?” he asks, but you know it isn’t a question he’s looking to find an answer to. “why would the higher-ups assign a mission like this to a special grade sorcerer and a grade 1 sorcerer? if they needed that much manpower, this mission would’ve been deadlier. instead, we’re playing cleanup crew.”

“yeah, but..” you trail off, unable to think of a statement to refute his words. “if we go back now, we’ll get chewed out.”

“it’s just a scolding. you’ll be fine.” megumi stands up and stretches his arms.

you watch him cautiously as he begins to fold his clothes and throw them into his duffel bag. he doesn’t say anything else, letting the silence overtake the room.

“...are we leaving, then?” you ask meekly, not bothering to hide the slight quiver in your voice.

he pauses slightly. “do you want to stay here until christmas? this mission is stupid and you know it. there’s no point.”

why is his tone so cold all of the sudden? it’s as if you two hadn’t shared a moment last night before bed. does your gift not mean anything to him now that he’s cleared his mind with a good rest?

your eyes flicker to his wrist. the gold glimmers underneath the light and you realize that megumi doesn’t seem to hate wearing it. so why is he acting so … unpleasant?

you feel a lump in your throat. it’s embarrassing how quickly he’s able to upset you from just the tone of his voice. even his body language, usually fluid and smooth, is rigid with your presence. you want to tell him that you’ve enjoyed your time with him. you want to shake his shoulders and tell him that if you two cut your mission short, you might not get another chance to be near him again.

“do you still care about me?” you whisper instead.

he stills completely. “what?”

“this entire time,” you begin shakily, “you’ve been nice to me. you treat me like you always do. you’re always hovering over me even though you pretend you aren’t! you obviously still care, megumi.”

his adam's apple bobs as swallows. a beat of silence. then two. then three.

“i do care,” he admits sorely.

“then why did you break up with me?” you blurt. there it is, the question you’ve been meaning to ask. you both had seen it coming.

“because…” megumi winces as if he’s the one getting hurt from the ordeal. “because you deserve someone that’s normal. someone that isn’t a sorcerer. i can’t give you that life.”

you feel your chest swarm with anger. why does he always think he needs to sabotage himself to make others happy? this is something you’ve tried working with him on, but it seems like old habits are hard to kill off, just like your habit of loving him.

“why the hell would you decide that for me? when did i ever say i wanted a normal life?” you snap. your hands clench at your sides.

“it’s too early for this,” he says, his voice straining as he finally musters up the strength to look at you in your eyes.

“tell me, megumi. if that’s the real reason, then that is the most pathetic excuse for a breakup i've ever heard.” your voice cracks and you gulp down the oncoming sob that’s threatening to explode from your throat.

he inhales slowly and makes his way to you, holding you close against his chest. you should push him away, but you would rather let him hug you. you know that you can’t fight him, anyway.

“you…once said you wanted a regular relationship. when you got hurt a few weeks ago, i realized i couldn’t be that for you,” he confesses lowly. “i knew that you’d never find it in yourself to leave, so i figured i should just let you go for your sa–”

“are you kidding me?” you shout incredulously. “i said that when i was fifteen, megumi! before i even knew what being in love was like!”

he flinches against you. “but i…”

“you and your damn savior complex! i don’t need to be in a regular, normal relationship! i don’t need any of that, megumi! i’m a sorcerer, I won't ever get to be normal! in fact, it’s even better that i’m with you because you at least know what this life is like, you idiot! you’re always ruining the good things in your life because you—”

he takes his fingers to grab your chin and he pulls you in for a kiss. if the kiss is a ploy to shut you up, you hate to admit that it’s working. his tongue slips into your mouth and you melt against him. your arms loop around his neck as you desperately drag him down closer to your body. his hand grip your waist while the other clings to the small of your back.

you whimper out of instinct and he pulls away, lips bruised and breathless. it’s been so long since you’ve tasted him and you frown, tiptoeing to capture his lips again. you need to savor him, to feel him lips against yours again.

“baby, wait.” his chest heaves as he looks down at you. “don’t…don’t do this to me.”

“do what?” you ask, an edge to your voice. did he just reject you? even after all that?

“w-we gotta report back to—”

“we’re supposed to leave tomorrow,” you interrupt.

the gears shift in his head. “fine, but—”

“i’m still really fucking mad, but i just need you to kiss me right now,” you whine impatiently.

all megumi does is laugh when he swoops down to press his lips against yours.

it’s december 24th when you two find yourselves in satoru’s office. steam is practically rising from your ears as you try to compose yourself in front of your former teacher.

“... i wanted a wedding invitation.” satoru shrugs.

“you set us up!” you whine angrily. “gojo, are you serious?! isn’t this a little immature?”

megumi stays silent, averting his gaze. he suddenly finds the succulents on satoru’s desk very interesting. he’s never noticed that they’re all nearly dead! how cool.

your eyes shoot daggers at megumi's silence.

"we aren't gonna get married any time soon..." megumi mutters when he feels your pointy glare on him.

satoru raises his hands in mock surrender. “you two can’t blame me! it worked out! you two are back together now, right?”

“but did you have to make us look like fools out there?” you groan.

“you should’ve figured it out on the first day that the mission was a sham!” satoru exclaims, offense taking over his features.

“but still!” you’re borderline hysterical at this point, unable to believe that your former teacher of all people had to set up an entire fake mission so that you and your ex could talk your feelings out. “we would’ve figured ourselves out sooner or later!”

megumi nods. he feels like he should at least give you a little support even if he’s embarrassed out of his mind.

“oh really?” satoru’s voice drips with sarcasm. “you guys should be thanking me—”

“you’re so not getting an invitation to our wedding!” you grumble.

“wha—hey! i’m the one that got you two back together! besides, i’m megumi’s guardian! you can’t just not invite me.”

“watch me!”

“megumi, tell her that she can’t do that—hey! where are you guys going? invite me, you rascals—why are you guys leaving? we aren’t done discussing this! megumi, don’t you dare take her side! she isn’t even your wife yet—don’t slam my door!”

[pincushionx]

Hunter head canon #2

I feel like we need to remember that Hunter was treated like an adult and was around adults his whole life. Not just any adults but adults in the emperors coven and coven heads themselves. Who are shown to be, to put it nicely, catty. In result, Hunter himself can be very catty even if he doesn’t mean to be. The lack of knowledge to certain social cues and his overall sass can make him seem pretty mean even if he doesn’t mean to be.

I also imagine him being a young emperor coven head (for goodness sake he’s 16 and already the golden guard when we meet him) he was frequently the butt of the joke among other coven heads. So of course he needed to be just as harsh back to not let himself put down like that.

Like the hexsquad will be messing with each other for fun as friends do and he will just insult them and their whole existence and when the others tell him like bro that enough he’s like “oh no, did I do something wrong. Im sorry :(“ and the other have show him a difference between a joke and insult and the limits to a joke. He quickly learns and is understanding of course cause he does genuinely love his friends.

However with that being said, when he does start attending Hexside like he said he was he runs into some issues. For starters, I imagine him being ex golden guard and being a bit different (obvious scarring, weird personality, etc) many aren’t very kind to him. But what makes him hard to bully is that he can easily rebuttal back and do it meaner. He was surrounded by rude, powerful adults, he can handle some measly rude teens easily. Of course he still does get emotionally effected, he’s not a robot obviously. But he can defend himself and has others to help him

I also imagine he knows how to “professionally” insult people. Making his insults sound polite or be very passive aggressive. Like. “Just a friendly reminder…” or “we can’t all have winning ideas, we need people like you to help fill the roster” or “There’s no reason to be so humble, it’s quite indifferent” and other things.

Idk theses are just my thoughts as I feel alot of people make him seem idk… weaker I guess or a ‘pure soft boy’. He can be both soft n sweet but still a sassy lil shit. Their must be balance people

[httpsdana]

hi sorry I’m an anon but can you do one for Gavi from the prompt 7 in jealousy . “I don’t like sharing what’s mine, and you, my love, are very much mine.” Where she was talking one the phone to her ex because they’re still “friends” and Gavi gets really really jealous also like if you can make her she’s quite soft and nice and quiet like she doesn’t talk much so the fact that she’s talking to her ex like with passion pisses him off even more and then when she’s crying after because he yelled at her and she’s quite sensitive he feels really really guilty and bad then can we turn it into fluf from promt 7 also. “I know it sounds silly, but I just like watching you be happy.” And he goes out with her and buys her a gift and stuff even though she only wanted ice cream

(I’m sorry for the bad English it’s not my first language)

Can't Help It~Pablo Gavi

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

7- “I don’t like sharing what’s mine, and you, my love, are very much mine.” (jealousy)

7- “I know it sounds silly, but I just like watching you be happy.” (fluff)

Her quietness and shyness were the things Pablo loved the most about her. He loved how sensitive she is, how her soft laugh fills the room with happiness instantly, how she had a different personality when she was with him, one that only he gets to see.

But as she sat on her phone talking to one of her ‘old friends’, one Pablo wasn’t particularly a fan of, he wondered if that friend got to see this side of her more often than he did.

She was laughing effortlessly, talking with such passion he had never seen before. Maybe he wouldn’t have thought about it too much if he didn’t know who that was. But this one person was the only person who knew her more than he even did. Her ex.

In other times, Pablo would’ve been smiling so widely at her genuine laugh, but this time he was getting mad, too mad. She had been sitting there for what felt like hours just catching up with her childhood best friend, her first love too.

And the jealousy was boiling in Gavi at how easy it seemed for her to talk about everything and nothing with him.

“You’ve been talking to him for hours. Aren’t you done?” His rude voice caught her attention, making her look at him confused.

“I have to go. It was nice catching up with you. Bye” she said quickly, hanging up before putting her phone down and looking at Gavi

“What’s wrong?” she asked, putting her hand over his except he snatched his hand away from hers, making her even more confused, even a bit hurt.

“Pablo?” she said, her voice barely above whisper.

“What y/n?” he said through gritted teeth, his anger and jealousy evident in his voice. “You’re just gonna act as if you haven't been sitting there for an hour catching up with your ex? Your fucking ex y/n” 

She flinched at the aggressiveness of his voice, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“What do you mean? You know me and him are still friends” she said, blinking away the tears that have started to form in her eyes. She hated how this was going to end because she knew it was gonna lead to an argument, and that’s the last thing she wanted.

“That’s the problem y/n” he said, standing up angrily from the couch as he started pacing across the room. “That’s the fucking problem. And what’s worse is that you can’t even see it!”

She let out a shaky breath, standing up to stop him from walking around the room.

“Pablo I love you. I’m yours, you know that” she stated in a soft voice, unable to hold back her tears

He stopped his movement, stepping closer to her. He looked down at her, his eyes full of anger, jealousy, and something else she couldn’t point out.

“I don’t like sharing what’s mine,” he murmured, “and you, my love, are very much mine.”

“You’re not sharing me with anyone Pablito” she whispered.

“Then why does it feel like I’m competing with a guy from your past y/n? Huh, tell me?” he raised his voice once again, making her step away from him immediately.

The tears streamed down her face faster, as she watched his angry expression, the jealousy in his voice and the uncertainty in his eyes.

“Pablo please” she said in a low face, her cheeks stained from her tears.

He turned to look at her, his anger melting into guilt as he watched her broken state. The tears on her face, her shaking hands, and the desperate look in her eyes.

“Oh baby” he whispered, walking closer to her. He wrapped his arms around her quickly, cradling her head against his chest, brushing a kiss over her hair.

“lo siento amor…lo siento mucho bebé” he whispered against her hair, swaying their bodies slowly. (I'm sorry love. I'm so sorry baby)

As she sobbed quietly in his chest, he couldn't help the guilt eating him up. He hadn't meant to make her cry, his jealousy and anger got the best of him and now he regretted every second of it.

After holding her for a few minutes, her sobs died down and she pulled away to look at him.

“Pablo…I love you” she mumbled, making him smile weakly at her.

“I know baby I know” he said, brushing her hair away from face.

“He's really just my friend. I don't like him anymore. I have you now.” she said, wiping her tears with the back of her sleeve.

Pablo's smile widened, yet he couldn't shake the weight of blaming himself for turning her happiness into tears.

“I'm really sorry amor,” he cupped her cheeks in his big hands as he gazed into her slightly red eyes. “I know I shouldn't have been mad at you but I couldn't help but feel jealous at how you were laughing and talking so passionately to him”

“but that doesn't mean anything. i told you he means nothing to me anymore” she said back, putting her arms gently around his waist.

He smiled with a nod, leaning down to press a kiss on her forehead.

“I trust you, amor. Let me make it up to you” he said, making her raise her eyebrows.

“How?” she asked with a smile

“Put a jacket on. we're going out”

As the two walked hand in hand around their neighborhood, the silence took over them. That was until Pablo stopped in front of the ice cream shop by the corner, looking down at his girlfriend.

“let's get some ice cream” he nudged his head towards the shop, making her grin widen as she tightened her grip around his hand

“This is so good” y/n hummed, as they stepped out of the shop, each one of them a cup of ice cream in hand.

Pablo smiled at her, humming in response. While they were chatting as their walk continued, a flower shop caught Pablo's attention. He smiled to himself before turning to her.

“Wait for me here,” he said, and without letting her say a thing, he rushed to the shop.

After about two minutes, he came back. A huge bouquet of red roses in his hands, and a wide smile on his face.

“And these pretty roses are for my pretty princesa” he handed them to her, watching how her face softened with a pout on her lips.

“for me?” she said in awe, while he nodded proudly.

“I’m sorry” he said, making her look up at him. She smiled widely as she looked at the gorgeous roses in her hand.

“These are so pretty. Thank you” she said, unable to hide her smile. He couldn’t help but smile as wide as her

“I know it sounds silly, but I just like watching you be happy.”

Her face softened at his little confession before one of her hands reached up to the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss him. She kissed his soft lips so gently, while his hand wrapped around her waist, and the other one steadied the bouquet in her hand.

“te amo mi niño precioso” she mumbled against his lips, making him smile. (I love you my precious boy)

“te amo más mi vida” he whispered back. (I love you more my life)

my taglist: @barcapix @paucubarsisimp @spidybaby @mxryxmfooty @n0vazsq @joaosnovia @ilovebarcaaa @f1lover55 @jajajhaahaha (lmk if you want to be added!!)

[red-doll-face]

Out of the Morgan Brothers, ironically, Abel Morgan is the one with the worst reputation. His twin brother, Arthur, is often the shining star of morality between the two. Though very different, unfortunately their taste in women is much the same, landing on poor you. 

High Honor Arthur Morgan x fem. reader x Low Honor Twin Brother (Abel Morgan) (OC??)

This has probably been done before but I love this idea and I think having two sexy cowboys chasing after you sounds like too good a time to pass up 😊😊😏😏😏😍😍 i just think naming arthur's licheral evil twin abel is so funny, sorry... thanks for reading ! and lemme know if you guys like it bc i definitely have a part 2 ready to go LMAO i wrote like 7 pages of this but thought it was too long 😔😔😔😭😭😭

Warnings: low honor arthur (or his twin i guess) as a warning, some mentions of blood and violence, alcohol

You had never met twins before the Morgan boys, it was a little surreal, the same eyes, the same hair color, the same face and body. But they were extremely different. Arthur was sweet, kind, and patient. He can act the grump that his brother is but he softens much quicker. You like how he greets everyone politely and asks how they’re getting on, does all of his chores. Never have you seen him be rude or perverse with the women, he’s nice to the girls as well as you. He takes after Hosea more than he does Dutch, whom you’ve always preferred, his almost grandfatherly attitude was much more welcoming than Dutch, who liked to act like a lord amongst his servants.

Arthur may still be an enforcer but he gives people second chances, and is more forgiving. However, he doesn’t let people mistake his kindness for weakness.

Abel is the one who is more Dutch like. All power, all strength, he is every bit the brutal enforcer Dutch wants him to be. He gives no quarter, he has no qualms. Nothing about his attitude is put on, he really is mean spirited. If you annoy him, he’s more than grumpy, he becomes irritated easily. Insults and threats are mostly used to keep people at arms length but sometimes it feels as if he’s genuinely having fun, taking advantage of people’s insecurities. You do your best to stay out of his way, keeping your nose down around him. It’s hard to avoid people in a shared space, once or twice he’s perhaps nudged you out of the way and told you to move, no ‘excuse me’ comes from him. But nothing like his harsh criticism for everyone else. Maybe he thinks you are a ditzy girl always standing in his way but you can never be sure.

The only way for you to tell Arthur and Abel Morgan apart is their facial hair and their clothes. Arthur wore cooler colors and wore his facial hair a bit neater, and he wore an old gambler hat that had certainly seen better days. He’s always covered in a layer of fine dust and dirt, working more often than not. Abel dressed several shades darker, deep reds, dark browns, and a pitch black stalker hat. His hair is always just a bit longer than Arthur’s, his facial hair a little more scruffy. Though you don’t get to see him much, it’s obvious he gets into many more physical altercations, always coming home with rough knuckles and blood stained shirts. Sometimes you think he wears red so the blood doesn’t show as easily. But you always know when you’re washing his clothes, the water always turns a deep rusty color.

You like Arthur a lot more anyway. You can tell he has a soft heart under his thin shell, which cracks so much more easily, for those in need, for people he cares about. He never fails to greet you nicely and when he sees you, he tips his hat.

You don’t notice if Arthur likes you, you just think he’s sweet to all the girls the way he is with you but your easy kindness and soft smile pull him in. You catch a peek of him drawing and you compliment his pretty landscapes. The awe in your eyes is making him fall even deeper.

Arthur really takes the courting stance towards trying to get you to notice him and he spends a long time pining after you first. He takes his time talking to you in the morning, bringing you things you mention in passing. He loves to see you smile and hopefully laugh even if it’s at him. He loves to hear you compliment him, he's ready to die happily when you tell him how good he is at something, while spectating a game he’s playing with Lenny, or if he wins a hand of poker.

Abel probably doesn’t even notice you until he sees Arthur talking to you more and more everyday. He doesn’t spend a ton of time around camp so he won’t catch it at first.

All you know about Arthur’s twin brother, Abel is that he’s…different. You probably won't pay him much mind either. You’re just happy he doesn’t spot with you his sharp eagle-like stare. He’s aggressive and evasive. You don’t think he has any of the softness you can see with his brother.

He spends most of his time outside of camp. The chores he does are not many, mostly robbing and hunting. Sometimes, he comes back, covered in blood and drops a stack of bills in the box full of money in the center of camp.

He’s nowhere near as terrible as Micah; in fact he butts beads with Micah more often than not, but the camp air feels lighter when he’s not there. He’s mean and can snap like an alligator at anyone but he mostly treats you like you don't exist. You haven’t seen him be as bigoted or perverse as some of the other men but he has a way of picking people apart, wearing them down. Grating on people’s nerves. He thinks it’s funny when they lash out, especially when he gets into tussles with the other men, he relishes in a good fight.

Abel thinks all of Arthur’s pining and his mooning at you is sort of pathetic, thinks it takes his attention from where he needs to put it; robbing and stealing and killing. It was bad enough with that Mary girl, he can hardly stand to listen to him sigh and watch him send wistful gazes at you. He tries to ply Arthur with alcohol and some broad over at the saloon but Arthur still refuses, fussing over the girl at camp, sweet little you. How you’re always there to say hello to him, how you love to look at his pictures.

Arthur gets drunk and just about starts crying thinking of you. Rambling about you, asking Abel if he thinks he has a chance with you. Abel sighs and takes Arthur back to camp. He does silently wonder what his brother sees in you. You’re not much different from the other girls in camp, perhaps not as boisterous as Karen and you don’t have your head stuck in the clouds like Mary Beth. You aren’t angry and snappy like Sadie or as resourceful and brave as Tilly. In fact he doesn’t know much about you at all.

Abel starts to investigate this woman his brother is getting sweet on. He’s had enough of seeing his stupid grin and his hand bashfully rubbing the back of his neck while he talks to you. He sees how you smile at Arthur, touch him softly on his arm to show gratitude. Let him sit with you when you eat. Arthur’s soft look he gets when he makes you laugh makes Abel want to throw up.

Maybe he wants to see if you’re the kind of girl who’s sweet on everyone, just to get a bit of attention. But you don’t greet him like you do Arthur, perhaps a shy strained smile is all he’ll get from you. You certainly don’t touch his arm, or laugh at him. Sure, you’re polite but you don’t talk to him like you do his brother. It sort of pisses him off. What’s so different between him and his brother? ( a lot ).

Arthur tells you that he’s going out today, he offers to take you with him but you say you have chores to do today and you’ll get in a heap of trouble if you don’t get them done before the end of the day. He nods and he just about explodes when you thank him for the offer and kiss him on the cheek. You’re shy about it but not as bad as Arthur who clears his throat and turns bright red. He keeps turning around before he rides away.

Abel’s been waiting for this, a moment alone without Arthur looming over his shoulder, watching over you like some old hound dog. He stomps on the cigarette he was smoking, pouncing on the opportunity.

He finally has the moment to come up to you while you’re doing some mending. He’s thinking maybe if you’re giving out kisses, he might get in line. The gentle ‘Oh…hi, Abel,’ from your lips and he's under your spell, right next to his brother. You look so cute, looking up at him from where you’re darning some nasty piece of clothing that if it were up to him, you wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. So pretty on your knees, nervous that he’ll lash out at you. He’s immediately thinking of you doing other things on your knees.

His name sounds so nice from your lips and your sweet voice. If he were Arthur he’d be smitten, greeting you politely, asking about your day. Too bad he's not. When he kind of just stares at you, you're confused. You expect him to say something, at least a good afternoon. You prick your finger while nervous and whine but he just smirks and exhales something of a laugh underneath the shadow of his hat before stalking off.

He hadn’t intended to like you as much as he did but he can’t help himself. Abel can’t figure out if he’s just more like his brother than he thought or if he just wants to try his hand at stealing you away from him to wreak havoc on Arthur’s life. Either way, he’s stuck with his brother, chasing after you, Arthur will just have to deal with it.

Thanks so much for reading! any feedback is appreciated 🥹🥹🥹

[signanothername]

Random question

Out of all fanon interpretations of characters do you have any you like ? This isn’t to say you don’t like the canon character tho I’m just curious if there’s any fanon interpretations you like? (Sorry if that sounds rude didn’t intend for it to be)

Fun fact: I generally don’t mind fanon interpretations, and I genuinely do love to see them

It’s just certain interpretations are simply not for me

For example, I love when people portray Killer as a silly hyperactive never shuts up kinda guy

This interpretation in itself isn’t bad and I actually genuinely love it, the problem that can make me hate this specific interpretation is when Killer is portrayed as a child, treated extremely badly like an annoying child by other characters, and is generally perceived as someone who shouldn’t have an opinion or open his mouth

That may come as a surprise, but it stems from an ableist view of characters that are thought to have ADHD, god forbid a character be hyperactive and loves to be social, you’re now an annoying child that should be put on a leash, you can never ever be reliable or intelligent just because you’re hyperactive

You can have the interpretation of Killer being a hyperactive talkative skelle without treating him badly

I also love when people portray Murder as a quite guy with zero energy and even mute/ selectively mute, it’s not the interpretation I’d go with, but I do still love it and adore it

I love the interpretation of Error always being a grumpy bastard, even when I generally wouldn’t portray him as such

And I definitely love the interpretation of Bluberry being extra cutesy uwu kinda guy, and recently there have been an influx of Blue and Bluberry being friends which I ADORE

My problem with fanon interpretations most of the time doesn’t stem from the interpretation itself, but rather, how that character is treated in that interpretation

For example, I always say that I hate perverted Killer, and I absolutely do, but I hate it mostly because Killer is reduced to that one trait, other characters? Nah they’re treated as complex individuals with many layers, killer?? Fuck that guy let’s just slap a trope onto him that doesn’t even suit him and actually suits other characters better and that’s all that Killer deserves, to be a cardboard cutout

So to conclude, I don’t hate fanon interpretations for the interpretations themselves, but because of how characters are usually treated in said interpretations

Doesn’t mean I hate all fanon interpretations, nor does it mean I love all of them, just depending on how the character is treated in the interpretation, I could love or hate it

[lovebugism]

Could you do a little something for exploring a graveyard with Eddie??? It’s something I genuinely really enjoy doing but haven’t gotten to do a lot and I just feel like Eddie would like it to. Maybe Eddie and reader make a little game out of it where they try to find the oldest headstone?

Thanks bug! I love your writing. ♥️

ty lovie! this sort of pre-date, but let me know if you want smth different!! — eddie picks you up to take you on a graveyard date, which is strange, 'cause you're basically a ball of sunshine (established relationship, fluff, 1.3k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Eddie comes to pick you up from Family Video, and you’re beaming like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him. 

You’re all smiles when the front door dings open, ushering in the crisp smell of autumn and the cig he’d smoked on the way over — ‘cause he doesn’t like to do it around you much. You too quickly abandon whatever you’d been rambling about to an only halfway understanding Steve. It doesn’t feel very important anymore.

“Eds!” you blurt, excited and loud with it. You light up the store with ease. The grey mood is suddenly aglow with a mixture of vivid hues, sparkling pinks and blues and yellows. Eddie’s almost convinced he never saw color until he met you.

But he tries to be all cool about it. Metal. 

He waltzes in with his leather jacket and tight jeans and boyish hubris because that’s what he thinks he has to do. 

He’s the bad boy. The guy with the band and the wild hair. Sometimes, he thinks he only got you because he was like no one you’d ever met before — the complete and utter opposite of you.

But then you bound off the counter and rush to him, sheer tights rubbing and flouncy skirt swishing, and he’s grinning just like you are. Big and rosy and almost aching. Bright enough to illuminate a galaxy.

“You look pretty,” he compliments in place of a greeting, laughing into your hair when he wraps you in his arms.

His clothes are cold from the outside weather, but he’s somehow still warm. His arms curl intently around you, palms settling wide on your spine. It’s all cologne and leave-in conditioner, nicotine and the minty gum he tried to cover it up with. You could drown in it, happily.

“You look prettier,” you tell him, though it’s mostly muffled into his neck.

His chin juts back when he pulls away from you. He keeps a gentle hold of you, though, just moves far enough back to see you more. The smile he looks at you with makes your stomach do backflips.

“Ready to go?”

You nod, wide-eyed and rapid. “I’ve been ready to go since I got here this morning!”

Eddie chuckles when you rise on the tips of your toes to smack a kiss to his cheek. He’s cold and milky white, but glowing warm and soft pink the second you pull away.

“Hey!” Steve grouses from where he leans over the counter, arms crossed and brows pinched. 

Robin shares a similar pout, sitting ahead of him in the swivel chair. Her arms are folded over the table, and her chin is propped on her wrist. It bobs against her hands when she complains with her usual grittiness. “Rude.”

You wince when you walk by them, unbuttoning the clasps of your mandated Family Video vest. Your arms shuffle awkwardly as you try to tug it over your fluffy sweater. “Sorry…” you grimace sincerely. “Didn’t mean it like that.”

They already knew that, though. Because you never do. Sometimes, you can sound a little cruel, but you never truly mean to be. You’re very honest in your gentleness, a bit brute when you’re trying to be coy. 

To Eddie, it’s the hottest thing since seeing you in his clothes for the first time.

You’re gone for no longer than a minute. Just enough to hang up your vest on the rack in the break room and grab your tote bag from your locker. It’s a simple, beige canvas thing you painted the Hellfire logo on top of — because you wanted to rep your boyfriend and everything, but the club tees clashed too heavily with your outfits.

You can hear Steve and Eddie bickering back and forth down the hall.

“—I’m taking her on a date, actually,” you hear your boy say, a smile evident in his voice. “You still know what these are, right? Or have you forgotten after your decade of abstinence?”

Steve scoffs. “Okay, for your information, I go on plenty of dates—” 

“Yeah, it’s the aggression that’s so convincing.” Eddie tries his best not to laugh through his sarcasm. You vaguely hear Robin let out a poorly muted snort.

“—And I’m not abstinent, alright?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Ask your mom.”

“She’s dead, you dick.”

A beat of silence passes. Steve’s grows quieter, much more gentle. “Oh. Right. Sorry.”

Eddie doesn’t verbally accept his apology. He doesn’t need to. It’s unsaid by now. That’s their whole thing — they just argue back and forth until one of them makes a bigger dumbass out of themself. Steve loses, most of the time.

“Where are you guys even going?” Robin wonders aloud, if only to stop the meaningless bickering.

You appear from the back then, out of your uniform and ready to leave the wretched nine-hour shift behind. You’re practically the personification of autumn — chunky vinyl boots, sheer tights, plaid skirt, and oversized fluffy turtleneck. 

And Eddie’s just… Eddie.

“A graveyard!” you answer, smiling a bit too brightly.

She blinks at you in return, like she must’ve heard you wrong. “Excuse me— a what?”

“A cemetery! The one by Forest Hills— did you know it’s one of the oldest cemeteries in the state? I’m pretty sure it was built in, like, the 1800s or something! We’re gonna see if we can find the oldest headstone!”

At a loss of how to respond to you and your sparkling optimism, Steve just nods. “Wow. The eighteen hundreds, huh? That’s, like, at least a decade ago, right?”

“Try twenty of ‘em, Harrington,” Eddie jokes as he wraps a heavy arm around your shoulder.

The brunette boy scoffs. “Cool it, Eighty-Six.” 

“Are you two gonna keep flirting, or are you gonna take your girlfriend to the graveyard date?” Robin monotones with playfully squinted eyes.

“I’d answer you, but I wouldn’t wanna give Harrington a complex.” Eddie bends his arm to pull you closer. He brushes a fleeting peck to your temple and turns on his heel to walk towards the entrance, inevitably pulling you with him.

“Keep your hands to yourself while you’re ghost hunting, creeps!” Steve calls to the two of you. “Public indecency is a serious crime!”

The front door dings again. An autumn breeze takes your breath away. Everything is blue and orange and yellow, colors vivid enough to taste.

Eddie wraps his fingers around the metal handle, keeping the entrance open for you as you walk through it. He flashes his friends a crooked smile over his shoulder. “I don’t plan on being publicly indecent in front of a bunch of ghosts, but I am gonna kiss her stupid before the night’s over.”

Steve’s chiseled features scrunch with disdain. You’re practically the personification of sunshine; it’s hard for him to imagine you as anything but pure — harder to imagine you sucking face with Eddie Munson. Or just you and Eddie Munson at all.

The door thuds shut behind you. Steve and Robin watch silently as Eddie leads you to his van. You wrap both your arms around one of his, smiling up at him and mouthing something they can’t quite make out. 

He opens the passenger seat door for you. You smack a kiss on his cheek before you get inside. Eddie’s blushing something fierce while he rounds the hood.

“She’s super funny, she’s pretty — way too pretty for Munson, and now she’s going to a cemetery. With him,” Steve gripes, mostly to himself, completely and utterly dumbfounded. If there was ever a time to believe the swirling rumors about Eddie Munson and his devil magic, it’d be right now.

“Yeah…” Robin hums, voice quiet and far away.

“How the hell did he manage that?”

“I don’t know… But I think I’m in love with her.”

Steve takes his eyes off the parting van and flashes his best friend an incredulous gape. 

It knocks Robin from her daze. Her ocean eyes widen as she rambles in a useless attempt to defend herself. “What? She plays with my hair when I get headaches and lets me talk about shit I like, even though I know she has zero idea what I’m talking about! That’s, like, my top two languages, Steve!”

[lemmetreatya]

Maybe It’s Foreboding (Or Not) — Miguel x fem!Reader

word count: 1.9k 

content: no extreme warnings, modern au, fem!reader, reader uses female pronouns, reader commutes to work by train, reader knows basic spanish, hc that miguel speaks both irish and spanish — and that he’s irish on his father’s side (idk if this is correct or not), use of petnames, id say miguel is a bit ooc — but hes not — he just doesn’t have all that canon trauma going on sjsksk

FINALLY DID SOMETHING OF GOOD QUALITY FOR ONCE????? had to get back on my shit yktfv!!! also psa for the translations — i do not speak fluent spanish and not a lick of irish so please!! if there’s anything incorrect/needs changing, dont be afraid to tell me!! hope you enjoy ❤️❤️

Your usual commute to work was barely ever eventful. It mostly consisted of you getting onto your train — hoping you’d get a seat — and feeling despondent every time you noticed no seats were available. 

Which was expected: You had to use a busy train in order to get to work on time. Any earlier and you’d have to wonder around your office’s surroundings to waste time and any later would have you clocking in late. 

This timed train was so much more convenient for pace but it just never granted you those graceful minutes to sit down. 

But alas, you stuck with it, because what else was there to complain about? The trains weren’t too full so it didn’t mean you were squashed like packed sardines and it was relatively quiet due to most passengers being too mellow at this time of morning to make any lucrative noise. 

“Sorry, Miss.” 

At first, you ignored the deep sounding words, assuming they could have been for anyone. But then a soft tap bounced just over your thigh and so you looked down to see what the disturbance was. 

Looking up at you was a man with focused eyes. He wore a plain black suit with matching trousers. His white shirt had two buttons undone and he wore no tie. You couldn’t help but noticed how tossled his hair was. Clearly he was on his way to some type of occupation.

“Would you like to sit down?” He asks. 

“Oh! I…”

You lean off from the pole you were supporting yourself on and adjust your bag on your soldier. Maybe this man was pitying you because you looked tired. You honestly weren’t and were genuinely just being comfortable, but you guess your lax composure compelled this reaction from him. 

“No. Sorry, I was just being lazy. I’m fine, you don’t need to give up your seat for me.” 

You shake your head and deny his request but the man continually persists. He was already starting to get up from his seat. 

“No, en serio, sit.” He moved his briefcase over with his foot. “Can’t have a pretty lady like you standing now, can we?”

And it’s not like you agreed; Flattery of any kind from a stranger was always met with caution, but concerning he was going out of his way to give you a seat, you guess it’d be rude to deny it. 

“Oh…How kind.” You stagnantly laugh. 

The man took your place from before, now standing over you as he held onto the pole. He placed his briefcase between his feet. As you finally sit down and change your bag from your arm to your lap, you look up at the man with a grateful smile.

“Thank you.” 

He only smiles at you acutely before offering you a curt nod. That was the only interaction you had the whole ride before you got off at your stop and made your way to work. 

The next time you see the man isn’t until two days after the first ordeal and towards the end of the week. 

He sees you before you see him, regarding he boarded the train sometime before you, and instantly flags you over.

“Miss!”

Weirdly, his call made you smile, and you pot on over, not expecting much. 

“You really don’t have to.” You try as he gets up and out of his seat. He’s however already shaking his head. 

“Don’t be silly. I already told you why you do so I don’t wanna hear anymore complaining.”

With rolled lips, you nod as you meekly sit down. Having an abash austere about you, you struggle to look up at him as you speak. 

“Thank you. It’s very kind of you.” 

“No need for thanks.” 

You wait several seconds before looking up to give him a communal look of gratitude but you find he’s already looking down at you. You find difficultly baring his coarse stare and so you look back down at your lap. 

Throughout the ride, you can’t help but notice how his leg kept innocently brushing against yours. 

Once again, no more words were shared between you and like before, you get up and leave for your stop once it comes. 

“You know how this goes.”

This is about the sixth time the man has offered his seat up for you, and quite frankly you do know how it goes, but it just never seems like a good enough reason to therefore take his seat. 

“Señor.” You muse with a light smile as you board the train. “You really don’t have to.” 

“Oh, but I really do. Come. Sit.”

The man is already out of the seat, hand widely displaying towards it — it’s yours. 

Despite the seatless train, most people know by now not to sit in it’s stead. The man himself is tall and wide enough to deter anyone from trying, but most reoccurring passengers know the deal as well as you do.

As you take your seat, the man smiles down at you. His smiles have gotten a lot warmer over the various interactions. Per usual, he places his briefcase down near your feet and brush his knees with yours. You believe it’s going to be another wordless journey but the man opens his mouth, closes it, before saying: 

“And please, call me Miguel.” 

He jogs your knee with his, so you were aware it was you he was talking to, but you still looked up at him with a slight expression of confusion. For some reason, it was as if moths — the Night’s Butterfly — were flitting around within the neck of your stomach. 

“Sorry?”

He sighs out of his nose. It was not out of annoyance, but as if he too was experiencing some emotions of nervousness. The man however had enough confidence to look down at you and attempt to gain your gaze. 

“As opposed to señor, call me Miguel.” 

Your mouth lets out a small ‘ah’.

“Miguel.” You repeat. 

So his name was Miguel. 

It suited him, and made slight sense concerning he seemed to know Spanish well, but even more so because it was as if he had metamorphosed right in front of you. It wasn’t a physical change, but being able to put a name to a face definitely altered your perception of him. It was as if he’d become more human. 

With a soft hum, you look up at him with an inquisitive contort. 

“Miguel.” You taste his name in his mouth once more. “Is that what you’d like me to call you or is that your actual, real, government name?” 

The man’s expression was unreadable. 

“Well, what do you think?”

You shrug, unsure why he’s asked the question, but you give your answer anyways. 

“I’d think it’d be kinda stupid for you to give your government name to a stranger on the train. So I’m guessing it’s a nickname or at least a pseudo one.” 

Miguel’s eyes clip towards the moving view behind you, before training back onto your face. 

“Looks like I’m kinda stupid then.” 

You pause, register what he’s said, and then let out a tinkling laugh as you shake your head meticulously. Miguel chuckles a few seconds after you, and he can’t help watching you as he does so. 

There’s a pause. 

“I’m not much of a stranger anymore though, right? We’re more acquaintances than anything.” He tries. 

“But Miguel, you don’t even know my name.”

“Only because you haven’t told me.” He shrugs.

This is the most quick-fire that he’s ever been but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying it. 

“You want my government name or the pseudo one?” You muse. 

“It’s only fair that you give me the government one.” He catches himself before adding more gently, “Only if you’re comfortable doing so and kinda stupid like me.”

Once again, you can’t help the smile that braces your mouth. You tell him your name, the government one, and Miguel knocks your knees together in concur. 

“Ah. Hermosa nombre por una hermosa dama.” [1]

He says, and regardless of whether you understood or not, you knew what he was getting at. If his words didn’t convince you then it was the silky look of— admiration? That gave him away. 

Your cheeks heated, and your head dipped. All you could force out was a humble Thank You. 

“Where I’m from, we have this saying.” 

Miguel angles his breakfast snacks in your direction and you wordlessly take a small handful. 

Surprisingly, your usual train was a lot quieter this morning. Maybe it was due to school holidays season, but there was enough space for you and Miguel to both have a seat. Your journey so far had been non-stop chatter. 

“Más í an ceann í, beidh a fhios ag do chroí sula ndéanann tú.” [2] He reprises wisely. 

It wasn’t Spanish, and you knew Miguel spoke Irish (“That old bastard was only good for one thing.”), so the translation was pretty much lost on you. 

“Is that so?” You say with a hum and a crunch. 

Miguel is also crunching on some of his snack, palm covering his mouth as he chucks the small pebbles towards the back of his throat before he’s shaking his head. 

“Nope, that was a complete fucking lie. No such saying exists like that, I just made it up on the spot.” Miguel leaves room for you to let out a burst of laughter. “But, if it was a saying, I’d live by it like it was gospel.”

Shaking your head, you finish the portion of snacks that were in your mouth before you reply. 

“Maybe you should paten it then. Make sure no one else gets the chance in saying it’s the gospel they wrote.” 

“Maybe I should patent it…” Miguel echoes to himself with a deep laugh. “Yeah, maybe I should.” 

The both of you lull into a comfortable silence. The sort of silence you could fall into with a long time friend who was low maintenance, or a family member who you tolerated sharing the living room space with. It was the type of stilling that didn’t require speech but welcomed it if it came. Mornings with Miguel were the calm before the inevitable storm and the small pick-me-up that pushed you out of bed. 

But then as you pondered how he made you feel, you realise that you only knew Miguel within the context of your work commute. You’d only ever spoken to this man within the short time that you travelled to work; Never before, never after. Had you gotten just one train earlier or later — heck, one carriage — different that fateful day, it would have inevitably changed the course of your life and the starting foundation of the friendship (?). 

Life truly was funny in how it dealt it’s cards. 

“What does it mean anyways?” You ask with piqued interest. 

Miguel makes a WTF face, a face he made often, before he’s scrunching up his packet of finished snacks and dumping it within the blue convenience store bag he had. You recognise that everything he’d purchased was in Spanish. 

“What does what mean? Be more specific.” 

“Your fake saying you lied about.” 

Miguel turns his head to look at you, those deep insightful eyes of his analysing you, searching for something. You’re not sure if he found what he was looking for. Whether he did or not, you wouldn’t know. 

The man only turns forwards again and snorts. 

“Don’t worry your pretty lil’ head about it.” He concludes. “You wouldn’t want to know.” 

________________________________

[1]: Beautiful name for a beautiful lady 

[2]: If she’s the one, your heart will know before you do

[loveshotzz]

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap four/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

Good Morning & Goodnight

summary: Your first night out with friends ends when Steve’s work day begins.

wc: 1.2k

warnings: 18+ series for future chapters, we’re a hot mess but Steve loves it.

authors note: It’s a shorty! I can’t believe we’re almost half way through. 🥹 this is a stepping stone chapter for the next one but it doesn’t mean that I didn’t at least give you something 😉

🌇 chapter three <- -> chapter five

The Masterlist/The Playlist/The tune:

Middle of June - 6:15am Monday Morning

Free drinks with your coworkers at the bar after close seemed like a great idea, until you were stumbling out of the club with a few of the other girls at dawn. Birds chirp loudly into the fuschia sky, mocking the hangover that was sure to hit as soon as your stomach processed the breakfast sandwich you ate on the train ride home. 

The dull throb of your dehydration headache starts rearing its annoying head once you hit your street, your platform sandals dragging against the sidewalk. You can feel the way your eyeliner starts making your lashes stick with every slow sleepy blink of your eyes. Throat dry, all you can think of is your Brita in the fridge and how much you hope you refilled it last night. 

“Howdy neigh- oh, honey.” 

Your eyes widen when you hear the voice of the last person you want to see you like this. but you know there’s nowhere to hide when you reach your gate right as Steve’s leaving his. Meeting his gaze sheepishly, you can feel the heat rise up your neck and cheeks. You remember the blurry image of your smeared make up in the club bathroom mirror a few hours ago.

“Hi Steve.” You give him a small wave, embarrassment making you kick the sidewalk with the toe of your sandal.

“Fun night?” He smirks, pulling his Raybans on top of his head and pushing the hair out of his face. Specks of gray stand out on the sides in the fresh new light. His face is clean shaven, a crisp white dress shirt fitting tight across his chest, the outline of the tank top underneath visible. It brings you back to the way it clung to his muscles in your kitchen last week.

“Yeah, actually it was.” You use the last of your strength to form a smile, immediately wincing when you do and he has to stifle a laugh.

“I’m glad to hear it, although I do hope you don’t work today.” He reaches down adjusting the belt around his waist, before shoving a hand in his black dress slacks leaning against the gate with the other. His silver watch is just as shiny as his shoes. 

“No I’m of -“ your voice cracks, making you clear your throat and suddenly the sun is extra bright. “No, I’m off today.”

“Good and please tell me you have ibuprofen up there?” Genuine worry paints his handsome features, he knew what a first Chicago hangover was like. It takes all of his will power not to work from home so he can check up on you the rest of the day.

“Yes, I’m not completely useless in taking care of myself you know?” You don’t mean for it to sound so snippy, but the hangover is getting the best of you and getting words out feels like knives to your skull. 

His eyebrows raise, a little shocked before his face relaxes with a warm smile. A silent understanding.

“I didn’t mean it like that tough girl.” He straightens up with rosy cheeks.

“I’m sorry, that was rude. I’m just really tired and Ubers were like a million dollars -“ You can hear how your words start to shake, the lack of sleep finally catching up with you.

He steps forward on instinct, arms starting to outstretch in a hug, only to stop once his brain connects with the movements of his body. Maybe it was the little bit of alcohol still left in your system that makes you bold enough to meet him in the middle, but there is no turning back when your arms snake around his waist. 

The muscles in his abdomen flex against your touch, and you feel him freeze up for a second before pulling you tight into his chest. The aftershave and cologne are overpowering against your senses, but you don’t care, inhaling deeply. He rubs a soothing palm down the dip of your spine with just enough pressure to make you sigh.

“I know, it feels like death,” he chuckles, “Go get some sleep okay honey?” His words come out soft against the top of your head before he gives the sides of your arms a squeeze pulling back just enough to see your face.

You want to kiss the two moles that sit side by side on his cheek, especially when he looks at you like this.

“Sorry for the dramatics at 6:30 in the morning.” You can’t help but giggle, brushing away the glitter that rubbed off onto his clean shirt. 

The way he smiles with all his teeth tells you he could care less.

“Hey, you might not believe it but I used to have many nights like this way back when, alright?” He gets the eye roll that makes his whole day, and he has to resist the urge to pull you in for another hug.

“Suuuure grandpa,” you tease — his affection enough to make you feel like a functioning person even if just for a few minutes.

He scoffs with fake offense before he gives you one of those winks that makes you weak in the knees, and for a second you think he might kiss your forehead.

“Alright, I need to get to work and you need to go to bed. Don’t be a stranger if you need anything later okay?” He rubs up and down your arms before finally stepping back and you wish he’d just come lay with you. 

You muster a nod before straightening out your wrinkled dress, shyness coming back when he slips his sunglasses back on. Why did he always have to look so good?

“Have fun at work, I promise I won’t die. I just need some water and a shower.” You try and wave off his worry as you make your way through your gate.

“You better not. Bandit would be very upset about losing his new best friend.” It’s his turn to get sheepish. “Me too.”

It doesn’t hurt when you smile this time.

“You have my word Steve.” You put your palm against your heart in a vow just for him.

“That’s my girl.” He grins, twirling his keys before catching them in hand, finally turning around to go to his car and leaving you a mess on your front steps.

That’s my girl. 

The words play in your head on a loop while you shower, when you drink your bodyweight in water, and as you take enough ibuprofen to give you an ulcer. They haunt your dreams when your body gives into sleep and your headache finally subsides.

A loud knock on your front door wakes you from the kind of sleep that leaves you with a sore throat and a foggy brain. The sun is lower in the sky that shines through the crack of your new curtains, your clock reading 6:05 pm in glaring red letters when your eyes catch the time. 

You can barely pick your feet off the ground when you shuffle to the door, a yawn loud enough to hear over the whir of the A/C. You unlatch the dead bolt, and when you open to see what’s on the other side, you’re reminded of his words from earlier that felt like a lifetime ago. They make you feel special again like they did at six in the morning despite the roll of your eyes, your lips twitch when you read the note that’s attached to the Doordash hangover cure from your handsome neighbor.

beta’d by @superblysubpar

dividers by @newlips

🌇 -> chapter five

[miley1442111]

reaction confession- r.cameron (part 5)

————————

————————

summary: a confession makes things even more confusing…

a/n: this takes place in a au where the stuff that happens in the show doesn't happen :) (also sorry this took so long to update, loads of stuff has been happening in my personal life that has put my hobbies in the back burner :)

tropes: childhood bestfriends to lovers, enemies to lovers

pairing: rafe cameron x fem! reader, jj maybank x reader (dw, not for long)

(use of Y/n, and the nickname Bunny/ bun (but i promise not in a weird way there's a story to it i swear it's not just one of those weird smut things))

warnings: mentions of drugs and drug use and drinking, fighting, cursing, Richard is a dick, rafe's mental health, reader is going through it, reader is going through it, talks of sex and feeling regret after it, mentions of dead parents and sibling, rafe being jealous, rafe is also going through it, rafe treats reader like crap, talk of nudes, mentions of sex, kissing,(and I think that's it?)

not entirely proofread

————————

Rafe was not a nice drunk. He was not a nice person, full stop. At least, that’s what he thought.

It was early to be getting drunk, but he didn’t care. Barry didn’t have any coke, and the Country Club didn’t care how drunk he got, he was a Cameron for fuck’s sake.

“Another,” he slurred at Jj. “Thanks.”

Jj placed yet another beer in front of Rafe. God, Jj was almost pitying him. Rafe used to be the ‘cool guy’. Everyone wanted to be friends with him, correction, everyone wanted to be friends with him and you.

Why weren’t you responding? Jj had texted you 4 hours ago. He checked his phone again.

“Why do you keep checking your phone?” Rafe asked. No snark, no rude tone, just a genuine question. Jj might as well indulge him.

“Waiting for a message,” he shrugged.

“Who from?”

“Y/n,” Jj answered, drying a glass.

“Why are you texting Y/n?” Rafe questioned, confused.

“We’re hooking up? I think, but I'm not sure. We hooked up last night, but now she’s not responding.”

Rafe was sober. His blood boiled. His mind raced. “Oh.”

You and Jj. You and Jj fucked. Jj fucked you. You fucked Jj. It made Rafe sick. How the fuck did he let that happen? You were with him yesterday, and he made you run off and fuck Jj.

How did he keep messing everything up?

“Right,” he nodded, and walked off, back to his table with the rest of the boys.

“I was trying to text Bunny,” Richard, one of the newest Kook boys sighed. “Yeah, she just… she’s blanking me dude. It’s so shit,”

“Sounds like what she did to you, huh?” Kelce smirked, turning to Rafe.

“She didn’t ghost me,” Rafe answered, speaking lowly.

“What?” Kecle scoffed.

“I ghosted her.”

“You fucking liar,” Topper chuckled. “I fucking knew it.”

“Doesn’t mean she isn’t fucking ghosting Rich, dipshit,” Rafe shot back, his anger rising.

Then Richard’s phone dinged. He turned it over and a message from you sat on the screen.

Y/n: Please stop texting me about nudes, I’m not sending you shit.

Rafe saw red.

“You motherfucker,” Rafe shook his head, voice low and slow. He leaned over the bar and grabbed him by the collar. “If you ever, and I mean ever fucking see you near her again, I will genuinely kill you Richard. I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Relax man, it’s not a big deal-“

“Did you fucking hear me?”

“You can’t control her-“

“But I can control you,” that ended the conversation. At least, he thought it did. That was until Richard swung at him, and something in Rafe told him not to fight back.

————————

He looked like shit. Busted lip, blown up eye, and a split eyebrow. He knocked on your door, just needing you. He may have also gotten extremely drunk on his way to your house… just maybe.

You opened the door and gasped, immediately bringing a hand up to examine him. “Holy shit, Rafe.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go,” he mumbled as you took him in. You sat him on your kitchen counter and began the tedious process of cleaning him up.

“You shouldn’t be fighting Rafe,” you scoffed. “Fucking hell Rafe.”

“‘M sorry baby,” he muttered.

“This is ridiculous, what were you even fighting about?”

“You.”

You stopped cleaning his eyebrow, staring at him.“Richard.”

He nodded, his hands circling your waist. “He’s not going near you again.”

“Rafe…”

“I didn’t fight him back,” he explained. “I’m being better for you. I’m not scary, I promise. ‘Don’t want you to be afraid of me. I’d never hurt you Bun, you know that right? ‘Never fucking hurt you.”

You felt bad for him, more than anything. You placed a hand on his cheek. “I’m not afraid of you Rafe. You’re just… rough sometimes.”

“I’ll be gentle, I just need you Bun. I love you Bunny.”

“Don’t say that,” you sighed. “Don’t stay things you don’t mean,” you contrived cleaning up his face, but he grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing your palm.

“I mean it. ‘Fucking love you. You’re my everything Bun-“

“Rafe.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you chuckled. “Just let me clean you up, and we can talk in the morning.”

“Can I stay?”

“I’m hardly letting you walk home like this,” you shook your head.

You cleaned him up, gave him an old hoodie of your dads and brought him into your room. “Lie down Rafe, I’ll make you something to eat.”

“Don’t leave me-“

“I’ll be in the next room,” you sighed.

“Bunny!” He whined.

“4 minutes,” you promised. You left him in your bed and started beating up some random freezer food that you could find. Then, the reality of the situation hit you. Rafe was in your bed, bruised and banged up, he told you he loved you, he asked you out, and he told you he needed you.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he said, low, sober now. He leant against the doorframe, watching you like prey.

“I’m not,” you sighed. “It was just… a lot earlier. Alright?”

“I’m not scary to you, right?” He questioned. “You’re not afraid of me, right?”

You could hear his footsteps getting closer, his presence engulfing you. You could smell the liquor off him, practically taste it. You could hear his breathing, low and steady. You could feel his footsteps on the wooden floor. He was so close he could touch you if he tried to.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you answered, turning around and looking him in the eyes. “You’re just rough sometimes.”

He nodded, his eyes filling with tears. He believed you, he truly did. But he didn’t deserve your kindness, he didn’t deserve you to be so fucking nice to him.

“Oh, Rafe,” you sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him closer. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not alright,” he cried, the dam breaking. “It’s not alright.”

He picked you up and put you on the counter, burying his face in your neck as you held him.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, brushing through his buzz cut slowly.

“I abandoned you,” he whispered. “And I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head. “That was a long time ago-“

“No it wasn’t! You should be angry with me, you should hate me, I fucking hate me! I left you! When you fucking needed me, I left you. Even after I swore to protect you, even after I promised your parents that I’d be there for you. I left you. And I’m so fucking sorry Bun,” he pulled himself out of your arms and started pacing the kitchen.

“I don’t know what you want me to say-“

“Anything! Get fucking angry, hit me, I don’t know! Just hate me, so I can stay away from you!”

“I don’t fucking hate you Rafe-!”

“Hate me!”

“Alright fine, you want me to hate you?” You scoffed, getting pretty tired of this shit. “Why the fuck did you do it Rafe?”

He stood still.

“Why did you read my messages? Why didn’t you reply? Why didn’t you show up to the funeral? Why didn’t you tell everyone on this insane fucking island that you ghosted me, not the other way around?! Why didn’t you listen to my voicemails? Why didn’t you pick up the fucking phone when I needed you?! Why do you fucking hate me so much?!”

He was silent.

“Why did you make me question my worth, my personality, my life, and fucking everything else at the age of 15!? And do you want to know the kicker? I would’ve fucking married you, if you’d have stuck around for me. I was so fucking in love with you when I left, that I blamed myself for you not responding. I thought I got too boring, too annoying, too clingy. No. I was just a teenage girl who wanted her best friend, and wanted her crush to like her back. And I won’t fucking apologise for that Rafe.”

“You liked me back?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes!”

He again stood silent.

“Go to bed Rafe. I’ll bring in some food,” you sighed, knowing the productive part of the conversation was over (if you could even call it productive).

He followed your instructions, leaving you alone in the kitchen. You thought about it all. He had been in love with you too. Yet he left you.

————————

Rafe sat on your bed, eating the leftovers in silence. You sat at your desk.

“Come here,” he begged. You did. Of course you did.

He placed a gentle hand on your cheek, pulling you in.

And he kissed you.

————————

obx masterlist :) (all other parts here!)

navigation for my blog:). (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

taglist: (comment to be added :))

@hockeybabe87 @maybankslover @anightlikethisss @linaaaaa654 @ijustwanttoreadlols @ihe4rttwd @sunny1616 @wearemadeofstardustO@rafeecameronsbitch @drewswifeeee @lovegeorgia @houseofperfecttaste @ymnizuh @maibelitaaura @harryweeniee @idkwtdwml123

[vodika-vibes]

Can we get some Echo smut pretty please!! (Also one of my biggest pet peeves is how like every tbb echo/reader fic is always about him being insecure about his prosthetics like I get it but it's so repetitive. My man can be so confident and cocky when he wants to be and people seem to forget that.)

Who's Insecure

Summary:  Several months after joining Clone Force 99, Hunter surprises them with a night off at a local club. But, for some reason, his brothers seem to think he will be insecure about his new appearance. Which means, he has a point to prove.

Pairing: TBB Echo x F!Reader

Word Count: 1557

Warnings: Smut, club sex, Echo uses his scomp for purposes it's not designed for

A/N: So, I love Echo, and I love Echo smut, and I'm really not sure why I don't write more of it. But, anyway, here's Echo smut with some plot. It's not a lot of smut, but I hope you like it anyway.

Click HERE to be added to my Taglist

It’s a nice club. It’s not 79s, it doesn’t have the same comfortable vibe that 79s has, but it’s good all the same. The alcohol is cheap, the snacks are edible, and the music is loud.

For Echo, it’s good enough.

Honestly, he’s more surprised that his little brothers were willing to go clubbing at all.

While he would never say so to their faces, they aren’t really the clubbing type.

Which is a shame, because there’s a cute girl near the bar who hasn’t taken her eyes off Tech since they arrived. But, knowing his genius little brother, he won’t notice. And, even if he did notice, he wouldn’t know what to do about it.

At times like this, he really misses Fives and Jesse.

But, much more importantly, he has his eyes on a pretty little thing dancing up a storm on the dance floor. So far she’s turned away everyone who’s tried to dance with her. That said, she keeps meeting his gaze and tossing him flirty grins, so he’s just biding his time.

What kind of older brother will he be if he ditches his brothers before making sure that they’re having a good time?

“Echo?” He pauses, his bottle only centimeters away from his lips, and he tears his eyes away from swaying hips to focus his attention on his, suddenly nervous, brother. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“Just,” Hunter nervously shares a look with Crosshair, who looks almost bored, “We just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

Echo stares at them blankly for a moment, and then he smiles, “Sorry?” He’s got to at least pretend to be a good role model, right? He can’t just ask them what the kriff they’re talking about, that’s rude. 

“We know that you’re a little uncertain about your new look,” Tech says without looking up from his datapad.

I’m what now? Echo blinks at his brothers, genuinely thrown by Tech’s comment.

“And people can be cruel,” Hunter continues, “Just don’t let it get to you if people make comments—”

Suddenly, Echo realizes that his new little brothers seem to think that he’s insecure about his prosthetics. Or his scars. Or maybe both. Maybe he’s done too good of a job at hiding his gremlin personality (as Rex calls it) from them.

He hums thoughtfully, his mind racing, and then his gaze slides back to the dance floor. For a moment, his gaze lingers on a specific pair of swaying hips and legs that go on for miles…and then he smirks.

Echo downs the rest of his drink and sets the bottle on the table, before he pushes to his feet, “I think there’s been a misunderstanding, vod’e.” He turns to head to the dance floor, “I won’t be back to the Marauder tonight,” He tosses over his shoulder with a slightly smug smirk. 

He weaves through the crowd of people and dismisses the two men who are trying to force his dance partner to dance with them with a flick of two fingers. 

She grins up at him, “I wondered if you were going to join me,” She teases, her voice light and conversational.

Echo’s hand slides low on her hip, “Patience is a virtue, didn’t you know?” He’s amused and he sounds it, “I’m definitely worth waiting for, babe.”

She hums and trails her fingers down the front of his shirt, “Prove it?”

“Gladly.”

In full honesty, you didn’t expect the cute soldier to actually come over to you. You don’t expect your flirty looks, teasing smiles, and seductive dancing to tempt him onto the dance floor with you. Let alone for him to clutch you to him as though you’re his and his alone.

He’s confident and cocky, not to mention strong and unfairly handsome. He has you wrapped around his little finger after one dance, after two you’d probably agree to anything he asked, and after the third dance, you’re wondering what you have to do to be able to keep him.

Your back bumps against the cool metal door of a storage room, and you can feel the music from the club vibrating down to your bones, but neither sensation is as important to you as the feel of his lips against yours, and his tongue sliding against your own. 

His arm is tight around your waist, holding you flush against him, as he blindly opens the door behind you and then walks you into the small room. You hear him lock the door as it slides shut behind him, and you whine low in your throat as he pulls away from you. 

Echo chuckles and cups your cheek, “Someone’s eager,” He kisses you quickly, and pulls away again making you pout up at him. He looks amused, you can tell that much even in the dim light of the storage room, though you’re not sure why he’s so amused.

You don’t say anything, just deepen your pout, and lean into his warmth.

His thumb slides across your lower lip, “Ah, cyare. I’m going to have to break you of these bratty tendencies,” But, even as he says it, he looks delighted.

“Not bratty,” You whine, before you take his thumb into your mouth and suck on it gently. You have a very talented mouth, maybe if you show him just how talented you are he’ll continue touching you again.

You keep your gaze locked with his, so you watch as arousal darkens his gaze. “Very bratty,” His voice is lower now, and you shiver at the promising tone in his voice, “Take your clothes off.”

You blink at him and pull away from his thumb, “All of them?”

“Did I stutter?”

You take a step back and slowly start peeling your clothes off. You’re not wearing much, all things considered. A top, a skirt, panties, and your sandals. 

You’re about to toss your panties to join the rest of your clothes, but Echo tugs them out of your hand and shoves them in his pocket. You don’t mind, it’s not like you don’t have more after all.

“Mm, look at how pretty you are,” Echo murmurs, as he backs you toward a table near the back wall and encourages you to sit on it. It’s surprisingly sturdy, for a wooden table. He taps the inside of your knees, spreading your legs so that he’s able to stand between your thighs. 

His gaze drops to your pussy, and he releases a quiet breath, “Look at how wet you are,” His gaze flickers to your face as he slowly brushes his scomp against your clit, pulling a strangled whimper from you. “All this for me?”

For some reason, you feel like you should be embarrassed at just how aroused you are for this man you just met, but you aren’t. You feel safe and warm and you want more.

You are aware enough to know that he’s not a mind reader, so you squirm under him and spread your legs slightly, “More,”

He grins at you, “What was that? You want me to stop?”

“No, More! Echo—”

He pulls his scomp away from your clit, and you release a whine of displeasure, which is quickly muffled by his lips against yours, “Greedy,” He chides against your lips, “And so rude. Did no one teach you manners?” His tone is teasing.

You blink at him, hazily, “Please?” 

“Please what, beautiful?”

You tug on the front of his shirt, “Touch me,”

“I am touching you,”

And he is, his lips are moving across your jaw and down your neck, while his hand alternated between tightly clutching your hip, and caressing every inch of skin that he can reach.

You squirm against him, able to feel his erection pressed against your thigh through his jeans, “Stop teasing me,” You whine.

“All you have to do is tell me what you want,” Echo replies, “That’s it. You can do that, can’t you?”

“I want—” You’re interrupted by a loud moan at the sensation of his scomp ghosting against your pussy.

“You want?” He’s laughing, the jerk.

It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts, and you shoot him the neediest look you can muster, “I want your cock, please?”

His grin widens, “Well,” Echo leans in and kisses you slowly, “Who am I to deny such a polite request?”

He pulls away just enough to unfasten his pants and tug his boxers just enough out of the way for his cock to bounce free, “You’re not gonna fully undress?” You ask, breathlessly.

“If you’re a good girl,” Echo replies as he gathers some of your arousal on his fingers to spread on his cock, “Maybe you can have me in your bed and see me naked.”

“I can be good,” You counter, and then your head falls back with a moan as the head of his cock nudges your clit.

“Yeah?” His hand moves to the back of your head and he makes you look at him. There’s a grin on his handsome face, and you gasp as he thrusts deep inside you with one firm roll of his hips. 

Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, as he bottoms out and stops moving, much to your displeasure. 

Echo’s lips hover just over yours, as he throws your words back at you, “Prove it.”

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