#sorry this just kind of turned into an aimless ramble

[churipu]

( OO2 ) ★ dude (romantically) , gojo satoru

featuring. gojo satoru x reader

warnings. cursing, 2006 highschool era, one sided enemies to lovers (alias u hate him bcs of "reasons", and u think he hates him too), gojo being such a fucking tease i love hate him so much, a lot of cringe and weird pet names from gojo bcs he's kind of a little shit, you being mean to him and you make him sad (but you'll make up dwdw, i don't need angst rn), um...kissing (yhyh u guys kissed, so what >:() // wc: 4.0k

ENTRY ( OO2 ) OF THE "INTO THE IPINVERSE" MILESTONE

"i hate you." "say that again?"

tags: @sad-darksoul, @sweeneyblue1, @idkuluka, @colorful-happy-shit

there are a lot of moments that you hate in life, but with all due respect, meeting gojo satoru has got to be at the top of your fucking list.

white hair, blue eyes deeper than the ocean. god, why does he have to be so pretty? why couldn't he be born with no hair and no eyes at all? because that, that would make it easier to hate him completely — yes, you're implying that he's physically attractive.

"hey, apple pie," gojo sings out, slinging an arm over your shoulder, "i missed you."

you pushed him away harshly, "don't call me that, gojo. and i don't fucking miss you," a strained whine escaped his throat as he feel the distance in between you both widen at your push.

"come on, sugar bear."

"jesus christ, stop calling me those fucking nicknames." you seethe out at him, standing up to walk away — escaping this hell, escaping gojo satoru and whatever tricks he had up in his sleeve.

"i know you like them," gojo sings out, skipping to catch up with you. shoving both of his hands inside his pockets, "come on, annoyed acrylic nail."

you stopped for a bit, amazed at the nickname. so amazed that you almost actually pulled out a laugh card at him — god, he's insufferable, "what the fuck was that nickname?"

"you kiss your mother with that mouth?" gojo asks, leaning down a bit to put his ugly face up close to yours. frankly, it's frustrating because he's an absolute beauty, what a prick.

"my mother's dead."

gojo widened his eyes a tad bit, "my god — pumpkin, it was just a saying." he sighs, scratching his nape awkwardly, "sorry for your loss."

you rolled your eyes, continuing your aimless walk. the sole point of this walk was to avoid the male, yet here he was, walking alongside you. silently. as you turned corners after corners, he trailed behind you, turning the same corners after corners.

"can you," i look at him, "leave me alone? why the hell are you following me?"

gojo shrugs, "no reason. can't i do that now?" you shook your head, "and why not?"

"this is — stalking. an act of following me around, i feel intimidated. do you want me to file a report, huh? huh?" gojo chuckles at your ramble, finding you quite adorable; in his eyes, you were like this small creature, trying to be intimidating.

"definitely not." he chuckled, "come on, chatterbox. you should let me take you out sometimes, what d'ya' think? sounds good?"

"no. just — don't talk to me, don't look at me, don't even breathe the same air as i am," you muttered out, flipping your middle finger at the male out of annoyance making him guffaw.

his slender fingers grabbed your hand, pushing it down gently, "are you implying that i should die?" his voice came out cheeky and teasing.

"yes."

he rolled his eyes, "you're gonna miss me when i do actually die, bet you'll cry and say y'miss me." the male laid his hand on top of your head — patting it lightly, "come on, bonbon. let me take you out, for food, for smoothies, for desserts. anything you want, i'll give it to you."

you heaved out a sigh, "gojo, no — just, no. and leave me alone."

the male eyes you, "you hang out just fine with suguru. all sunshine and rainbows, why d' you not give me the same treatment, huh?" he questions, almost offended at the thought of both you and suguru laughing and joking in front of him.

"'cause you're not him, obviously."

gojo furrowed his brows, expression filled with frustration, "what does that even mean? what's so different about suguru and i? he's a good guy, but 'm a good guy too. right?" he asks, voice low and meek.

"just — shut up, alright? leave me alone."

this time, the male complied; refusing to trail your figure as you disappeared around the corner. his eyes following you until you were gone, chewing on his lip in annoyance.

he didn't understand you, in his eyes you were like a lost cause. and it perturbed him, his peace, his life. the male is dying to know whatever the hell he'd done wrong to make you hate him so much, whether it being his constant nickname for you or was it because of the fact that he's always there to make fun of you?

gojo wouldn't be this bothered if you were like this to everyone. however — the fact is that you're only like this to him. and why? he didn't know.

and he hates it.

very helpful google.

the teen boy threw his head back, sighing out loudly — a few hours since that conversation with you and he still hasn't been able to get you out of his mind.

"what'cha doing?" a shadow peered over him, the white haired male fluttered his eyes open slowly; the afternoon sun gracing his face as he tries to make out who the person above him was.

"nothing," he muffled out, looking to the side — geto chuckled, jumping over the male's head before taking a seat next to him, "did you just jump over my head?"

"mhm," geto hums, "so? is it about y/n?"

gojo looks at his friend, "was it that obvious?" geto chuckled, nodding his head mutely, "try to think about it — as far as we've known each other, what the hell have i ever done wrong to them? i'm so lost."

"who knows? maybe they like you."

gojo rolled his eyes, "who in their right mind, would act like that to the person they like? that's just stupid." geto chuckled.

"people like y/n obviously."

the white haired male huffs out in defeat, "is it because of the weird nicknames? in my opinion, they're really cute. i mean — pumpkin, sugar bear, apple pie? you'd like to call your partner that too, right?" he babbles out, still in trance, wondering what he ever did wrong to you.

geto spared a glance at his friend, "no, that's stupid. it's pretty cringe," he honestly informed.

gojo's jaw tightened in response as he stared at his friend in betrayal, his lips parted as he wanted to deliver something — but the blue eyed male slowly shuts his mouth, pondering for a bit before delivering his comment, "okay, you're partly right. but i enjoy calling them that. they're cute, and my nicknames are cute." he pouted, his glasses slipping down a bit.

"annoyed acrylic nail? really? you can do better than that, satoru."

gojo's head snapped towards geto, "how'd you know about that one?" he narrowed his eyes.

"y/n, who else?"

"traitor. and mind you, i got that from a quiz i was playing on the internet."

geto tittered out in pure amusement, "they were just telling me about what happened," he explained, "and boy, was it interesting to say the least."

"what'd they say about me?" gojo asks, his voice soft. almost scared to question his friend, scared to hear about how you'd describe him — despite being this, "calm", "coolheaded" man he portrays, when it comes to you, it felt like judgement day.

"oh, nothing much," geto uttered out calmly, "how they can't stand you sometimes and how you maunder out the oddest nicknames on earth — oh, and how they find you physically attractive." geto finds himself whispering the last part.

geto was one to say the truth about these kind of things. except, he's now being a little cupid, alias . . . you never told geto that gojo is physically attractive. but the first two comments were the absolute truth.

"they did?" how cute.

geto nods his head mutely, "maybe you should go meet them, they were pretty intent on describing you as quote unquote, the most attractive boy they have ever met," the lie rolled over his tongue smoothly that gojo couldn't help but to grin widely.

"tell me about it, suguru. please, please?"

geto was most delighted to do so. the male enjoying this banter more than anything — if he wanted one result, it was to get you and gojo together. frankly, he finds it quite the mediocrity that you and gojo aren't in an established relationship as of now.

"they were saying how you have these pretty blue eyes that they'd love to look at every hour," geto started, "and how they actually don't mind some of your nicknames — like, sugar bear. they find it endearing."

little bastard. gojo was smiling like a fool right now, his long legs crossed happily as he sighed out in content, "i fucking knew it."

"well, what're you waiting for?"

gojo hops up, peering down at geto who was still seated, "i owe you one, suguru," geto chuckled, shaking his head.

oh, he owed me more than one. geto thinks to himself, waving his friend goodbye.

"hey, sugar bear." gojo confidently approached you, crossing his arms with a knowing smirk on his face, "i missed you."

groaning out in response, you covered your ears with the palm of your hands; not wanting to engage in the conversation right as it started. gojo chuckles softly, circling his fingers around your wrists, pulling them away from your ears, "come on, why're you always so mean to me?"

"you get on my fucking nerves. asswipe." you muttered out, pulling your wrists away, "and don't touch me."

gojo winced, "ouch. so, heard from someone that you called me attractive, huh?" his eyebrows danced up and down in delight, as if he was mocking you.

you arched your brow in confusion, because for all you know. one, you never said that to anyone. two, even if you did find him attractive, you didn't remember ever telling that to just anyone — hell, you don't remember telling anyone about it either.

"excuse you?" gojo gave you a lop-sided grin.

"so? why're you keeping up with the attitude?" he whispers out, shaking his head.

"gojo, what the fuck? who did you hear that from?" you interrogated the male, one of your hand resting on your hips, "whoever the fuck gave you that information is making shit up — no, i don't find you attractive."

the male rolled his eyes at your stubborn demeanor. well, you weren't particularly stubborn; you were partly framed at this point since you don't remember ever saying that to anyone.

"come on, why'd you have to lie to me? it's not like 'm gonna be angry or anything," you sent a sharp glare at him, because he is wrong for saying that — you made it clear you never expressed that forbidden thought to anyone. so why was he saying this to you?

"gojo—"

"why do you call suguru by his first name but me by my surname?" gojo cuts you off.

"gojo, listen—"

before you could say anything else, the male confidently hushes you down, yet again cutting your words off. and if there's anything else you hated more than gojo satoru, it's being interrupted while you were talking.

"gojo, respectfully, shut the fuck up." you scowled at him, and that indeed managed to shut him up almost immediately — the glare you had in your eyes signifying that you were actually serious. gojo can't help but to swallow the non-existent lump in his throat at the sight.

"i never said anything about you being attractive, and whoever the fuck said that to you is a pathological liar. this is getting tiring," you slowly, and calmly tell him. way too calmly for his liking, "you're bothering me. so with all due respect, can you like . . . maybe, leave me the fuck alone and never talk to me unless it's mission related. it's fucking annoying."

gojo was silent. he was clueless of how to react, a part of him wanted to get angry, he has so much questions to ask you. but another part of him just wanted to lay down low and walk away. and gojo went after the latter.

his stomach churned as he processed your words silently, his smile dropping, and his gaze softened. the male inhaled sharply before nodding his head, "okay, sorry."

and he turned his heels, slowly walking away out of your sight — you stared at his back, watching him walk further and further.

letting a string of curses escape your lips, you felt the urge to reach out to the male. call out to his name. say you were sorry and how you didn't mean that — god, sometimes you think it was you that should respectfully shut the fuck up.

" . . . goj—" you shook your head, deciding to just stay silent for now. for now.

this wasn't the first time you've told him off; and he always comes back the next day, so gojo would probably be the same old him tomorrow, right?

wrong.

gojo was dead set on what he was doing, avoiding you. and damn, he was pretty good at it — that it pisses you off. because why isn't he calling you those weird nicknames? why isn't he trailing after you anymore? why isn't he talking to you? why isn't he batting an eyelash at you? one week and still going strong.

"heartbreak problems?" geto appears beside you, taking a seat next to you, whistling out loudly, "over satoru? that's a first."

you wanted to retort back to the male, but honestly, there isn't any point to it. so you actually bobbed your head, "guess so," you muttered out lowly, balling your fists.

"what happened?"

his question made you side eye him, you were pretty sure gojo would've told him by now — after all, they're quite the pair at school. so this was an honest surprise, "shit happened. i said things that i obviously didn't mean, and now i'm suffering the consequences of my own actions, fairly enough, it fucking sucks."

"so, you're openly admitting to me that you do like him?" geto questioned softly, his eyes traveling to the ceiling of the classroom, "satoru? the one you shit-talk about every single day?"

you grunted, "jus' because i shit-talk him. doesn't mean i hate him," geto blinked feverishly before laughing out, "the hell are you laughing at, asswipe?"

"i told him you found him attractive. but i guess things didn't go as i expected," geto spouts out the truth, his laugh dying down slowly into a small smile, "what did'ya say to him?"

"thought you'd know by now, and that was you? fuck." you murmur out, "i told him to leave me alone and never talk to me unless it's mission related. i said it was annoying— that he was annoying."

geto hums out, "why're you always so angry towards him anyways?"

good question. why?

"that's . . . none of your concern, suguru." you ended up shutting down his question, chewing your lips in pure annoyance.

the male raises his hands up, "right. it's not mine — but it is satoru's, you should talk to him," he advices, "he's been miserable, trust me."

"he looks like he's doing fine, and doesn't he like . . . hate me?" geto raises a brow in disbelief, wondering if you were just plain dumb or too oblivious — or both. the male shakes his head, "oh. i thought he would by now."

"y'think he would do all that thing to you when he hates you?"

"well, it's him so it wouldn't be surprising. really." you chuckled out hoarsely, "and are you really giving me advice right now? because i can't fucking believe i'm actually getting an advice from you out of all people."

"that offended me." he smiled.

"well, sorry. i've never taken you for the advice giver type of person, so? is it really my fault?" you questioned, making the male roll his eyes in response.

"you have a man to chase, why are you still talking to me?"

right. you did, "bye suguru, i owe you one."

geto sighs out, remembering the same words that gojo had said to him a week before — and how the tables have turned. he was thoroughly enjoying this all.

"gojo."

the male stopped when heard your voice. your sweet, loving voice. oh how he missed it — your voice, your glare, you. finally sparing his first glance at you after a week.

it was hard. he's miserable. he wanted to approach you, he wanted to call you the nicknames he'd searched on google before morning comes, he wanted to talk to you even if it ended up on you scolding him with very nice words, he wanted to see you. gojo just wanted to see you.

the white haired male has never felt so miserable in his life. this was the farthest he has ever been from you, and it was honestly killing him inside.

"what?" he asks, wondering if he had done yet again, something to make you approach him first like such. because one thing he was confident in is that, you, y/n l/n, would never approach him for anything besides missions or . . . anger, "what did i do wrong this time? i didn't talk to you like you told me to. so?"

"you're fucking unbearable." you muttered out, fists balling tightly — very much angry at him, and at yourself.

gojo raises a brow, "i'm unbearable? what makes you think you can come up to me and tell me that?" he asks you, his voice soft, and a ghast of his blue eyes reflecting behind the dark lenses of his glasses.

"god, i hate you so much."

no, no, no. it wasn't supposed to go this way, you weren't supposed to say that you hated him — and the way gojo furrowed his brows at your statement made your heart drop. why couldn't you just mutter out the word "sorry" and everything would be back to normal.

when people tell you that, "sorry", "thank you", and "please" are the hardest words to say. you didn't take it literally — but now that you were in a position to say one of them, you could finally agree on it. why was it so hard to mutter out a five letter word?

"okay, you made it clear last week. what else do y'want me to say?" he muffled out lightly.

"i hate you." you repeated, "so fucking much."

gojo shakes his head, prompting to ignore you. he turned his heels and began to step away from you. he didn't need anymore hurtful words from you; from someone he deeply has feelings for, "don't fucking walk away," he heard you speak.

"don't . . . walk away." your voice dropped down a tone, "please."

the male hesitated, but he stopped walking in the end. gojo had only stepped away a few times and he couldn't fucking stand it, the way you called out to him — lord, if this hasn't been so serious. he swore he would be running to you right now, how he wanted to have you in his arms right now, even if it ended up with you pushing him away. he would take the chance.

it was better than having to ignore you like this.

"what?" he breathes out again, this time a little curious to what you had to say.

you blinked, parting your lips to say something, but nothing would come out. a few seconds passed, and your lips are still parted. and you were starting to grow desperate, desperate to say something — anything at this point. anything to make the male stay, to stop him from walking away.

"y/n . . . i don't have time for this." he mutters out, trying to keep his act up, even if he was fighting back the urge to just drop everything and run to you.

"no, wait. gojo— satoru." it took one specific word to roll over your tongue, and his heart was racing rapidly. his cerulean eyes intently looking at you from behind the dark lenses, "please, i . . . i'm sorry. i'm so sorry, so please don't walk away from me. don't do that again."

gojo felt his heart began to pound. the male stood there, his breathing growing rapid, "i didn't mean what i said to you — it was my fault. i'm fucking miserable, satoru. i don't know what to do," you tell him, voice lacing in desperateness, "i fucking hate you for this. i swear to god, it's disgusting . . . the feelings. i've never felt like this before and i hate it. i think about you all damn time, i hate you because why the fuck am i feeling like this? i can't stop, satoru."

the male parted his lips to respond, but you cut him off, continuing your words. groggily fiddling with your uniform, brows furrowed, eyes glassy, you continued, "so don't fucking walk away from me. don't fucking ignore me, please."

it took gojo no time to stride over to you, "fuck. do you know how fucking miserable i was for one. whole. week? do you think i wanted to ignore you? to not look at you?" his large hands cupped both side of your face, "i was fucking miserable, y/n. i just wanted you to know how much i fucking missed you. one day," he raises up a finger, "one day felt like a whole year, i can't stand it much longer. so, please — don't push me away anymore."

you look up at him, lips slightly parted, "i hate you."

gojo tilted your face up to him, "say that again?"

his fingers traveled down, brushing the skin of your neck vividly. even with his glasses on, you could see his eyes perfectly — and how they gleamed brightly. gojo smiles lightly, using his other hand to grab your right hand, placing your palm on top of his chest. where his heart was. the constant rapid thuds that you could feel against his chest made your heart flutter.

"god, i fucking love you," he breathes out, drawing your face towards his, his lips inclining towards yours — and your mouths fell together, a few seconds passed and gojo pulled back slightly, his lips parted, "i fucking love you, y/n," he whispers softly, capturing your lips into another kiss.

the hand you had on his chest lightly crumpled against his uniform, holding the male in place as you yearned more of the taste of his lips. it was vague, but you could taste strawberries — and . . . cream cheese. pulling away, you stared at him, "dude."

gojo arches a brow, etching your fingers off of his uniform. lacing them together with his — like a perfect puzzle piece, it was like his hand was meant for yours, and yours for his, "what did you say?"

clearing your throat, you said, "dude, but romantically."

the male chuckles, "you ruined our kiss and our moment, for that?" he pressed a kiss onto the tip of your nose, maintaining eye contact, "d'you know how long i've been wanting to do that? to kiss you?"

you shook your head, "no, but did you eat something with strawberries? and cream cheese? i could taste it."

gojo blinks, "oh, yeah. i had some daifuku," he replies, scratching his nape sheepishly, "why did you have to bring that up now, couldn't it wait until later?"

"dude." he looks at you in disbelief.

"but romantically, again." you added, and gojo smiles, "i can't help it — i don't know what to say."

"i do," he pressed a kiss into the hollow of your forehead, "date me. i promise i'll treat you well. i won't call you those nicknames anymore, just — i just need you to be close to me."

"what if i said no?"

"after that kiss?" he pulls away from you.

"kidding, dude."

the male whines, "stop calling me dude," he said, "can't you call me something else? baby? honey? darling? cutie? handsome? none of that?" he asks out.

"dude is pretty romantic." you rolled your eyes, "do you ever hear me calling anyone else with dude?"

he shook his head, "you never call anyone with a nickname anyways." gojo grumbled under his breath, looking away, "fine, what do you prefer? i don't do well with — nicknames."

"i like the sound of baby, or handsome. i am handsome, right? right?" you rolled your eyes, but gave out a subtle nod, "i knew it, you did find me attractive after all."

"shut up or i'm sticking with dude."

"no," he brushes his lips against your cheek, "i'm baby now. and you — you're sugar bear, pumpkin, apple pie, annoyed acrylic nail, and more to come."

"didn't you say you won't call me those nicknames anymore?" you questioned him with a light smile.

"uh . . . no, you heard wrong."

"okay, dude." you chuckled.

"y/n!" he whines.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 The Remarkable Machine Who Learned How to Love

♡ featuring: toji x f!reader

♡ cw/tw: none, a little angst but a whole lot of fluff! wc: 1.6k+

notes: i was thinking about this all day and decided to whip up somethin in a couple hours. hope u like :P art by manuel_juju on twitter! comments and reblogs are appreciated!

In a kill-or-be-killed world, Toji reached the top of the food chain—unfortunately, staying at the top is a thousand times harder than the climb. And when he looked down, there was no one to catch his fall.  

Before Toji met you, he was as aimless as a speck of dust, carried endlessly by an unpredictable tide of winds. He followed the cracked and crumbled path bespoken for lost souls like himself. Destined to be nothing but a vessel, a hollow man of sturdy muscle who worked himself to the bone, filthy jobs common men wouldn’t dare consider, because who was there to stop him anyway? Was there anything left for men birthed from hopeless circumstances, raised by broken homes to turn to lives of criminality? He couldn’t find an answer. He wasn’t equipped with the empathy to understand why guilt gnawed at his conscious; why whenever he ate takeout in his dimly lit apartment, it spilled out the chasm in his chest.  

It was much easier to complete the task, to trudge to a check cashing facility to retrieve money he couldn’t care less about. Perhaps he’d walk this earth alone forever, constantly watching over his back from a fear of daggers shooting from every direction, waiting to strike at his most vulnerable. It was only a matter of time.  

Or maybe he’d allow his sins to surpass him. Accept the peaceful release of death and pay the price of a vacant funeral service.  

It was all but irreparable, until he walked into his usual convenience store and encountered the new clerk at the register. It was past midnight, and Toji placed the quick meal on the counter. When his tired eyes panned up from those frozen noodles, his heart reset, a part he thought died amidst the torment. It skipped across his ribcage, stopped until a fleeting breath pulled him back to reality, to the intense fluorescent lights and your warm welcoming smile. There wasn’t a single altercation that stole the air from his lungs the way you did.  

Life hadn’t torn you apart yet.  

Your eyes didn’t break away, unexpected, as Toji was used to people hanging their heads near him. He’s aware of his threatening stare and intimidating stature; it’s what keeps him alive. And you were unbothered. You scanned his item, and flashed those pearly whites that sent a nosedive straight to his stomach, “I’m a big fan of this brand!”  

Toji remained tight lipped, unwilling to sift through difficult emotions and experience a feeling he believed himself to be undeserving of. He nodded, and somehow you continued, “Shouldn’t eat so late, though. Messes with your stomach.” A puff of wind pushed from his nose before he could stifle it. “Are you a doctor in the daytime?” You chuckled and bagged, “Sorry, slow day.”  

He arrives the same week, searching for a couple of beers to bring back to his apartment. You were in an obviously dangerous position, with one foot off the step ladder as you attempted to push a bottle of cleaner onto the highest shelf. It was a fight between gravity, and the opponent nearly won before his hand grabbed the handle. “Oh! Thank you” you smiled. It was sunnier than the last and reopened the stitches he’d been struggling to sew since that moment.  

Toji suddenly had countless excuses to go to the convenience store. Sometimes he’d enter for a snack, and you’d discuss your favorite chips, other times he pretended to need items just to hear your voice ramble about a niche topic you knew too much about. When his heart thrummed off kilter, and his mind became consumed with thoughts of the pretty night-shift cashier, a piece of him demeaned. How embarrassing it was, to be attracted to the scripted kindness of a service worker. Toji barely recognized he had favorites, let alone desires. So why did he have such an unwavering desire to see you?  

He’d snatch a pack of noodles one day, a subconscious grin at the joining of your eyes. It didn’t matter if the twinkle in your gaze wasn’t exclusive to him; for a second, it felt like someone cared, and it was fulfillment he couldn’t shake.  

You leaned over the counter on your elbows, “Did you know there’s over 35,000 ramen noodles restaurants in Japan?”  

“I didn’t, but that sounds like a lot of options.”  

“Mhm, you should try one. The real thing is way better.”  

“I’m sure. I don’t really go out to restaurants often, so…”  

“Me neither”, there’s a lengthy pause, and you finally blurted, “maybe we could go together!”  

He was stunned. Lost for words, really. It wasn’t possible, a girl as beautiful as you who wants to be seen with a stone-cold machine in public. It had to be a prank, a fabrication by fate to taunt him. You grew an anxious smile, “Hah, sorry, I overstep-“  

“I want to.” You stiffened, and he found solace in your shared nervousness. “O-oh! Great!” 

Toji’s first date with you had been a disaster, though. He’s heavy handed by design, and it’s no different in his daily life. His strength leads to instances of clumsy behavior. He expected you to be appalled, disgusted, or at least judgmental.  

You never shunned him. When he held your hand too tight, you slightly unclasped it. He wanted to retreat, to stuff them in his pockets and remain at a safe distance. But you interlocked hands and spoke soft, “It's okay, just try not to hold so tight.”  

He swung the door open for your entry and almost shattered the glass door on the opposite wall. “I appreciate your enthusiasm” you giggled.  

He was afraid to even hug you—he might underestimate his strength and crush your sternum. Toji walked you back to your place and turned to leave. “I’ll see ya around.” Despite that, you guided his calloused hands around your waist, slinked into his broad body, and embraced him.  Every aspect of you, foreign but comforting—little breaths fanning his shirt, fingers brushing along his back, sugary perfume wafting in his nose.  

It was heaven on Earth.  

Now years have gone by, and instead of bleached walls and silence greeting him as his eyes crack open in the morning, he smells the familiar scent of pancakes, pans clattering on the stove. He waltzes into the kitchen in a hazy state and admires the aching back of his very pregnant wife. You have a hand assisting your lower back and another on the wooden spatula scrambling eggs. 

Toji dropped his past for you after the engagement.  He cashed his last check and disappeared from the underground circle without a trace. He was aware if he continued the path he was heading, the result awaiting him was six feet under. The outcome was unimportant, however, you—the image of tears streaming down your face at his poor volition, your figure keeled over his gravesite under dewy grass and wailing for his return to no avail. He couldn’t stomach it. He had to protect you and commit to the next stage of his life. He’d never tell you about his previous work. It was for the best. He’d be selfish, just this once. 

One sock is different from the other, wearing loose shorts and a random shirt sitting above your massive belly. It’s his preferred version of you. Your stomach and thighs adorned in stretch marks, shaped like tiger stripes that declare your strength through each dip and curve; It's his greatest honor. You’d take on the complications, unending exhaustion, and hormone imbalances to bless him with a child. Toji hasn’t let you lift a finger since you got pregnant, opting to handle all the household tasks, borderline subservient to the mother of his child. So, his mouth twists when he sees you up so early.  

He stands behind you, hands trailing from your upper thighs to your stomach, then the small of your back. You lean into him while he massages circles and whisper a tiny “Good morning.” 

“Ya could’ve woke me up” Toji mumbles, kissing your temple. He wraps around to the underside of your belly, mindful of his muscle, and lifts it carefully. His respect for you increases tenfold with the heavy weight on his palms. You hum a pleased noise, sudden relief from your back. He carries it and smooths his thumbs over the taut skin. 

“You’re a late sleeper, and I haven’t made breakfast in a long time.” 

“Ya don’t have to do a thing, y’know.” 

“I know. But I wanna do this for you”, and he grins. It’s quiet, standing in the warmth of your bodies, sunshine glowing through the window to cast an angelic gleam on your face.  

Then he feels an imbalance of pressure along his fingers and mild wriggling within your tummy. Toji traces the movements, seeking to play a game with his unborn child. Sometimes it scares him, to bring new life into a world that almost smothered his light.  He worries that he’ll end up on the same road as him or he won’t be a good enough father. The journey of parenthood is a long, laborious one. You’re always learning, and Toji’s still processing the basics. It’s complicated, he trips and falters; yet you’re there to support him, through thick and thin, sickness and in health.  

What was he if not for you—his pillar, his source of happiness and comfort. You’d given him everything to wish for and infinite reasons to stick around. An iron criminal, bested by no mortal, chipped away by compassion and gentle hands. 

“You can let go if it’s too heavy.” 

I can stay here forever. 

[celeryb1tch]

cruel summer!

an abby x reader x ellie summer camp counsellor fic! (aka my magnum opus)

jackson, wyoming.

not much to it other than the acres of land with groupings of small cabins sparsely spread. traced with wood plank fencing, and a front entrance with a hand-painted sign that read "welcome to camp!"

it was a long story as to how you ended up here. the start of a gap year after graduation had left you aimless, or so your parents believed. it was your dad's college roommate, a man you rarely saw past the age of ten, who proposed this opportunity. this connection had led you to standing in the middle of fucking nowhere, now a camp counsellor for the next two months.

"tiny!"

the childhood nickname almost paralyzed you. glancing around, your gaze landed on a large frame you didn't recognize. this person bounded up to you, surrounding you before you had a chance to wriggle away. when you looked up in fear in order to plan your escape, you met familiar eyes.

"abby?!"

"obviously, who else d'you think it'd be? my dad told me you were coming!"

"put me down!" you squeaked, thrashing your legs about to emphasize your point.

"sorry, sorry, got a bit carried away there," she said with a chuckle, easing you back down to your feet.

and this was when the full reality hit. abby- who was taller than you by only a smidge; abby, who was kind to you when no one else was; abby, who stuck up for you because everyone respected her and she couldn't bare to see you upset; your abby, from childhood- was here now. yeah, you had been told that abby anderson was gonna be here- but you hadn't seen her in at least five years, and now she was so incredibly hot.

she rambled her welcomes and introductions, taking your bag without even asking, ushering you toward the main circuit where you'd be working in a few days when the kids arrived.

you took the opportunity to really take her in. abby had always been muscular, playing any sport she could get her hands on as a kid. but now she had grown to be gorgeous- nearly six foot, broad arms and freckles dotting every inch of visible skin. a dirty blonde braid trailed down her back and bobbed as she took each step forward.

"-so that's about it. hey, you with me?"

you couldn't be sure how long you'd been unaware of your surroundings, only that it was enough to justify Abby's hand waving in front of your face, brows furrowed in concern. awoken from your ogling, your cheeks heated as you nodded up at the woman. "sorry, uh, it's a lot to take in."

"you'll get a hang of it in no time," she assured, that breezy smile returning to her face. "here, this is the girls' staff cabin- pretty simple, but you'll have plenty of space to lay out your things and—"

"fresh meat, huh?" called an unwelcoming voice.

the both of you turning around, a new figure appeared- a lean girl with shaggy brown hair, somewhere in height between abby and yourself.

"not now, williams," abby huffed, clearly accustomed to her unwelcome antics. you wondered if you should be equally wary.

"oh come on, anderson," the girl quipped, "won't you let me introduce myself? it's only polite."

abby's arms crossed, taking a step toward her. "you can introduce yourself, but that's it. anything else can wait until dinner, we have shit to do."

as this girl drew closer, you could see abby's jaw wound tighter. but still, she stayed to the side and allowed what was asked of her.

"ellie, but you can call me anytime," was spouted towards you, accompanied by the cheesiest wink imaginable.

you smiled, allowing a nervous giggle to pass through your lips. "nice to meet you, ellie," you began to reply, "i'm-"

"tiny, we gotta go," abby chimed in, cutting the moment just abruptly enough to disallow ellie's flirtatious introduction to continue.

ellie smirked, tipping her head toward abby as she leaned against the doorway. before she could cook up a reply to rattle abby further, the latter girl tossed your bag and pillow onto the closest bunk.

"we have more to cover before the meeting tonight, so if you'll excuse us, williams."

with a sly nod, ellie shifted to allow the two of you out of the cabin. you shot her a small wave when you turned to look back, before abby began lecturing about some other miniscule task on the grounds.

—

by the time the sun was low in the sky, you were sure you had seen every square foot of the fucking campground. abby had dragged you here and there and back again, certain to cover everything you could possibly need to know(and to keep you away from ellie, of course). she had showed you the nurse's station, the washrooms, the bunks, the washrooms again.

"it's my first time in charge this year, so i really can't afford any mistakes. my uncle would be so pissed with me," she confided, once the two of you had stopped at a picnic bench.

your hand reached out before you could consider otherwise, fiddling with the end of abby's braid as you always had as a child. whenever she was stressed, you would wind your fingers in her hair and soothe her through touch. it hadn't hit you that the custom might be strange now, given how long it had been. her small recoil of hesitation was unfamiliar, but after a moment she relaxed into the gesture.

"you're doing great, abs," you assured, "and i'm so happy we get to spend time together again. i really missed you."

a light blush dusted her freckled cheeks at your words. "i, uh- really missed you too. but hey, dinner's soon. i'll leave you to wash up or whatever, see you in a few."

with that, she had semi-abruptly stood and walked away, long strides carrying her quickly. had you made her nervous?

—

after switching to something covering your appendages to protect from mosquitoes as abby had warned, you made your way to the mess hall.

"tiny, huh? that on your birth certificate?"

you jumped a little, but recognized the voice of ellie williams behind you. her arms were crossed, with what you assumed to be her signature smirk as it was on her lips so often.

"abby called me that when we were kids, please don't... tell anyone else. it's embarrassing," you divulged.

she nodded, head then quirking to the side. "you haven't given me any other name?"

"oh!" you squeaked, once again embarrassed in front of this girl you had just met. "it's just (Y/N)!"

"alright then." she opened one of the screen doors to the building, holding it so that you could walk through. "see you later, tiny."

you tried your best to brush off the interaction, making your way to the front table where Abby sat. she smiled in your direction as you approached, and it warmed you like the sun.

abby stood, placing her hand on your shoulder and lifting a hand in the air. "everyone, attention please! this is our new recruit, (Y/N)! be nice, it's her first time."

there were nods and grunts of acknowledgment before everyone turned back to the food that was hot and ready on the table. self-serve platters of greens and chicken breast were spread across the three tables housing the camp employees.

smiling at you again, abby sat and motioned for you to join. as you pressed into her side to fit, you could feel the definition of her arm. in an effort to distract yourself, you surveyed the others at your table. you were met with friendly, sun-kissed faces of athletic young adults- all seemingly like-minded to abby. you smiled at the idea that she was loved and appreciated here, though that had never been a feat for her. abby anderson was easily likeable.

this summer would be fun. you would bond with your childhood best friend, make memories, and try desperately to act like you weren’t dying to finally kiss her… oh fuck.

thank u for reading!! i’ll be continuing to upload parts of this here + on ao3 (same user)!! have a great day!!!

(ps. do u like my little ms paint art hehehe)

[todayisafridaynight]

so yea im here again to bother (anonymously bc thats the only true way to communicate to ppl amirite) so let's pretend rgg writers didn't pull an asshole move on him and he lives and now hes like. a side character or whatever u can catch him to chat whatever the point is hes alive AND THE QUESTION IS: do you think he keeps appearance aoki-style clean and tidy or he goes back to masato-style emo swag? or is he gonna be the most cursed mix of these both cause i can't decide what to draw and probably im gonna just sketch it all slap it on one sheet and post but i've been hit by sudden interest about what my fellow aoki fan thinks?

my heart wants him to go back to his e-boy swag ways in this purely hypothetical timeline but honestly im not sure, it's somethin i ask myself a lot also: it's beyond just aesthetics and the sort that make up masato arakawa and ryo aoki, so i can't confidently say one thing or another

if you dont care bout aimless ramblin uhh skip the Read More cause i could just wrap up this ask here :)

heh. you care about my aimless ramblings :]

'ryo aoki' represents 'the paragon of japanese men' yk: clean shaven, conservative haircut, neat and tidy (glasses are just bonus points for 'yeah he looks smart') etc etc. that's not to say ryo aoki was purely a facade or persona, masato obviously had to harbor some puritan ideology beforehand in order to pursue his career as passionately as he did (though spite and a need for love and attention are strong, he probably wouldn't have been as effective in his position if he didn't believe what he was preaching to an extent)

im rambling about all of this cause without the need to keep up that 'perfect image' anymore and being ready to start over, aoki would be free to present however he wants without worrying about his image. would he still like to be seen as immaculate ? would he be ok with that more rugged look again ? a part of me doubts it since that was 'the lowest point' of his life, so why go back to it

that's not to mention how preppy was his aesthetic from birth to his 20's, though now i ask if that was his choice or if that's how masumi thought to present him to look like a regular civilian (not saying masumi was being a control freak over him obvi, im just saying did urge masato towards that kind of style yk. it's just a things parents do, and considering masumi is aware the yakuza lifestyle isn't something to aspire to i'm sure he wanted his son to appear as detached from it as he could--but now this is turning into a ramble about masumi SORRY)

plus, by 47/48, i think he would have outgrown the gritty-yet-flashy aesthetic. if anythin, maybe he'd just dress like masumi did during his 20's- not exactly the same, but something similar

assuming he wouldn't be in jail in this timeline and he was Just Chilling, i also have to ask if he'd want to restart his political career but genuinely this time and pursuing things that would actually benefit japanese society. that's tiptoeing into greater speculations tho but it's somethin' to consider if you want to ask 'what would aoki be like in LaD8'

[ask-hannah-blog]

Hey it's uh, Pretzel here. Probably a bad idea I keep calling myself that but darn it internet anonymity matters to me! At least for now, if I could talk to Pretzel the Clown right now I get the feeling they would disagree. Too bad for them they're not driving this meatbag body of mine just yet!

Anyhoo, just wanted to talk about this Cassidy girl a bit. I wish I had met her, the human version of her I mean. She seemed like a sweet gal. I've seen videos of other fully turned Clowns like her. I dunno, I guess for me it's kinda chilling. I look at that and I keep thinking "wow, is this what I'm gonna be like soon? A comple joke that no one will ever take seriously?" I don't have very many friends, nor does my family like me (long story, #transrights). I guess it's just a weird thought to know that eventually to society I'll just be some wacky clown walking the streets doing pervy shit to debase themselves with no end goal other than making people laugh. I wonder if clowns still need to take estrogen lol. I guess that would be nice to not worry about anymore.

Personally right now my biggest worry is my major buck tooth problem. Big dumb overbite like that Cassidy girl. Makes me feel like a beaver lol. I think my newest urges are probably the ideas I keep getting about adding Cartwheels and similar stunts to my yoga routine every morning.

Sorry for all the rambling, I guess it just feels nice to have somewhere I can vent a bit about all this clown stuff that's (literally) taken over my life. My plushies say hello btw. Honk Honk and all that 👋💝🤡

🥨

Pretzel!

Yes, trust me girl I was silently screaming my whole time with Cassidy. Part of me was really happy she’d gotten over the shame she felt last time we talked in public, but goodness a little shame is healthy.

If you’re in the middle of nowhere I can do see your fear of becoming your town’s weird wandering clown. I know I’m so thankful for all my friends, patients, Daisy, and my sister. I’m very lucky I have so many people to share the load. I’m glad I’m at least giving a place bc where you can air your frustration.

I know exactly what you mean about the transformation. I would give anything for a tf that would let me keep my practice. Just the thought of being so aimless scares me.

As far as Estrogen goes, I’ll try to find a journal I was reading the other day, but clowns on estrogen have reported supercharged effects as their change progresses.

And I like buck teeth personally, but they do admittedly make you look kind of dumb. I shared a boyfriend with this bimbo is college who had Buck teeth, oh my gosh I loved watching her use her mouth.

Anyway, good to hear from you! Give those plushies a hug for me! Honk honk!

[words-writ-in-starlight]

I SEE YOU HAVE WRITTEN MORE FOR A FANDOM THAT I HAVE NO CLUE ABOUT so i can't say much except: really cool, dude! i've been discovering that writing fic is actually pretty fun usually, so now seeing authors publish fic is a lot more of, "wow, they'r probably in a good mood." i do have a question, though - how do you come up with titles for fics? so far i have been using song lyrics which works... okay but sometimes takes a while and it's always interesting to see how someone else does something!

I use song lyrics too!  Sometimes I come up with titles myself (like with this TAZ Commitment fic) or use a piece of a quote relevant to the piece (like with this entire series of Animorphs fics or this Constantine/Hellboy fic), but mostly I use the lyrics from a song that I feel fits the scene/overall vibe of the media.  I’m a writer who has a very one-to-one kind of “This song gives me feelings about this character under these circumstances” associative brain, so the music I have going is usually the right kind of music to pull from.  I very specifically remember opening the “Post New” window to put up this Lucretia fic and going “Oh damn I need a title” and just pulling up the lyrics to the Florence + the Machine song that I had playing right that second and using the first thing that seemed good.

If I’m writing a series or a long fic, I normally have a theme in mind for the titles--all the chapter titles from things we lost in the fire are Bastille lyrics and all the chapter titles from the entirety of the good left undone is from the Rise Against song of the same name.  Every fic I’m going to put into o blessed gabriel is also getting titled from Rise Against, because their music is tonally perfect for Mass Effect, with the exception of any potential fic I ever write that’s just Garrus/Shepard smut, which I will be titling “the rite of movement” because neither God nor shame will stop me.

Also, sometimes I will listen to a song and decide way before I ever decide on a fic to write that it’s perfect for a pairing, character or dynamic, and then I basically write a fic to justify using the lyrics as a title.  I did this with the two fics currently in hey brother, my collection of Kencyrath canon fics--I decided the very first time I heard the song “Carry Your Throne” by Jon Bellion that it was exactly the Jame/Tori Vibe, and those two fics exist to justify my desire to tangibly connect that song to that pairing.

[okaywa]

*Kiss Me Sweetly

Tendou x f!reader 

Angst with a happy ending, excessive fluff, friends to lovers, smut, dry humping 

4.4k words

The demon of Shiratorizawa had crimson hair and eyes to match. He was tall, composed of long limbs and sharp angles. His eyes were perpetually half-lidded and droopy with dark bags. He had a crooked smile made up of pointed teeth and a silver tongue that frequently got him in trouble with the school staff and students alike. 

He wasn’t actually a demon, a nickname branded to him by cruel children in elementary school. He wasn’t a monster either, despite popular belief. Although he had learned to embraced his title as the Guess Monster, even learned to love the respect that came with it from his opponents. In the end, however, Tendou Satori was just tired. Tired of the people at this school, tired of the nicknames that stalked him though the halls, and tired of you.

You, who never stooped to your peers level with half-brained insults and nicknames. You, who had smiled and said hello every time you saw him since elementary. You, who encouraged him to pursue volleyball, the only thing he felt powerful doing. You, who sat through his seemingly endless chatter with an interested smile. You, you, you and your kind smiles, soft words, and gentle curves. 

It wasn’t until high school that you started sitting with him at lunch. Eventually lunch transitioned into getting coffee every Monday after school. Then the coffee hangouts progressed to going to your house and reading the latest manga he was interested in every Friday. 

Each moment with you was a breath held in anticipation for the other shoe to finally drop. When were you just going to get it all over with and stop acting like you cared about him? Enough of the pity, please. No more shared lunches. Stop giving him your notes when he fell asleep in class. He was exhausted for you. 

Sometimes he let himself believe you. That you actually cared for him and enjoyed being around him. He convinced himself that your laughter was genuine when he teased you and made sardonic jokes about the world. He could go months relishing in your friendship before remembering it wasn’t real. 

Being around him certainly didn’t benefit you. He had heard plenty of the rumors and he know you did as well. 

I heard that he’s so controlling she’s too scared to actually leave him. 

We aren’t even together, he thought viciously.

Well, I heard that she only puts up with him because she feels bad. Seriously, who actually wants to hang around that freak . 

He wanted to scream that he knew. He knew you pitied him. He wanted you to leave but you never got the goddamn hint. You stuck by his side all through high school and now it was the last day and you were still here. Sitting next to him, sharing his earbuds. You could’ve walked home ages ago, but you were adamant about waiting at the train station until he got picked up.

“You can stop now,” he said, setting you free. 

“Hm?” You looked up from your phone. “Oh, do you want to play your music?”

“No, you can leave,” he snapped. “No one is looking at you anymore; no one cares. You don’t have to be here with me.”

“Tendu-chan, I don’t understand,” your pretty lips were turned down in a frown. 

“I don’t need you,” he lied. “You don’t have to be here to make me feel better. It’s over, we move on now and we forget about it.” 

“What are you talking about?” Your voice was soft, confused. 

“I don’t need your pity,” he said, finally getting the words off his chest after all these years. “I know you only stuck around because you felt bad for me. But I don’t need it anymore, high school is over. I don’t need you to hang out with me because you feel bad.”

His eyes were closed, and he relished in the peace of finally, finally spitting it out. 

“Is that what you think?” 

His eyes snapped open. You were angry? You should be happy. Happy you finally have an excuse to get away. A clear exit.

“Fuck you, Tendou,” you stood up, throwing his headphones at his chest. “That’s what you really think of me? That I just pity you? You think I’m so shallow that I hung around you to make myself feel better? Is that what you think?”

You stopped, sucking in a steadying breath while he stared up at you in shock. Yes, that’s exactly what he had thought. 

“I-” 

“No,” you cut him off swiftly. “You’ve said enough. I’m leaving. You can talk to me when you get your head out of your ass.” 

Tendou watched you walk away until you disappeared around a corner. He had been wrong? But he almost always guessed right… right?

Had he really been so consumed by his self-loathing that he had misread the intentions of the one person who cared the most for him? 

“Oh,” he let his head fall back against the bench and stared at the bright sky until his eyes watered. 

Not many had witnessed it, but the demon of Shiratorizawa was indeed just a person. A person with emotions, as disguised as they may be. He hid behind this personality he’d crafted. The carefree, loud, perpetually cheerful demeanor that protected him from his peers and their wicked words. It had never protected him from you though. You saw through it as if it were glass, just a window to his misery. 

“Oh,” he said again, standing up slowly. “I see now.” 

He boarded the train and rested his forehead against the window, watching dark storm clouds creep over the city with the silence of a cat stalking its prey. 

How fitting, for it to rain, he thought as the first drops splattered against the window. 

—-

After three sharp knocks on your door, Tendou stepped back and held his peace offering close to his chest. He knew you were home because your rust bucket of a Toyota was parked in the driveway. His fingers tapped the plastic bag impatiently and it was nearly impossible to ignore the way his heart jumped when the door cracked open slowly.

“Ah, I see you’ve managed to pull your head free. Was it difficult?” You asked flatly, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed.

“Immensely, took Wakatoshi three bottles of lube,” he said earnestly. 

You cracked a small smile, eyes flitting to the plastic bag in his arms. You raised an eyebrow as a silent question. 

“Can I come in?” He asked. “It’s awfully cold out here, you don’t want me to catch a cold now, eh Y/n-chan?”

“Maybe I do,” you said, stepping aside to let him in. 

“How cruel of you!” Tendou gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in feigned offense. 

He stepped into your entrance way and you were quickly reminded just how tall he was. His lankiness only made him look taller as he loomed over you, eyebrows drawn together in determination. You stared back, suddenly nervous in the presence of your friend.

“I’m sorry for misjudging you,” he said, intense red eyes still locked on yours. “It was wrong and unfair of me to make such harsh assumptions.” 

You weren’t used to him being this serious. He was always intense but the two combined were overwhelming. 

“Let’s sit down and eat whatever you’ve brought,” you said, stepping around him to walk to the kitchen. “Then we can talk, yeah?”

He followed so close he accidentally kicked your heels a few times and you could still feel the heat of his gaze on the back of your neck. He set the bag on the table and unpacked the to-go containers. 

“It’s from that place you really like,” he said. “By the school.”

“Oh, thank you, Tendou.” You accepted the chopsticks he held out. 

Tendou gasped dramatically. “Such formalities, Y/n-chan!”

“Tendu-chan, then,” you corrected yourself.

“Much better,” he said praisingly.

He sat down across from you, eating only a few pieces of chicken before setting his utensils aside. He didn’t say anything, even as you ate your fill. It was clear he was antsy, fingers tapping a staccato beat against the table. 

When you finally slid your plate to the side he scooted forward, resting his face in his palms expectantly. 

“I forgive you,” you said simply. 

Tendou’s signature manic grin took over his entire face and his long fingers tapped a rapid beat on the table in his excitement. Oh, how he had missed you during the two weeks he spent giving you space. He had never realized how much he enjoyed your presence until it abruptly disappeared. Tendou’d also had a few other revelations during the separation.

He said your name softly, so at odds with his typically loud demeanor. He was his most authentic self in your presence, he had come to realize. You looked up from packing up the remaining food and tilted your head. 

“We are still friends, right?” He asked with a tinge of nervousness. 

“Were we ever?” You countered, not angrily. 

“Yes,” Tendou answered quickly, reaching out to grab your hand. “Of course, it was my mistake to ever think otherwise.”

You looked down at his hand on yours and ran a finger over the wrappings he kept on his two fingers. He watched you keenly, fingers twitching at your delicate touch. 

“My, my,” he said with a sly grin. “What is little Y/n thinking about?”

You shot him a bland look, dropping his hand pointedly. “You’re disgusting.”

Just like that any tension between the two of you vanished with his boisterous laugh. He wiggled his wrapped fingers in your face enticingly until you smacked them away.

“I brought the latest chapter Shonen Jump,” he said animatedly, reaching into his bag. “I thought we could read it together.” 

It was a Friday, after all.

“Sure, let me put this food up,” you said. 

Tendou grinned eagerly, bouncing to his feet while you brought the food to the fridge; already talking a mile a minute about a different manga he had just finished. You couldn’t stop the smile that worked its way onto your face, you loved his aimless rambling. Where you more reserved, Tendou was outgoing and could fill any gaps in the conversation you left behind. It worked well for the two of you. 

While watching Tendou chatter away you wondered if you had been too harsh at the train station. Clearly there was an underlying insecurity that convinced him you didn’t care about him. Was it his history of bullying? Before you had really gotten to know Tendou, it was hard to imagine him as anything but carefree and untouchable. You knew he would tell you eventually. Perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow. Over the past few years you had found the best way to get Tendou to open up was to say nothing at all, his rambling always ended up on touchy topics anyways.

Tendou held out an earbud for you once you sat down on the couch beside him. You placed it in your ear and smiled when you recognized the playlist the two of you had put together. The only time Tendou could stay quiet longer than five minutes was when he was reading. You settled into the familiar routine, sitting close to him while he angled the pages towards you so you could both read. Tendou was such a fast reader you were forced to learn to speed read as well in order to keep up with him. Now, you were perfectly synchronized.

 Today, however, he couldn’t stop glancing over at you. Ugh, he suddenly so acutely aware of everything you did. Every time you shifted to see a panel or readjusted the earbud he felt his heart pickup and he was too aware of every movement he made. His limbs felt too long and awkward, his face felt too warm, and oh my god did he brush his teeth this morning? 

Tendou swallowed nervously, for once relieved for the chapter to finally end so he could put some space between your bodies. He stood up abruptly, wincing when the earbud was ripped out of his ear. 

“Ow,” you held your ear. “Is something wrong, Tendu-chan?”

“Of course not, dearest Y/N,” he put on his widest grin, bowing down and extending his hand. Fuck, your nickname for him was not helping his nerves. “I was just wondering if you would like to accompany me to the bathroom.”

“Ew, what is wrong with you?” You smacked his hand away. 

“Well, you did ask,” he chirped cheerfully before prancing down the hall. 

You sighed, replacing the earbud while settling into a more comfortable position. After several minutes you realized Tendou had yet to return. Frowning, you stood up and went to the bathroom to find the door still closed. 

“Tendu-chan?” You knocked softly. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, Y/N,” Tendou popped his head out from your bedroom. “I was looking at your photo wall.”

You raised your eyebrows, following him inside. “Yeah? I have quite a few.”

It had been a hobby of yours to have at least three pictures of each of yours friends on your wall since elementary school. Since you started hanging out with Tendou at the beginning of high school, his section had amassed a great deal of photos. 

“I forget you’ve never been in here,” you smiled, watching Tendou closely.

You had never seen such an open expression on his face before. His eyes flicked over the photos of him taped to your wall quickly, as if he couldn’t decide which to focus on. 

“I didn’t realize,” he said softly.

“Hm?”

He tilted his head back, sliding his eyes to look at you. “I didn’t realize I still had a safe place, a paradise.” 

“You’ll always be welcome here, Satori,” you reached out and squeezed his bicep. “I promise.” 

“I feel so blind, Y/N,” he closed his eyes, head still tipped back as he took in a slow, study breath. “I thought I had lost everything when volleyball ended. My friends, my passion…” 

Crimson eyes locked on your own, the intensity of them so startling you sucked in a sharp breath. 

“But I still have you,” Tendou said, slowly turning his body to face yours. “Right?”

“Of course,” you answered.

“Good,” he nodded. “Good.” 

His head turned back towards your wall of photos, fingers reaching out to snag at the bottom of one. You looked closer and saw it was a picture of the two of you at one of his games. You had jumped onto his back to hug him and your friend had barely managed to get the shot. The blurry grins on your faces were bright and excited.

“Can I?” He asked, tugging lightly on the corner. 

“Take it, I can print a new one.” You said. 

He peeled it off carefully and flashed a grin at you. 

“Thank you,” he reached out, placing his hand on the top of your head, ruffling your hair messily. 

You knocked his hand away and brushed your hair back into place with a huff. Tendou laughed loudly, sprawling backwards onto your bed with a thump. He looked at the picture once more before sliding it into his pocket. He folded his hands behind his head and looked up at you with his signature sleepy smirk. 

“Make yourself comfortable, I guess,” you said. 

“Aw, you’re so considerate,” Tendou crooned, stretching his arms out until his shirt road up to reveal his toned stomach. 

You glanced down at the exposed skin and blushed, looking away quickly. Tendou noticed, of course, and couldn’t stop the mischievous smirk on his face as he reached out and grabbed your hand. 

“Tendou-“

“Oh, hush,” he chastised lightly. “I’m just getting you to sit. This is your bed, after all.”

You sat down on the edge, watching as he pulled your hand to his chest. He examined your fingers faintly before weaving his fingers with yours. When your fingers spasmed nervously he gripped them tighter. 

“I had a lot of time to think,” he sighed, eyes still fixated on your joined hands, before elaborating. “While we were apart.”

You stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue with bated breath. 

“I like you, Y/N,” his eyes seemed to bore straight into your soul. 

“Tendu-chan-“ You started to pull your fingers away.

One second you were sitting at the edge of the bed and the next you were pinned beneath Tendou’s body. His breath tickled your lips and his hands kept your arms above your head by the wrists. 

“Please, let me say this,” he pleaded, eyes switching between yours and your lips. 

“You made high school bearable for me,” he said, pushing up until he was knelt between your legs instead of having you pinned. His hands rested on either side of your ribs. “I didn’t appreciate you enough at the time but-“

His fingers clenched in the sheets. “I do now, I appreciate you so much. Everyone else thought I was a monster, demon, whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore but when it did you were the only one who made it all easier. Does that make sense?”

“What about Ushijima? Your teammates?”

Tendou chuckled, letting his head droop between his shoulders. “Of course them, silly Y/N. They didn’t really have a choice, hm? I was on the team, you don’t really get to pick who’s there. You went out of your way to befriend me, to make sure I was okay before you even knew me.” 

You looked up at him, ignoring his little sniffle and the way he rubbed his nose against his sleeve subtly. You sat up slowly while Tendou watched you closely with his head tilted. 

“You’re my best friend, you know that right?” You asked softly. 

He nodded. 

“You will always be welcome in my home and I promise I will always want you around. You’re right, whatever those people used to say about you doesn’t matter. They were needlessly cruel and I wish I could’ve stopped them from hurting you,” you reached up, cupping his cheek gently. “You’re important, Tendu-chan. You’re caring, funny, and genuine. I love hearing about your favorite anime and your coolest blocks. I really do.” 

“Ohhh, is little Y/N crying for me?” He cooed, using his sleeve to wipe away the tears gathering on your lashes. “Sweet thing.” 

“I’m serious,” you said, letting him wipe your cheeks. 

“I know,” he squinted at you. “Will you let me try something?”

From the way his crimson eyes kept flickering down to your lips, you could easily guess what he wanted to try. You nodded mutely, breath catching excitedly as his face drew closer. 

The first touch of his lips felt like a static shock. Your eyes fluttered close as he pushed a little closer, experimentally moving his lips against yours. He let out a low groan into your mouth, pushing forward until you were laying down again. The hands that had been by your sides now moved to tangle in your hair and cup your face while his hips settled comfortably between your thighs. 

The first brush of his tongue across your bottom lip sent fire licking up your spine which eventually settled as a fluttering warmth in your stomach. Your hands came up to grab his arms, nails leaving shallow crescents on the pale skin of his biceps through his shirt. Parting with a nip to your bottom lip, Tendou licked his lips as he looked down at you. 

The sight of your flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips sent a thrill of exhilaration through his chest. 

“Well?” He asked, a cocky grin smeared across his lips. 

It was like you were seeing Tendou in a brand new light. Before he was just your friend. You always knew he was good-looking but now, you were supremely aware of his shapely lips, cut jaw, and broad shoulders. His hips between yours was as intoxicating as the elated look on his face. 

“Stop looking so smug,” you huffed, pulling him down to your lips again. 

Laughing softly, Tendou happily obliged you in another sensuous kiss that left you dizzy and breathless. He swallowed your gasp when he experimentally rolled his hips into yours.

He pulled back, eyes lidded with a dazed smile, and tilted his head. “Is that okay?”

You nodded eagerly, leaning up to capture him in another kiss. With a sly smirk he pulled out of your reach, head tilted expectantly. 

“Yes, Tendou, now please get back to it,” you snapped, secretly appreciative of his need for clear consent. 

“There we go,” he murmured, stooping back down with a thorough roll of his hips. 

A groan was shared between both of your open mouths as his hips fell into a steady rhythm, slowly undulating against you. Sighing out his name, you let your head fall back while Tendou trailed kisses across your jaw and down to your throat. 

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re so perfect,” he murmured breathlessly, leaving wet, open-mouth kisses down the column of your throat. “Feel so good, hah-“

 His clothed erection lined up perfectly with your core, sending searing electricity flickering through your stomach. Your hands went from gripping his arms to tangling in his hair, tugging lightly at the crimson strands. 

“Haah-ah,” you moaned at a particularly accurate thrust that had his entire length dragging along your clit. “Satori, please.” 

“Oh, fuck,” Tendou sighed into your ear, pushing aside your hair so he could hide his face in the warmth of your neck. “You’re so hot, gonna make me cum in my pants. Keep making those pretty noises for me, sweet thing.”

You nodded along eagerly, pulling his head away from your neck so your could attach your lips again. Steady thrusts began to lose their rhythm as both of you got closer to completion. Tendou let out a throaty groan, wrapping his lean arms around you tightly so he could rub his hard-on against your core with more force. 

“Satori, ah!” You cried out at the stimulation. 

He clashed his mouth against yours messily, teeth clicking while he gasped against your lips. 

“M’ close,” he clenched his eyes shut. 

“Me too, me too,” you whined, hips writhing up against his desperately. “Satori!” Tendou practically growled at that, mouth claiming yours assertively. You shouted his name again while your orgasm wracked through your body, leaving you sensitive and tingly as Tendou chased his own release. He came with a low moan into your mouth, hips rolling gently through the aftershocks. 

When he finally slowed to a stop he went completely slack on top you. Tendou mouthed gently at your neck, fingers petting your hair as you both caught your breath. You released his hair and unclenched your stiff fingers a few times before wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

Curious hands slowly pushed beneath your shirt, tenderly exploring your body while Tendou continued to leave lazy, open-mouthed kisses on your neck. His handsiness didn’t bother you since you were also busy tracing the muscles of his back. 

You whined when he landed another quick kiss before pushing off of you. 

“I gotta clean up,” he said, darting down to kiss you again. 

That reminded you of the uncomfortable dampness in your own pants so you got up as well. You found a pair of sweatpants that he could fit into from your brother and set them by the bathroom door for him. By the time you came back from changing he was already lounging in your bed again, your brother’s sweatpants an inch or two too short  above his ankles. 

Tendou’s expression brightened when you walked in, his eyes wide to match his grin as you climbed in to lay next to him. He was quick to wrap his arms around you again. 

“Well?” He asked. 

“Hmm?” You responded, face pressed against his shoulder. 

“What are we now?” He leaned back so he could see your face. 

You stretched languidly, tossing a leg over his hips and an arm over his chest before responding. 

“What do you want this to be?” 

“I want you to be mine,” he answered honestly. 

“Then I’m yours,” you said simply, kissing the hinge of his jaw. 

“My girlfriend,” he said adoringly, twisting to his side so you were facing each other.

You laughed softly, letting him cup your cheeks so he could pull you into an unhurried kiss. His tongue pressed past your lips to sweep along your teeth and slide hotly against yours. 

“I’m pretty great at apologies, huh?” He boasted. 

“Oh, shut up,” you groaned, pushing him away by his forehead. 

Tendou let you shove his face away with a quiet giggle before brushing your hand away so he could attack your neck with more kisses. 

“You better not be leaving marks,” you threatened halfheartedly, too caught up in the addicting sensation of his lips on your body to be serious. 

Tendou eyed a particularly red spot, pressing a light kiss to it. “Of course not, baby.” 

“That didn’t sound too convincing.”

“Well… it might fade,” Tendou circled the spot with his finger. “I kinda like it.”

“Satori!”

“Whaaat?” He crooned. “It lets everyone know you’re mine.” 

“Ugh, you creep,” you murmured, accepting a soft kiss. 

Tendou giggled cheerfully, squeezing you closer to him affectionately. He left a flurry of kisses across your cheeks and nose, sighing happily. 

“I love this,” his hands roved over your body. “Getting to touch and kiss you as much as I want.” 

“Mm, me too.”

Tendou’s lean body was beautiful, so was his blush when you informed him of this. He groaned and hid his face in the crook your neck. 

“I’m serious!” You insisted, pulling his face from your neck so you could look at him.

“I know you are, thank you,” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes. 

“Aww, are you embarrassed?”

Tendou scoffed. “Tch, of course not. I’m a catch, a total babe.”

Laughing, you let him bite playfully at the hinge of your jaw for a moment before shoving him away so he couldn’t leave another mark. Tendou settled down and was happy to let you brush your fingers through his hair until it lost it’s shape and started to fall over his forehead. 

“Mmm, sleepy,” he sighed, practically purring as you massaged his scalp. 

“Go to sleep then.” 

He hummed, twisting his body until he was on his stomach with half of his body draped over yours. You smiled warmly, of course Tendou was a clingy sleeper. 

[stopeatingwhales]

"how come we've never spoken before?" x noel gallagher

why haven't I written anything for noel in ages??????? anyways this was so cute I hope u lot like it <33

Pairing: 1990! noel gallagher x reader

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 1.951

Requested by anon x

༉‧₊˚✧

“You wanna come over tonight?” Liam asked me as we were walking out of the sixth form building. “Our kids coming to pick us up so was wondering if you wanted to come with.”

“Yeah alright.” I nodded, linking my arm with Liam as we walked out of the gates together. Going over to the Gallagher residence wasn’t an uncommon matter, if anything I was over at theirs at least once a week. Since their father had left the environment was always pleasant, his mum always cooking the best, most delicious meals which caused your body to crave it again each and every day until you returned back for dinner once again. As well as that, being able to spend time with Liam was always an enjoyable experience - him being my best friend since first joining the college, we hadn’t been able to separate ourselves from each other since. Of course, we would have different friends, different groups, but we always turned back to each other - something that I adored most about our relationship; we didn’t constantly need to be with one another to consider each other our best friend. Whenever I was over we would relax in his room, talking about practically everything and everything, sometimes smoking a joint by his window to prevent his mum finding out, even though the stench of it would stick to our clothes like glue - giving it away instantaneously.

After exiting the school gates, we walked for a bit until we reached the nearest neighbourhood of houses, where Noel said he would pick Liam up. To waste the time, Liam brought out a spliff from his pocket, placing it between his lips, then lighting it, him failing a couple times to get the lighter to produce a flame. “Give me a hit,” I said, watching Liam as he quickly inhaled the roll of weed, then passing it to me, a wave of smoke hitting my face from Liam’s mouth. “Stop that you twat.”

There was hardly anybody outside, from the look of the area, merely just the occasional car whizzing past us, causing the empyrean of smoke discarded from our throats to diffuse into the atmosphere. It produced a clear contrast against the skies, which had little to no clouds visible at all. Having a clear, sunny day in Manchester wasn’t something ordinary; it was a rarity, but for the past year the weather had been brilliant, though brilliant becomes unlivable when the temperature continues to increase to the thirties, celsius wise. That’s when the nature of constant traffic, crowded streets and lengthy queues at the ice cream machine disperse into their homes - the sun being too strong it becomes a chore to leave the house. Having the world so silent, hushed, brings another kind of tranquillity to the mind. Watching an inanimate street fixated in the same position, as if it were a ghost-town, encompasses that feeling of being the only person present in the world at that moment, which makes you realise that the life you live is not lead to be controlled of dictated by others - it is yours, and it is something in which you hold complete control over.

After a couple minutes of small talk shared between me and Liam, a small car drove past us, stopping promptly as the windows rolled down, indicating that it was Noel. Me and Liam quickly rushed out of the sun that was beaming down at us, to get inside his car; Liam hopping in the passenger seat next to his brother whilst I occupied the middle seat in the back. “Hi Noel.” I said softly, smiling at him through the rear view mirror, our eyes connecting for a short second whilst he greeted me back, then turning to greet Liam before taking off. Mine and Noel’s relationship wasn’t anything special: we spoke here and there, but since he usually was occupied by hanging out with friends, or travelling as a groupie for Inspiral Carpets, we never conversed much. It was a mere relationship formulated from my closeness with Liam, as manners are important - even if Liam shows the opposite. I was quite intrigued by Noel disregarding his conventional absences; he seemed to lead a life which was exciting and alluring, and was a complete contrast against Liam’s persona from what I had noticed. Liam was more into sports, mainly football, and causing havoc wherever he could (me constantly joining him since he knew how to have an absolute good time), whilst Noel seemed completely consumed by music and the wonders of working with bands. Regardless, they shared some idiosyncrasies, one thing in particular definitely being their love for weed.

Once we arrived at the house, we were greeted by Liam’s mum, who welcomed me in lovingly. “Always a pleasure to have you over, Y/N,” she said as I broke away from the embrace we shared to allow me to take off my shoes. “Liam, I'm going to need you to help me in the kitchen today.” she then said to Liam, whose face then dropped in complete annoyance.

“Why?” he moaned in response, sighing at his mum whilst removing his shoes. “Y/N’s literally here!”

“Maybe because you haven’t done the washing up for over a week, Liam,” she responded, turning her gaze to look at me, rolling her eyes at his demeanour. “Y/N’s not going anywhere, it won’t take you a year.”

After we were able to get Liam to do his chores, I told him that I would be waiting upstairs for him, in his and Noel’s room. Once I went inside, I wandered around the medium-sized room, finding my way over to Noel’s side, especially fixated on the stack of records that he had owned, aligned by the table next to the record player. He had all sorts of bands; the Beatles, the Who, the Smiths, Sex Pistols... All the best artists. The more and more I found out about him the interest I had about him increased. He seemed like a cool older brother to have, and share a room with, even though Liam sees boys in bands quite odd - which is humorous, since he’s practically an entity of his own. Proceeding to pick up a vinyl by the Smiths, the album in particular being the Queen is Dead, I admired the cover whilst grasping it in my palms. The Smiths were the only band that seemed to use the most aimless, but oddy aesthetic images of random men as their album covers - most likely courtesy of Morrissey’s desires - though I suppose is one element which creates the artistic composition of the band, and their music. Snapping me out of the trance I was consumed in, a voice echoed in the room, one which was definitely not Liam’s. “Like what you see?”

Turning around to find out who it was, I was accosted by the sight of Noel, who was holding a warm mug of tea. Flustered, I placed the vinyl back in the stack before taking a seat on Liam’s bed. “Sorry,” I mumbled, looking at Noel whilst playing with my fingers in my lap.

View stuck on him, I watched him walk to his bedside table, placing his mug of tea on the coaster, then reaching out to grab the vinyl that was once embraced by my palms. “You like the Smiths?” he asked, his eyes now connecting to my gaze.

“Yeah I do,” I said, smiling slightly at his question. “That’s my favourite album of theirs actually.”

“Didn’t expect that from you,” He replied back, taking a sip from his mug of tea before taking the vinyl out of its sleeve and placing it on the record player, watching the needle intently as it gently dropped onto the black disc before sitting back on his bed. The title track’s intro then seeped into the silence of the room, paired by Noel humming along to it. “Think their debut was better, if I’m honest.”

“Well preference always matters,” I answered back, walking over to his bed to grab the vinyl sleeve, gazing at the lyric sheets, also taking a seat next to Noel. I felt his stare on me, but I attempted to ignore it as I focused on the little verses of poetry in one of the songs. “Morrissey is such a depressing writer.”

A laugh rumbled at his throat at my absentminded comment. Averting my gaze, I looked at Noel and smiled again. “I’m not wrong!”

“What else you into?” he asked me, curiosity laced in his tone as he diverted the topic.

“Everything else you listen to really, I looked through most of your vinyls,” I replied, watching Noel as his eyebrows furrowed together in shock, my smile widening as I felt my cheeks start to burn slightly - I had never thought that I’d be having a genuine conversation with Noel. “Especially the Beatles, Liam’s told me how much you love them.”

Noel was impressed, and it showed on his face quite evidently. “What’s your favourite album by them then?”

Looking away for a couple seconds, I thought of a response. “Probably Sergeant Peppers. Was their most innovative stuff, in my opinion at least.”

We continued to ramble on about music for a short while, Noel continuing to act excessively shocked whenever I had told him I had indeed listened or liked an artist he questioned. It was nice to finally discuss music with somebody since Liam was never really into it. “You’d never expect me to listen to all of this because I’m friends with a lunatic.”

Another laugh left Noel’s mouth, a smile stuck on his lips. “All he’s obsessed with is football, I don’t even get how you’re both mates.”

“Opposites attract.” I answered back, leaning back to have my back against the wall as we continued to talk. My cheeks began to hurt after a while of us chatting, due to the smile that was unable to leave my lips.

“How come we’ve never spoken properly before?” He asked, walking over to flip the vinyl to side B. “You’re cool.” he added in a mumble, almost as if he didn’t want it to be heard.

I felt blood slightly rush to my cheeks after the compliment fell from his lips, my top teeth clinging onto my bottom lip as a wave of nervousness washed over me. “Maybe because you’re always out.”

A hum of agreement rumbled from his throat as my eyes fixated themselves on the white ceiling. I could see that Noel was staring at me through my peripheral, which caused my cheeks to increase their redness, only slightly. “We should hang out sometime.”

Connecting eyes with him, I admired his dark brown orbs for a second, before I responded. “We should.”

Breaking our moment together, we were welcomed by an exhausted Liam rushing into the room, breathing heavily from his jog up the stairs. Falling onto the bed, me and Noel shared a moment of laughter as we simply stared at Liam’s state. “What’re you lot laughing about?”

Me and Noel turned to look at one another, sharing a gaze once again. There was a specific glint in his eyes which I marveled at, his face beaming at me, only causing me to reciprocate in the same manner. Our stare meant more than what it was, a certain tension was held between us that was felt by both participants. Especially for Noel, whose heart was pumping as if it were about to burst out of his chest, his cheeks a little flushed out of admiration for the girl sitting next to him. “Nothing.” we replied, giggling slightly as our eyes stayed glued on one another.

[alyxia91]

In A Million Years

Soft Bakugou, because there’s something I love about the thought of this tough guy absolutely melting for someone. I’m sorry it’s kind of a long, slow-burn. I ramble. I’m working on it.

When you first met Bakugou, you were undeniably intimated. How could you not be? He was anger, pride and explosions personified. You wondered if standing too close was a hazard to your health, if not physically, mentally. But as time went on and you became more accustomed to his personality, you found that that red hot anger wasn’t scorching you, rather drawing you in and keeping you warm. Small, barely there conversations in passing grew enough to where you could confidently say he was a friend, and someone you relied on - you hoped he felt the same.  You didn’t notice the sideways glances he would send your way, or the faint blush that would flush across his face whenever you smiled at him. How he wished he would be the only one you smiled at, the only one to hold your attention. But you were too nice, while not overly popular by the typical standard, it was fair to say everyone liked you, including the explosive future hero. Those feelings only continued to grow as you progressed through your years at UA, both of you drawing closer and closer to each other subconsciously. He didn’t notice that he spoke to you differently, softer than anyone else; and you never realized that you were almost always touching him in some way - a hand on his arm, fingers brushing against each other.

Neither of you noticed that you’d fallen in love with each other.

It wasn’t until a fight against the League of Villains that those feelings were violently pushed to the forefront, when you got seriously injured.

The fight had been typical, if not chaotic. Everyone was doing their best to keep themselves alive while fighting. You were no different, your shadow fiends fighting at a distance while you kept up inn hand-to-hand combat. Thank God you practiced against Bakugou frequently - otherwise you doubted you’d be able to keep up. The years of training also prevented too much energy being wasted keeping your multiple shadow fiends active - it was a skill you wanted to grow further. You’d gone up from having one out for a few minutes to having multiples out for hours. Right now, you had 13 running around fighting and defending.

Explosions sounded to your left - you didn’t have to look to know it was Bakugou. Even in scenarios like this, somehow he was never too far from you, always keeping an eye on you. Unfortunately, that eye missed Tomura coming towards him, arm stretched out and hand reaching to grab at his face. You, however, noticed the movement in your peripheral, and with a swift kick to the stomach of whatever moronic douchebag you were fighting, launched yourself towards the pair. Your left arm stretching as far as you could make it, desperately trying to stop Tomura from making contact.

This resulted in your left hand grabbing his, your arm crossing over his body as an additional barrier. Pain erupted from your finger tips and you watched as your palm and fingers turned to dust. The pain shot up your arm, nerve endings for limbs you were quickly loosing  firing desperate warnings to get the hell out. Glitching your jaw, you willed a sword, a mace, ANYTHING strong to be formed with your right hand - by some grace an axe pulled itself from your fingertips, the purple smoke billowing off of it the only indication that you had created it. Without a second to think, you swung the axe across your arm, severing in and stopping the decay.

A different kind of pain shot through you, and before you truly knew what was happening, you stop up and pout your palm to Tomura’s chest. You met his eyes, and the maniacle grin he had on his face was enough to drive you to send all of your shadow fiends to him. With the strongest push you could muster, you distanced yourself from him just as they arrived to swarm him. You turned to look at Bakugou, to make sure he was okay, safe...alive, and you were met with easily the most wild eyes you had ever seen. You’d never found him particularly easy to read, but right now there were so many emotions flashing through his eyes you wondered if every emotion he’d ever felt was in there.

“Suki...” you whispered, suddenly too tired to speak properly. “You - you - what the hell did you - are you crazy?! You idiot! You could have-” Whatever he was saying was drowned out by a ringing in your ears, suddenly so loud and overwhelming you had to close your eyes. You dipped your head, an attempt to hide it to block out everything.  “Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop” you whimpered, desperate for the pain  to cease; and just as suddenly, it did.

You awoke hours later, the repetitive beeping of a heartrate monitor letting you know where you were. ‘Goddamnit. It’s been so long since I was here...thought I was doing better’ you thought, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. You signed, resigning yourself to your fate. You made the decisions, you would live with the consequences.  The door opening caused you to blink, pulling you out of the aimless thoughts. Bakugou walked in, silent and looking exhausted. He paused when he saw you try to sit up, falling slightly when you tried to lean on where your left hand used to be. Three large steps brought him to your side, helping you sit up properly.

You two sat in silence, neither really sure what to say. He had almost died, and you had lost a hard and most of your lower arm to save him, as well as almost dying yourself. What could either of you say? You opened your mouth, only to close it again. Unsure of what else to do, you reached across and places your left hand on top of his, slightly uncomfortable with the twisting of your body.  The contact broke him, and you saw his eyes shut tightly before a small cry erupted from his lips. Tears fell and he grabbed your hand, desperate to hold on to you, to remind himself that you hadn’t died. He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing them and resting them there, his warm breath tickling your fingers.

“You are so stupid....so so stupid” he said, desperately trying to control his breathing, “you can’t do shit like that...you can’t...I can’t...you...you..” panicked breathes interrupted each word, his grip tightening with each attempt at breathing.  “Katsuki, I need you to breath honey - I can barely understand you” you said softly, voice somehow not wavering despite the emotions welling in your throat “copy my breathing, yeah? Look at me” He shook his head, terrified that you’d disappear and this would all be a dream. "I’m not going anywhere. I promise I’m here” you said, tightening your grip slightly to help reassure him. A deep inhale through his nose followed before he finally lifted his head and looked at you.  Even here, after you’d lost so much blood, you were beautiful. He’d never get tired of looking at you - and he almost lost you. In the blink of an eye, his entire world was almost gone. “I’m so sorry” you said, keeping your eyes connected with his “I didn’t think, I just saw you were about the die and I reacted. I didn’t think how it might affect you. I’m so...so sorry Katsu” “Please...please don’t ever do anything like that again. I can’t....I can’t see that again. You were dying in front of me and I couldn’t do anything. The only thing I could do was cause more damage to -” he stopped, and looked down at your arm. You followed his gaze, realizing for the first time just how much of your arm you had lost. Just before your elbow, a diagonal line towards the outer part of your arm.  “Couldn’t do a clean line huh? Well done’ you chastised yourself. “You were bleeding so much...so much...Todoroki was too far away, but we had something to close the wound. I...I had to try...it wouldn’t stop..” ‘He cauterized it’ you realized. Your body tensed with the realization, guilt overwhelming you.

Bakugou felt you tense beneath his hands, his body immediately doing the same. Were you angry? Did you hate him? He didn’t want to do it...he didn’t want to hurt you. But you were dying there, bleeding out in front of him and - “You saved my life, Katsu. I’m sorry I put your in a position to have to do that” “I’m sorry” he said suddenly, feeling overwhelmed and undeserving of your apologies “If I had been paying more attention. This wouldn’t have happened. I was too busy making sure you were safe. If I’d been paying attention, you’d have your arm...your life wouldn’t have changed. I’m sorry. I’m sorry” tears welled up in his eyes again, guilt crushing his heart and pulling hi away from you.

“Hey, hey. Katsu...Katsu please stop. I’m not mad at you, I’d never blame you for this. We both made it, yeah? You saved me. I’m awake and here with you, because of you, okay? I’m still me. I don’t hate you, or think that you should have done something differently. If anything I should have done things differently. But, I will ALWAYS try to save you. That I won’t apologize for. You’re too important to feel any remorse for saving” Bakugou stayed silent, absorbing your words. He kissed your fingers again before standing up, and laying your hand down across the bed. No longer twisting, you sat up straighter, worried that he was going to leave. Instead, and to your utter surprised, he moved one arm behind your back, and another under your knees, lifting you up and maneuvering himself beneath you on your bed. He opened his legs, placing you between them before wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you against his chest.

“You are so stupid” he mumbled into your neck “you’re too important to throw your life around like that. I won’t survive if something happens to you. I can’t. I need you here, with me. Got that?” Heat engrossed your face, butterflies erupting in your stomach as you processed his words. You nodded, placing your right arm over his and intertwining your fingers. “I’m sorry” you whispered again. He responded by pulling you closer to him, bodies impossibly together. You felt his left arm release, coming down to lift yours up to inspect. You relaxed, letting him examine the bandaged limb. He didn’t say anything, he just let his fingers gently run across the bandage, You signed before inhaling deeply, imagining what your hand used to look like. Suddenly, purple smoke wrapped itself around the wound, molding itself into the missing arm and hand. Bakugou pulled away, eyes widening as the smoke solidified, leaving a purple arm and hand. Experimentally, you wiggled the fingers, excitement coursing through you as you saw them move, felt them against the palm. Bakugou reached forward, expecting his hand to pass through it - but was shocked when you came into contact with solid warmth. It felt like your other hand...exactly the same. Another cry passed his lips and you curled your fingers around his hand, squeezing lightly. Tears hit your shoulder, and your body shook with his as he cried, not even attempting to hide it. His arms wrapped around you again, hugging you tightly.

“I love you. I love you so much” he said, hiccupping softly

“I love you too Katsu” 

He hugged you tighter still, willing your body to mold into his own

“I’m never letting you go. I’m never letting you get hurt again”

“Katsu, I’m going to get hurt”

“No. Not like this. Anything more than a papercut is too much” he grumbled against your neck, lips whispering over your skin “And if paper cuts you I’ll destroy it” You couldn’t help but smile. You knew it was an impossible promise to keep, but you also knew he’d move heaven and earth to keep it. “I promise to try to avoid those kinds of situations from now on, okay?” “You fuckin’ better...” he muttered, finally kissing your neck. You turned towards him, eyes sparkling and a smile on your face., his expression mirroring yours. You were both beyond exhausted, but damnit you were so happy. 

“I can’t -” he started, only to stop himself “Katsu?” He didn’t say anything, just leaned forward and kisses you, soft and careful. Scared to shatter you, scared of seeing your skin turning to dust again. You smiled into the kiss, tightening your grip on his arms around your midsection; a sign that you weren’t going anywhere, that you wouldn’t break. He understood, and deepened the kiss. Hold you against him. Holding you where you belonged; and he was never letting you go. Never in a million years.

[literaila]

a bridge of chance

spencer x reader 

request: hi verity! i really reeaaaalllyyy love your writing, especially the more angsty ones but i wanted to request something with more fluff. i haven’t been feeling that well recently and i was wondering if you could write about the start about reader and spence’s relationship. where the reader has a hard time opening up and when they do, they’re afraid spencer is going to leave them. but then spence reassures them that he’s going to stay with them. (female or gender neutral reader is fine with me). thank you so much :)

warnings: fear, anxiety, some hints of depression, mentions of pain, fluff, crying, thats it, its very very long 

a/n: i’m sorry if its not what you expected! or if its too confusing (i wrote it so fast i cant even remember whats happening) * 

It was like walking across a bridge. 

It didn't seem hard, theoretically. All you had to do was walk forward, until you made it to the other side. A destination you’d been waiting to reach, hoping to find. It was only a couple of steps, meters away, a second of distance. 

But the fall was so far down. 

The chance of slipping, losing your footing, your balance, and falling off onto the edge of the earth, far away, where you would worry no one could ever find you again. It was a long way down. 

It was like walking across a bridge. 

And it didn't seem hard, but there was always that chance, a scary little ‘what if’ that stuck itself to the back of your mind until the task seemed impossible. Until falling, into loneliness and despair and all the bitter things of the world, seemed inevitable. 

She’d never told anyone that. She’d never uttered a word about how scared she was, how prone she was to falling into the darkness, into a world she’d climbed out far too many times. 

And she didn't plan to. She’d given up the hope of walking across a long time ago. She’d heard too many stories, too many failures, to trust herself to not fall off again. 

Because of that, she wouldn't. If she could just keep herself from needing to walk across, she’d never fall. 

And maybe that would turn out into a poor life, one where she never took risks, never had anything more than herself. 

But, she could live with that. She would make it through that. She wasn't sure she could make it through falling off again. 

***

She tried to ignore it. 

She tried to keep herself far away from the feeling. 

Remind herself of the bridge. 

Every night recently, she’d been having dreams. Strange dreams. Ones where she was walking, walking aimless and mindlessly, going nowhere, but finally stumbling across the bridge. It always got cold as soon as she saw it, and she could always feel the impending doom developing in her stomach, building itself into something new, but familiar. She begged herself not to walk across it, to turn around and continue walking nowhere, but she was being told what to do, and walking away wasn't it. 

She knew she was going to fall. She knew what this was, what it meant, and she didn't know why she wasn't allowed to turn around, and why she wasn't able to scream. 

She’d been having that dream for weeks. 

It’d been interrupting everything. She barely managed to get any sleep, always jumping herself awake before she could walk on it, before she could even attempt to let herself fall off. She spent all night chugging caffeine in any form, watching hours of tv until it was time to get ready for work. She took power naps during the day, excusing herself for lunch so that she could get at least fifteen minutes of sleep. 

It was pathetic and miserable. And she was glad that everyone else had pretended not to notice. 

And some nights she tried to go to sleep, taking pills enough to knock her out for a couple of days, hoping that they would be enough to help her sleep like the dead, with no dreams. 

But it didn't work. And she always ended up back by the bridge. The same one that she’d been seeing for weeks. 

The worst part was, she couldn't even pretend to be confused. There was no questioning from herself, no worries about what this strange dream meant, why she still hadn't crossed this bridge. She knew what it meant. 

She felt it every day. 

She felt it when she got her first cup of coffee in the morning, accidentally bumping hands with Spencer when they both reached for their mug. 

She felt it when they were away on a case, Hotch assigning the two of them to go talk to a witness, or check out a crime scene, or even stay behind and look over files both of them had already memorized. 

She felt it when he smiled at her. When they were both getting on the elevator to go home, he was smiling at her just because, and then giving her a small wave as they both made their way to their cars. 

She felt it when he looked at her, or said her name, or acknowledged her in any way. 

It was terrifying. But not confusing, no it had never been confusing for her. 

Because when she felt it, her heart sped up, her mind went blank, her eyes wavering on him for a moment too long, her hands picking nervously at her shirt, or her smile which never seemed to want to go away when he was around. 

It wasn't confusing. 

Her attention to detail, and knowledge of everything, made sure of that. 

And her dreams stayed the same, the feeling when she saw the bridge the same as when she saw him. 

She’d been there before. Too many times not to realize. 

She was in love with him. 

She was so desperately in love with him. 

And it was so threatening and so elating to be with him, far too exhilarating. 

Every time he smiled at her, she could feel herself walking forward, she could practically see the bridge in front of her, and she was ready to walk across it with him. She was ready to take that chance if he would just keep smiling at her like that. She was so free, and so nervous, and she could hear her heart begging her to go, to feel just as she did when he smiled at her forever. It was a desperate calling to be near him. 

But her dreams were vivid, and every night, when she saw that bridge, the one with all the memories, and all the burdens, and every terrible feeling she had ever gotten the chance to feel, she told herself not to go. She had made a promise to herself not to take the chance, not even for someone like Spencer. 

She saw herself slipping and falling, leaving him behind. And her feeling, the exhilarating one, she could see it being crushed in the fist of her own hand. 

And so when he smiled at her, she smiled back, just long enough to satisfy her heart, and turned around. Backing away from the bridge. Ignoring the feeling calling for Spencer to be next to her. 

She tried to ignore it. 

But it was so hard. So hard to keep herself away from him. 

Especially when he seemed to want to be near her just as much as she wanted to be near him. It was hard when he took the seat next to hers, bumping his knee against hers, sparking her leg with warmth for a second before moving it, and smiling at her. It was hard when he asked her if she wanted to get lunch with him, telling her about someplace he probably knew she would love, and she had to abandon the thoughts of her nap just to get the chance to go with him. It was hard when Garcia teased her about it, practically seeing through Y/N, and was relentless with her matchmaking. 

It was hard on days where she hadn't slept enough, hard to remind herself not to jump out of her desk and kiss him until they were both breathless. 

And it was hard because Spencer had started to get more daring with his advances. He’d been nervous to even be around her at first, she could tell just by the way his eyes danced around before looking back at her, but now, after months of spending more and more time together, he was no longer nervous, he looked right at her now, keeping eye contact with her as long as she would allow. 

It was crazy and nerve-racking, but Spencer had only been more and more willing to get closer and closer to her. 

And she would always say yes, to whatever he had asked her to do with him, whether it be going over to his apartment to watch a movie with him, playing chess in his hotel room when the cases were too much to sleep, going to dinner late at night when neither of them could sleep. She would always say yes, far too selfish to deny herself the pleasure. Far too tired to remember not to go. 

And besides, how could she say no to his eyes, which were wonderful and alive, and so very kind? 

Tonight, it was a movie. 

She hadn't gotten more than four hours of sleep in the past two days, but when Spencer asked her to come over, giving her one of his hopeful smiles, telling her that he promised he would get her favorite candy and that she could choose the movie, she almost begged herself to say no. 

She’d said yes. 

And the feeling, it was still there of course. All of her emotions, bunching together like she couldn't feel one thing at a time. 

Tonight was one of the nights where she almost couldn't breathe. She was used to watching movies with him now, after weeks of doing it she’d come to learn that he didn't like to stay quiet during movies, that Spencer preferred to make her laugh by commenting on something, or spilling some random fact about the movie itself. She’d always thought that people who couldn't stay quiet during movies were annoying, she’d always much preferred to enjoy the movie in silence, but now, she’d come to love Spencer's rambling. She’d always find herself waiting for it, even when he wasn't there, she was always waiting for him to say something. 

It was endearing. And terrifying. 

But that wasn't why she couldn't breathe. 

She wouldn't be able to breathe tonight because she and Spencer had gotten in the habit of moving closer and closer during these movie nights, neither of them saying anything about it, until one night she’d accidentally moved her head onto his chest, and instead of politely asking her to move like she’d expected him to, Spencer had only wrapped his arm around her shoulder, bringing her closer to him. 

It had almost stopped her heart completely. She didn't dare move even an inch that night. 

But after that, they always managed to find themselves tangled together, molded into each other's bodies like they were sand. And it seemed as both of them thoroughly enjoyed it, neither of them moving away. 

But it always made it far too difficult for Y/N to breathe through the movie, and most nights she couldn't pay attention to anything except the way Spencer's hands felt on her waist, how warm he was. 

She knew she was in far too deep. She could feel the warnings in her head, telling her to go home, to go to bed, and remind herself of the thing she was trying so hard to avoid. 

But, something was pulling her towards him, and she was too weak, too small, to pull back. 

So she was laying on the couch with him, a blanket wrapped over the two of them, Spencer having eventually noticed how cold she was and bringing it from his room. 

She felt very strange, very confused. 

This felt different than every other night. Kind of like they were both playing by the script. 

She could feel him breathing next to her, sometimes she snuck a glance at his face to see him still watching the movie, and she wondered what was going on. Why this felt so different. 

She was apprehensive about speaking up. She didn't want to ruin the night for him, and she didn't want him to move further away from her. 

But, the warning signs in her head kept going off. She kept seeing the bridge, over and over, reminding her just how scared she was to be so close to him, to feel like she did. If not being able to breathe didn't kill her, the fear certainly would. 

She tried to watch the movie, but she couldn't stop bringing up memories in her mind. 

Memories of people walking out the door, leaving her behind to fend for herself. She couldn't stop feeling and seeing the people she loved the most disappearing, fading into dust that she could never seem to find again. She imagined herself on the bridge, and she could see all the people she had trusted the most on the other side of it, she could see them laughing and taunting her. 

And she kept slipping, trying to get to them, trying to make it over, but she couldn't keep her balance, couldn't stay on her feet. 

And she remembered the feeling. The feeling of falling so far down that she couldn't breathe anymore, so far that she couldn't think, couldn't move, but could only look up, and wish that she knew how to dig herself out. She could only remember being nothing in a hole of darkness where no one could hear her. She could only remember the pain it took to dig herself out, the burning she felt when her fingernails were torn off from climbing her way out, the sting she felt when there was no one on the bridge anymore. And she was alone. 

She was sitting next to Spencer, enveloped in his warmth, in his care which he had proven to her over and over, time and time again, but she couldn't think about him, or the movie she had chosen herself. She could only see the memories become torn apart by the feeling she knew was so close to her. 

She couldn't try and walk, she couldn't fall again. 

She couldn't breathe when Spencer was so close. 

“I have to go,” she whispered, moving away from him, pulling herself from his arms, trying to keep herself from falling on the floor. 

She knew this was rude, and she knew that she really just needed to talk to him, and not leave him confused and alone in his apartment, but she couldn't think about it anymore and she really had to go. 

“Y/N?” 

“Sorry,” she whispered again, grabbing her bag and starting to put on her shoes. “I haven't been sleeping well, and I need to go home before I pass out, and thank you for the food and the movie, and I hope that-” she’d finally gotten both of her shoes on when she looked up at Spencer, saw him standing in front of her confused. 

She almost wanted to stay. 

She shook her head, getting herself out of those thoughts, she had to go. 

“You’re really being very nice, and I know this is incredibly rude, but I really do have to go and-” she paused, out of breath, realizing Spencer hadn't said anything. 

She walked over to the door, turning the handle, but not opening it yet. She turned back around, gave Spencer her best awkward smile. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll see you at work on Monday.” She turned to go, ready to save herself from the embarrassment.  

“Y/N?” 

She almost hit her head on the door, turning around so quick, she could feel her heart speed up at the way her name sounded coming out of his mouth. 

“Yes?” 

“Are you alright?” 

He took a step closer to her, the two of them reflecting body heat off of each other in such a smile hallway. Y/N felt her grip on the doorknob loosen.  

She was distracted by his eyes, which were still so bright and understanding, not reserved like she imagined hers were. He didn't look annoyed or confused or angry, just patient. Waiting for her to answer. 

She’d barely been listening. 

“What?” she whispered, just noticing how close he was. 

But Spencer still took a step forward, moving closer, and she could feel his breath on her forehead, and all she could see was him, him him, and she couldn't breathe. He was close, and she was so distracted, and she tried to take a step back, stumbling on her feet. 

“I asked if you were alright?” he said again, whispering just as she was, his eyes locked with hers. 

She couldn't look away, and he wasn't going to. 

She took a breath in, the air coming in handy when her lungs were so close to collapsing. 

He was closer, and she wasn't sure how that was possible when he seemed so close before. 

“I-” she breathed, watching him, her eyes drifting down to his lips, a place she had forbidden them from going. She was breaking all the rules, falling in too deep, but she didn't see how she could move now, how she would ever be able to survive when Spencer was so close to her. 

“Y/N,” he whispered again, his fingertips coming up to her face, grazing the place under her eyes, where the bags had gotten so much darker the past few weeks. “You’ve been so tired.” he followed, cupping her cheek with his hand. 

And she wasn't sure what was happening, but he was touching her, different from how they’d touched before. 

“I-” she couldn't think, didn't have anything to say. He was a nightmare, she’d been trying so hard to move away from him, but she couldn't anymore, she just couldn't right now. 

“Y/N?” he asked for the last time, his eyes moving away from the rest of her face, falling on her eyes again, looking at her. 

She hummed, no words, but acknowledgment being the only thing she could respond for the moment. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his words flowing with the beat of her heart, and she didn't know what to do, how to think, how to breathe anymore, and she wanted him to. God, she wanted nothing more in the world than to be so close to him, than to remove the distance she could still feel between them. She wanted him to kiss her, to be there, and she didn't breathe a single word. 

She couldn't even nod her head anymore. 

She was so scared, so terrified, and there was nothing she could do to stop the burning in her chest, the fear in her eyes. She couldn't do this again, she’d been trying so hard to deny the truth, to deny the desperation to be with Spencer, to fall into his arms, to kiss him. She’d tried so hard, and she couldn't help but think that she had made a mistake coming tonight, that she shouldn't have come, that she shouldn't be there. 

She had made a promise. She’d promised she wouldn't do this again. 

And just like she had said the words out loud, Spencer moved back. Read the words on her face before she could breathe again. And she wanted him to come back, to kiss her, but she hadn't realized the tears falling from her eyes. Tears of hope, and fear and desperation, tears that she was embarrassed by. 

She still couldn't breathe thinking about what she had just done. 

But Spencer was there, and he was smart enough to speak for her. 

“Y/N? What's wrong?” He asked, he was meters away from her, allowing her the space to leave if she wanted to, the space to finally think for herself, the space so that he wouldn't do anything that she didn't want him to. 

Y/N gasped a breath in. It was strange to breathe after holding your breath for so long. It was strange to be so far apart from someone you wanted to be close to. 

“Can I sit down?” she mumbled, finally finding the words to say, finally thinking again. 

Spencer nodded, as quick as he could, going over to her to lead her to his couch, just trying to comfort her when she was obviously upset. 

He went to the kitchen, giving her a moment of space, and brought her back some water, noticing the signs of exhaustion and dehydration clearly. 

Y/N stayed silent, drinking the water, breathing in and out. She felt embarrassed for crying, ashamed for being so hesitant, nervous because she was still with Spencer and he was clearly worried about her. She was feeling so many things, and none of them seemed to be good. 

Spencer and she sat there in silence for a couple of minutes. Spencer understood needing some time, and he wasn't going to let her leave until she seemed better, but he would respect her space, try to offer any help that he could. Even if that meant just sitting and breathing with her. 

But finally, after about six minutes went by, and Y/N was breathing normally, her heart rate obviously slowed down, Spencer couldn't keep himself from asking. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Y/N looked at him, saw his eyes, heard his voice, and she could feel her heart pick up, beat with her thoughts. She loved him. Even when she was scared, she loved him. 

And before she could think about an answer, the words came tumbling out of her mouth. 

“I’m scared,” she whispered, looking away from him. 

Spencer watched her, confused, waited for her to continue. 

The words poured out of her mouth, flowing like a river as she told Spencer about her dreams, about the fear she felt in her chest, about the nights she’d spent up all night, hoping to bring her thoughts some relief. She told him about the sleeping pills, the naps she took in her car, the nights where she only lived off of caffeine. 

Spencer empathized with her, nodding along, listening to every word that she said, giving her the space to let out everything that she’d been building up. 

He never once interrupted, never said anything that wasn't invited. 

And then finally, she admitted the truth, the words she’d kept tucked in the back of her mind for weeks, feeling her nerves overflow inside of her. 

“I’m in love with you, and that's terrifying.” She whispered, avoiding his eyes. 

But when she finally looked back up, Spencer made no visible reaction to her words, only giving her a soft smile and nodding for her to continue again. 

“So many people have left,” she whispered, tears now flowing down her face at the words. “I’m so scared to be myself around everyone because it never seems to be enough. I always seem to drive everyone away.” 

She felt worse admitting the words out loud, felt scared admitting them to Spencer, someone she was sure that could push her off the bridge at any point, the one person she had fallen too deep with. 

“There are so many things in my life that have caused so much damage, so many things that are too much for people to deal with. Even my family and friends. I always drive them away, my trust issues getting in the way of everything.” She took a deep breath in, the words giving a big impact on her chest. “I don't trust anyone, not even myself, to keep me safe. And I’m so scared of letting people in, letting them get to know me because I know that they won't like it, I know that it's going to be too much. I can't trust anyone and so I’m terrified every time anyone is too nice or smiles at me the way you smile at me.” 

She didn't look over to see Spencer frowning, looking down at his hands, clearly still listening but now surrounded by his own reaction to the words. 

“So when we started getting closer, I started having those dreams, I started imagining myself falling into that place again. And I knew that if it happened one more time, I wouldn't be able to survive. I cant survive getting hurt like that anymore.” She whispered the last part like it was a secret she wanted to keep to herself like it was something she was only able just now to admit. 

And Spencer was about to say something when she continued. 

“But…” she paused to look at him, smiling through her tears. “You’re so tempting. You’re impossible to stay away from. And every time we’re together I forget everything I’m scared of, I just live in that moment with you. And I love it.” 

Spencer smiled at her back, his face still a bit reserved, his thoughts still not perfect, but he liked the smile on her face, the way the words she was saying seemed to cheer her up all on their own. 

“I don't want to lose this feeling. The one I have with you. But I can't help thinking that I will, and that's so scary to me. It's too much.” 

All of these words were relieving, but Y/N didn't want to see Spencer's reaction. She hadn't even given him the moment to tell her if he felt the same, and it was only for a second she realized that she had put herself up with no defenses, that Spencer could crush her right there with only a few words and she couldn't do anything about it. 

She almost started to get up, to leave, to start screaming and crying like she wanted to when he spoke again. 

“Hey,” he whispered, seeing the panic on her face, moving closer to her so that he could put his hand on her knee, keep her from running away when he still had so much to say. “Being this close to you, it makes my hands sweaty, and my brain runs blank, and my heartbeat out of my chest.” he laughed, trying to bring a smile to her face. “I can't remember a time when I felt like this, so undeniably happy, except for every moment with you.” 

“Spencer…” she whispered the words coming out of his mouth feeling foreign, the beating her chest insistent. 

“I would never let you fall. You’re so many things Y/N, but you’re not a person that drives people away. You’re someone who makes them want to stay.” 

Spencer moved closer to her, bringing his hand from her knee up to her face, cupping her cheek as he had earlier, but more gentle this time, just a little bit more cautious. 

“It's okay to be scared, I don't blame you. But, I don't want to let you fall, I want to walk that bridge with you. I want to hold onto you.” He paused for a moment, smiling at her, his eyes looking at her the same way they always did. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for months, I still do actually.” He said, his fingertips brushing against her bottom lip, his eyes away from hers. 

And her heart sped up again, and this was familiar. It was all familiar. They’d done this earlier, but she’d been terrified earlier. She’d had all of these fears locked up inside her head, all of these memories trapped behind bars that she had put up. 

“I love you,” Spencer whispered, the words hitting Y/N right in her head, in her heart, in the places that she didn't think were possible to feel emotion in. She could feel everything and nothing, and it was just Spencer, and he loved her. 

He was in love with her. 

She was terrified, and nervous, and so in love, when she leaned in closer to him, not letting herself move away again. 

And her lips were on his, and for the first time, she felt the desperation spread past her body, she felt that feeling moves to Spencer, both of them stuck together, their emotions exactly the same. 

And she was right, she was so right to be terrified, but she was so close to him, and she was so happy and felt so much happier than she ever had before. 

She could almost see the bridge, she could almost see them walking across it. 

Spencer pulled away, his eyes alight with the kiss they had shared, his face full of fondness and love for her. Only for her. 

He kept his hands on her face. Kept her as close as possible. 

“You need sleep,” he whispered, looking her in the eyes as he had so many times. “Stay with me tonight. It's too late for you to go home.” 

He smiled at her. 

“Okay,” she whispered back. 

* 

Spencer gave her a toothbrush, they brushed their teeth together, trying to hide their smiles from each other. 

They failed. 

Spencer handed Y/N some sweatpants and a shirt she could wear for the night, he gave her some privacy going into his kitchen to get some water for both of them. Even alone, Y/N couldn't stop herself from smiling, she could hear Spencer's voice in her head, telling her he loved her over and over. It was an exhilarating feeling to know the truth, even more exhilarating than the feeling she’d felt before. 

When he came back, she smiled at him, allowed him to wrap an arm around her, enveloping her in a warm hug. One that was comforting, and appreciated by both of them. 

By the time they got in bed, Y/N could feel her eyes starting to close. The exhaustion suddenly hit her all at once, the day had been tiring, with working all day, then staying up to watch a movie with Spencer, then pouring her heart out for him, only for it to be far too worth it. 

And she couldn't keep the smile off her face, but she knew that her body would much appreciate a night's sleep, and she would love to wake up in Spencer's arms. 

She rested her head on his chest, listening to his breath, breathing him in just the same. 

“Y/N?” he whispered for the last time that night, rubbing her back and playing with her hair. 

She was barely awake at that point, her eyes falling down, weighing a million pounds. 

“Hmm?” she whispered back, her eyes closed as she fell into his warmth. 

“Will you go on a date with me?” he whispered, his eyes wide, awaiting her response. 

But by then, she was asleep, breathing in and out, smiling in her sleep, her cheek resting against Spencer's chest. 

Spencer chuckled, happy that she was finally peaceful, finally getting some rest. He whispered ‘I love you’ staring at her for a moment. He kissed her head, held on to her a little bit tighter. 

*

That night, she had the same dream. 

But Spencer was there this time. He was holding onto her hand, whispering ‘I love you’ in her ear. 

And when she started to walk forward, he walked with her.

* 

my masterlist here. 

[bookuya]

hi!! congrats on hitting 1k followers, dude! that's a huge deal! you deserve it ♡

uhh if you're still taking requests i'd like to make one.. hoo boy i'm nervous HNFBSNND

but! i'd prefer one of the male characters for a match!

and as for me as a person, well... i like to play piano during my down time and i often spend hours upon hours looking for new music to listen to, as well as go through old songs for the sake of reminiscing! uhh, i also really really adore creative writing (it's actually my major and i'm actually a genshin x y/n author myself!)

i tend to create entire worlds on a whim, although my attention span is painfully short.. i really really really love fantasy and magic and forests and AAA that stuff, yep!

uhh, i don't like schedules? i hate plans because it stresses me out; i like doing things on the fly, like impromptu dates at 3 am, or road trips across the country with no end in sight, or maybe just a full day of napping together!! just!!! spontaneous behavior!!

aaand as for my ideal date... probably sightseeing? and not like, formal sightseeing, but just aimless wandering and taking pictures and eating food, and stuff like that!

erm, i guess a side note would be that i have adhd, so i do have sensory issues, i happy stim, i ramble about things i've fixated on (amongst other things).. which may or may not show in this ask (i am SO sorry, btw ;-;)

i think i'll stop here so i don't annoy you any more but yeah!! congrats again on 1k!!

hello, thank you my dear!! <3

i match you with... scaramouche!

the moment i saw the word piano i thought of scaramouche, i don't know why but after reading the rest of your entry i think scaramouche would somewhat fit you! or i'm just too obsessed with opposites attract :)

anyways, i think scaramouche would be someone who also knows how to play the piano but barely does it. it's a small fact about him that no one knows about cause he doesn't bother talking about it. but if you start playing and he hears from in the hallway? he reluctantly enters the room and listens to you play. he pretends to act disinterested but eventually, he tells you to scoot over when you're done and plops onto the seat beside you, starting to play the piano as well.

scaramouche doesn't compliment you directly, it's more like little lecturing phrases with a bit of kindness added in. for example, he'll respond with something like "it's okay but you can do better" if you asked how it sounded, but he'll also comment while you play that, "your hands move well." (he only comments when you play cause he thinks you won't be able to hear him.)

okay but?? imagine listening to music with scaramouche, he doesn't say anything but on the inside he's pretty much enjoying the music in your playlist. he would also ask for your favorites, adding them into his own playlist to listen to while he goes to work or other long errands.

this is funny but if scaramouche catches you while you daydream, he strikes me as someone who purposely scares you to snap you out of it. like walking behind you and whispering into your ear, "what do you think you're doing?" he laughs if you jump from surprise and start cursing him out.

for your ideal date, i can somewhat imagine scara waking you up really late at night. he drags you out of the house and ignores your complaints but eventually, he guides you to some big tree (LMAO) and tells you to climb it with him. it's weird but then you understand why; the view of the blue-purple sky is gorgeous and you're at a loss of words. scaramouche doesn't look at the sky, he looks at you for your reaction. and seeing you happy makes him havr to turn his head and hide a satisfied smile.

[thelastpilot]

Empty Chairs- A DJWifi Fic

This is one of my finished commissions for the amazing charity even @mlbforblm with a 3k fic commissioned under the request for ‘DJWifi hurt comfort’. If you would like to commission something from me as well before this event concludes please go here to check out my slots! Please donate to this great cause and get a fic from yours truly.~~

----

Nino’s house was full of noise, usually. It was four people, but it always seemed like more than that. There were always songs playing in different rooms at different times so it would feel like loading into a new area in a video game every time you turned a corner. There was always cooking or bickering or talking happening at nearly every hour, punctuated by singing or rambling, or anything really. The Lahiffe’s loved noise, or at the very least they were certainly good at it.

But today the only noise came from Chris.

Nino’s little brother was playing in the living room, like he usually did. He was sprawled out on every surface like a bird making a nest, every single object that he thought might be necessary to his entertainment strewn around him. His radius was getting wider with every minute, happily pulling down colorful blankets from the couch to add this his secular chaos.

He didn’t pay much mind to the quiet of the house, he knew where everyone was if he thought he might need them. At most he might have noticed that no one was stopping him today, and his play time was not interrupted by the demand to clean up or quiet down. He didn’t see his parents much, both of them drifting past to check on him every once in a while, asking him if he needed something in subdued voices. The most he saw of his mother was the once or twice she came in to watch, looking over him silently as he involved himself in his games.

She would come up to him sometimes, running her hands through his hair and holding him close. For the most part though she was distant, but he didn’t mind that so much.

He never saw Nino at all, aware of the fact that he must be home but not seeing him. Chris pouted a little when he noticed this, prepared to barge in when the stilted nature of the house was broken by a sudden, perky knock at the door.

 The door remained shut for awhile long than was usual, despite the fact that Alya could clearly hear Chris yelling his head off to announce someone was there. She was alone in the hallway but she rolled her eyes nonetheless, sighing deeply but still smiling a little.

Chris was loud, all the time. It was one of Nino’s primary complaints about him, although she knew how much he loved him. Thinking of her boyfriend she smiled again, feeling pretty pleased with her spontaneous decision to drop in. She had been nearby and liked the idea of dragging him out with her, coming by unannounced on a weekend. She was in the midst of imagining what their impromptu date night might look like when the door finally opened, revealing the kind, withdrawn face of Nino’s mother.

“Oh, hello sweetheart,” Mrs. Lahiffe greeted her, a polite smile gracing her face. “Nino hadn’t told me you were coming over.”

“He doesn’t know,” Alya announced with a sly smile, “I just happened to be nearby and thought I might come by, if that’s okay. I was hoping to drag him out somewhere anyways.”

To her surprise, his mother stalled, her polite smile falling slightly into gentle concern. “Oh, he didn’t know you were coming?” She paused, and the way she looked over her shoulder made Alya hesitate slightly. When she looked back her expression was extraordinarily gentle, finally saying, “Actually, I’m not sure he is in the mood for visitors honey. Well I suppose I can ask, I know you came all the way up here…” she paused again, mulling it over.

“O-oh well, um,” Alya stuttered, surprised at the turn. “I hadn’t realized it was a bad time, I didn’t mean to-,”

“Let me ask,” Mrs. Lahiffe interrupted her, smiling kindly again but… Alya noticed this time that it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Maybe he wants the company. Just wait here, okay?”

“Yeah sure, no problem,” Alya was quick to agree, trading a slight nod with her before she gently shut the door again.

A slight rebuff like that, as kind as it possible could have been, was still cause for overthinking. Alya couldn’t help but feel a little stupid suddenly, wishing she had shot him a text of some kind. It was too late now though, but she wasn’t kept waiting for long before the door opened again and Nino was looking out at her.

Before he could even speak, Alya’s heart hesitated in its beat. She always considered herself observant, especially with things she knew very well. It only took a fraction of a second for her to recognize Nino’s subdued expression. The kind that came on with quiet moments alone where he thought himself into a spiral. It was so subtle, just the way his smile touched his eyes just barely. The way he tilted his head, how his voice carried when he greeted her.

“Hey baby,” he said after seemingly forever in her mind, though it was only an instant. As he looked at her, his smile became a little easier. “I didn’t know you were coming. If you texted me I’m sorry I- I wasn’t ghosting you I’m just not looking at my phone.”

“No I um, I didn’t really give a heads up I was just nearby.” She paused, about to say something more when he stepped to the side.

“Come on in, my rooms a mess but I know you don’t care.”

“I don’t have to,” she quickly gave him, stopping him as he had already been turning to head inside. “If it’s a bad time.”

“Nah,” was all he said.

 They sat in his room somewhat quietly, Nino filling the time with aimless chitchat. He was barely paying attention to what he said, seeming tired and distracted to her. His room was about as cluttered as it usually was, clothes and controllers hanging around but swiftly shoved to the side when he realized there was nowhere to sit really.

She couldn’t help how closely she watched him, waiting only long enough for a break in his rambling to ask, “Babe, is everything okay?”

He had been standing by his bed when she finally got it out, his back to her as she sat in his computer chair. She focused on the way his shoulders… stilled, and then purposefully relaxed, analyzing his expression when he turned to face her.

“Yeah, it’s good.” He hesitated. “Why?” he asked a beat too late, meeting her eyes after another moment too long.

“Well… I know I kind of just swung in. Your mom mentioned that you might not be in the mood for visitors. And you haven’t texted me all day, I mean I just assumed you were working but…” she trailed off intentionally, hoping he might fill in.

To her surprise he frowned slightly. “Did she say that?” He scanned her eyes and found some kind of affirmative, nodding to himself. He turned away and fussed with his bed for a second.

He only waited for awhile more before he sighed, sitting on the mattress.

“Yeah,” he finally muttered aloud, surprising her again with its heaviness. Nino ran a hand over his face, displacing his glasses and sighed heavily, like the effort of the thin performance he had managed was extraordinary and taxing.

Alya’s reaction was instant, crossing the space and climbing on the bed, her heart starting to race as he leaned into her, letting her hold him without complaint or comment. He sagged into her, breathing deeply like he was gathering his resolve.

“Babe what is it?” Alya pressed again, trying to be patient but so caught off guard by it that she felt that urgent need to correct it. They had been together for a long time though, and she knew that pushing wouldn’t work.

Nino sighed. And was quiet for awhile.

After a few minutes he sat up slightly, staring forward at nothing, she thought.

He could be so motionless sometimes… when he was wrapped up in something she couldn’t even picture. It was so rare to see him like this. Anger and disappointment were more common with him, though he let so much roll off his back in general. She knew how to handle that the same way he knew how to handle her difficult moments.

But she almost never knew what to do when he felt so far away from her, still and subdued.

She waited for a long time, before suddenly, he apologized.

“I’m sorry Al,” he finally gave her, his voice low and heavy. “I feel like somehow you’re gonna be mad at me.”

“Mad?” she responded, waiting for him to look at her but it didn’t come, he just kept looking forward. She traced his eyeline to his desk, where she noticed for the first time his red baseball cap lay discarded. She hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t wearing it. She looked between him and the hat, saying again when he seemed content to say nothing, “What would I be mad about?”

He was quiet again, and she forced herself to breathe, demanding of herself that she be patient. He took a deep breath as well, and she could feel him absently running his hand against her back.

“There’s some stuff I’ve never mentioned to you. We’ve been dating for years now, now that I think about it… it’s fucking crazy that I never said anything. I should have, I don’t know why I didn’t. It’s just hard, and old. But you don’t even know and I hate that but I was the one who didn’t say it so- fuck.” He paused, putting his face in his hand again, taking off his glasses entirely now and setting them aside. His voice filled with emotion as the words got faster, cutting off abruptly when he stopped himself, like a dam on a river.

Alya just waited, knowing that he had momentum now. She watched him carefully as he prepared himself for something. And when he took his hand away from his face he looked pained, and then frustrated, and then far away again. Distant.

The moment hung in the air between them…

The sun had started its slow descent at much the same time Alya had arrived, the light of it so bright against the prevailing face of Nino’s apartment building that his room had been ablaze with it, and he had felt no need to turn on his light. With that forgotten and the sun pitching low, sinking beyond the threshold of the tall buildings of Paris, the space was abruptly dim… the fire of sunset shrinking up his walls and vanishing from his face. In that dim light he was still… staring ahead and seeing nothing much.

Nothing but an old hat that looked dull in the shade.

 “I have an older brother.”

When he finally spoke, his voice was even but quiet… anchoring himself to Alya’s presence besides him even if he couldn’t look at her just then.

Nino took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. Willing himself to continue.

“Today would have been his birthday. He died awhile ago, probably. I guess we don’t really know, but he was never found and he never came back. I don’t think he would ever just disappear on his own, it wouldn’t have been like him. He loved us and we had a happy home, it wasn’t like he would run away. He wouldn’t take off on me.” He paused, and then took another deep breath, taking time to steel himself. “There was a pretty big age gap between us, my parents had married young and they had him right away, they didn’t decide to have me until after they moved to Paris. So I was eleven when he disappeared. Mom was pregnant with Chris when it happened. He wasn’t born until five months later.”

He still couldn’t look at Alya… but he focused on the way she held him tighter, reaching on hand to lightly touch the locks of her hair that spilled over her shoulder.

They were soft, and he could picture the color of the ends with perfect recall.

He had her memorized.

 “… what was his name?”

When she spoke it was so gentle, careful and full of concern. His heart finally hit an uneven pace, his fingers curled in her hair.

“Noah.”

“…what was he like?”

“You aren’t-…,” Nino hesistated, finally opening his eyes and turning his head, still not quite looking at her. “You aren’t angry?”

“Why would I be angry with you?” She pulled away from him slightly, but he moved to hold her still so quickly it was like the reflex of a child learning how to swim. ‘Don’t move away from me yet I can’t do it on my own.’

He couldn’t look her in the eye, so he settled for watching her lips, wondering how she wasn’t scowling like he expected. Just tight, concerned.

“It’s a big thing.”

“It’s a personal thing.”

“I still should have said something to you. You came along after he was gone but… he’s still my family. I should have shared him with you I just… couldn’t. I didn’t know what to say.”

Alya touched his chin, steering his eyes up and looking through him, it felt like.

He always got so quiet and distant. But she could see him hiding there, behind even tones and trailing sentences. He was pretending like it was all okay and a long time ago and thinking about it didn’t change anything and crying doesn’t bring him back and its been too long Nino just let it go he isn’t coming back things change all at once and they don’t go back-

And she was holding his face, saying his name and pulling him towards her, letting him collapse into her.

He clung to her like his swimming lesson had gone to the deep end… it was dark and deep and he didn’t know how to do it yet.

He hated how he was always going to feel like a little kid, waiting for his big brother to come home.

 Alya knew to let him go quiet, just holding him tightly. The house was still too, except for the energetic play of a little boy who didn’t realize he was missing anything.

It was during one of Chris’ loud bellows that Nino sighed, speaking again somewhat bitterly.

“I hate that Chris never met him. We’ve told him about Noah but it doesn’t mean much to him. How can you teach a kid to miss somebody? What’s even the point of trying… would it be better somehow if he missed him too?” Nino leaned into Alya heavily, staring at his hands. “It bothers me when he draws pictures of his family and Noah isn’t in them. That’s not his fault, but I hate it.”

Alya nodded slowly, glad he was talking again. “My mom said once that loss is hard because it changes everything. She described losing my grandma and she said it wasn’t just her absence. It was how a chair becomes an empty chair.” Alya hesitated slightly, wondering if this was even appropriate to say, but attempting to relate to him somehow. “It must be hard to see it in everything.”

“Empty chairs,” Nino agreed, his tone low. “Empty spots on the couch, full boxes of stuff he used to use every day.” He looked up slightly, drawing her attention again to his hat. “Stuff he used to wear all the time.”

Alya said nothing at first, looking at the old hand-me-down hat and appreciating what it meant to him. She had always known his hat was incredibly important to him, it wasn’t a joke and he never thought it was funny when other people touched it. Now she realized why.

She tried to imagine someone who looked a lot like Nino, but older. Her picture of him was hazy and indistinct, but the hat she pictured on his head made it realer somehow.

 “Nino?”

He turned slightly at his name, moving slowly, but eventually looking at her. His expression was soft, and reserved, scanning her face and watching her with some unperceivable emotion.

Alya crafted her words carefully, doing her best to be gentle. “I’m sorry I never got to know him. And I’m sorry you don’t have him. But, maybe you could tell me about him.”

Nino kept staring, but after awhile he smiled slightly. It was a somber image, but there was something nostalgic there too.

“Well I can tell you one thing for sure.”

“What?”

He smiled, tears in his eyes.

  “He would have loved you…”

[jetsetlife138]

Are you still accepting prompts/requests? Could I get #74 or #75 with Alastor x fem reader if you are? Please and thank you in advance :)

Whew! Sorry this took so long! I just kept rambling on, haha. I hope that it’s enjoyable nonetheless! Cheers! xo 

74) “Stop looking at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like you wanna fuck me and kill me at the same time.”

75) “Touch her again and I’ll rip your heart out through your fucking mouth.”

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature

You just wanted a drink. After the day you had of being Katie Killjoy’s bitch at the 666 News, you were utterly exhausted, both mentally and physically. Being her assistant was your eternal punishment, and it was a fate worse than death.

The sound of the glass hitting the counter as the bartender set the much-needed shot down in front of you drew your attention. Raising the shot to your lips, you toasted the bartender before downing the dark brown liquid that left behind a delicious burn in your throat on the way down. 

Lifting your hand, you subtly asked for another, to which the bartender nodded with an understanding grin.

You downed the next shot, shaking your head at the bartender when he glanced back at you, silently checking to see if you wanted another.

You sighed, turning your back to the bar and surveying the scene. The bar was packed with the usual obnoxious crowd. All of them were repugnant and not worth the time of day to strike up a conversation with. Not to say that you thought too highly of yourself, but if you had to choose between forcing yourself to bear the company of one of those fools, or keep to yourself, you always chose the latter. 

Too caught up in your own thoughts, you hardly noticed a fiendish character approach you, taking a seat beside you, and leaning in too close for comfort. “Hey there, gorgeous. What’s a morsel like you doing over here all by yourself?”

Ignoring your signals that repelled men like him, he placed a hand on your thigh, waiting for an answer. Usually, you would smack it away, but your mind was hazy and your body was compliant due to the effects of the alcohol.

His hand continued to smooth over your thigh as you eyed him with disdain. “Remove your hand, please,” you asked nicely, finally coming to your senses.

He frowned. “Oh, come on, baby. Don’t be like that. I just want to show you a good time.”

You pushed his hand away, glaring at him. “I’m not interested. Please, leave me alone.”

For a moment, the masculine creature looked angry before he smoothed his expression over and made the motion to return his hand to it’s previous placement on your thigh, ready to sweet talk you into allowing him to stay, until a very noticeable and unnatural chill swept over you both. 

The man stopped in his tracks as a dark void seemed to sweep across the entirety of the bar, over the walls, floor, and the patrons, narrowing in on the two of you. 

It was then that you saw him next to you, morphing into a physical being rather than the shadow from which he had formed. 

The Radio Demon.

The demon whose very name brought panic and dread to those unfortunate enough to know of his reputation. His back was arched forward, poised to lunge as his crimson eyes pierced through the dark room, glaring directly at the man next to you, who was practically choking on his own breath at the very sight of the terrifying demon.

The unwelcome bar patron who couldn’t take a hint took a moment to collect himself before straightening his posture and closing his mouth, which had fallen agape due to the initial shock of the Radio Demon’s appearance. “Uhm,” he stammered, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “I-Is there s-something that I can h-help you w-with, Mr. Radio Demon, s-sir?”

The tall figure leaned in even closer to address his trembling inferior, showing off his mouth full of sharp, dagger teeth in an unsettling grin. “Touch her again and I’ll rip your heart out through your fucking mouth.”

The man looked tack aback, creasing his brow in disbelief as he acted on instinct, immediately beginning to defend himself against the alpha male. “Excuse me? Listen, I just--”

The Radio Demon’s patience had snapped as he lunged forward, his already terrifying fangs now becoming several rows of fine needles as his jaw unhinged to an unnatural length, the cracks of his bones popping out of place loud enough to echo across the bar. His once round pupils were now threatening slits that could burn a hole through one’s soul. The claws at the end of his fingertips extended, shredding his gloves in the process. Suddenly, from beneath the flirtatious man appeared a void where black tentacles emerged, surrounding the terrified creature who cowered beneath the harrowing stare of the reputable demon. 

“Get out of my sight,” he warned one last time, the static in his voice producing a painful feedback over his barely unintelligible monstrous tone that crawled up from deep within his chest.  

Without allowing even another second to pass by, the man scrambled out of his seat, tripping over the tentacles as he rushed out of the bar through a path that had been cleared for him by the remaining patrons who were awestruck by the scene.

Returning to his former appearance, the Radio Demon turned to address the onlookers. “This is a social gathering, not a picture show for your entertainment,” he snapped. “Go about your business.”

Too afraid to argue, everyone turned their attention away from him, muttering among themselves over what they had just witnessed.

Taking the newly vacant seat beside you, the demon silently requested your hand, to which you hesitantly granted, placing your trembling palm gently in his own. Enclosing his fingers around yours, he brought the back of your hand to his lips as he kissed it lightly, smirking at you with his crimson orbs. “The name is Alastor, dear. I must apologize for that aggressive display, but I could sense your discomfort and wanted to assist you in ridding yourself of that unpleasant company.” 

“Uh… thank you… sir,” you added, earning a smirk from the demon. Grabbing your purse, you turned to leave. “I should, um… I should go.”

“Stay,” he warned, his eyes flashing. “Please, if you would be so kind as to keep me company, I would be in your debt. As I’m sure you can imagine, it’s difficult for me to make friends, and you seem like a delight.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you countered skeptically, “You don’t even know me. I could be a complete bitch and a bore to be around.”

Pausing for a moment to allow his crimson gaze to take in your form, he snickered. “I doubt that.” 

You exhaled a nervous laugh. “Uh- yeah. Anyway, thanks for ridding me of… unwanted company.” Your face flushed as your words sounded odd coming out of your mouth. Even though you seemed to be speaking coherently, your words sounded awkward to you, but his presence had you tongue-tied.

“So, dearest… what brings you here?” Alastor asked, his fanged smile beginning to creep into a smirk, and your stomach dipped.

“I just got off of work,” you replied, gripping the edge of the bar and breathing slowly to try and calm yourself. “I-I’m Katie Killjoy’s assistant for the… um... 666 News.”

He remained silent for a moment, his gaze holding you captive as you struggled to remember how to inhale and exhale normally. “You’re afraid of me.” It was just a statement; simple and true.

“Of course I am,” you reply breathlessly, chest still heaving.

His head tilted with curiosity for a moment before he turned to the bartender, signaling him in a silent request for drinks. The bartender swiftly prepared two glasses of what you had recognized as an Old Fashioned.

Sliding them down the bar, Alastor winked at him before placing a glass before you. “Drink,” he demanded, to which you immediately complied with, taking a deep swig.

Your heart was still pounding against your chest even though your breathing had slowed. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he assured you before taking a sip of his own drink. “I am simply here for a chat. That’s all.” 

Finding some liquid courage from the prior shots and the strong drink, you snapped, “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” 

“Like you wanna fuck me and kill me at the same time,” you swallow through a parched throat.

“Ha! My, that’s abrasive,” Alastor chuckled, “I said I wouldn’t hurt you, and I’m proving that to you. Nothing to be afraid of.”

You gauged him with a skeptical glare. “Why are you even talking to me? You don’t like interacting with others, especially not in a romantic capacity…” Or so you’ve heard among the many rumors that had circulated, making you feel safe in the certainty of that knowledge.

“Except when I do,” he confided, his smile stretching even further up his cheeks to bare his fangs at your menacingly. “And I find your company to be very appeasing.”

“What… um… why did you single me out?” The tremor in your voice is obvious, but you don’t bother to try and mask it at this point.

He waited several beats before answering. “Darling, think of this as an experiment.” His head tilts again as he waits for a reaction. When you fail to indulge him, he continues. “You see, I’ve lacked inspiration for decades. My work has become… untamed, lacking focus - aimless, if you will. I’ve come to crave a new form of entertainment.” “Excuse me?” You feel your cheeks heat with anger as it begins to dilute the fear. “Am I understanding this correctly? You think I’m just a damned experiment solely for your entertainment?”

His wicked smile doesn’t falter as he inspects you once again. “You will not be a casualty, if that is your concern.”

Chest tightening in rising panic, you struggled to find words. “That’s not… I won’t… what?”

Your built-up courage quickly deflated as he leaned in closer to you, a determined gleam in his eye.

“Relax, my dear,” he urged, his voice low and smooth. “The fun is just beginning.”

[shotgun--rider]

Starving

A Dean x Reader oneshot

Y/N comes from a big, unconventional hunter family, and Dean doesn’t know what to do with her habit of casual physical touch. He’s also not prepared to handle her driving his car. 

Word Count: 4115

Warnings: Touchstarved!Dean, aggressive fluffy snuggles, smut

*Female reader

A/N: CONSENT IS SEXY PEOPLE USE IT. Also, for the purposes of this fic the Impala has a manual transmission. I know she pretty much isn’t but sometimes when fics announce themselves fully formed and slightly confused in my head they come with oddly specific stipulations like Baby being manual. 

Aunt Danielle already had six boys when you came to live with her, and the youngest of them was seven years older than you. Your earliest memories involved cousin Joe dangling you upside down, tickling you until you shrieked for mercy, and then popping you up onto his shoulders to carry you downstairs when your aunt yelled for everyone to shut up and come eat dinner. 

Your aunt gave the best hugs, and that was a fact you’d decided in childhood that had never really gone away, even as an adult. She was warm and loving and had been successfully hugging your problems away since the tender age of four. Incidentally, offering hugs was still your go-to method of problem solving for everyone around you, and you had her to thank for it. 

You grew up trying to fit seven people onto a too-small sofa for Saturday night movie night. (It always ended with someone’s foot jammed in someone else’s side and a lot of complaining.) You spent years with the only car in the family being an old two-door pickup, so anyone that was too slow to call shotgun piled into the truck bed to get wherever you were going. (Which only really sucked when it was cold out.) You grew up as the recipient of piggyback rides and, occasionally, getting hauled out of the bathroom in a fireman’s hold if you took too long on your hair as a teenager. 

Somehow, it had never occured to you that that wasn’t everyone’s experience. In your mind, coming to live with the Winchesters was just an extension of the kind of life you’d always had, even though part of you always knew your little hunter family was an exception, not the rule.

The first time it happened, you’d been occupying a guest room in the bunker for maybe two weeks. The living arrangement was still temporary then, Sam and Dean treating you kindly enough but clearly not yet trusting. You’d swung through the kitchen while Dean was making dinner, just trying to grab a bottle of water, and, in some combined habit from your high school waitressing days and your aunt’s crowded kitchen, laid a hand on his back as you slid past. “Behind you,” you’d murmured, the touch only lingering for the split second you needed to cross over to the fridge. 

It was long enough to feel every single muscle in his body tense up like you were holding a gun barrel to the middle of his spine instead of your palm. But it wasn’t your place to comment, not really, so you just fished a bottle out of the fridge silently and went back to the library, reminding yourself that this was a man you barely knew, and would never have known if it weren’t for an especially pesky werewolf pack. 

A month later found the three of you celebrating after a miserably complicated hunt finally finished, arguing over who got to choose the movie. You’d smacked the cap off of your beer on a table edge on the way in and settled yourself in between the still-bickering brothers on the sofa with a roll of your eyes. “Someone better decide in the next ten seconds,” you huffed out with no real annoyance, not even sparing a thought for the fact that the entire right side of your body was pressed against Dean’s. 

His argument in favor of Die Hard was abruptly cut off with a shiver and an almost indiscernible noise in the back of his throat, and he’d avoided the weird look you shot him while Sam triumphantly jumped up to put his preferred pick into the old DVD player. It was maybe the first time in your entire life you’d watched a movie with few enough people to all fit on the couch (even though Sam ends up on the floor after the first twenty minutes) and it felt weird. 

Without thinking, you’d shifted your body into the space Sam vacated and pivoted your legs to land your feet over Dean’s lap, wincing internally when he immediately stiffened, his free hand hovering hesitantly in mid-air for an awkward length of time before he finally set it down, barely touching, over your ankles. Your thoughts had drifted to what his hands, calloused and warm, would feel like on other parts of your body before you snapped at yourself to end the train of thought. Dean obviously wasn’t comfortable around you, and you were going to have to remember that. Even if he was pretty much just unfairly perfect.

That proved to be easier said than done. As you settled into life at the bunker over the next few months, you had plenty of reminders after the fact, when you’d already made the seasoned hunter jump and flinch away from you, but you rarely caught yourself before you reached out to touch him. And getting to know him better really wasn’t helping your case. He was smart, surprisingly gentle, good at watching your back and making you laugh. He loved his car and his brother and a good slice of apple pie almost as much as you thought you could easily love him, and you, evidently, scared the shit out of him. 

You could almost picture your aunt’s face if you told her. I live with a really hot guy and I keep spooking him and I don’t know why. She would have thrown back her head and laughed in her loud, brash way, and then she would have fixed you with a sharp look and asked, well, did you ask him about it?

Staring blankly through the windshield in front of you, you blew out an exasperated breath. Because that conversation would go over so well. 

“Hey,” Dean’s voice cut through your thoughts, studying you with those green eyes. “Still with me?”

Your forehead scrunched together as you looked at him, watching him watch you bite your lip. “Dean, I don’t want to do this. What if I break her?”

He flashed you a grin. “If you break Baby? Start running,”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Dean, I’m serious!”

He looked affronted. “So am I. But you’re not going to break her.” Dean reached over, dangling the keys impatiently in front of you until you caved and pulled them out of his hands, trying to quell the nerves in your stomach. “Come on, you need to learn to handle her before you’re trying to figure it out with one of us trying not to get blood all over the backseat.”

You’d been behind the wheel of dozens of cars. You’d spent plenty of time criss-crossing states, though perhaps not nearly as much as Sam and Dean did, and you knew you were a decently competent driver. 

But you’d never driven a manual before. And you’d never tried practicing on a beloved car with said car’s owner watching you the entire time. Said car’s owner who you were possibly harboring the world’s most unbelievable crush on. Who flinched away from you on the regular. 

No, no reason to be nervous at all. Gritting your teeth, you put the key in the ignition, hearing the familiar purr of Baby’s engine come to life beneath your hands. You glanced at Dean, looking perfectly unbothered in the passenger’s seat. “Now what?”

“Press the clutch all the way down. Shift into first, now go easy on the accelerator,”

You got halfway through his instructions before the car made a noise of protest and you instinctively yanked your hands off the wheel, biting your lip again. “Oh, god, okay, I’m sorry, I–” you were rambling and you knew it, not sure if you were apologizing to Dean or to the Impala. 

Beside you, Dean chuckled softly and slid closer on the bench seat, glancing down at your foot on the clutch. “Just let up on the clutch a little slower this time,”

This time, you felt it catch, and Dean guided you through accelerating the car without stalling it. You exhaled, leaning forward just slightly without losing your careful control of the car. “I would rather go ten rounds with a rugaru than ever do that again,” you offered up conversationally, pretending you weren’t desperately white-knuckling Baby’s steering wheel.

To your surprise, Dean let out a loud laugh beside you, and you cursed the stupid driving lesson again for not letting you turn to look at him. In any other car, you would have, but taking your eyes off the road while driving the Impala seemed too big of a risk. 

That didn’t, however, stop Dean from watching you. He walked you through shifting into third gear without taking his eyes off you, and you could feel his green gaze boring holes into the side of your head while you executed a turn onto the next backroad, wincing at the slight grind you were still making every time you tried to get into second and back to third.

“Relax,” Dean said softly. “Stop strangling the wheel, you’re fine.”

You were most certainly not fine, riding some strange mixture of anxiety, adrenaline, and arousal as the sound of the car’s engine and Dean’s low voice warred for your attention. Still, over the next half-hour of aimless driving, you were starting to feel a little less intimidated by sitting in the driver’s seat. 

“Turn left up here,”

You promptly maneuvered the car into the right-hand turn lane, getting around the corner before Dean’s laughter interrupted you. “The other left, Y/N,”

Without thinking, you reached over to punch his arm. “Shut up, jerk, I’m trying,”

As usual, Dean stiffened under your touch, pulling away from you on the bench seat, and you huffed a breath of annoyance at yourself. “Sorry,”

You could feel Dean’s look of surprise, but your eyes stayed resolutely on the road. You passed one mile marker, then the next, the mood in the car suddenly more tense than it was when you were stalling the engine and grinding gears. 

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” you blurted out suddenly, wincing as your voice came out louder than intended. You were back to gripping the steering wheel until your hands turned white. 

“What?” Dean was silent for a moment after that outburst, like he was trying to process. “Do you–Y/N, what the fuck are you talking about?”

That was hardly the response you were expecting from him and you blinked, easing the Impala to a stop on the side of the completely empty road before turning to look at him, one hand braced on the steering wheel and one on the back of the seat. “I just…” you fumbled, looking anywhere but his eyes and that wasn’t helping because that just left you staring at his mouth and you needed to focus. “You jump every time I touch you, Dean,” you finally said softly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I’m working on–”

“You don’t,” Dean cut you off, looking equal parts bewildered and hesitant. His hand came up to run through his short hair before landing in his lap where he stared down, not looking at you. “‘M just not used to it,” he mumbled after a pause. 

Something in your heart broke at the admission, at the idea that he was missing something that had been so fundamental to you for your entire life. “Dean…”

“It’s fine, Y/N,” he said roughly, still avoiding your gaze. 

“No, it’s not!” you surprised even yourself with the sharpness in your tone, and Dean’s head finally snapped up to look at you, meeting your eyes with green pools that looked almost on the verge of tears. “You deserve to be hugged and touched and loved as much as anyone else,”

You bit your lip, wondering if you were about to go too far. “Can I give you a hug?”

Dean scoffed, clearly not as unaffected as he pretended to be, but held his arm out for you to slide under. “Sure, whatever,”

You slid across the bench seat until you were tucked up next to him, turning your body into his chest as you wrapped your arms around him and laid your head on his shoulder. For the first time since getting into the Impala, you felt the tension drain out of your spine, and you shifted slightly, feeling the solid warmth of his body and the soft flannel he was wearing against your cheek. 

And then you realized he was shaking. Cautiously, you lifted your head, not quite letting him go as you opened your eyes to look at his face, scrunched up like he was in pain. It occurs to you that this is so far from any kind of the manly-slap-on-the-back hugs you’ve seen him exchange with his brother, and even those are few and far between. You were probably completely overwhelming him. “Too much?”

Dean shook his head once, his arm tightening just slightly around you, and you smiled softly at him, tucking yourself back into his side as best you could in the front seat of the car. “Okay,” you whispered, somehow afraid to break the moment if you spoke too loud. “Okay.”

One of your hands slid up to card through his short hair absently, your head still resting against his shoulder, and Dean melted. Every bone in his body seemed to simultaneously give up the fight, falling into you with a quiet noise in the back of his throat that somehow broke your heart and turned you on at the same time. 

At no point in this little driving lesson–hell, at no point since meeting him–did you imagine you would end up with your arms full of Dean Winchester, but you sure as hell weren’t complaining. You were caught halfway between realizing you felt completely safe for the first time since leaving your aunt’s house, and trying to focus on him. Somewhere in the middle of it, Dean had turned his face into your neck, lips hovering over the curve where your neck met your shoulder, and you shivered involuntarily. 

Dean froze, raising his head cautiously to search your face with those green eyes. “You good?” he asked in a low voice. 

“Yeah,” you whispered back, hand playing absently with the collar of his flannel and your eyes flicking between his lips and the freckles on his face. You had no way of explaining why this, a hug in a car pulled on the side of the road, was so much more intimate than anything you’d ever experienced before, it just was. Maybe it was because it was him. Maybe it was always just him.

You could see the same thing reflected in Dean’s expression, and when his eyes darkened and his hands shifted to your waist, you just went along with it, letting him lift you easily onto his lap with a little squeak leaving your lips. 

He smiled, pulling you tighter against him, and when his lips were suddenly on yours you weren’t even sure who moved first. Dean kissed you like he was starving, swallowing your gasp of surprise and tracing his tongue against yours, one hand tangling itself up in your hair. It was electric, stealing your breath and sending warmth pooling low in your belly, and you were completely unprepared for how completely it was taking you over. Your senses had narrowed to just him, his hand on your back trying to pull you closer, the heat of his mouth, his shirt clenched in your hands.

Finally, needing to breath, you pulled back, pushing your hair reflexively out of your face. “Not that I’m complaining,” you laughed softly, “but where did that come from?” You’d seen Dean pick up women in bars like it was nothing before. And you weren’t sure you could be that to him. Not now.

Dean practically growled, his hands tightening on your hips. “Are you kidding me? You driving my car was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,”

You smirked at him, surveying his face, all blown pupils and flushed skin. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied easily, his lips returning to your neck. “Helps that I’ve wanted to do this forever,” he muttered against your skin, pressing kisses to your shoulder. One of his hands slid from your hip to inch its way up your shirt, fingertips grazing your lower back and lighting you up at the touch. You shifted your weight on his lap, rocking forward against the bulge in his jeans and making him hiss. “You should have said something,”

“Sweetheart,” Dean started, pausing with wide eyes as your hands went to his belt. He watched for a moment, transfixed, before his brain caught up and he caught your hands in his, stopping you. 

Your eyes shot up to meet his, worrying your lip again as you watched him, wondering if you’d gone too far. But Dean was still looking at you with unrestrained desire written all over his face. “Get in the backseat,”

He didn’t have to ask you twice. You opened the passenger door with one last graze of your lips on his, almost tumbling off of his lap as you climbed out of the confined space, Dean on your heels. You pulled your shirt off before climbing into Baby’s backseat, smirking at the noise he made behind you. You’d never get tired of knowing the effect you could have on him. 

Settled back on the seat, Dean slid in after you, thankfully still with the presence of mind to shut the door behind him before he resumed devouring you, trailing his mouth from your lips down to your chest, teeth just grazing your breasts through the fabric before his hand snaked around to your back to unclasp your bra. You paused to let him pull the straps off of your arms before you went to work on his clothes, pushing the flannel impatiently off of his shoulders and letting out a frustrated whine when, in your current position, all you succeeded in doing was bunching it up around his biceps. Dean had you wound up too tight already and neither of you were even naked yet. 

He moved away from you just long enough to rip off the exasperating number of layers he was wearing, throwing them somewhere onto Baby’s floor. Settling back over you, Dean’s hands traced a burning path up your torso, thumbs just brushing over your nipples and sending a bolt of heat straight to your core. “You’re gorgeous, baby girl,”

You felt a flush of warmth at the compliment, not sure if you’d use the same words to describe yourself but too caught up to bother arguing. “Dean, hurry up,” you returned impatiently, lifting your hips toward him in search of friction. Your hands slid over his broad shoulders and down his back, feeling muscles ripple beneath your touch and watching the way his face changed at the contact. 

His hand slid down to deftly undo the button on your jeans, working the material off your hips as you pushed yourself up off of the leather seat to help him. His belt went next, and, with a bit of backseat gymnastics, Dean was sitting back on his heels above you with his pair of black boxers the only scrap of clothing left between you. 

You swallowed hard at the impressive tent in those boxers, rearranging yourself on the seat until you could slide your fingers into the waistband, looking up at his lust-blown eyes for confirmation. God, you just wanted to touch him, all of him, but you still wouldn’t do anything without his permission. 

Dean’s hand caught the side of your face, dragging you toward him for a messy kiss. Taking that as a yes, you pulled away after a moment with a breathy smile (and really, where had that come from) and pulled his boxers down far enough that his cock sprang free, bouncing against his stomach dark red and leaking. 

You wrapped your hand around him, thumb swiping experimentally over the tip and earning a low groan from Dean in response. “Wanna taste you,” you murmured, not waiting for a response before swallowing down as much of him as you could. He felt bigger in your mouth than you expected, the first blowjob you’d given that could probably actually choke you if you weren’t careful, but you weren’t about to let that stop you. Your hand covered whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you moved over him faster, trying to wring as many of those little noises out of his throat as you could. 

“Shit, sweetheart,” he breathed, which only spurred you on. You’d never really found that much enjoyment in giving blowjobs before, seeing them more as a favor to your partner, but there was something about this, about Dean, that had you practically dripping onto Baby’s leather seat. You snaked one hand between your legs to touch yourself, desperately in search of any kind of contact, and moaned around your mouthful of Dean’s cock as you circled your clit. 

“Fuck, baby, stop,” Dean guided you off of his cock hastily, crashing his lips into yours for a heartbeat while his hands held tightly to your hips. Then, he carefully laid you back down on the seat, shifting until he was braced above you on his forearms with the tip of his cock just brushing your entrance. 

Desperate and past the point of caring, you bucked your hips up, almost crying in relief when Dean finally slid into you, one inch at a time. You threw your head back against the Impala’s door at the sensation, your mouth falling open in a silent gasp as he finally filled you, holding completely still for a moment to let you adjust.

“Shit, Y/N, you feel so good,” he groaned into your neck, mouthing little kisses there as he went. 

You’d never felt anything like this. No one had ever come close to this, and it wasn’t just that he was reaching places inside you that you hadn’t even known existed. You rocked your hips up, silently begging him to move, and Dean took the hint with a look of such adoration that it took your breath away. 

You sank into an easy rhythm there in Baby’s backseat, your teeth sinking into your lip as you tried to muffle the sounds caught in your chest. Dean’s soft lips moved over yours, coaxing your lip free before shooting you a heated gaze. “Let me hear you,”

His voice was deeper than you’d heard it before, the sound sending a rush of heat to your core, and you clenched your walls around him as he slid over your g-spot, a low wine tearing from your throat that didn’t sound remotely like your own voice. “Dean, god, fuck,”

 The pace of his thrusts sped up, one hand coming down to rub your clit in slow circles with the calloused pad of his thumb. “Come for me, Y/N,”

He was fucking you hard now, his every thrust slamming into your g-spot and a look on his flushed face that you wanted to commit to memory. He groaned roughly as your walls tightened around him, one sharp flick of your clit sending you over the edge into a wave of oblivion. Your vision went white, mouth open in a strangled scream, and you clung to Dean to hold you together as he shattered you perfectly. 

Vaguely, you registered Dean following you over the edge with a growl, and you both laid there in a tangle of limbs in Baby’s backseat, your skin sticking unpleasantly to the leather under your back but both of you unwilling to move. 

“So,” you said finally, “do all of your driving lessons go like that?”

Dean raised his head from where he’d been resting on your chest, opening one eye to stare at you with a scowl. “Only other person I taught to drive was Sammy,”

A laugh bubbled out of your throat, and you slid your fingers through his now-messy hair, a warmth caught in your chest as he arched into your touch, hugging his arms around your waist. “So does that make me special?”

He pressed a half-formed kiss to the skin above your left breast. “Maybe,”

“I still don’t want to drive home,” you said flatly, your eyes sparkling.

Still huddled against you, Dean barked a laugh. “Fine,” he raised an eyebrow. “I can get us there faster anyway,”

So Dean drove on the way back, Metallica on the radio, half of your clothes still in the backseat, with one hand on the wheel and the other in yours. 

[janekfan]

Dispossessed

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26292337

Curled up in his chair and safely ensconced in his office, Jon shivered intermittently with cold after his confrontation with Elias following his narrow escape, release? from the Circus, numb and empty. Thank god he’d had a change of clothes in here because after all his last set had seen they were better off burned, and he’d changed into them after scrubbing his skin raw with the hottest water he could stand out of the tap. Standing there. Staring at his reflection in the glass.

They hung from his frame, easily two sizes large, and He’d practically run from the restroom to hide, ashamed and embarrassed and overwhelmed.

His stomach hurt and he wrapped his arms around the gnawing void behind his ribs, begging the pressure for relief. The last time he’d eaten...well he couldn’t remember the last time, days blurred together there, the passing of time marked in his useless struggles against the hands, hands everywhere and touching, touching, touching him.

He’d lost his flat, his things, his wallet, parts of himself. All lost. All taken.

Like he had been taken.

And no one noticed.

No one had cared and he wasn’t surprised because he knew how they felt about him, he knew, he did, he just didn’t expect it to cut so deeply.

Leaving this small bit of sanctuary was out of the question and Jon was too exhausted to do anything else today, so he did what he did in his captivity when things became too much and forced himself to sleep.

When he woke up there was a cup of tea cooling on his desk and a jumper draped over him.

He’d gone through his desk twice, the first time for a protein bar he knew was in there and ate in small, controlled bites, and the second because he hoped for another. He couldn’t live like this. Not without cash or a way to eat and he wasn’t crawling back to Elias to ask for any favors. But just a few more days and he’d have a replacement ID and a few more after that he could access his bank account .

Until then he’d have to make do.

In the evenings he ventured outside with his knapsack, almost daring the Circus to grab him again, wondering if this time, Micheal would just kill him and be done with it. He just walked. Mostly aimless, placing what spare bottles he found in his bag so he could return them for their deposit. With his secrets close and kept, Jon tried not to think of the new lows he’d sunk to as he dipped chocolate digestives from the vending machine into Martin’s tea and lost himself in statement after statement, the static in the background like a laundry line where he hung the rest of fears and insecurities and let himself go.

But Jon didn’t feel well. Shaky and tired, counting the seconds until he had access to his funds again and feeling more and more like he wouldn’t be able to make it off a quid’s worth of biscuits and tea. He scrubbed a trembling palm down his face, massaging his temples and willing the persistent headache to stop its pounding. He dug his fingers into his hollow stomach, twisting up the fabric there and holding it so tight they ached with the strain.

It affected his judgement. Not that many would say he had much of that to begin with.

He was being pulled too thin.

And suddenly it was all he could think about. A box in one of the cupboards, shoved towards the back. He remembered seeing them before he was taken. Long before. So maybe they didn’t belong to anyone. Just some old cream crackers. Just anything to avoid begging Martin because that’s where his mind went next. He’d been so cruel to him, he couldn’t take advantage like that. He wouldn’t. He slipped out of his chair, grabbing the edge of the desk almost desperately when his vision swam and the office tipped violently to the side. Clammy, his hand flew to his forehead as though he could press the equilibrium back in.

On silent feet he crept to the dark break room, thankfully avoiding anybody and making it there without much trouble. Leaning up on his tiptoes he just managed to coax his prize off the shelf with the tips of his fingers, catching it against his chest when it fell. There was dust on the box. And yet he was riddled with shame and guilt as he pulled out a half package.

Just as the lights flicked on.

And Tim and Melanie caught him.

“Boss.” Like a curse and Jon winced, clutching the package, shrinking under his flinty stare. “Haven’t seen you in days.”

“What are you skulking around in the dark for?” She laughed and it was a mean thing that twisted around his heart like barbed wire. “What are you doing?”

“N’nothing.” He tilted his chin up, willing his flight response to quit it because he was safe here even if they didn’t like him.

“Looks like you’re stealing, boss.” Tim tore the package from his grip.

“No! I wouldn’t, th’they--”

“They’re what? Out of words now?” Tim crushed them, threw them at the floor. “Boss?”

“I can expla--” When he shoved him, Jon’s mind blanked, transported very suddenly back to Nikola’s jeering, cheerful, awful voice and wandering hands and--

“Not enough you got Sasha killed?”

“S’stop.” Barely a breath, he didn’t have anything else.

“Not enough you trapped us here?”

“Stop.”

“Not enough to snare Melanie?”

“P’p’please.”

“You have to steal? And take? More??” Each increasingly loud demand for answers accompanied with another push until he was pinned by his shoulders and still Jon couldn’t speak louder than a whisper when he asked, "how long before you take the rest of us?"

“Stop.”

“I won’t.” His face was inches from his own, and so angry. “Not until you tell us the truth.”

Stop stop stop

“Tell us, Jon.”

“Stop, stop, please, stop, stop touching me, please, please…” He wasn’t upright under his own power, the hands on him had him trapped against the wall and he couldn’t breathe with them on him, couldn’t think, couldn’t answer their questions because he didn’t have answers and didn’t understand the words because he was in the tunnels again and the echo made it impossible to hear and they kept touching--

“Tim!” It was like a gunshot and Jon recoiled like he’d been the one to fire it, sliding down the wall when the hands released him as if burned, all sharp angles and days old clothes and suddenly it was Tim’s face above him again, horrified, before it disappeared and the room fell quiet.

“Jon?”

Martin.

“S’sorry.” The weight of his pathetic incompetence pressed down on him like a stone, crushing the air out of his body and there was none left in the room for him to take. “Sorry, m’sorry, m'sorry.” The pulse hammering through his blood hurt like a bruise bone deep, left him dizzy, and he couldn’t, there was no air here.

“I know, I know you are.” Martin. Martin. Martin should hate him along with the rest. Why, why. Why was he here? Why was he so, so, so very kind? “You need to breathe, Jon, or you’re going to pass out.” Didn’t he understand? There wasn’t anything left to breathe? All gone, nothing left but crumbling paper and fading ink and the dust would cover everything, including him until he didn’t need to breathe.

“Martin.” Gasping, breathless, choking on dust, dust, dust, the damp on his face trickling through it carving paths like desert rain.

“I’m here.” Jon realized he’d been looking up where Tim’s face had been this whole time, finally dropped his gaze to see Martin, brows knit with worry. Worry. He didn’t deserve that. Not after the ruin he caused. The people he’d killed. “I’m not going anywhere.” Narrow chest heaving in shallow, short attempts, Jon let his head fall into the corner between wall and cupboard, curling there, small and safe on all sides, because Martin was here and Martin was staying even though he shouldn’t.

“Martin.” At some point his eyes closed while listening to him ramble about inconsequential things and the different dogs he saw around his flat though he didn’t know their names and wanted to.

“I’m still here.” At least one of them was. Jon felt disconnected, loose, and forced his lashes apart like he was moving mountains. Now that he was no longer panicking the ache in his stomach was back. “Jon?”

“Mm.” Martin was sitting against the cupboards too. Wasting his time here with him. Keeping a measured distance between them as if he knew the kind of tentative control Jon was managing.

“Why don’t you go home?”

“Don’ have one.” Jon hugged himself closer, unmoored without a place to return to.

“Why were you in here?” In here stealing.

“Jus’ hungry.” And the pangs were very real and he was so lightheaded.

“Oh, Jon.”

“M’sorry.” He ducked his face, hiding behind folded arms. “Didn’t. I d’didn’t realize. Thought.” He shuddered, hot with embarrassment and shame. “Didn’t mean to steal.”

“Is that what Tim was yelling about?” Miserable, Jon shook his head, the tears dripping into his oversized jumper.

“No, he's. Angry.” Martin sighed, heavy and tired, and Jon’s throat closed up around his sorrow. “I understand.”

“Well. Jon, you weren’t stealing.” Why was he kind after everything he’d done to him? After how poorly he’d treated him? “They were probably very stale considering they’ve been there since. I think since before I started.” Caught off guard, Jon laughed a bit, face still in his knees, until it turned to crying. Loud and ugly and foolish and shameful, and oh if only his grandmother could see him now when her presumptions and predictions came true as he failed every person who'd dared allow him close. But Martin let him sob himself dry, until he was left with an aching head and the kind of tired that only happens after a cry like that. “I’m inviting you to dinner.” His head snapped up so fast he dashed it on the wall.

“No, n’no, I.”

“Am coming with me.” His tone brooked no argument. "Would be rude to refuse my invitation, you know."

“Martin--”

“We can give those clothes a wash.” He went on, ignoring Jon’s stammering. “I’ve got other things too, you can have, while you’re living here.” Again, the tears welled up, spilling over, and this time Martin held out his arms. And this time, Jon was ready.

I was really inspired by @voiceless-terror fic A Place for the Night! 

(I can totally take it down if I’ve overstepped!)

[sagemoderocklee]

Prompt list 2, #11 for gaalee!

okay, it’s been ages since i reblogged whatever that prompt list was and i don’t remember what it was and i was only able to find one list of prompts and tbh, i had so much fun writing Gaara drunk for Kado that i’m just gonna roll with the prompt I found because i need a warm-up writing exercise to get me movin today. this is kind of aimless and rambling and not really anything special fyi.

based on the prompt it’s probably obvious, but tw for discussions of alcohol use (past, not shown) and also for insensitive jokes surrounding drunken sex (there wasn’t actually any but kankurou can be an asshole)

things you said when you were drunk

Gaara groaned, rolling over and directly into another body. It was a well-muscled body, because it felt like Gaara had rolled directly into a wall. His mouth tasted foul. Worse than foul. Was there a word for that? He didn’t know, and his brain wasn’t offering up any stronger alternatives at the present moment because it was head was pounding as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to it.

He forced his eyes open, lifting his head to stare at the prone figure at his side. 

“Oh no,” he groaned. What happened? Had he really gotten so trashed at his sister’s wedding that he’d taken a stranger up to his room and--

“Good morning!” The stranger was awake. And very loud.

Gaara groaned in protest, pulling his pillow over his head.

“I am so sorry,” the man dropped his voice. Barely. “Would you like me to order some room service?”

Gaara shook his head beneath the pillow. What he wanted was for his drunken mistake to go away. Far away.

“I am sorry, I could not hear you. What was that?”

“Please,” Gaara begged, voice cracking. “Please, don’t talk. Just... shhhh.”

The man gave a quiet little ‘ah’ of understanding, rising from the bed and shuffling around the room. Gaara changed lifting the pillow up to look at the stranger, who was busy putting a shirt on. Gaara’s face flushed.

“Do you--do you know what happened last night?” he finally asked. He shifted, rising from the bed in a hunched fashion, blankets falling to reveal his rumbled suit.

“Of course! You got very, very drunk and uh, well...” The man flushed, his odd, boyish face turning bright red. He coughed. “You said some.... things. I promise, nothing happened.”

“Then... why are you in my room?”

The man laughed, as loud as he talked. “We are in my room. You were too drunk to tell me what room was yours, and I could not find any of your friends or family to help me. I did not want to leave you all by yourself in your state, but I promise, I was a perfect gentleman.”

His rescuer struck a pose, the most dramatic thumb’s up Gaara had ever seen, and smiled with all his teeth. 

“Are you sure you do not want me to order some room service? I have it on good authority that the free coffee is not particularly good, and I am sure you could use a pick me up.”

Gaara’s stomach turned over. He smacked his lips, his mouth as dry as a desert. Finally, he relented. “I could use some coffee.”

“Perfect! Here.” A menu was thrust into his face, the words blurring for a second. “I was going to order breakfast, too. Feel free to pick out whatever you want.”

“Um... I don’t wanna put you to anymore trouble,” Gaara hedged, though he couldn’t deny he was hungry.

“Nonsense! If it was any trouble, I would not have offered.”

“I can pay you back--”

“Please, think nothing of it.” The man disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, leaving Gaara to look over the menu and wonder about the finer details of the night before.

He could remember the first toast and the second toast clearly, but by the third his memory was fuzzy. He’d always been a lightweight, but he was usually more careful about how much he drank, knowing full well the limits of his tolerance.

The man returned from the bathroom, smiling as though he hadn’t spent the night before partying. How could he be so chipper first thing in the morning?

“Did you decide on what you wanted?”

“I’ll just have a plain omelette.” That should hopefully be gentle on his roiling stomach. “And a coffee. Black with sugar.”

“That sounds like the perfect thing to perk you up!”

Gaara didn’t want to ask, but he had to know. “What exactly happened last night? I mean, I know nothing--nothing happened between us, but I don’t remember even meeting you.”

The man’s expression was caught between open embarrassment and dejection. “Ah, I should have realized you would not remember that. I think you were already quite drunk by the time Naruto-kun introduced us.”

“Naruto? So then you were one of Shikamaru’s guests?” He’d had to assume, given that no one else was in the room with them that this stranger hadn’t been anyone’s plus one. And he certainly didn’t seem like the sort of person his sister would associate with.

“Indeed, I was! Shikamaru-kun and Naruto-kun are very dear friends of mine, and I was overjoyed to hear about Shikamaru-kun’s engagement to Temari-san! She is your sister, right?”

“Um, yeah. How come I’ve never met you before the wedding?”

“I live abroad! I work in the film industry, so I am always traveling back and forth between LA and Japan. Of course, when I got the invitation, I was worried I would not be able to make it, but thankfully, my schedule opened up and here I am!”

Gaara had to wonder if everyone in LA was this upbeat and earnest.

“And can I ask your name?” An embarrassed flush crept up the back of Gaara’s neck, mixed with the guilt of having forgotten everything about the man.

“Rock Lee!” Again, the man gave a thumb’s up, the dramatic flair perfectly suited to a career in film, Gaara thought dryly.

“Rock Lee. Well, Rock Lee, I appreciate you taking care of me last night. I hope I wasn’t too much trouble.”

The embarrassed flush from before returned to Rock Lee’s incredibly expressive face, a dead giveaway that he was leaving out some very important details. He laughed nervously, waving his hands. “N-no! You were no trouble at all, Gaara-san! Just a little too drunk to be left alone!”

“What are you not telling me?” Gaara asked, but Rock Lee had already picked up the phone and dialed room service. Gaara narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t avoid the conversation forever. Gaara was still in his room, after all.

Once their breakfast order had been placed, Rock Lee offered to let Gaara shower while they waited, a clear sign that he was trying to avoid filling Gaara in on all the horrid details from the night’s festivities.

Gaara allowed him to sidestep the issue--a shower did sound nice and perhaps if he let it go, Rock Lee would drop his guard and let something slip.

By the time he got out of the shower, their food had arrived, and Lee had changed into fresh clothes.

“Breakfast!” Rock Lee chimed. “How was your shower? Do you feel rejuvenated?”

Gaara couldn’t fathom the way Lee spoke. He shrugged. “A bit. Food smells good.”

The omelette was perfectly bland, and the coffee sufficiently strong, which went a long way in lifting Gaara’s mood and settling his stomach. He eyed Rock Lee carefully from the corner of his eye as he ate, weighing the best way to get the truth out of him.

“So,” Gaara began when his omelette was almost gone and his head had cleared. “Did you have fun last night? I mean, before you had to babysit me.”

“I did not mind that!” Rock Lee insisted. “And I did have fun! It was so wonderful seeing all my friends again, and to be able to celebrate Shikamaru-kun’s union with your sister!” A tear glistened at the corner of his round eye, caught between his thick lashes.

“Um, yeah. It was great. Really nice ceremony and all.”

“The ceremony was magical!” The tears in his eyes welled, fat drops clamoring to be free from the clutches of his lashes. “I have never seen such a splendid wedding! Well, I have not been to very many weddings. My friends, Neji and Tenten, are getting married next summer--oh, but you probably do not remember them.”

“They don’t sound familiar,” Gaara confirmed.

“Well, Neji is Hinata-san’s cousin--”

“And that is?”

“Naruto-kun’s girlfriend!” Lee said, scandalized. “How could you not know her?”

“Honestly, I didn’t even know he had a girlfriend.” Had she been with him last night? Gaara remembered running into Naruto, but he definitely didn’t remember a woman with him.

“Oh, that is--well, I suppose you and Naruto-kun have not been in touch recently! Because they have been dating for some time now.”

The look on Rock Lee’s face kept Gaara from countering this fact. Clearly, there was trouble in paradise if Naruto had been dating her for ‘some time’ and not told Gaara.

“So,” Gaara quickly searched for a new topic, something that would lead to more concrete answers about the night before. “Naruto dumped me on you, and then ran off with his girlfriend?”

There was a long moment of silence wherein Rock Lee’s expressive face pinched tight, his strange mouth pressed into a line so tight his lips went white. “Actually, he was distracted by Sasuke-kun, but... well that is always how he has been. But I did not mind taking care of you!”

“My brother says I’m a handful when I’m drunk,” Gaara goaded. “Says I get really weepy.”

“Not at all! You were perfectly happy to be in my company! You even--” He stopped short, flushing. He cleared his throat. “You were very happy to spend time with me, even if you do not remember.”

Damn. So close.

“Huh. Well, lucky you then. You didn’t drink much, I take it.”

“Actually, I cannot have alcohol at all. It... does not agree with me.”

Gaara snorted derisively. “I don’t think it agrees with me either.”

“True,” Rock Lee said with a laugh. “However, at least you do not cause property damage when you drink.”

Property damage? Gaara’s curiosity was piqued, but as he opened his mouth to ask further questions, his pocket began to vibrate. The caller ID was a photo of Kankurou, and he answered quickly. “Hey.”

“Heyyyyyy,” Kankurou drawled, his tone arch. “How’s my lil brother doin’ today?”

Gaara glared. “Hungover, no thanks to you and Naruto.”

Kankurou guffawed, his laugh echoing loudly through the phone’s speaker. “I’m sorry,” he said after a minute, completely unapologetic.

“No you’re not,” Gaara said.

“You’re right. I’m not. Soooo. What happened with that guy? The bowl-cut? You two were gettin’ pretty cozy, eh?”

Gaara caught Rock Lee’s wide-eyed gaze at that moment, both of them equally red thanks to Kankurou’s carrying voice.

“Unlike some people,” Gaara stated, accusingly, “Rock Lee didn’t abandon me to fend for myself.”

“Oh, I bet,” Kankurou teased.

“Fuck you,” Gaara said, rolling his eyes. “He made sure I was okay. That’s it.”

“So if I go to your room right now, I’m not gonna find that bowl-cut in there?”

“You’re not gonna find me in there, either. I’m in his room.” Not exactly proof solid that nothing happened, at least not in Kankurou’s mind, but Gaara knew his brother. He’d be knocking down Gaara’s door any minute.

Kankurou whistled. “Damn. And you expect me to believe nothing happened?”

“He’s right here. You can ask him yourself.” Gaara put his phone on speaker, holding it between himself and an indignant Rock Lee.

“Oh shi--”

“Hello,” Rock Lee greeted, his tone clipped. “I will have you know that I would never take advantage of someone in their drunken state and I do not appreciate your mockery!”

Gaara sniggered, covering his face with his hand, while the other end was silent.

“Damn, looks like you got yourself a knight in shining armor, huh, lil brother?” Kankurou finally said. “All right. Guess I better leave you to it. Sorry for insulting your character, Bowl-Cut.” Again, Kankurou did not sound even the least bit sorry.

Rock Lee’s huff of indignation made it clear he wasn’t buying Kankurou’s apology.

“Whatever, jackass,” Gaara said. “I’ll see you later.”

He hung up without another word, tossing his phone on the bed.

“Sorry about my brother.”

“That is all right. I know what it must have looked like to others, but I promise I would never do anything untoward!”

“Yeah, I gathered,” Gaara said. “I appreciate it, by the way.”

“Please, do not mention it. Common decency does not need to be rewarded with thanks!”

Gaara eyed his phone thoughtfully, a thought occurring to him. “I suppose that’s fair. I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

He snatched his phone from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom again, opening up his photo album. Sure enough, there were countless photos and videos from the night before, including a particularly long one, the thumbnail of which he could see Rock Lee’s shining black bowl-cut.

He pressed play.

“--so cute,” a drunk Gaara slurred, the image shaking as he held his phone and zoomed in on an oblivious Lee sitting with a pair of people he didn’t recognize.

Naruto’s familiar snicker echoed through the video. “You think Gejimayu’s cute?”

“Shhhhh!” Gaara shoved the camera and his free hand directly into Naruto’s face, clamping a hand over his mouth. “He’ll hear you!”

The camera zoomed in on Rock Lee again, his friends rising from the table and disappearing on the crowded dance floor.

“You want me to introduce you?”

“Noooooo,” Gaara said. “No, he’s--he’s so--”

The expression on Naruto’s face was one of comic confusion. He stared back and forth between the camera and Rock Lee, eyebrows high on his forehead. “I don’t know a single person who’s ever looked at Rock Lee and been flustered. You are drunker than I thought.”

“Dick,” Gaara grumbled, training the camera on Rock Lee again. “Oh, shit.”

The video ended, the camera half falling as Gaara fumbled to turn it away from Rock Lee who had caught him filming.

Gaara swiped to the next photo, which was of him and Naruto, both utterly shitfaced. The next item in his album was another video, shorter than the first.

“--dare you to go talk to him!” Naruto was egging Gaara on.

Gaara snickered, even his laughter filled with drunken slurring. “What--what should I say?”

“Tell him you think his eyebrows are sexy,” Naruto laughed.

Gaara swung the camera around so that it focused on Rock Lee over his shoulder.

“You have to come with me,” Gaara begged.

Gaara couldn’t take it anymore and he closed out of the video, his face awash with heat. He wondered if he’d ever actually told Rock Lee his eyebrows were sexy or if he’d done some other embarrassing thing in front of him.

Either way, he was amazed the man hadn’t abandoned him.

When he returned from the bathroom, Rock Lee had gathered up their dishes and was making the bed.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked, looking up from his task.

“Yeah, I--” He stared at Rock Lee’s face and his thick eyebrows, embarrassment hot in his face. “I hope I didn’t say anything or do anything last night that was um...”

The smile Rock Lee sent his way was filled with fondness, which was strange given how little Gaara remembered from the night before.

“You do not need to worry. Even if you were a bit handsy,” he added, then blushed.

Gaara was mortified, but he couldn’t say he was surprised to by the admission based on what little he’d been able to bring himself to watch on his phone.

“I’m so sorry,” he managed, fighting to find his voice through embarrassment.

“Please do not worry! I did not mean to say that, I was just--I mean--it was fine! Honest! I understand you were drunk, and Naruto-kun probably put you up to it--”

“What? No! He didn’t--I mean, he encouraged me to talk to you because I thought you were cute--”

“Right, when you were drunk--”

“I think you’re cute now!” Gaara said quickly. “I’m just not... good at this stuff.”

A smile worked its way onto Rock Lee’s face, so wide it looked like it hurt. “Really? You--you actually think I am cute?”

Gaara shifted awkwardly. “Yeah, I mean, is that really so surprising?”

Rock Lee laughed. “For me, yes. Most people do not think I am cute.”

“Their loss.” 

“Do you,” Rock Lee began, then stopped, hesitating. “I hope this is not presumptuous of me, but would you want to grab dinner sometime?”

Gaara couldn’t quite believe his luck. He’d have to thank Naruto for foisting him off on Rock Lee, because if he hadn’t, there was no way Gaara would have worked up the nerve to have talked to the man.

“I’d love to,” he finally managed, a smile on his face.

Who knew waking up hungover could end so well?