#this is the last thing I make before school starts

[blond3ang3l]

Nightwing is the type to say “that’s my best friend” and then proceeds to make out with you when no one’s looking.

———————————————————————

Now you had known him your entire life. You two went to school together, you knew about him being night wing, you met all million siblings he had, and even the big guy himself Bruce Wayne. You’ve had boyfriends and girlfriends before but it never worked out in the end. Same thing with Dick, no matter what they always broke things off. For the most part they just couldn’t handle his family life like you could. With you knowing his siblings basically since they were born they liked (or in Damian’s case tolerated) you a whole lot. Hell even his stepmom Selina loved you in the short time her and Bruce been together. Everyone else he brought him got weird stares or snickers from his younger brothers. You on the other hand would go to the batcave even without him just to see the rest of them.

You’d accompany him to galas so you two were also seen out in public together many times. The media loved seeing you two together. He introduced you to reporters as “his moon” because the first time you guys met was during a full moon. In reality the only reason you guys weren’t dating yet was because he couldn’t figure out how to ask you. He wasn’t worried about you saying no, he was worried about doing something big enough to your liking and it was taking him months to plan out.

Yet when you two were alone it felt different, more intimate. Just like now as you two were in his bed. He had you on top of his lap, his hands gripping your ass while to two of you kissed. This wasn’t the first time and it damn wouldn’t be the last. He had been gone for three long weeks and damn did he miss you. He texted you but his text was always cut short with him having to fight yet another criminal. Every day spent away from you was pure hell for him, and he made sure you knew that with the picture of his hard leaking dick he sent you just a few days prior. He was painfully hard, his dick so pretty leaking with precum, and in his words “all for you”.

With you perched up in his lap the way you were he was starting to feel the exact same way he did in that picture. His hands moved from your ass to hold your hip, rocking you along his bulge causing you to moan softly. His lips attacked your neck. A trail of dark hickeys going down your chest as he started to slide down the thin pajama shorts you wore.

“Fuck, I missed you baby. Can I show you how much? Let me baby. Please.”

[faithshouseofchaos]

Franco x driver reader- She is a rookie who started before him and the others on the grid are protective of her since she has no one with her (her family never goes to see her or supports her). They start talking and the other drivers act like older brothers.

A/n— Hi 👋 @alex-wotton I went with the last one because it really stood out to me because I realized last night that if I was a f1 driver traveling to races would be pretty lonely as my mom has lupus and is in pain all the time and my siblings are still in school while my dad works out on the road. I will also be doing the others to.

Oh one more thing this is just a little look into the big fic around this request I’ll be doing later… depending on how well this does.

"They mean well" — Franco Colapinto x fem! rookie diver! Reader

Fluff slightly angsty

Word count—1122

Summary — Franco befriend's the female Alpine rookie the only problem is that he now has to deal with her guard dogs.

The first few weeks on the grid were a whirlwind, especially since you were a rookie in a sport where every second counts, and every move you make is scrutinized. It was hard, almost overwhelming, and though you knew the other drivers were competitive, you quickly realized that there was a quieter, more supportive side to them. You couldn’t deny how much it helped to have the older drivers looking out for you.

Lando had taken to teasing you right away. His cheeky humor and constant lighthearted comments were always enough to make you laugh, even on the toughest days. “You’re doing better than most of the vets, you know,” he’d say after a particularly good lap, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Next time, you’ll have to give me some pointers!”

Max, who often seemed aloof to others, was surprisingly attentive. He noticed when you were on your own, after long days when you would simply wander the paddock, minding your own business. Without a word, he would sidle up next to you, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and talk about the most mundane things—anything to take your mind off the pressure. “Have you ever tried the coffee from the new stand near the paddock? Best one in town,” he’d comment, knowing full well it was an excuse to pull you into a conversation that wasn’t about racing for once.

Charles, ever the older brother type, was the one who would make sure you didn’t slip into your head too much. He could tell when the weight of everything was starting to build up on your shoulders. “Hey,” he’d say, voice gentle but firm. “You’re doing fine. Don’t let the stress get to you. You have a team behind you.”

And then there was Franco. He was quieter than the others, but his presence was undeniable. He’d only just joined the grid, and the others were quick to embrace him, but it was clear that his personality was different—calmer, more reserved. You found that, over time, you felt a quiet connection with him. It wasn’t an in-your-face, loud support, but a steady, reassuring presence.

One evening, after another intense qualifying session, you found yourself walking alone by the garages, replaying every corner of the track in your head. You were exhausted, physically and mentally, but you didn’t want to be a burden to the others, so you walked it off in silence. Franco noticed you from across the paddock and, with a knowing look, excused himself from a conversation he was having with Lando.

When he reached you, there was no fanfare, just a casual ease that made you relax almost immediately.

“Hey, everything okay?” Franco asked, his voice soft yet direct.

You smiled, a little weary, but grateful. “Just thinking about the session. Could’ve done better.”

He shook his head, his lips curling into a small smile. “You did fine. We all have those moments, don’t overthink it.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “It’s just… hard sometimes. Being the rookie and feeling like you’re always falling short.”

Franco tilted his head slightly, studying you for a moment before replying. “I get it. I’m still the new guy here too, remember? But honestly, the others are looking out for you. They’ve got your back.”

The way he said it was simple, but there was a sincerity behind it that made something inside you relax. Franco wasn’t offering empty words—he meant it.

And it wasn’t just him. The next time you walked into the paddock and bumped into Max, he clapped you on the shoulder with a grin. “You looked a bit off yesterday. If you need a break, you know where to find me.”

Lando, catching wind of the exchange, chimed in from a few feet away. “Yeah, don’t make us have to drag you into our fun. We’re here for more than just the racing.”

The protectiveness came in waves. Sometimes it was subtle—Charles, pulling you aside to offer advice on staying focused during the race, or Lando, joking around to make you laugh when the stress of the weekend was beginning to get to you. But sometimes, it was a little more overt.

The first time you really felt the weight of their protectiveness was after a particularly tough race, where you finished outside the points. The media was relentless, questions flying about whether you were cut out for the sport, and you could feel the eyes of the paddock on you.

As you were heading back to your garage, head down, trying to shut out the noise, you suddenly felt a hand on your shoulder. It was Max.

“You don’t let them get to you,” he said quietly, looking you in the eyes. “It’s one race. And you’ll get them next time.”

Before you could respond, Lando appeared, his usual grin plastered across his face. “Max is right, of course. And if they keep giving you trouble, just let me know. I’m pretty good at handling the media.”

Charles joined them, his voice more serious than usual. “We’ve all been there. Don’t let them make you doubt yourself. We’re all in this together.”

That was when it hit you—this wasn’t just about the competition on the track. They truly cared about you, and despite the pressures of racing, they weren’t about to let you face it alone.

Franco appeared just as they were finishing up, walking over to the group with a quiet smile. “Everyone’s right,” he added, offering a knowing look. “And if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m always around. No need to fight your battles alone.”

From that moment on, you felt the weight of their protectiveness more than ever. It wasn’t just about them looking out for a rookie; it was about them making sure you knew that no matter what happened, you weren’t alone on the grid.

The bond between you and Franco deepened as the weeks went on. In between races, the two of you shared quiet conversations in the back of the garage, or while waiting for your cars to be prepped. You spoke about everything—racing, family, the weird quirks of the Formula 1 lifestyle, and even the things you’d been avoiding thinking about. Franco’s steady support and dry humor became something you could rely on, and the way he listened without judgment made him one of the few you truly felt comfortable with.

In a world that often felt like a competition to survive, you finally understood: you had people here, and they weren’t just teammates or rivals—they were your family.

And Franco, despite being new to the grid himself, was starting to feel more like a brother than just a teammate.

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, cheating, scandals, drugs, drama, family drama wc: 5155 a/n: hi everyone! i'm so excited for this piece of work as I have a lot of exciting ideas planned in store! this will probably have slow updates, so please please please be patient with me. thank you all for reading! i'm aiming for at least 15ish chapters, maybe more or less, depends how much i write in one chapter in the future. next chapter

“Cash or card?”

“Card.”

The sound of light dinging follows, the transaction completed. “Here you go, Miss. Have a good day.”

“Thank you, you too.” The woman takes the small bag from your outstretched hands, giving one last smile before exiting. The bell at the top of the door rings, signifying her exit. You sigh and look at the clock, one more hour. It’s not that long. But you’ve been here since opening and the shoes you’re wearing are beginning to hurt your feet. Maybe you should’ve broken them in more.

It’s a quaint little cafe. Most of the customers are teenagers, college students, or overworked office workers who need caffeine to get them through the day. Other than that, you have no qualms. Of course, it does get a little annoying having to tell the newer, much younger co-workers that they can’t do this or that. 

A mundane routine of making coffees, packing orders, and ringing them up. Just one more hour. 

As soon as the clock strikes 5:00, you’re clocking out and saying goodbye. The school is an exact walk of ten minutes, six if you’re fast. Then another ten back to the apartment. And finally, another fifteen to the convenience store. 

Hustle and bustle is all you’ve ever known. Sure, you like it most of the time. But you just wish you could get a break. It’s always go, go, go, but never take a rest and time to yourself for a moment. But when you see that adorable smile plaster on those chubby cheeks you never shy away from pinching, it’s all worth it. “Mama!” 

“Baby!” you crouch down and open your arms. The young boy wastes no time in throwing his body into yours, face nuzzled into your chest and arms around your neck. “How was school? Fun?” you ask, hand rubbing his back up and down.

He nods. “Mhm! Mr. Ito says I got the most gold stars out of everyone in class.” 

Your smile grows wistful, aweing. “Wow, such a good boy, aren’t you?”

You carry Koji into your arms, starting the walk back to your very humble apartment. He chatters innocently the entire trek, with you occasionally adding on or asking questions. His soft white hair pokes at your cheek, to which you straighten down with one free hand. It’s days like these where you wish you could just lounge at home with him, basking in his sweet innocence. But while most people are ending for the day, you’re barely starting your second half.

You feel the self-deprecating thoughts fill your mind like a virus while stationed near the light, waiting for the pedestal symbol to indicate. Your grip tightens around your son slightly, as if anchoring yourself to reality and reminding yourself you’re doing it all for him, and to keep going for him. 

It’s hard, yes. But so is parenting. 

The symbol comes on and you walk, seeing the building of your complex in the distance. Forcing any lingering negativity away, you clear your throat. “So, what did you learn today, baby?”

Koji looks up at you. “We learned how to add! I helped Mina.”

“That’s very nice of you.”

He giggles bashfully, leaning into the kiss you place on his cheek. Eyebrows raising as a sudden memory hits him. “Oh! And Mr. Ito said Dad Appreciation Day is next month. There’s gonna be food and music.”

Your smile wavers, footsteps momentarily pausing before continuing. “Oh, really?” you ask, inhaling a wavy breath of air. “That sounds like fun.”

“Mhm.” Koji nods, then tilts his head curiously at you. “But everyone is bringing their daddies. I wanna bring Papa too.” 

And you really try not to make your guilty grimace visible. “I know, sweetie. I know.”

“Can Papa come?” he frowns. 

No, he can’t. But you’re not about to tell your five-year-old that the reason his father can’t make an appearance is because he doesn’t even know he has a son. It’s been a difficult conversation for you. You’re not sure when or how to have these sorts of hard ones with children. So you’ve been dancing around the subject. Saying his dad is away on vacation, or fighting intergalactic dragons, or some other excuse you’ve been forced to use. He believes you, most of the time. But that doesn’t stop his curiosity and growing impatience. 

The last thing you want him to think is that he has no father in the first place.

He does. You’ve shown him pictures and videos occasionally. Of, and of course, he’s an exact carbon copy of the man. From his bright blue eyes, albino hair, and all the way down to his stubborn personality. You were a little annoyed when your only child took quite literally everything from his father, only leaving him with a couple of things from you–your nose and helpful nature. 

“We’ll see. Papa is busy, remember?” you gently reply, walking through the parking lot of your complex to the lobby.

Koji’s frown deepens and so do the metaphorical scars on your heart. “But Papa’s always busy! I wanna see Papa.”

“I know you do, baby. You will soon, okay?”

“Do you promise?”

You hesitate but eventually nod with a forced smile. “Mama promises.”

After leaving Koji with the babysitter, you give him a quick kiss and recite the list with the babysitter before rushing off to your second job. A convenience store. 

Not the most savory place, mainly because you get all sorts of crazy and odd customers, but also because you are close. You hate closing. But you need the second disposable income and this is the only place that fits with your schedule. It’s also a little more leaned back than the cafe, when there are no customers, you spend your time browsing the web for jobs.

You’ve probably sent in over 500 applications over the years, with not even half of those places reaching out. Even then, you’re not guaranteed a job. The job market is horrible nowadays and you’re living through it.

Whatever, you think to yourself as you clock in. One day at a time.

It’s around eleven at night when you're slugging back into your apartment, lights dim, and silence enveloping the place. “Thank you, Sana.” You mutter, exhausted but still sparing the 20-year-old a smile. You hand her a small envelope. “For today and last Saturday. How was he?”

Sana thanks you kindly and grabs her stuff. “All good, no tantrums today.”

“That’s good.” you walk into the kitchen, grabbing some food you’ve meal prepped. “Get home safe, okay?”

“Thank you, Y/N. Sleep well.”

When she leaves, you give yourself a moment to slump over the kitchen island, sighing in both relief and lingering tiredness. The silence feels nice, like an old and familiar friend welcoming you and praising you after yet another day of the same routine. You’ve always loved routines, but you can’t help but crave at least some sort of spontaneity. Putting the tupperware of chicken and rice into the microwave for a minute, its light humming makes you zone out. The conversation from before with your son ringing in your mind like a very annoying bell.

Soon, images of his son, your ex, flood your mind. An old fluttery sensation residing in the pit of your stomach, your body suddenly feeling all too warm for your liking. Your fists clench to stop their light trembling, shaking your head free of him. 

Not now.

You stop the microwave at one second, before it makes that obnoxious beeping and wakes your son. There are two chairs at the small dining table, you sit at one of them and eat your now warm meal. You’ve started meal prepping after one too many missed meals and a few incidents where that light-headedness and blurred vision caused you to faint. Luckily, you were alone when that happened. Unluckily, you were alone when that happened. Nursing a few bruises to your forehead after making contact was not a fun time. 

You take time to eat, in no particular rush. Although you know you should be getting ready for bed soon for another early day tomorrow, your body doesn’t move. Either consciously or subconsciously. The end of the day is when you find yourself attempting to unwind and detach from the day’s events. But, the stress of unpaid bills, debts, and worry for the future always find time to crawl back.

It’s exhausting, extremely so. Sure, you’re an adult and this is normal. But don’t you deserve at least a little bit of time when you don’t have to worry about anything? It feels like every waking second your mind is working overtime, your body in a constant state of motion. It’s worn you down completely over the years. But you have a son who needs you, so you suppose you shouldn’t be feeling pity for yourself.

This is what parenting is all about, isn’t it?

Making sacrifice after sacrifice for your child. However, when you feel yourself sinking deeper and deeper, slowly losing more of yourself, what if there’s nothing left to sacrifice in the first place? The eviction bill from this morning taunts you as it lays upright in front of you in the middle of the table.

It’s then do you think, no, you do have one thing left. 

Koji.

If Koji’s gone, then you really have nothing left. There’s no reason to live if that happens. And with the path you’re going down, that’s feeling more and more like a dreaded possibility. 

I wanna see Papa.

Koji’s words play repeatedly. For a second, you feel yourself resonating with your son. Only for a second. You reach for your phone and go to Google, typing in a name that still haunts you. You’re barely three letters in before his name appears and you’re clicking.

A smiling image fills your screen along with other general information.

For some unknown reason, your breath hitches. You feel like he’s almost staring at you, smiling at your pathetic predicament. Grip tightening around your phone, swallowing down an unexpecting lump, tears fall from your eyes and onto the phone screen.

Why you’re crying, you don’t know. It could be many things, but you won’t address that right now.

Gojo Satoru.

The father of your child, your ex of 4 years. 

You rarely look him up, almost never. Only in desperate times when you feel yourself drowning and needing some sort of comfort. It’s stupid. You haven’t been together or even seen him in seven years. Not since you ended things with him. Not since you felt his hands roam your skin, whispering sweet words.

He didn’t even protest or question why. Almost like he knew your breakup was inevitable. You’re not sure if that hurts more.

You’re twenty-eight now. But while your life still feels the same from when you met Satoru at the ripe age of seventeen, you’ve reached a plateau. But him? He’s thriving, of course. Making a name for himself, as an heir to one of the biggest conglomerates in Japan, the Gojo Group. 

You’re happy for him. But where is that happiness for yourself?

You feel a little, no, a lot jealous. You always were of Satoru. Being given everything he wants without much thought, never worrying about money, and a stable home life. You’re extremely jealous of that bastard.

But right now, jealousy isn’t in the picture. It’s your son’s father. And if you want to keep your son, give him everything he wants, that starts with one person.

Letting him meet his father. 

“Honey, do you like your pancakes?” you ask your son who’s currently scarfing down his plate of breakfast. Adorned in an adorable shirt uniform shirt and some little black trousers. He hums back excitedly with a muffled “yes, mama”. With a chuckle, you dry up the rest of the dishes, then your hands. Dropping him off at school is the first thing on your agenda, as per usual. 

The walk to his school is a familiar one, wanting to get your son knowledgeable with the route so when the day comes that he needs to walk him himself, he’d know his way back. You pass by other kids and parents, some children yelling bye as they step onto the school grounds, with others giving their children long-lasting hugs.

You walk until you reach his door, his teacher, Mr. Ito, standing outside and greeting his students as they enter. When he makes eye contact with Koji, he smiles a bit wider. “Good morning, Koji.”

“Good morning!” your son happily replies, waving up at his teacher. With one final hug and kiss shared, he’s running in to already begin talking to his friends. Standing back up, you see Mr. Ito already looking at you. And you especially don’t miss the way his eyes not so subtly rake up and down your figure. You clear your throat. “Good morning.”

He meets your eyes again. “Good morning, Y/N-san. How are you today?”

“Good, and you?” 

“Very good.” 

The way his tone is almost causes you to visibly shiver, brows furrowing slightly in discomfort. One of the things you dislike the most about Koji’s school, his teacher. Although he hasn’t outwardly done or said anything inappropriate, you’re a smart woman. “That’s good. Well…have a nice day.” Doing anything you can to quickly end this dreaded conversation, but still wanting to maintain a level of politeness. 

You’re about to turn on your heel and leave when he calls out. “Ah, Y/N-san?”

Damn it, what now? “Yes?” you turn and look at him.

The distance between you reduces as he steps a little closer. “I have some concerns regarding Koji’s behavior in class. Would you be available to set up a conference anytime this week?”

“Behavior? Has he been misbehaving?” You did not expect that.

“Well, it’s complicated. He has some trouble listening as talks when he shouldn’t. I’d like to nip this in the bud before it grows out of control.” Mr. Ito cooly replies, smile looking more like a hidden smirk. “So, will you be available?”

You hesitate, not really. With your two jobs, you barely have time for yourself, let alone your son’s teacher. But if it’s regarding a behavior problem, then do you have any choice? “I think I’ll be free this Saturday. Weekdays are very hectic for more.”

He nods. “That’s fine, we can grab coffee.” When your head tilts slightly, he adds on with a chuckle. “And discuss Koji over coffee. On me.”

Right, of course. You know what this is, but just think about your son. That’s the priority. “Okay, 8 am at Latte Lounge sound good?”

“Sounds excellent, I’ll see you then. Have a wonderful day.”

With a simple nod back, you turn around and finally leave. Practically feeling the way his eyes shamelessly check out your behind. A frown inevitably grows on your face, why wouldn’t it? As long as this man doesn’t try anything…more, you should be fine. And if he does, 1) you’ll be in public, and 2) you’ll tell him straight up.

Whatever. 

“Pizza or teriyaki?”

“Pizza!”

“Of course.” you chuckle and put the frozen pizza in your cart, your son clutched onto your right hand after announcing he can walk on his own because he’s a big boy. The grocery store isn’t crowded during this time of day. Rightfully so. It’s 7 pm on a Tuesday, most people already cooking dinner by now. You always grocery shop at this time, your son appreciates it too. There’s been a few times when you both got quickly and very overwhelmed with the bustling nature of the grocery store on a weekend morning. Currently, you’re moving through the snack section now, picking up a few of your and Koji’s favorites. 

“Mama, can I pick a cereal?” Koji asks and points to the cereal aisle next over. When you nod, he happily runs off. You still however make sure to look over at him frequently when picking up and putting down a few snacks. 

You reach up to grab a pack of Hello Panda, the pink and chocolate ones, before a hand beats you to it. “Oh, I’m sorry.” As soon as you look over, you and the stranger meet eyes. 

Immediately, there’s a silence that falls over you two. Eyes each blown wide in shock. 

Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me.

Just your luck. As soon as the stranger speaks, a strange nostalgia fills you. “Y-Y/N?”

It almost sounds weird coming from his lips. Your friend–well, ex?--friend gets out. He still looks the same, just more…manly. 

“...Suguru, I–I’m… surprised to see you.” you awkwardly laugh. Reunions were never easy.

“Oh my god,” Suguru breaths out, shaking his head with a faint smile. “Well, shit. I mean, how are you? You..you look good.” His eyes move down your figure in an appreciative way.

“Thank you, I’m good. How are you? Your hair is longer.” you motion to his sea of black, healthy locks. “ ‘M a little jealous.”

He laughs with you, the sound reminding you of old times. “Yeah, been working on it. And I’m good.”

Another pause is permitted, as if you two aren’t very sure what to say to one another. Well, in all honesty, it has been seven years. “Well,” he clears his throat and puts his hands in his pockets. “What are you up to?”

“Oh, you know,” you glance down at your cart. “Just some shopping.”

He also looks down, head tilting slightly. “Ah, right.” With a nod, he juts his head toward the direction of the kid’s toothpaste. “Just for one?” He laughs, joking of course. 

You mentally curse yourself, putting a pack of cookies on top of the toothpaste to hide its already revealed existence. “Uh, ye—”

“Mama! I want this one!” Koji runs up to you, showcasing his desired cereal.

Well…..shit. 

As if things weren’t already complicated.

With Suguru’s eyes even wider than when they were staring at you, his mouth is practically on the floor when the young boy looks at him. His sharp eyes dart across his features and…..

“I-is this—”

“Koji.” you cut him off, gulping and shifting the child closer to your leg. “My son.”

Suguru spends another good minute staring at the boy, who innocently stares back. When his eyes slowly move from the blue ones to yours, there are a million and more questions swirling in his brain. He’s not even sure which one to ask first. But he goes with the obvious. “...Is….is he…..”

You nod uncomfortably. 

He lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, hand running through his hair. “Holy shit, I mean….holy heck.”

Your lips purse, putting Koji’s cereal in your cart before picking him up in your arms. “Koji, this is Suguru. Say hi.”

“Hi.” Koji childishly smiles at the older man. “Are you Mama’s friend?”

Suguru spares you a glance. “Uhm…yeah. Yeah, kid, I am. Nice to meet you.” He then shifts weirdly, not sure if he should shake the boy’s hand, which seems too formal. He decides to gently ruffle his hair. “So…how old is he?” The question is directed towards you, but Koji answers. “I’m five!” He holds up five small fingers. 

“Five?” Suguru’s brows furrow at you. It’s surprising how quickly you recognize that scolding look of his. “Have you—”

“No.” you once again cut him off, shifting Koji to your hip. “I haven’t.”

“Why?”

That’s a good question. One you know the answer to…slightly. But with Koji looking between you two curiously, you can’t exactly say why. At least not here. “I….I just…haven’t.”

Silence. 

You can feel Suguru regarding you with many emotions, but the main one is confusion. He bites his lip as he thinks over how to react properly to this situation. From the looks of it, Koji is just as clueless as him, maybe even more. “Jesus Christ, I don’t even know what to say right now.” Heavily sighing, he looks back at Koji, then you, then Koji, then finally you. “You’re going to…right? I mean, he deserves to know, Y/N. You’ve just–I mean, come on.”

There’s not much of a response to that, much to his expectation. You always used to do this when you were guilty. But Suguru has always been the more… empathetic of the two. “Look, I–I know you’re probably going through your own things, but…”

You look at him again, remorseful. His lips purse and with a heavy sigh, he takes a card out from his pocket and hands it to you. “Here’s my business card, it has my number. We lost your old one, so.”

Your hand reaches out to take it, examining the words, Rising Futures Foundation. "Building futures, one child at a time.” You meet his eyes again, forcing words out. “Okay…thanks.” 

“No need,” he waves you off, taking down the two Hello Panda boxes and putting them in your cart. “I’m sorry, I have things to do right now, but please…give me a call, okay?”

With slight hesitation, you nod. He mirrors you before focusing on the child again, a smile forming. “See you, buddy.” Suguru pats his shoulder lightly before walking away and away from your vision.

Your mind is being overrun, body feeling stiff and stuck, unsure of how to process what the fuck just happened. No doubt he’s about to tell his best friend. Then said best friend will find you and Koji. Then maybe he’ll try taking you to court for hiding his son for five years. You’ll obviously lose because you have no lawyer and Satoru has the best. Your son, your one and only, your sole happiness will be taken away from you and you’ll be left alone to rot in angui–

“Mama?” Koji’s small hand is put to your cheek, stirring you from your mild comatose state. “Are you okay? You have tears in your eyes.”

“What?” Raising your hand to your eye and sure enough, you are letting loose some tears. “No, no, Mama’s okay. I’m not crying, just…just tired.”

But with growing age, so is his perception. “Are you sure? Did your friend make you cry? I don’t like him then.”

Oh, how sweet. You smile, head tilting. “No, baby. Don’t say that, okay? Mama’s fine. I promise. See? I’m smiling. Wanna smile with me?”

Like clockwork, he follows your emotions and smiles, giggling. “Yeah, I wanna smile with you. I like smiling with you, Mama.”

“And I like it when you smile with me too.”

Maybe, this isn’t too bad. You were just thinking that you want Koji to finally meet his dad. So, this is good. This ensures a meeting. But, it also ensures a deep-rooted, most likely bad confrontation that will take place between you two. Why wouldn’t it? At least you’ll be able to prepare yourself now, mentally. 

You can imagine the harsh words he might say. The raised voices and brutal questions about how you can do this to him and so on. In hindsight, you deserve it. What kind of woman does do this to a man? Children are supposed to be bundles of joy, not hidden secrets. Of course, there’s the lingering worries of what legal action Satoru, or his family, might try to take.

That would quite literally fuck you over so hard.

But…maybe Satoru will go easy on you because of your past. You really don’t know. This situation is messy as fuck and it’s mostly—a lot—because of you. You have no one to blame but yourself. Hopefully, he’ll take pity on you, even though you hate when others pity you. It’s different when it comes to him, the father of your son. It always has been and it probably always will be. 

Honestly, you’re a little relieved that you ran into the best friend of the man than the man himself. Now that would’ve been bad. 

The sounds of skin against skin fill the room, mixed with heavy grunts and airy moans. The headboard repeatedly hitting the wall plays like a drum, the lights dim and the view of the dark city landscape is exposed. Satoru’s gripping the woman’s hips, leaving crescent-shaped indents in her fair skin. Her constant mewls sound heavenly in his ears. “God, you feel so….good…”

“S-satoru!” 

“Yeah, say my name. Just like that, baby.”

He presses a firm hand down on the small of her back to keep her arch in place, feeling his release invade her warm walls, filling her with a lovely warmth. She clenches around him, moaning out once more as she finishes with him.

He collapses against her back, his heavy breaths tingling her ear. “Baby, that was…so good…” she croaks out. 

Satoru’s mind is fuzzy, vision blurring slightly. He hums in response and leans back up to pull out, discarding the heavy condom with his load into the trashcan beside the bed. “Stay.” With a small pat to her hip, he’s forcing his limbs out of bed and to the connecting bathroom to grab a warm rag. Aftercare. Although most of the time, he really can’t be bothered to do something like this. Cleaning her up feels like a chore sometimes,  but the last time he voiced that opinion, it led to a huge argument between the two. 

In just a few minutes, they’re both cleaned and changed. Wearing his sweats low on his hips while she indulges in just one of his oversized shirts. Another small pet peeve he has. And another thing he must keep his mouth shut about. “What time do you have to go into the office tomorrow?” Himari asks, snuggled up against his chest, dainty fingers tracing circles along the firm muscles. 

“Same time as always,” he sighs, grabbing the TV remote and putting a random show on. “You know that.”

“I know, but…can’t you just call off tomorrow? Please? I wanna spend the day with you.”

When he looks back down at her, she’s frowning. A small tug is pulled at his heart and before he knows it, he’s pulling her closer and placing a gentle kiss to her hair. “Can’t, baby. Maybe this weekend?”

Satoru can feel her ready to protest again, but the sound of the front door downstairs being opened and closed interrupts the moment. Followed by the familiar voice of his friend. “Satoru! You here?”

Satoru’s brows furrow slightly. A small grunt falls from his lips as he maneuvers Himari off his chest, standing up and walking out. He looks down the staircase and sees Suguru staring up at him. “What do you want? I’m sorta busy.” Himari comes out and hugs his waist, proof of his so-called “busyness”. 

Suguru holds back an eye roll when the woman gives him a look, focusing on his best friend. “Need to talk to you. Privately.” 

“For what?”

“It’s important.”

“So just say it now.”

“Damn it, Satoru. Just come down and kick your friend out.”

“Girlfriend.” Himari corrects with a scowl.

“Yeah, sure.” Suguru waves her off and motions for Satoru to come down as he walks into the man’s kitchen.

Sighing with his eyes closed, he turns to Himari. “Sorry, babe. My driver’ll give you a ride back.”

Once again, she frowns. “But I—”

“Please.” 

His bottom lip pokes out in a small, but convincing pout. “I’ll see you later, mkay?” Satoru reaches his thumb out and brushes it along her cheekbone, which he knows she’s weak for. Confliction and hesitation dance in her eyes but she concedes. Gathering her purse and shows, she gives Satoru a dramatic kiss on the lips before leaving. 

“Finally,” Suguru huffs from the kitchen, swirling a glass of whiskey. “I thought you guys broke up.”

“It was a break.” Satoru grumbles, walking over to stand across from his friend, snatching the glass out his hand and sipping. “Anyway, what’s so important you come unannounced for and demand my sweet company to leave?”

“That woman is not sweet.” 

Satoru smiles and shrugs, “She tastes it.” 

A groan is heard from Suguru, eyes rolling before he shakes his head. “Look, you should sit down.”

“That good, huh?” he plops down in the nearby chair and leans back, arm resting against the back of it. He nods. “Alright, shoot, baby.”

Suguru takes in a deep breath and steels himself for the more than likely hard conversation. A part of him feels like he’s intruding, like it’s not his place to reveal such a thing to him. But at the end of the day, it’s his best friend. And you, well…he’s not exactly sure if you’re still friends or not. “What I tell you might sound crazy, but I need you to promise you’ll stay calm until I’m done speaking, got it?”

Satoru’s brows raise in mild astonishment, seeing Suguru get all serious like this is quite amusing. “Okay, I promise.” He shrugs again. “Can’t be that bad, right? No one’s hurt.”

Not yet, Suguru says to himself. He claps his hands together, mulling over how exactly to break the news. “So, I came across an old friend today.”

“Oh yeah? She cute?” Satoru swirls the alcohol in his glass.

Suguru holds back another eye roll. “Yeah, she is.”

“Nice, man.” the white-haired man chuckles, head tilting. “So what, did she make a move on you or something? Now that’s crazy.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m actually quite favorable amongst women.”

“Are you now?”

“Listen, you ass. No talking, just listening.” When he doesn’t get a response back, he takes it as a sign to continue. “Anyway, I saw an old friend. And…she had a kid with her.” Satoru nods slowly, already getting lost on his this information is even remotely crazy, or relevant to him. But he stays shut, deciding not to face another one of Suguru’s mini-lectures. One more deep breath is let out from Suguru and he gets to the point. “It was Y/N, she has a kid.”

A small beat of silence follows as Suguru gauges his best friend’s reaction. He doesn’t look like he’s flipping out, but he doesn’t show much emotion either. Confusing Suguru, he waits for the inevitable lash out. “Who?” Satoru ends up asks.

His best friend knits his brows, trying to see if the other man is serious or not. When his expression doesn’t change, he replies. “Y/N…” he speaks slowly. “...your ex?”

Still, no emotion. But his grip on the glass does tighten.  “And she has a kid.” Suguru reiterates, almost in nervousness now. 

“Satoru….the kid looks exactly like you.”

a/n: thank you guys for reading!!! Sorry if this chapter was a little short, i’ll try to make the next ones a little more longer. But writing super huge chapters isn’t my forte. Anyway, stay tuned for chapter 2 :)

[lizzieolseniskinda]

LOGAN HOWLETT - furrgiveness

x FEM!reader (POC!friendly)

SUMMARY: a furry animal gets your plans cancelled.

WORD COUNT: ?

GENRE: fluff

CONTENT WARNING: english is not my first language and i absolutely hate this

it was a friday night at the mansion, and it was unnervingly quiet for a school. logan leaned against his doorframe, and stared at the clock, waiting for you but you never came. the two of you had planned to grab a drink at his favorite bar - nothing fancy, but it was at least something. something you both enjoyed.

except, you once again, cancelled. no reason or explanation, just a short, “sorry, can’t make it tonight.” and with that you were gone.

this was the third time that week. heck, the seventh time in two weeks that you'd bailed and logan started to notice a pattern. you weren't just ditching him, jean, storm, even scott had mentioned your sudden disappearances. but logan took it a little more personally. you didn't have to spend every waking minute with him, but the lack of explanation? that ate him from the inside out. he wasn't even sure why he kept making plans for the both of you.

now, instead of staying at the mansion like a love sick fool, waiting for another canceled plan. logan grabbed his jacket and headed out. the bar in the next upcoming town had become his escape for nights like this - when things didn't make sense, and whiskey could at least dull a smart part of his irritation.

saturday morning passed, and logan still hadn't returned.

you hadn't meant for things to happen like this, guilt had been gnawing at you for weeks, but it come to a point where it was almost unbearable. you knew logan was frustrated, just like your friends. he never did say much, but the way hs expression tightened with each cancellation told you enough.

you didn't want to cancel - not on logan, or on girl's day with jean or storm, and certainly not on scott - who always made you watch scary movies with him. scott started giving you side eyes and stern look during your training together. there was something you couldn't tell them, not yet anyway.

besides, it wasn’t even that bad.

and logan… well, he hadn't come home last night. when you canceled on him for the millionth time. not that it was unusual for him to disappear every now and then to blow off steam. but something about this time felt different. it wasn't just frustration on his part. you could see it - the hurt beneath his facade that he put up.

you decided to put the facts straight.

by saturday afternoon, you decided to make up your mind and find him. you knew where he'd be. the bar wasn't far from the mansion, a ten minute drive and 30 minutes if you walked. it was a place logan went when he needed space.

walking into the bar, you spotted him immediately, he was hunched over the counter, nursing a glass of whiskey. he didn't seem as tense as the night before, but there was still a slight shadow of frustration hanging over him.

you walked up to him quietly, sliding onto the stool next to him, he reeked of liquor and cigarettes. "logan?"

he didn't look at you right away, just took another sip from his glass. on the bar was a cigar that was halfway done. "what're you doin' here?" his voice low, gruff.

you fiddled with your fingers. "i came to talk, i thought i'd owe you an explanation."

logan finally turned to look at you, his eyes scanning your face. "yeah, you do. been bailin' on everyone, 'specially me. kinda makes a guy wonder what the hell's goin' on."

"yeah.." you replied softly, biting the inside of your cheek. "i'm sorry logan. i didn't mean to keep canceling like that. i just.. i didn't know how to explain it to you."

logan raised his eyebrow, waiting to hear your explanation.

you sighed, feeling the weight of the past few weeks pressing down on you. "there's a reason i've been avoiding plans. not that i don’t want to hang out with you - or jean or scott or anyone.”

“then what the hell is goin’ on?” logan asked, his voice laced with confusion.

you swallowed, “i’ve been taking care of something.”

logan frowned. his brows knitting together. “takin’ care of what? don’t tell me you’re dealin’-“

“no! oh my gosh, no!” you stopped him before he could finish his sentence. “it’s a kitten,” you admitted. “i found her outside the mansion a few weeks ago. she was sick and alone, and i couldn’t just leave her out there.”

logan blinked, i mean it was better than what he thought at first. “a kitten?”

you nodded. “yeah, she’s been needing a lot of attention- feeding, medicine, litter box you know. that’s why i’ve been cancelling everything. i didn’t mean to blow you off, logan, i just had to take care of her.”

logan stared at you, his expression softened just a bit. "why didn't you tell anyone? why keep it a secret?"

you sighed, "because animals aren't allowed in the mansion, logan. you know how strict xavier is about that. the furniture, the old wood - they don't want anything getting ruined. and i don't want anyone to get in trouble because of me."

logan let out a breath, setting his glass down with a soft thud on the bar. "so you've been sneaking around, just to take care a kitten?"

you nodded, "yeah. i thought if i could just keep it a secret it’d be okay. but… i didn’t think about how it would look for you. i didn’t mean for it to come off like i was avoiding you.”

logan was quiet for a long moment, his eyes still on you. then, after what felt like an eternity, he shook his head, a small, dry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you’re an idiot, y’know that?”

you blinked, surprised. “what?”

logan let out a low chuckle, the tension finally breaking. “you think i give a damn about some furniture or old wood? if you’ve got somethin’ goin’ on, you tell me. i can handle it- i can handle charles. you hidin’ stuff — that’s what pisses me off.”

you felt the relief wash over you, your shoulders finally relaxing. “i’m sorry, logan. i really didn’t mean to hurt you.”

logan grunted, taking another sip of his drink. “yeah, well. you did. but i get it now.”

you nodded, giving him a small, apologetic smile. “i’ll make it up to you. no more secrets, i swear.”

logan’s smirk widened slightly. “damn right, no more secrets.”

for a moment, the two of you just sat there in silence, the weight of the past few weeks finally lifting. logan’s frustration had faded, replaced by the familiar ease you usually shared.

“so,” he said, glancing at you with a raised eyebrow. “what’re you gonna do with the kitten?”

you smiled, a genuine warmth spreading through you. “i don’t know yet. i’ll figure something out. maybe i should find her a home. but… for now, i’ll keep her out of trouble. away from the furniture.”

logan chuckled again, shaking his head. “you’re somethin’ else, kid.”

as the two of you sat in the bar, the tension and frustration finally fading. no more secrets, no more cancellations.

just you, logan, and maybe a kitten (or two).

“also, i’m pretty sure charles already knows. being a mindreader and all.”

[nickynclark]

The Psychology of Love and Loathing

Spencer Reid x F!Reader

Enemies to lovers! 

Word count: 7,584

Warnings: no use of y/n, reader goes by 'bunny', discussion of a case (nothing too far from usual Criminal Minds gore), reader has three PhD's (bet you didn't know that), briefly mentions readers mother committing su!cide, mentions of toxic parents, alcohol consumption, jealous! Reader, jealous! Reid, pet names (good girl, silly girl, baby, sweetheart, sweet thing), degradation, oral f! Receiving, like one line of oral m!receiving, unprotected p in v (pls wrap it before you tap it), no mention of reader being on birth control, anal play, overstimulation, after care. If i missed anything let me know!

Author’s note: i’m so sorry im ovulating. This is porn w a shit ton of plot. We’re talkin WORLD BUILDING

MDNI BELOW THE CUT

You blink at the papers in front of you, checking once, twice, double checking three times to make sure what you're seeing is correct. 

You were on a case in Texas, called in by local police after four bodies, two wealthy couples, were found shot execution-style and posed on different park benches throughout Amarillo. While at first, it seemed as though it was your average serial killer, the autopsy report showed that the gunshot wound was done post-mortem- all four victims were murdered by being forced to drink household bleach. 

You looked down at the papers one more time, noticing that one man, Adam Gilman, cleaned houses of the wealthy, and he purchased a lot of bleach. Way more than needed to clean a few bathrooms. 

You quickly dial Garcia, and she answers within the first ring. 

"Ask and you shall receive." 

"Garcia, what can you find out about Adam Gilman?"

You hear typing from the other end of the line before spewing information, "35-year-old white male, he grew up super rich until his dad pulled his college funding his senior year when his sister went to school to be a doctor. He started paying for her," She suddenly sucked in a breath, "It looks like he had to drop out. He was at Harvard Law. Spiraled downhill from there, sending you the files and address now." 

"Thanks, Garcia!" 

You rush into the room where the rest of the team is and run up to Hotch. 

"Look at this! He fits the profile to a t!" 

Hotch looks down at his tablet, and you feel eyes glance over to you, about to speak, but Spencer Reid bursts through the doors. 

"Guys our unsub is Adam Gilman! He lives five minutes from here, and his job is on the way." 

Hotch nods at you, acknowledging that you have the same information but Reid said it louder, "Let's go." 

Since you joined the Bureau last year, Spencer Reid has been competing with you. Whereas he was thirty-three with three PhDs, you were twenty-five with the same amount. Of course, he got his when he was much younger, but he still seemed to overcompensate. 

He was intimidated by you. 

This wasn't the first time a situation like this had happened. It's almost like he had a radar for when you made a big break, and he wanted to steal the spotlight. 

And not to mention he hates you for some reason. 

Ever since your first week in the BAU, Dr. Reid has acted indifferent to you. You understand that change can be uncomfortable, but you have done nothing to deserve this cold shoulder. 

On your first day, you strutted into the office dressed in a pair of black slacks, a black, v-neck blouse, and some hot pink pumps; being honest, you looked like you owned the place. 

When Aaron introduced you to the team, you shook everyone's hand except Reid's. 

"The number of pathogens passed through a handshake is staggering," he stated mater-of-factly while staring at your hand, "it's actually safer to kiss." 

You laugh and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, "Although I appreciate the concern, a handshake is actually a sign of peaceful intentions. Soldiers would cover their swords on their left side and shake their right hand to show they mean no harm," you shrug, "but I understand the mysophobia." 

He nodded at you, a glare suddenly hardening his features, "interesting." 

He has refused to hold conversation with you, maintain eye contact with you, or be in the same room with you for an extended amount of time ever since. 

He hates it the most when you're right. 

After arresting Adam, the team desperately needed to interrogate him. He was denying all claims despite all the evidence against him. In fact, all he has said has been denials. Besides that, he didn't speak. He hadn't asked for a lawyer, hadn't shown any recognition to the couples, and hadn't said anything besides I've never seen those people before.

"We need to make him uncomfortable," Morgan says, "he's running this whole show. We gotta flip the tide." 

Emily looks up from her Chinese takeout, laughing, "Let's throw Bun and Reid in there." 

Your eyes widen, and you are suddenly incredibly red. Your face is on fire, and you start looking around panicked. 

The team started referring to you as 'Bun' over the summer when you all went to a bar together. You accidentally had one too many drinks, and Derek said you were bouncing up and down the whole time. 

"She's like a Bunny." 

"Don't call me a Bunny!" You slur, "I'm mean. And vicious." 

Penelope laughs at you, throwing an arm around your shoulder, "Alright, Bun. Let's go dance!" 

Ever since that night, the nickname 'bun' stuck. 

Although Emily suggested you and Reid distracting Adam as a joke, Rossi's lips pull into a smile, "That just might work." 

Emily sets her food down, suddenly aware that she presented the first good idea so far, "we could dress them up some, make them look like a wealthy couple, and have them ask Adam some questions. It might make him mad enough to break." 

Aaron looks at you and you gulp subtly, then he looks to Reid, "It's up to you." 

You look at your feet, frowning, "I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get this guy in jail." 

Reid simply nods. 

"Okay," Aaron says, "we'll go get the stuff." 

You and Spencer remain in the small room while the others rush out to get the things you require for your transformation. 

"Hi." Your voice comes out quiet. 

"Hello." He responds blandly. 

You suddenly realize this is the first time you and Reid have been in a room alone together, so you take the opportunity. 

"What have I done to you?" 

Reid's eyebrows shoot up at the confrontation "Huh?" 

You roll your eyes, "ever since my first day you've avoided me. What did I do?" 

He scoffs, "I have no idea what you're talking about." 

"Sure you don't." You sigh and run a hand through your hair, "I'm the only person on the team you practically refuse to talk to." 

"I'm talking to you right now," he says as if that's a counterargument, "I talk to you all the time." 

"Yeah, when you're forced to!" You say exasperatedly, "You know everyone on the team's birthdays, all except mine. You know their family situation because you've asked." 

He shrugs, "I know plenty about you."

"How old am I?" 

He looks into your eyes calmly, "You're twenty-eight." 

"I'm twenty-five." 

Emily suddenly bursts into the room, "There isn't anything for you guys in lost and found. You have to go on a shopping trip. Strauss said a 300 dollar limit." 

You nod, "I assume that's just for clothes?" 

"Yes," She answers, "Reid is going to wear Rossi's watch and a wedding band JJ's going to pick up. Both of you will wear a ring." She then looks to you, "We have a lot of jewelry for you to pick through." 

You nod, standing and Reid rises next to you. 

Emily tosses you some keys, "be back in an hour." 

***

The ride to the mall was quiet. You didn't bother talking to Spencer as you drove, and he didn't bother speaking to you. 

He also kept turning down the radio when you tried to turn it up. It was painfully awkward. 

Once at the mall, you and Reid split up incredibly fast. 

He ran to some men's warehouse, and you rushed to the women's section of a department store. 

You quickly pick up a pair of black pinstriped slacks that hug your curves and a tight, white blouse. You finally grab a black, pinstriped blazer, and you head to check out. 

On your way, though, a pair of stunning, emerald heels grabs your attention. 

You walk closer to study them, and god do they look lavish. 

If you weren't here for work, you would grab them in a heartbeat, but you were, and you had already met your price cap. 

"Buy them." 

You hear Spencer's voice from behind you, and you jump, grabbing your chest in fright.

"What?" 

"Get them," he shrugs, "it's obvious you want to." 

You laugh shyly, and he stuffs his hands into his jean pockets, his bag of clothes hanging around his wrist. 

"I've already met my limit." 

"Okay?"

You frown, studying him. He looks calm and relaxed. You tilt your head slightly, and he matches your movement. 

No, that can't be right. 

You cross your arms in a silent stare down, and he does, too. 

"You're mimicking me." 

He scoffs, "God, Bun, not everything I do is to spite you!" 

Your eyes widen and you suddenly point at him, "You!"

"What?" 

"You just called me Bun!" 

His eyes barely widen, but he catches himself, staring straight ahead. 

His foot stops tapping, "you're hearing things." 

"And that's your tell!" You point at his foot, "You just mimicked me, called me 'Bun', and then lied about it!" 

He rolls his eyes, "what size are you?" 

"You're avoiding the question!" 

"You didn't ask a question." He gestures to the heels, "What size?" 

"Why?" 

"Answer the question, Bunny." 

His tone is stern, and you freeze under his stare. 

"Nine." 

He nods and grabs a box in that size. 

"No!" You protest, "Don't!"

"I still had a hundred bucks left over, it's on the company's card." 

You blink twice, confused as to why he's being so nice to you. 

"Okay. I need to pay and I'm done." 

He nods to you, and you both check out. He hands you the heels and you let out a quiet thanks while headed to the car.

***

When you got back to the station, the turnaround was dizzying. 

You were shoved into a room to change, as was Reid. 

After you changed, JJ came in and whistled. 

"Sheesh, Bun, you look good!" 

You laugh and straighten out your jacket, slipping on the heels Spencer bought you today. 

"Are those new?"

You nod, "yeah, Spencer said he had some left in his budget." 

She shook her head, "Reid must've bought those with his own money." 

Your eyes widen, and she laughs, "C'mon, Bun. You need to look at jewelry." 

You picked out a pair of dainty, diamond earrings, a matching necklace, and several expensive bracelets that had to be physically screwed onto your wrists. 

Once standing in front of Hotch, Emily gave you the wedding bands JJ had picked up. 

Yours was a gorgeous gold band with an emerald-cut diamond on top. It was simple, but, God, was it stunning. 

You slipped it onto your finger and Reid slipped the simple golden band over his, his hands looking all that much better with the ring on it. It makes your mouth water just thinking about his fingers.

You quickly shake your head. No. You hate Spencer Reid. Nothing will change that. 

Hotch gives you and Reid strict instructions on how to talk to Adam, and then he's sending you in. 

"Sell it," Aaron says, "this might be our only shot." 

You give him a curt nod, linking your arm with Reid and smiling as you walk into the interrogation room. 

Spencer looks down at you with a look of passion you've never seen before. One that you aren't convinced could be fake. 

As soon as you looked at Adam, you could tell there was something off. He was picking at the skin around his nails and chewing on the skin of his lips where they looked raw and painful. 

As you sat down in front of him, Spencer was the first to speak. 

"Who is this guy again, babe?" 

You held back the shock in your face at the pet name as he put a hand on your thigh. You made a point to twist the wedding ring on your finger before opening the files in front of you. 

"Adam?" You look up at the man in front of you, "are you Adam?" He nods, and you hum, "Who are you, exactly?" 

Reid smiles and looks to you, "Play nice." He slides the files over to him, "Harvard law, that's impressive. Did you apply or did your father buy your way in?"

Adam's eyes narrowed, "I applied and got accepted. I was a prodigy." 

You smile subtly, knowing you and Reid have already gotten him to show more of himself than he had to anyone else. 

You look at your fake husband and laugh, "I don't think you can decide that you're a prodigy." You look Adam up and down, "my husband, here," you place your hand on Spencer's shoulder, looking at him as if he hung the moon and stars, "he is a prodigy. How old were you when you got your first PhD?"

"Seventeen," he laughed humbly, looking at you, "you flatter me." 

You smile softly as Reid squeezes your thigh, something Adam could not see and, therefore, was unnecessary. You look at Spencer, but he refuses to meet your eyes. 

You turn back to Adam, pulling out the photos of the four bodies and showing them to him, "have you met these people before?" 

He shakes his head, "I've never seen those people before." 

"Really?" You ask calmly, "You've never, ever, seen Andrea Haskins?" 

Adam shakes his head. 

"Never, not once, seen her husband, Kent Haskins, either?" 

He shakes his head again. 

Reid sits up straighter, linking his hands together on the table in front of him, "you received a pretty generous amount of money from him every month since... August?" 

You mentally thank Garcia for that information, and mentally thank Reid for remembering it. 

Adam sits up straight, too, but falling shorter than Reid, "I clean their house for them, don't mean I've ever met 'em." 

You hum, "I wouldn't let a stranger into our home, would you?" 

Reid shakes his head, and Adam gets visibly upset at your interactions. His hands clench to the table ledge, knees bouncing, eyes narrowed. 

"Say, Adam," you perk up, "how much bleach do you use per house you clean, about?" 

Adam's eyes trained on me, "you're a smart girl," he then looked to Reid, "with an even smarter husband." He spits the words as if they are poison on his tongue, "You do the math." 

You stand, smiling softly, "So, not 10 gallons per week?" 

Adam shrugs, "If that's your calculation." 

You walk closer to the man, sitting on the table next to him and leaning down to him, "And I assume you also have never met the Coleman's?"

He shakes his head. 

"Never met anyone in the Coleman family?" 

"No. God, you people suck at your job."

"That's actually interesting considering we have video footage of your picking up Lacey Coleman from school last Monday. A family doesn't let a stranger house cleaner pick up their child from school." 

Adam's eyes widen, and you know you have him cornered. 

"How long had your sister been friends with the Colemans?" Reid interjects. 

"Don't you dare talk about her." 

"Why not?" Reid asks simply, "Does she bother you?" 

"I was going to be a Lawyer, I was going to be successful and make my dad proud of me. Until she ruined it all with her perfect schooling and perfect husband," Adam spits.

"Halley is a pretty successful neurosurgeon, huh? She gets all of daddy's special attention, doesn't she?" You say.

"Get your wife on a leash," Adam says to Reid. 

"All you wanted was to feel loved, to hear your dad say he's proud of you," you keep talking, "and you were going to kill him because he wouldn't say it." 

"Shut the hell up, bitch!" 

"You were getting ready to kill your mom and dad because, hey, why not go straight to the source? Why not kill who made you like this?" 

"What if your family pulled your funds for a sibling, huh?" He yells to you and Reid, "How would you feel?" 

The room goes silent and Reid allows you to keep talking, keep getting on his nerves. 

"His daddy left him when his mom got sick, and my mommy killed herself when I was seven. We worked for our degrees, and we worked even harder for the scholarships that paid for our three PhDs." You hiss, "I would've worked harder to get what I want instead of just expecting it." 

"You're a bitch," Adam spit in my face. 

"I could be worse. I could take away a little girl's family. I could kill four innocent people out of my frustration and failure." 

Reid finally stepped in, grabbing your hand softly and pulling you back to your side of the table. 

"I didn't kill those people." 

"That's not what your body is telling us, Adam." Reid states simply, "You are hurt and still are hurting, I understand that. But now so is Lacey. That's on you." 

Adam's lip quivers, "I didn't hurt Lacey! Lacey was at her friend's house!" 

Reid rises, grabs your hand gently, and walks to the door, and you follow.

"Hey!" Adam screams, "where are you going? Get back here!" 

As soon as the door shuts behind you, you let go of Reid's hand. He turns to you and watches your expression shift. 

"Good work, Bun." 

You nod, and he looks like he's about to say something else, mouth opening, but then Hotchner walks in. 

"Great work.” 

You smile at Aaron, and Reid stares at you with something dark behind his eyes. He looks nervous, and hungry, and concerned, and certain. 

"We'll be heading back in 30. Wrap up. Great job, Doctors." 

***

On the plane, you and Reid are still in your "Rich Couple" personas, not having enough time to change out. 

You sit near the back of the plane, headphones in, and reading Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience by William Blake. 

"Little Lamb who made thee, Dost though know who made thee?" 

You hear the words of "The Lamb" spoken, causing you to take out your headphones and look to the source: Spencer Reid. 

He sits across from you as you ask, "You read Blake?" 

"Blake to Poe to Plath, I don't mind." 

You narrow your eyes at him, "what do you want?"

"Really?" He asks, "We can't just have a nice moment?" 

You raise your eyebrows at him, "Not you and me. We don't have nice moments."

His facial features soften, and he sighs, "I'm sorry for acting so harsh toward you. You didn't deserve that." 

You're shocked by his statement, "Pardon me?"

He runs a hand through his hair, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, "I was scared, Bun. I was the smart one. I convinced myself that was all I could be," his breath hitches and his eyes connect with mine, "I thought if there was someone smarter, more sociable, and nicer than me, they wouldn't need me anymore." 

"Spence..." you start, and you realize it's the first time you've called him his nickname. 

He notices it, too, eyes shifting from one of concern to one of understanding, "You're incredibly smart. You're kind, and you're fun to be around. I'm sorry it took me so long to notice that."

You nodded, "thank you." 

He nods and goes to stand.

"Wait." You quickly speak up and he freezes, "What's... um..." you stutter, "what's your favorite Poe?" 

Reid smiles, sitting back down, "Annabel Lee." 

You smile, "Gold-Bug."

He laughs, "Really?" 

And you nod. 

**** 

"Let's go get drinks!" Garcia announces as you and the team wrap up your paperwork, and you laugh. 

"I don't think so," you smile, "not tonight." 

"C'mon, Bun," Garcia whines "It'll be fun!"

Reid suddenly looked at you, eyes darker, eyes that held you tight in a grip, "Yeah, c'mon, Bun." He says the name with a sensuality you had never heard before. It sent a shiver down your spine, "it'll be fun." 

You look at him, taking in a shaky breath, "I.. uh, don't have a ride." 

"I'll drive you," Reid says simply, and the rest of the team just stares at the interaction. 

Things have changed since the interrogation room, you know that, but did you want to be alone with him already? 

You look at him, his messy hair, his stubble, and chocolate brown eyes, and your pussy clenches around nothing. 

You find yourself nodding, mouth too dry to speak.

"Good," he smiles, "follow me."

Your team watches with uncertainty as you walk off with Spencer, and it's almost like they've seen the change, too. 

No, they're profilers. They know Reid had you wrapped around his finger while reciting Blake. 

They also knew Spencer had been pining after you since you wore those hot pink heels on the first day of work. But they didn't need to tell you that. 

Reid guides you to the elevator, and you comply silently. Once the door closes and it's just you two, you turn to Spencer.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" He responds simply.

You turn to face him, "why are you being so nice to me?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Bun." 

You roll your eyes, "yeah right." 

The elevator doors open, and he walks you to his car, opening the door for you.

"Thank you," you smile cautiously, and he nods. 

He sits down in the driver's seat and pulls out of his parking spot. One of his hands rests on the wheel, the other placed on the gearshift. His eyes focus on the road, but they occasionally slide over to you. The silence- although comfortable- practically kills you.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" 

He glances over at you, and he smirks, "I want to." 

You look at him, "why?"

He shrugs, "spent too long not doing it." 

You nod and glance out the window, just as Spencer puts the car in park. 

As you step out of the car, you hear Derek and Emily from behind you, making a show of letting you know they are also here. 

You walked over to Morgan and hugged him.

"Hey, Bunny," he smiles and kisses your forehead, "first rounds on me tonight, sweetheart." 

You laugh, "thank god! Need a handsome man to buy me some drinks!"

Reid scoffs from behind you, but you shrug it off, assuming it was about something Emily had said. 

It wasn't. 

As you walk into the bar with Derek's arm around your shoulder, you quickly make your way to the table with Garcia and Rossi. 

"What are you drinking?" You ask Garcia, gesturing to her hot pink drink in front of her, garnished with cotton candy, strawberries on sticks, and a big, twisty straw.

Gracia's eyes widen, "oh my gosh! You've never been here before??" You shake your head, and she squeals with excitement, "Okay, so, it's called the Cotton Candy Chameleon. It's basically strawberry vodka and coconut rum with strawberry soda! Look!" She picks up the cotton candy and places it into the liquid, watching as it rapidly dissolves, "did you see that?!" 

"That's why it's called a Chameleon," Derek laughs, arm still around you, "want me to get you one?" 

You nod happily, "and a shot of Titos? I'll pay you back!" 

Morgan winks at you, "It's on me, Bun." 

As he walks toward the bar, you and Garcia continue to chat about anything and everything, her childhood cat, where you grew up, and how Garcia got put on the team. 

"You were so good at being bad," you laugh, swirling your third Cotton Candy Chameleon that Morgan brought over to you, "that the FBI gave you a job instead of jail time?" 

She nodded, giggling, "Pretty much. Are you going to take that shot?" She points to the round Rossi had bought for the table. 

You laugh, quickly picking it up and downing it, "god!" 

"Woah!" Morgan laughs, hands catching your hips to keep you steady, "careful, Bunny." 

You feel eyes glaring into you, and you trace them to Reid sitting at the bar. He has his elbow on the bar, leaning into his hand as he watches you with a look of unhappiness. 

You roll your eyes, finishing the final chug of your drink, and placing a hand on Morgan's chest. 

"You're warm," you say with a goofy smile, and Derek laughs.

"Oh, really, sweetheart?" 

You nod, leaning further into him as his hands rest on your hips. 

You make eye contact with him before you smirk and push away, "I'm going to get another drink." 

"Hey, Bun!" You turn around to Rossi, his empty glass raised to you, "Get me another old fashioned." 

You nod, smiling at the older man, and waltzing to the bar, right next to Reid. 

"You having fun, Bunny?" He asks, voice low. 

"Yes, sir." You smile, waiting for the bartender to walk over. 

He sucks in a breath at the title, "You sure are touchy with Morgan," he grits out, staring at you, not quite your eyes, but something a little bit lower. 

You scoff, "What's it to you?" 

"Nothing." He spits, eyes connecting with yours, pupils taking over the brown of his eyes. 

The bartender finally comes up to you, a cute girl in a black, low-cut tank top and some black, short shorts. She has short blonde hair, barely reaching her shoulders and it's curled up and pinned back so her hair is framing her face. 

She was gorgeous, actually.

"What can I do for ya?" She asks, shaking a drink before breaking the seal and pouring it into a glass. 

You tell her your order, and that it's on David Rossi's tab, and she nods. 

Then she turns to Spencer, "What about you handsome?" She says it sultry like she's trying to seduce him, "Need another? I'd be happy to get you somethin' else." 

Your eyes narrow on her, a deep, red-hot feeling forming in your gut. She doesn't see your stare though, completely focused on Spencer, leaning over the counter so her cleavage is on full display, biting her lip and twirling her hair. 

You decided then and there that you hated her. 

Reid tells her that he's okay, water if she insists, and when she comes back with his water, she hands him a napkin with ink scribbled on it, "I get off in 45 if you're interested."

"He's not." 

The words come out of your lips faster than you could think, your brain taking longer to catch up with your mouth. 

"Pardon?" She asks you, calm and calculating, "Didn't know you could decide that for him." 

You laugh cockily, "Oh?" You act fast pulling yourself into Reid's lap before he can protest, but his hands wrap around you, trapping you where you sat, "I think I can." 

Reid looked at the bartender, then his eyes trailed back to you, "Sorry, Brooklyn, I'm spoken for," his eyes darkened, a sly smile rising on his lips. 

The bartender walks away to work on your drinks, and you turn all the way to face Reid. 

"What are you doing, Bun?" He asks, voice low. You shift your hips and he hums, grabbing your waist to stop the movement, "Stop that. Talk to me." 

You whimper, leaning into his chest, "You were really going to choose some bottle blonde over me?" Your words come out harsh, but it's also the first time you've said what's truly on your mind in front of Reid.

His eyes land back on Brooklyn, and he smirks, "She's pretty, I'll give her that," he looks down at you, right as the bartender places the drinks in front of you, "But you? You're on a whole different level, Bun." 

You blush and shake your head, just as Brooklyn walks back over to hand you your drinks. 

As she sets them down she says, "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you two were a thing." 

You quickly shake your head, "Don't worry about it," you smile, "neither did he." 

"In my defense," Spencer laughs, his lips close to your ear, "I didn't know you were an option. If I had, there wouldn't have been a competition."

You shiver when you feel his breath on your neck, "yeah, right. You've hated me since I joined the BAU."

His eyes widened, "Hated you?" 

You nod softly, a little confused by the question. 

"Hated isn't the word I would use," He laughed. 

"What is?" You ask quietly. 

He leans his head side to side, as if pondering the best way to answer, "obsessed? Intimidated?" He looked at you, a small smirk playing on his lips, "Lusted?" 

Your eyes widened, "what?"

He shrugs, a hand falling to your thigh, thumb drawing circles, "The way you are entrances me. The way you walk, the way you talk, the way you exist." He leans his head down so his eyes meet yours, "I knew I couldn't do anything about that, so I stayed away. I guess it came off as hatred." 

The hand that wasn't on your leg reached up to pluck the cotton candy off of your drink, opening his mouth and letting the sugar melt on his tongue. 

"Mmm," he hummed, eyes still locked with yours, "so sweet, Bun." 

Your jaw dropped slightly, thighs clenching, and he grips your flesh, "Nuh, uh. What's wrong?" He chuckles as you whine against him, "Use your words." 

You sit up, straightening and sliding off of his lap, "You're a sick freak, Spencer Reid." 

He licked his lips, eyes trailing down your body, "I'll bring Rossi his drink, wait by the door." 

You cross your arms over your chest, but your heart is pounding so loudly you can hear it in your ears, "what makes you think I listen to you?" 

"Oh, Bunny," his finger lifts your chin, "I'm a profiler. Absolutely everything tells me that you'll listen to me." 

You roll your eyes and scoff, "And if they ask where we're going?"

A devilish smirk flashes across his lips, and he leans toward your ear, and you can feel his breath on your skin, "you already told them you're tired," he pauses, "I'm going to fuck you to sleep, Doctor." 

You suck in a shuddering breath, eyes glazing over as he chuckles, pulling away from you. 

You take a step back, mumbling, "Hurry back." 

He smiles widely, pupils practically taking over his chocolate eyes, "good girl." 

You suck in a breath as he turns on his heel, walking over to the team as you wait by the door. Penelope frowns at you, waving, and Emily blows you a kiss. 

Rossi looks at you calmly, and Derek raises a smooth eyebrow with a smirk. 

Spencer walks back to you, grabbing your arm as you walk to the car.

Once you get back to his black Dodge Challenger, he presses you against the door, “How drunk are you right now?”

“From one to ten?” You ask, voice quiet, Reid looking at you like you’re a meal.

He nods, hands gripping your hips, “Goddamn it, Bun,” he hisses, “Yes, one to ten.”

“Four,” you answer, and his lips slam into yours in a frenzy.

It’s all tongue and teeth like he couldn’t wait a single second longer to taste you. Like it would kill him. 

Your chest arches into his, hands going to his shoulders, holding on for life in the bruising kiss. 

He pulls away, his eyes nearly black, eyes filled with an undeniable hunger, and it makes you shiver. 

A smirk comes over his face as he steps away from you, opening your door, “get in.”

You don’t have to be told twice, stepping into the car, carefully so you don’t fall in the emerald heels he bought you.

With his own money.

“Spencer?”

He turns on the car and pulls out of the parking spot, “Yeah?” 

You look at him, studying how you are both still dressed like a posh-rich couple, “You bought me these heels.” 

He nods, chuckling and placing his hand on your thigh, “Excellent observation.”

You shudder at the contact, “with your own money.” 

He smirks, “Who told you that?”

“JJ?”

“Ah,” he laughs, “Yeah, green’s your color.”

You raise an eyebrow, “How did you decide that?”

“A few weeks ago you wore this emerald green sweater,” he says, “It looked so goddamn good on you.”

You recall the memory, smiling softly, “Is that why you were avoiding me? You thought I looked pretty?”

His voice gets stern, face serious when he looks over at you, “Stop talking, Bun.”

A belly laugh escapes your mouth, head thrown back as you cackle, “I thought I pissed you off somehow!”

He gives your thigh a sharp squeeze, “I don’t think I’ve ever been genuinely angry with you.”

You sit dumbfounded, a quiet oh slipping past your closed lips. 

He looks at you and parks the car, “I’ve been upset, frustrated, and God have I been irritated with you,” he turns to look at you, pulling his hand away from your leg, “But I have never been angry with you.” 

He unbuckles quickly as you stare at him in surprise, and he gets out of the car, rushing around to open your door, “hurry up.”

You stumble out of the car, and he puts a hand on the small of your back, ushering you into his apartment.

You don’t get a chance to fully appreciate the chaotic charm of Spencer Reid’s place. As soon as you notice the books piled up everywhere, he spins you around, pressing your back against the door and capturing your lips in another kiss. This kiss is slower and more controlled, with his hands sliding up your sides to your back, one hand tangling in the hair at the base of your neck. You ball his shirt into your hands, pulling him impossibly closer.

“God, Bun, your fucking intoxicating,” he sighs against your lips, hands slipping under your shirt to rest on your bare hips, and you sigh at the contact. 

He smirks, trailing wet kisses down your neck, gently grazing his teeth over your pulse point, and you moan, “there she is,” he mumbles, “been wanting to hear you make those pretty little sounds for a while.”

You whimper, “Shut up.”

He laughs, tugging you away from the door, and guiding you into his bedroom. 

You shed off your suit jacket, and he rips your shirt over your head before pushing you down on his mattress. You gasp as you fall, Spencer's hands quickly move to your slacks, unbuttoning them and looking up at you with eyes so fiery you feel your whole body set aflame. 

“Yes,” you say, noticing the silent question Spencer is asking you, “please, yes.” 

He smirks, kissing the skin just above the waistline of your pants before tugging them down, and you lift your hips to help him slide them off.

He throws the items into the corner of his room, sitting up and looking at you: dressed in nothing but a black bra and matching panties, his eyes darken. He slides his hands down your body, and he practically growls when he feels your sopping wet cunt.

“God dammit, you’re so wet Bunny,” he says, his finger sliding over the soaked fabric of your panties, “such a silly girl, thinking I could want anyone but you.”

You whimper at the comment, and he leans down to kiss your upper thigh, slowly spreading your legs apart with the palms of his hands. Your legs widen as he settles in, kissing slowly up and around them, licking, sucking, and biting until you’re littered with heart-shaped marks. 

“Gonna show you how much I wanted you,” he hisses, his hot breath fanning over your covered pussy, “gotta let you know how dumb you are for thinking I was anyone’s but yours.”

You whimper shamelessly at the comment, your legs trying to close, desperate for any kind of friction.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you, Bunny?” he laughs, looking up at you from between your thighs, “You like it when I tell you just how stupid you are? How fuckin’ useless that little brain of yours is?”

You nod rapidly, and Spencer licks a thick stripe over your clothed core. You let out a loud gasp, your head lolling to the side at the much-appreciated attention. He pushes your underwear to the side, diving into your pussy like a man starved. Spencer kitten licks your clit before pulling it into his mouth and sucking harshly, and your back arches from the bed.

“Fuck, Spence,” you moan, hands shooting into his hair, “so fuckin good, feels so good.”

“Mmm, there you go, baby,” he says, his index finger circling your entrance, “let me know how good I’m doing,” and his finger slowly pushes into you as his mouth reconnects to your hot skin.

Spencer Reid was talented with his tongue, but, god, his fingers were a whole other story.

He curled his finger toward him, finding that sweet, gummy spot inside you almost immediately, abusing it before inserting another and scissoring his fingers.

“You’re so tight,” he mumbles against your cunt, and a loud moan slips from your lips, your hands tangling into his hair as you desperately try to grind against his tongue, but he puts a hand over your stomach, holding you down.

He continues his torment, fingers working you open and his tongue moving rapidly through your folds. His fingers drag down your front wall slowly, and you can’t help his name slipping off of your tongue. 

He smirks, looking up at you, “Atta girl, Bunny. Let everyone know who’s making you feel this good.”

You moan loudly as he continues his torment. Your legs start to shake, his tongue swirling circles around your clit, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and one of your hands grabs your breast to ground you. Your breathing gets ragged, and it’s all you can do to stop yourself from screaming.

“You gonna cum for me, Bunny?” He asks, voice low, “Gonna cum all over my fingers?”

You nod, and he tsk’s.

“Without asking?” He says, a smirk on his perfect lips, slowing his fingers down and moving to kiss the insides of your thighs, “Not even going to ask after I’ve worked so hard for you?”

You throw your head back with a groan, “Please, Spencer!”

“Please what?”

You consider slapping him, telling him to stop treating you like some desperate slut, but in your current state? You might as well be.

“Please let me cum! I’ve been so good for you, Spence, I’ll be so good!”

“Yeah? You going to be my good girl?” he asks, eyes locking with yours, eyebrows raised, as he speeds up his fingers inside of your spasming pussy, “You promise?”

“Promise! Please, Spence, let me cum for you!”

He pauses for a second like he’s thinking, the smirk on his face growing, “cum for me, Bunny,” and he watches your face, jaw dropped as you orgasm around his fingers, your slick coating his palm and dripping onto the sheets below you as he works you through your bliss.  

Once you come down, though, his fingers don't stop moving, his thumb moving to rub tight circles on your pulsing clit, “You’ve got another one in you,” he says as you bite your lip and your eyes water slightly, “C’mon, baby, you can give me another, right?”

You nod your head, your lip tugged between your teeth, your legs still shaking. He doesn’t give you time to breathe, just continues to suck and lick on your clit like it’s what he was made for, and, before you know it, your eyes clench shut as you rapidly approach another orgasm.

Little whimpers leave your lips, and Spencer chuckles slightly, “My poor girl, so desperate for me. I can tell you’re getting close again, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, and he speeds up his pace, your jaw dropping into a silent ‘o’.

He kisses your stomach, holding your shaking legs with his free hand, “Give it to me, Bun.”

And you release with reckless ambition, thighs flung open and a hand gripping the sheets for your life as a string of moans leaves your lips. Spencer removes his fingers and moves down to lick up your come, and you have no choice but to whimper. He smirks and pulls away from your cunt, placing his lips hot on your own, and you taste yourself.

“You’re so sweet, Bunny. Sweeter than candy,” he sighs, hands sliding down your chest.

You whimper, forcing your hands into his hair in another soul-crushing kiss, and he chuckles into it. 

“Desperate for something?” 

And you nod, one hand trailing down the front of his body, grabbing his dick covered by his pants and he groans.

“You want this cock, Baby?” He lifts off of you, sitting with his knees on either side of your body while he quickly undoes the top two buttons of his shirt before deeming it useless and pulling it over his head while your hands make quick work of his pants, pulling off his belt and tugging his pants and boxers down enough to free his aching cock.

You moan at the sight, immediately leaning forward to kiss his tip, before he pushes you back onto the bed. 

“Another time, Bun,” he grumbles, “need to feel you around me.” 

You moan, nodding and lining him up with your quivering pussy, and he pushes forward just slightly, enough for his tip to pop inside of you, and the groan that leaves his lips is pornographic. 

“She’s so fuckin’ tight, baby, can feel her squeezing me.” 

You whimper, “please! More!” 

He chuckles darkly at your request, “yeah? You need something?” 

You roll your hips forward, pushing him in a little further before he slaps the outside of your thigh harshly. 

“Nuh uh, sweetheart. I’m gonna take my time with you.” 

He emphasizes his words by pulling out slightly, and pushing back in, fucking you with just his tip, and a desperate gasp leaves your lips. 

“Look at you,” he groans, continuing his torturous motions, “so desperate for my cock. Such a nasty little thing.” 

And the thrusts harshly, abruptly sheathing his whole cock inside of you, and your head throws back. 

He has the audacity to laugh at you, quickening his pace, each thrust hitting causing him to hit your cervix in a blissfully painful way, your eyes rolling back, begging for something. You're not quite sure what, though. 

“So fucked out you can't think straight?” He coos, his pace never slowing, “if I knew this was all it took to shut you up I’d have done it a long time ago.” 

And you whine at the thought. 

He raises an eyebrow, “You like that idea, don't you, Bunny?” And you nod. 

Suddenly, he pulls out completely, slapping your thigh again, “Roll over. Hands and knees.” 

You quickly comply, supporting yourself on shaky arms and legs, and he trails a hand up your spine before pushing down, forcing your chest to the bed below you. 

He groans as you arch your back, quickly pushing himself back inside your sopping cunt.,

“Such pretty holes you got here, baby,” he whispers, spitting onto your asshole as one of his thumbs spreads out the lubricant, causing your breath to hitch. 

“Wanna fill both of them for you, can I do that?” 

And you nod recklessly, your head bouncing against the pillows at the speed and power of his thrusts, and he takes your permission to push his thumb into your virgin ass, and the moan that rips through your throat is almost humiliating. 

“You like being so full of me, don't you, Bunny?”

And you groan out, “yes! Fuck, I’m so close, Spencer!” 

He laughs as your cunt starts quivering around his cock, his tip bullying that sweet spot inside of you. 

“I know sweet thing, give it to me. Cum around my cock.” 

With permission, you release around him, your pussy clenched around his dick and your ass squeezing his thumb, but he keeps fucking you through it.

His free hand laces through your hair, pulling your head back as you whimper in overstimulation. 

“Take it,” he groans, mumbling more to himself as his cock twitches inside of you, “come on, take it like the dirty whore you are. Love having me fill both your nasty holes, fuck.” 

His rhythm falters, and he thrusts one or two more times before spilling inside of you, fucking his seed deeper inside of you. 

Once he calms down, he slowly removes his thumb before carefully pulling out of your pussy, and you whimper at the empty feeling. 

“Stay here,” he whispers, kissing your hip before scrambling to the bathroom for a warm, damp washcloth. 

He gently wipes you off, murmuring about how good you did for him, saying he’s proud of you before he helps you roll over onto your back. 

He chuckles at the goofy smile on your lips, eyes tired and droopy, and he pushes the hair that had matted to your skin with sweat out of your face.

“You okay?” He asks, voice low, and you nod happily. 

“‘M perfect.” 

“Good,” he smiles, pulling the comforter over you and cuddling up to your spent body. 

You lay in silence for a moment, happy and relaxed in his arms, before you speak up.

“So, you never hated me?” 

“Jesus Christ, Bun,” he sighs exasperatedly, “go to sleep.”

[yuikomorii]

Ayato: Idol AU Headcanons

// Since you guys enjoyed my DL K-pop AU posts, I decided to write some HCs about Ayato, because he was the most talked about. In this AU, the Sakamakis aren’t actual brothers, nor are they vampires; the group’s concept is just the one of a vampire family. Some details here are based on true things about Ayato but have been slightly tweaked to better fit the idol AU. Hope you enjoy! ❤️

He was once a basketball player and even served as the captain of his team. His dedication to the sport often led him to compete in numerous tournaments, causing him to skip many classes.

Ayato was scouted for his visuals. The CEO of REJET LABELS noticed his youthful yet refined features while Ayato was casually walking home from high school.

A former classmate confirmed Ayato’s popularity at school. She also mentioned that people would randomly take pictures of him on the street, and a bunch of his photos are used on Pinterest for inspiration.

Even before starting his trainee period, Ayato was already quite good in both slow and freestyle dancing. After beginning his training, he discovered his rapping abilities.

As a trainee, the first person Ayato befriended was Laito, who remained his closest companion even after debuting. The two are often spotted hanging out together.

Ayato hates doing aegyo. However, during a special episode of the variety show MUKBROS, Kou dared him to sing and dance to a cute song. The performance went extremely viral, skyrocketing his popularity. Despite this success, Ayato has admitted that the experience still gives him PTSD.

Ayato is in high demand for brand deals and appears to be everywhere. Rumor has it he’s poised to become the next Chanel ambassador. Unfortunately, this has led some solo fans of other members to accuse him of favoritism, casting him in a negative light.

He is the first member of the SAKAMAKIS to appear in Vogue, where he was officially recognized as the "IT boy."

He was ranked 1st in top 100 most beautiful faces (male version); one of the reasons why he gained the “Visual God” title within the idol community.

His best known controversy involves plastic surgery. Netizens noticed changes in Ayato’s nose and jaw when comparing his pre-debut photos and videos to his current appearance. A bunch of Dialovers took his side, attributing the changes to puberty, yet others strongly disagreed, spreading hate by making posts about him looking “botched.”

Last year, he partnered with soloist Cardia as a MC. This experience had a mixed impact on Ayato’s image. While some criticized him for occasionally forgetting his lines or laughing and posing in front of the camera while Cardia consistently gave her all, others came to his defense. Many fans and non-fans argued that the criticism was too harsh, pointing out that Ayato was never intended to be the spokesperson of his group, but Reiji. They also emphasized that it was unfair to compare someone with no prior experience to someone used to give speeches.

When asked who he considers the best-looking person he knows, he confidently answered, while giggling, "myself." Shu then posed the same question but added a rule: he couldn’t choose himself again. In response, Ayato admitted that Cardia is a close second.

Despite this, the biggest dating rumor surrounding Ayato involved a possible relationship with the daughter of one of the staff members. Diapatch spotted Ayato with a blonde girl at a private event, and sasaengs later reported seeing them holding hands late at night. Whether they are actually dating remains unclear, but the rumors enraged many of Ayato’s solo stans. Some were so upset that they filmed themselves destroying his PCs and degrading the girl online.

The hate train quickly faded, especially after Ayato's successful solo debut. His fancams went viral, with his styling making him truly resemble a Vampire Prince. This reminded netizens of his iconic performance on MUKBROS, leaving them stunned by his duality. On top of that, his noticeable improvement silenced critics who had dismissed him as "just a visual."

When asked which idol he’d like to get to know better, he mentioned soloist KINO from the same company. A few months later, KINO invited him to his limited-edition web show, where they had the chance to interact, play games and even filmed a TikTok together afterward.

It’s rumored that not only REJET LABELS, but also other companies pressure idols into plastic surgery to resemble Ayato. This theory gained credibility when Zen from Un: Birthday Song looked different in middle school but began resembling Ayato after becoming a trainee, securing his debut spot in a reality competition.

People who have seen Ayato describe him as having an arrogant and bold presence on stage, perfectly fitting his vampire idol persona. However, off-stage, he’s known to be kind to his fans and happy to engage in casual conversations. Recently, a Dialover shared their experience meeting Ayato, saying, “In MVs and concerts he appears untouchable, but in real life, you realize he’s just a normal handsome boy.”

He is frequently described as the ideal type in street interviews, admired for his stunning looks, hardworking nature, and confident personality. Moreover, many trainees have cited him as their role model.

[spaceman-earthgirl]

“Agatha and Rio arrived at school together this morning,” Jen says by way of greeting, dropping her books on the table and joining Alice and Lilia.

Alice looks up, half intrigued, but Lilia keeps her head down, ignoring Jen except for a little wave in greeting.

It’s before school, and the staff room is mostly empty, giving them plenty of space to gossip before the school day starts. Though not a lot of time, the bell for first period is about to ring so they better make this quick.

“When you say ‘arrived together’ do you mean they got out of the same car, or just walked into the building together?" Alice asks.

Jen deflates a little. “I saw them walk into the building together.”

“Then that proves nothing,” Alice says, returning to her book too.

It’s been a hot topic of discussion over the last few months, what’s going on between the two of them, ever since Alice had seen them in the hallway together, Agatha laughing at something Rio said. 

The way Alice tells it, Rio even touched Agatha’s arm, but that detail was added after a few retellings so Jen isn’t so sure about that part.

Either way, ever since they noticed, they can’t stop speculating, because even just the few times Jen has seen them interact since, there’s definitely been a vibe.

Lilia has repeated on multiple occasions that she thinks they’re together, but they need proof.

And Jen is determined to find it.

---

“Someone sent Agatha flowers.”

Jen grins, Alice always gets the good gossip.

“Who are they from?” Jen asks. There’s a pile of homework she needs to grade before her next class but this is more important.

“I’m not sure, I was in the main office when they got delivered. I managed to sneak a look at the card but all it had on it was a little green heart.”

Jen thinks about this for a minute. “A secret admirer perhaps? Maybe even one who teaches biology a few doors down.”

“There’s no way to prove that,” Alice says, but she still looks on board with this information.

“What if we just ask Agatha?” Jen asks, keeping a straight face for as long as she can before she bursts out laughing, Alice, and even Lilia joining in.

“It’d be your funeral,” Alice says.

And Jen knows it would be.

Agatha is snarky and no bullshit and you always want her on your side in an argument. There’s no way she’s risking Agatha’s bad side.

When she’d first met Agatha, she’d wondered why someone like her would even want to be a teacher, and then she’d actually seen her with her students and she’d changed her mind. Agatha might be scary, but she has a way with kids that Jen didn’t expect.

Maybe it’s the no bullshit thing that kids respect, but whatever it is, the kids love Agatha and she seems to love them too.

But there is still no way she’d ever ask Agatha about her personal life. From what Jen can gather from their limited interactions is that Agatha is a private person, and she’s not going to question that.

She really hopes Agatha never finds out that their favourite way to spend their lunch break is gossip about her and the chemistry she clearly has with Rio.

read the rest on ao3 or under the cut

---

“I just saw Agatha and Rio having lunch together in Agatha’s classroom.”

They really don’t greet each other normally anymore, they just spill gossip. She hopes the other teachers don’t overhear them. Or if they do, they have gossip to contribute.

“I knew it,” Jen says, like that’s the proof they needed when in fact it proves nothing except the fact that they’re friends.

Which they knew already, so that’s not news. They've seen them together enough to know that they're friends, which only adds fuel to their speculation because Agatha doesn't have any other friends at school besides Rio.

“And they were sharing a sandwich,” Alice adds.

Ok, that might be something. 

“’Lady and the tramp’ style?” Jen asks, because that’s the first thought that pops into her mind when Alice says it and she also knows Alice will hate her question.

As expected, she gets a withering gaze in return. “No not ‘lady and the tramp’ style, they were sharing a sandwich like normal people do, Rio handed Agatha half of her sandwich, but that’s all I glimpsed as I walked by.”

“I mean, that’s kind of something I guess?” Jen says. “Lilia, back me up?”

Lilia barely looks up from the book she’s buried in. “You already know my opinion on the matter, but that alone proves nothing.”

“I’m adding that to the list of signs they’re dating,” Jen decides after some thought. It doesn’t really prove anything either way, but she’s going to figure it out.

---

“Guess who is chaperoning the school lock in tonight together?” Jen asks. She feels like this is good information.

“I’m guessing Agatha and Rio?” Alice answers, taking a carrot stick from the container Jen offers. 

“As well as about 10 other teachers,” Lilia pipes in, ruining the fun.

Lilia is still firmly in the camp of “they’re definitely together, and why bother gossiping about someone else’s personal life?” but even she sometimes gets involved. She’d been the one that noticed Rio wearing a shirt she swears up and down she’d seen Agatha wear before.

But maybe they just shop at the same place, so that proved nothing either.

“Are either of you two chaperoning?” Jen asks. When they were taking volunteers, she’d said no. She couldn’t think of anything worse than being locked in the gym overnight with a bunch of kids. 

Agatha doesn’t usually volunteer for school activities either, which is why this is a little suspicious.

“No,” Alice says as Lilia shakes her head.

Damn, she wishes she’d volunteered now, they might’ve gotten some good intel.

On Monday, they get no information from any of the other teachers because she’s pretty sure no one else is as invested as they are so that’s a bust.

---

Jen is halfway through her sandwich when Agatha walks into the staff room. She watches in surprise as Agatha crosses the room, takes a seat at the only empty table and pulls out her lunch.

“Do you think they’ve had a fight?” Alice asks, as quietly as she can. There’s no need to ask who she’s talking about, they all know.

They’re all fairly certain that Agatha and Rio spend every lunch break together, so why not today?

The logical answer is that she’s busy so Agatha is eating alone but gossip and speculation isn’t logical.

A couple minutes later, Rio walks in and the imaginative side of Jen’s brain runs away with her, to the point that by the time Rio has crossed the room, Jen is expecting a fight because in her mind they’ve broken up, but all Rio does is sit down next to Agatha and pull out her own food.

Jen deflates a little. Not that she’d wanted a fight, but it at least meant they might get some drama.

That doesn’t stop her from watching them though. As subtly as she can, of course. She can see Alice and Lilia doing the same, all three looking for clues to whether something is going on between them or not.

But it’s about as boring as watching anyone else each lunch. All they’re doing is talking and eating and Jen is just starting to wonder if maybe they’re reading too much into things when it happens.

Jen can’t see from where she’s sitting what Agatha is eating, but whatever it is, it must be messy enough for Agatha to get something on her face. Rio reaches out and wipes her thumb across Agatha’s lips, removing whatever food was there, before bringing the thumb to her own mouth to lick it clean.

Alice immediately clutches Jen’s arm, clearly just having seen it too.

They (again, subtly) watch in silence until Agatha and Rio get up and leave not long later, nothing else eventful happening after the incidentTM.

“Did you see that?” Alice asks as soon as Agatha and Rio are gone.

“That is not 'just friends’ behaviour,” Jen says, still in shock at what they’d witnessed. Maybe there was something to this after all.

“I mean-“ Alice starts, like she’s about to justify it.

“No. Do you ever do that with your friends?”

“No,” Alice says, her cheeks going red.

“Exactly. So we’re adding this to the list of evidence that they’re dating.” Not that that list is very long, but if they’re not dating, then they’re clearly into each other, evidenced not just by what Rio had done, but by the fact that Agatha hadn’t punched her afterwards.

---

It’s early, earlier than she’d usually arrive at school, but they have a school spirit event today so they’d all arrived early to set up their classrooms.

But before that, Jen needs coffee.

There are a few other teachers on campus, all trying to get an early start on the day, so she’s not surprised when they walk into the staff room and find they’re not alone.

What she very much is surprised by, however, is that the two people in the room are Agatha and Rio.

And they’re kissing.

It’s a fairly chaste kiss, as far kisses go, which is probably good considering they’re at school. But Agatha is pressed close to Rio, Rio crowded against the counter.

At least their hands are in appropriate places.

The noise of the door closing must alert them to the fact that they’re not alone as they break the kiss and turn towards the noise.

“Morning,” Rio smiles, giving a small wave. She makes no move to push Agatha away though and Agatha doesn’t move either. Agatha does give a flippant wave in their direction which Jen is assuming is also a hello.

Clearly, they don’t care that they’ve been caught because Rio turns back to Agatha, saying something too quietly for them to hear but whatever it is, Agatha laughs.

Jen will blame the lack of coffee and the fact that they’ve been speculating about this for months for her next words.

“You two are together?” Jen asks before she can stop herself. There definitely was a more tactful way to ask that but it’s too late.

“I told you,” Lilia says, as Agatha and Rio turn back to them, finally stepping apart. Lilia pays everyone no mind as she walks across the room and starts making herself a coffee.

Jen ignores her, too focused on the two women on the other side of the room.

Agatha looks mad now, which is a little scary, but Rio looks amused.

“Are you serious?” Agatha asks, voice gruff, and Jen is starting to have regrets. But they’re in this now, and there’s only one way to find out the truth.

“We just…” Jen looks to Alice for support, but she holds her hands up in a way that says ‘don’t make me a part of this’. 

Traitor.

“We’d just noticed you two spending a lot of time together and you obviously have chemistry so we couldn’t help wondering if something was going on.”

Rio looks even more amused, and there’s a slight quirk to Agatha’s lips too which means she’s at least not contemplating killing her right now.

“You know nothing exciting ever happens in Westview,” Jen adds, like it justifies their actions. “It was just idle gossip.”

“Well, Rio starts. “You know, I saw Agatha and I just couldn’t stay away. I’ve been trying to get her to go on a date with me all year, it was those sexy reading glasses that-

Agatha gives Rio a slight shove, pushing her away and cutting her off. Agatha still doesn’t look mad at least. “We’re married,” Agatha says with a roll of her eyes, but the look is directed at Rio.

“See, I just couldn’t stay away,” Rio grins, gesturing to Agatha. “All she did was ask me one little question and now I’m hers fore-“

“Stop,” Agatha cuts in, giving Rio another playful shove but she’s looking at Rio with such affection that no one could deny them being in love. “Or else you’re walking home.”

Rio holds her hands up in surrender with a grin.

“You’re married?” Jen finally asks, incredulous. She almost feels like she’s intruding on something.

How on earth did they miss that?

“We’ve been married for eight years,” Agatha supplies, looking a little annoyed again. It’s very clear that the annoyance is directed at them, and not Rio. “It’s not a secret, everyone knows.”

Jen’s mouth drops open. 

“Or we thought everyone did.” Rio says, taking Agatha’s hand, threading their fingers together. “We have a kid too, if that helps,”

Jen feels each new piece of information like a physical blow. She needs to lie down, this is too much this early in the morning.

They clearly missed a lot.

“Come on,” Rio says, giving Agatha’s hand a tug. “Let’s leave these guys to whatever it is they’ve got going on here.”

“Sorry,” Jen says, having the decency to look sheepish as Agatha and Rio walk past them.

Even more so when Agatha stops and turns to them. 

“Maybe next time, don’t gossip about people behind their backs. If you have a question, just ask.”

“You heard the lady,” Rio winks, tugging on Agatha’s hand once more and then they’re alone again.

Jen and Alice wait a few short moments, making sure Agatha and Rio are out of earshot before they turn to each other.

“Oh my God,” Jen says, at the same time Alice says “I thought Agatha might hit you there for a moment.”

“I told you so,” Lilia says, carefully setting down three cups of coffee on their usual table.

She’s a lifesaver.

“I’m sorry, you did,” Jen says, gratefully accepting the mug. “Next time, I’ll believe you.”

“I can’t believe we missed it, all this time,” Alice says, looking equally grateful for her drink.

“Technically we missed nothing, we thought something might be going on and we were right.”

Jen is sticking by the fact that they got this one right.

“Yeah,” Alice says. “But married for eight years is a little different than wondering if two people are dating.”

Jen waves her off. “Details. But don’t think I will forget that you basically threw me under the bus there.”

Alice is the one who looks sheepish now. “Sorry, but she’s scary.”

Jen won’t deny that. “So, who’s going to be our next source of gossip? We’re going to need something new to talk about.”

Alice rolls her eyes but doesn’t protest, which is either because she’s too tired this early, or because she wants the gossip too.

Probably both.

“What about your love life?” Jen teases, earning a glare from Alice that she knew was coming. So, what? It’s easy to wind her up.

“Don’t you dare,” Alice warns.

“Fine,” Jen laughs. She’s sure they’ll find something else to gossip about, at least for now they’ve solved the Agatha and Rio mystery. 

Which wasn’t really a mystery after all, because it was common knowledge.

Apparently they were just the last to find out.

[morgana-larkin]

I love your writing and I have a Melissa x reader prompt for you.

They have something casual going on and Mel always tells the reader she is her girl until one day Melissa decides to really make the reader officially her girl.

I thought on something sweet 💕

Hi anon! I love that you love my writing and thank you for the prompt! I kept this sweet like you wanted as it could have gone dark 🙂. I based some of this off of Chappell Roan’s song Casual. Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

On another note: I decided to wait on Worth It part 12 until the new episodes come out to meet Melissa’s family and see what they’re like.

Casual Now?

Warnings: Smut

Words: 2.6k

Both of you lay your head on a pillow after coming, catching your breath. You fall asleep and Melissa scootches closer to you and places an arm around you, gives you a light kiss to avoid waking you up, and then falls asleep beside you.

You wake up and you look to see Melissa is still asleep. You carefully get up as her arm is around you and then you quietly get dressed and then leave. Unknown to you, Melissa was awake the entire time, she woke up a few minutes before you did and she was just enjoying your body against hers, knowing you won’t be soon. She usually awoke a few minutes before you did and just enjoys the feeling of your body against hers.

She let out a sigh when she heard the door to her house close and she went to the window to make sure you got to your car safely. She then kicks her dresser out of anger and then goes to her bed and a tear falls down. The two of you started this casual, no strings attached relationship 3 months ago to let off steam from teaching, but it seems Melissa caught feelings in that time. She thinks back on what happened during sex last night.

You were under her as she had two fingers deep in you. You were a moaning mess and Melissa thinks you look beautiful and the sounds you make are music to her ears.

“Melissa, I’m so close!” You tell her as your legs start shaking.

“Come my beautiful girl.” She tells you and you immediately come.

Melissa didn’t mean to call you her girl but she figured you didn’t notice as you were so close to an orgasm. She sits on her bed thinking about what life could be like with you. If you started dating then she can show you off as hers, eventually move in together, and lots of kisses that she can steal from you.

The next day Melissa gets ready for work, she covers up the small hickey you left on her left breast by accident. She walks in and goes to the break room and sits next to Barb with the trio distracted by something on Janine’s phone.

“Did you see her again this weekend?” Barb asks her as Melissa slumps down in her chair. She of course told Barb when she started getting feelings as she had to tell someone.

“Yes, even if I know I shouldn’t, I just want to be near her.” Melissa explains to her.

“Melissa, you should end it or tell her.” Barb tells her sternly.

“I tried subtly talking about a relationship and she said it’s casual, just like we talked about 3 months ago.” Melissa says and puts her head in her hands. She then gets a text and she looks at her phone.

You: You look stressed, did the other night not help?

You messaged her and she looks and sees you across the room with some teachers and you’re looking at her.

Melissa: It helped at the time, but now I’m thinking of all the things I have to do this week

You: Need a pick me up after school?

Melissa: I’d like that

*After School*

Melissa makes her way to her car to go home and then prepare for when she sees you later. She gets to her car but then sees you walking out of the building and almost no teachers or cars around. She gets an idea and goes to you and drags you to her car.

“Melissa, what are you doing?” You ask her confused and she opens the passenger door and you smile then get in. “Can’t wait I see.” You tease her and she gets in after you.

She gets on top of you and begins making out with you and she feels the stress of today melt away with each kiss. She then goes lower and starts kissing your neck, and without knowing it, she starts sucking, marking you as hers.

“Melissa, don’t leave a hickey on my neck.” You tell her and she groans but then she trails lower and she lowers your shirt and starts sucking on your chest. You know she loves sucking on your body, but what you don’t know is she only started doing it to mark you as hers when she got feelings for you. She then gets down from the seat and drags your underwear down.

“It’s a good thing you decided to wear a dress today, my beautiful girl.” She tells you before diving right to your clit and you moan out.

“Oh Melissa, your tongue feels so good.” You gasp out and you feel her smile as she continues eating you out. You feel each lick and suck she gives your clit and you feel your orgasm start building quickly. She knows your body so well and knows how to bring you to an orgasm in minutes with just her tongue. You grab hold of her hair and you start moving your hips before she pins you down. Your legs start shaking and she goes faster before you moan out as you come. She pulls away and gets back on top of you and continues kissing you to help you come down.

You then slip your hand down her pants and find her clit and immediately start doing circles on it. Melissa gasps and grabs hold of the seat as you bring her to the edge in under a minute. She surges forward and kisses you as she comes.

“So, feel better?” You ask her as you take deep breaths while she rests on your lap.

“Ya, thanks hon.” She says softly and smiles at you.

“You looked really stressed in the break room this morning.” You tell her and she groans and rests her head on your shoulder.

“Don’t remind me.” She says and you giggle.

“Busy week this week?” You ask her.

“More like busy life.” She says and you hum. “Do you want to come back to my place? I have lots of leftovers.” She says and you look at her.

“Why do you want to feed me?”

“We’re friends aren’t we? Isn’t that what friends do?” She asks you.

“They do.” Is all you say as she draws mindless patterns on your chest.

“So want to come to my house then?” She asks you again and you smile and nod.

“Sure, I do love your cooking.” You tell her and Melissa feels happiness run through her entire body knowing she gets to spend time with you.

Melissa gets home and immediately gets changed into something more comfortable but also something that’ll have you staring at her. She goes for a dark pink low cut tank top, black leggings and a black knitted sweater her nonna gave her. You knocked on the door half an hour later and Melissa nearly ran to the door to answer it.

“Hey hon.” She tells you and you smile at her.

“Hey Melissa.” You say and go in when she steps aside. “You look nice.” You tell her when you take in her outfit.

“Thanks, I was just about to reheat the leftovers.” She tells you and goes into the kitchen and you follow her.

“I’m still surprised you offered me to come over. I know we’re friends but you barely offer any friends to come over to your place.” You tell her and she smiles at you.

“That’s because some of them annoy me.” She says.

“And I don’t?”

“You did at first, but you were new last year.”

“So what made you take an interest in me?” You ask her and she quirks an eyebrow at you. “At least, enough of an interest to want to sleep with me.” You add and she chuckles.

“You’re cute and you don’t annoy me as much.” She tells you as she gets the now hot containers out of the microwave and transfers the food onto a plate. She then takes the plates and brings them to the dinner table. You sit down and take your first bite.

“I always love your cooking.” You say with a hum and she smiles at you. “Why did you never become a chef?” You ask her.

“Because cooking is one of my passions but I only like cooking for people I like.”

“Well I’m honoured to be one of those people.” You tell her and Melissa can’t help but smile as you smile at her.

After dinner you both go to the couch with some wine and start a conversation.

“So why Abbott?” She asks you and you tilt your head. “You could teach anywhere, so why an underfunded school?”

“Because I didn’t become a teacher for a big paycheck, I became one to help students.” You tell her with a shrug. “What about you?”

“Same thing.” She says as she finishes off the wine in her glass. “Can I kiss you?” She blurts out and you look at her confused.

“Why are you asking? We’ve kissed before.” You tell her.

“Ya but only when we have sex. Right now I just want to kiss you.” She tells you and looks down at her hands. You put your wine glass down, cup her cheek and kiss her. She puts her hands in your hair to keep you from pulling away and enjoys the feel of your lips on hers. You pull away too soon for Melissa’s liking and you look at her.

“That was one hell of a kiss.” You say with a slight blush.

“Ya, it was.” Melissa agrees with a slight blush of her own.

“Did you really want me over because we’re friends and no other reason?” You ask softly.

“What other reason could I possibly have?”

“I don’t know, it’s just you’ve been acting different lately.” You say and play with your fingernails absent mindlessly.

“Different how?”

“It’s just… before, at the beginning of this casual relationship, you seem to only be in it for the sex, which is the reason we started this. But lately it seems like you want more than just sex.” You try to explain and she looks at you. “Like you kiss me a lot more now, you talk to me in school just to talk to me, you’re inviting me to your place for dinner, and the other day I ran into Kristen Marie and she mentioned you talk about me.” You tell her and she sighs.

“Can’t I just want to be friends with you as well as have casual sex.” She replies with.

“Is it still casual?” You ask her and Melissa freezes. She didn’t expect you to catch on to anything that she does differently.

“It’s still casual hon, I’m not interested in anything else.”

“I didn’t ask you if you were interested in a relationship, I’m asking if you have feelings for me.” You bluntly ask her and Melissa is looking at you like a deer in headlights.

“Look hon, I don’t know what you’re trying to get here but-” she starts to ask but you cut her off with a kiss. She immediately kisses you back and she deepens it quickly. You take her sweater off and she immediately takes yours off before you break the kiss to take off her tank top. “Wait hon, what are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“I didn’t ask you here for sex.” She clarifies and you roll your eyes.

“I know, but that tank top was driving me crazy as it gave me a great view.” You tell her before kissing her again. Melissa has become addicted to your kisses and always immediately kisses you back. You unclip her bra and tear it off her and cup her boobs with your hands. “Mm, I just love them.” You tell her.

“Touch them all you want.” She says and winks at you before kissing you again. She then straddles your lap and trails her mouth down to your neck and begins kissing it.

“No hickeys on my neck.” You remind her and Melissa has had enough.

“Why not?”

“Because we’re not together and I’m a teacher.”

“What does us not being together have to do with it?”

“Because I don’t want other girls getting the wrong idea, I don’t want them to think I’m not available.” You tell her and Melissa feels a tightness in her chest.

“Are you seeing other girls?” She asks you before she stops herself.

“On dates, yes, I’ve been on a date with two girls since we’ve been hooking up.” You tell her honestly and Melissa gets off of you and sits beside you on the couch. She puts her head in her hands as you look at her confused. “Melissa? What’s wrong?” You ask her and you put a hand on her arm.

“I don’t want you to go out with other girls, I don’t want you to be with anyone else.” She says without looking at you.

“What?” You ask her and she looks at you.

“You’re right, I do have feelings for you and I’m scared about that. I didn’t expect to get feelings for you. It did start off as just casual but about a month later I started having a crush on you.” She tells you and leans back onto the couch. You stare at her in shock before you grab her chin and turn her head to look at you.

“Are you telling me the truth?” You ask her and she nods as a tear falls down her cheek. You wipe the tear away before cupping her cheek and she leans into your touch. “I have feelings for you too.” You tell her and she puts her hand over yours that’s on her cheek.

“Really?”

“Yes, why do you think I’ve noticed you acting different? You know I can be oblivious to things like that but I noticed with you because I wanted to know if you felt the same way.” You tell her and she smiles. “And I honestly didn’t expect to tell you while your boobs are out.” You add on and she giggles.

“Are you complaining?” She asks and you shake your head.

“It’s an incredible sight and they’re a big weakness for me.” You tell her and you blush a bit. She then cups both your cheeks and leans in and kisses you.

“Do you want to be with me?” She asks when she pulls away.

“I thought you didn’t want a relationship right now?”

“I didn’t but I want you. I want you to be my girl and no one else’s.” She tells you and you smile.

“So that’s why you’ve been calling me your girl during sex lately.” You say and she nods. “I want to be your girl, but only if you ask me properly.” You say and she shakes her head.

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told that yes but you want me to put your impossible girl.” You tease her with and she giggles before tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I do. Y/n, will you be my girlfriend?” She asks you.

“Yes.” You tell her and seal it with a kiss. “Wait, how is this gonna go as we’ve already been having sex with each other?” You ask her. She rolls her eyes at you and brings you in for another kiss.

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Let me know if you want to be added!

[lupinqs]

hi hi hi!!!!!!! with the end of take me to church right around the corner, i want y’all to vote on which upcoming series you’d like to see first. imma be honest my favorite is the second one but i have so much lore for all of them that it would be easy for me to write any!!! vote pls!!!!

WNBA Paige x Upper East Side Princess OC:

paige plays for the liberty; she’s in her rookie season

oc is in her last year of college at columbia—her parents are very rich (like billionaire type rich) and she’s grown up on the upper east side

enemies to lovers hella because oc is a bitch lowkey and paige def matches that energy towards oc

despite being so young, oc also already has a fiancé that she’s kinda been expected to end up with her whole life because he’s a family friend and the son of another rich millionaire/billionaire but they’re more just friends if anything

oc’s finacé’s parents are huge funders towards NY sports (including the liberty) which is kinda why oc and paige see each other a lot

oc’s parents def don’t approve so angst there too

oc is also an ex basketball player who was forced out of the sport at a young age despite being talented and paige kinda helps her get back into the sport and start loving it again because at the beginning oc HATES basketball

very reminiscent of gossip girl

UCONN Paige x Teammate OC:

paige is in her junior year, oc a freshman (only a year and a half age gap yall don’t be weird)

oc was the number-one recruit in her class coming into college just like paige was so she’s got a lotta pressure on her

paige and oc are roommates

oc tore her ACL her junior year of high school so when paige tears her, oc is there for her because she’s been in that position before—paige and oc have had a lot of similar experiences which makes them really understand each other

paige really channels her inner coach p into oc because oc is gonna have to have a huge role in this season due to paige’s absence and then even more so with azzi’s injury

oc also has had a bf for like ever and i’m saying she’s been in love with this boy since she was a kid because they lived next door to each other—that type of thing. so oc has never even really thought about being gay or liking girls because she’s always been so infatuated with that boy but when she and him start having problems because he’s at a different college and when paige starts comforting her through that and she and paige start spending more time with each other, oc starts… realizing lots of things about herself and her feelings

lots of self-discovery

end goal is for paige to basically coach and encourage oc and team to a natty

WNBA Paige x Ex-Bestfriend Actress OC:

paige plays for the sparks; she’s in her rookie year

oc is a well-known and successful actress

paige and oc were childhood best friends (yes ik i just did this with tmtc) and had a hella homoerotic friendship that ends up falling apart paige’s first year of college after …. certain events

oc is more open about her sexuality but paige has always been very overthinking about it and has severe internalized homophobia which helps lead to the crumbling of their friendship before

oc has been really really successful these past few years in the acting industry; her first movie came out in paige’s sophomore year of college which was sort of a wake up call for her then because she hadn’t even known that her best friend was actually legit in acting now

paige’s junior year college is when she realizes that yeah, she is gay and she was in love with oc basically her whole childhood but she’s ruined it and she doesn’t even think she has a chance anymore

paige is completely chill and confident within herself and her sexuality by her senior year of college

anyways in the present oc and paige meet again at some after party in la and it’s so weird for paige because oc seems so confident and at ease and she’s with all these famous people now but she used to be so shy and reserved

cameron brink and oc’s best friend are good friends and since paige and oc’s closest friends in la are good friends, they start running into each other a lot more

lots of angst fs and learning the new versions of each other vs remembering the ones they grew up with

[stellar-haikyuu]

no regrets ☆ sugawara koushi x reader

synopsis: before their third year starts, an evening walk changes everything between reader and their best friend, koushi. details: fluff, opposites attract, childhood friends to lovers, first kiss, ~1.7k words, gn! reader. requested by @liquidcatt as part of my karasuno writing event (requests open) warnings: none! just repetitive use of the title and idk how to write kissing yet LOL

One week before your third and final year of high school, you realize that you’ll soon be experiencing multiple “lasts” before a new chapter of your life begins.

Now, you don't normally care about these things, but you can’t help it when Koushi calls you that evening.

Apparently, he made an impulsive decision to go on a walk, and he now wants your company.

You groan at him through the phone and he laughs. Of course, he knows there’s no real anger behind it. He’s the only person in the world you would drop everything for without a second thought.

“I’m sor-” he tries, but you hang up on him, cutting off his “apology.” Huffing with amusement, you rummage through your closet for something that would keep you warm.

After pulling on a sweater, you let your parents know you’re heading out. They barely glance up from the television before nodding in acknowledgment. It’s been years since they decided that hangouts with your best friend no longer warrant further questions.

The cold wind greets you as you step outside. You shiver a little, but you slowly adjust to the temperature as you wait for Koushi. 

After a few minutes, you hear the sound of footsteps against the pavement. They stop right outside your gate, and you can see the telltale tuft of gray hair peeking out from behind.

“Koushi.” You greet him with an air of nonchalance as you open the gate. 

Your tone has always been a little flat—an unintentional habit of yours. You don’t have it in you to amp up the energy like everyone else does, but your friend has never minded it, even when he is the very definition of sunshine and chaos.

“Heh,” he chuckles sheepishly. “Hope you weren’t too busy.”

You half-heartedly glare at him, which makes him ruffle your hair. In response, you swat his hand away and try to smooth down the mess he’s made.

“You’re just lucky I was bored out of my mind,” you mutter, stepping out onto the sidewalk, and letting the gate shut behind you.

“This is the hundredth time I’ve been lucky.” He raises an eyebrow. “Maybe you do like me after all,” he teases.

Your stomach does a flip. 

Is he onto me?

“Sh-shut up!” You stammer, elbowing him in the side. 

“Ow!” He yelps, clutching at his ribs as if you’ve stabbed him. “Hey, I’ve got volleyball practice soon, don’t give me an injury.”

“You’ll be fine.” You roll your eyes at his theatrics, watching as he rubs his side in an attempt to soothe the pain. As he pouts and mumbles something under his breath, you brave a quick look at him.

He’s wearing that adorable blue scarf again—well, it’s yours, actually. You lent it to him in first year when he forgot his scarf on a chilly evening. For some reason, you insisted that he keep it, and now he wears it all the time with no fail. 

(His reasoning? “Maybe you’ll miss your blue scarf, so I’m just going to wear it every time we walk together.”

You remember staring at him in disbelief, but internally, you were maybe five seconds away from passing out.)

“Agh. Gosh, why didn’t you go for martial arts or something,” Koushi’s voice snaps you out of your reverie.

“I don’t have that kind of energy.” You raise an eyebrow at him. “Besides, I’m sure you wouldn’t want my punches to hurt even more.”

“Fair point,” he concedes with a laugh.

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence, making the sound of leaves rustling much louder. When you glance at Koushi, his expression has shifted. He looks thoughtful, his gaze fixed ahead but distant, as though he’s turning something over in his mind.

“Why’d you call me out here?” You ask.

“Hm? It’s just…” Koushi hesitates for a moment, his voice softening. “We’re almost done with high school.”

The reality of his words hit you. “We are. But hey, I’m a year closer to my librarian dreams.”

“Ha. You’ve never really changed your mind, huh?”

“Nope.” You shake your head, popping the ‘p’ sound. “How about you, still wanna be a teacher?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Dead set on it now, actually.”

“Good,” you say firmly. “You better keep your promise to apply to the same school. Don’t leave me to fend for myself in college or at work.”

“You’re not going to die, gosh,” Koushi laughs, shaking his head. “What are you going to do when strangers come up to you in the library to ask about different things?”

“That’s a problem for future me.” You scrunch your nose. Unfortunately, no job is exactly the way you want it to be.

“We’ll cross the bridge when we get there. But now, there’s one more year ahead of us,” he sighs.

“Yeah.” You tilt your head, brows furrowing slightly. “Is there something wrong?”

“Not really…” He trails off. “I just…I’ve been thinking a lot about how these months will be full of last chances.”

Last chances?

“I guess I couldn’t help but worry about how I need to make every moment count. I don’t want to waste opportunities.”

Oh.

Koushi stops walking for a moment and turns to you. “Am I making any sense?”

You study his expression. The faint lines of uncertainty on his face say enough. “You are. What brought this on?”

“It’s the volleyball team.” He confesses, his gaze flickering downward as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I still want to stay. I still want to go to Nationals. I know that we may not be the best in the prefecture, but…it’s not stupid to hope, right?”

For a few seconds, you think about it. You’re no stranger to hoping for good things, even when it seems impossible. 

You spent your childhood hoping for a best friend, even though most kids never wanted to approach you. Yet, here you are, years later. 

(Now, you’re just holding onto the hope that your feelings for him will be returned.)

“No, Koushi. It’s not stupid,” you reply, despite the subtle ache in your chest.

“Thanks.” His eyes brighten at your response, and you can’t help but let a small grin form on your face.

That’s my dreamer.

You recall how painful it was to see him realize that Karasuno was no longer the powerhouse he imagined. But, the fact that he hasn’t thought of giving up once is a testament to his true strength.

“Well, I just hope we’re lucky enough to get some more first-years.” A puff of steam leaves his mouth. “And I hope Asahi and Nishinoya come back as soon as possible.”

His voice falters slightly at the mention of his teammates. You instinctively reach out to take his hand in quiet support. That incident had upset him more than he let on.

“But no matter what happens, I’ll work hard,” he continues with conviction. “I want to finish this year with no regrets.”

“No regrets,” you echo his words in affirmation. Your heart hammers in your chest.

Should I do it?

“Hey, are you okay?”

What if this is my last chance?

“You’ve been staring for a while.”

What if someone else takes this moment from me?

“Hey.”

Do it. Come on.

“You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

No regrets.

“Koushi?”

“Oh, there! Thank goodness. What happened?” His voice sharpens in concern.

You close your eyes, willing yourself not to chicken out.

“No regrets,” you murmur to yourself.

He blinks at you, taken aback by your cryptic behavior. “Um, yes, that’s what I said.”

“I wanna do that too,” you admit with a steady tone.

“That’s…good?” he replies, but the confusion turns his statement into a question.

“So, to start the year off strong…” You let go of your grip on his hands and take a step forward, closing the gap between the two of you.

“Koushi.” You look away momentarily, trying to find the words. “I don’t know when I started feeling this way, but…” 

You force yourself to meet his gaze, and you reach a hand out to tug on his scarf, bringing him closer to you.

Your faces are mere inches apart now; you can feel his warm breath on your face. The fact that he doesn’t protest or pull away gives you the confidence to continue.

“I like you,” you whisper. “Can I kiss you?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, his lips crash into yours. You’re frozen, stunned by the fact that Koushi reciprocated. 

This is actually happening.

He’s kissing me.

One of his hands finds its way to the base of your neck, while the other wraps securely around your waist. His touch is gentle but grounding. It’s almost like he’s afraid to let you go.

You can’t take it anymore. 

The longing you’ve kept bottled inside for years finally explodes.

Releasing your grip on his scarf, you move your hands to the base of his neck instead, pulling him down a bit more. The height difference sends a quiet thrill through your body, leaving you giddy.

You part for a moment to gasp for air, but your lips find each other again. They seem to slot together perfectly, you think, as though you were made for each other.

You sigh at the feeling of shared warmth between your bodies, a stark contrast to the nighttime climate. Carding your fingers through his soft hair, you think about how much you’ve dreamed of spending the rest of your life with him.

No one understands you the way Koushi does. No one gets you like he does. Even when people questioned your friendship dynamics, you both found ways to defy the odds. The realization nearly makes you cry in the middle of this romantic moment, but there’s no way you’re letting Koushi use that against you.

As much as you want this kiss to stretch into eternity, your lungs are starting to burn. Reluctantly, you pull away once more, but this time, your chest is filled with something like peace and contentment.

Koushi rests his forehead against yours as you both catch your breath. He giggles with pure joy. “So, no regrets? I totally don’t have any.”

There may be last chances, but also new beginnings

“Yeah, me too. No regrets.”

masterlist

karasuno fic event: stellar's stationery (ongoing)

[planetdream]

striped carnations.

characters. hwang hyunjin, reader, lee minho + special guests

genre. angst, flower shop!au. words. 5.6k

synopsis. upon hearing the news that your boyfriend is going to propose to you, hyunjin realizes that he's had feelings for you all along

fic contents: hyunjin is both a chronic overthinker and a hopeless romantic. needless pining. angst. heartbreak. talks of marriage and relationships. suggestive content: hookups; heavy make out + implied drunk sex.

💌 if you think you've seen this before, it's because you have! I deleted it like a month ago lmao....but here it is again <3

Hwang Hyunjin has always been a big fan of flowers. A flower can describe the emotions behind every pivotal moment in one’s lifetime—a wedding, a funeral, graduation, or a life-changing event—though not limited to only those situations; Hyunjin's love for, and belief in flowers reaches across all occasions and sentiments. His admiration of flowers as a whole goes beyond the smell, or how visually pleasing and/or vibrant in color they look. Flowers allow him to express feelings that he feels words simply cannot—even if no one else around him understands it in the way he does. Hyunjin loves flowers because of the stories you can tell with them, and thus, he chooses to document his life with flowers. 

As a small child, Hyunjin would pick flowers at the park for his mother; or one of his various personal art projects. A bundle of flowers bunched up in his tiny little hands as he ran to his mother with the widest, dimpled grin he could make. To his mother, the flowers are a sweet sentiment of his admiration towards the woman raising him. However, to Hyunjin they meant so much more than that—a physical manifestation of a deep awareness that he couldn’t find the words to explain until he matured as a person. This habit of gifting flowers out of pure emotion was probably the one constant in his life other than the crushing weight of heartbreak. 

Heartbreak is much like flowers. It has so many different colors and feels, it takes on a multitude of shapes and smells—and it is pretty easy to romanticize. 

When Hyunjin was in kindergarten, he gifted a daisy to a girl he had a small crush on. She ended up stomping on them, but that didn’t stop little Hyunjin from pining after her. The tradition of Hyunjin picking flowers as a romantic gesture continued in a slightly different way as he got older, and the helpless pining after something unattainable never stopped. Coincidentally, a few of his exes are named after flowers—the unfortunate downside of that is that it still pains him to look at whatever flower the ex had been named after, even if they ended the relationship on good terms. 

These are some moments and beliefs that have shaped Hyunjin—and his future. 

In the second to last year of his high school career, Hyunjin began working at a flower shop close to his childhood home. Morning Glory Floral—located between a convenience store and a bookstore (both of which are frequented by Hyunjin)—is a tiny little flower shop that Hyunjin knows like the back of his hand. He’d originally started out as a cashier and order taker until he eventually worked his way up to being one of three floral designers at the shop. 

He typically runs the shop most days of the week, opening in the early morning and closing in the late afternoon unless he happens to work Thursday, Friday, or Saturday—on those days the store is open until 7PM. Hyunjin usually arrives an hour, or sometimes two, before the shop opens just to get a headstart on things. He prints out invoices, splitting the orders between their type—local, domestic/international; additionally divided between funeral, wedding, and those non-applicable—as well as making sure pre-made flower arrangements are ready for pickup. The shop is fairly busy on a normal day (although that typically comes down to season), therefore, a lot of Hyunjin’s time during the day is making sure things are running smoothly and without delay. 

Floral design is an art. One of the many forms of art and creative expression that Hyunjin excels within. In his mind, floral design can easily be compared to architecture or interior design (both Hyunjin contemplated as career options). The vase is the foundation—who or what is this flower arrangement for? What color helps express the emotions behind the arrangement? Then—what flowers should be used (if the customer doesn’t have a request)? What should be the focal flower that grabs people's attention? Do the flowers chosen represent the overall message? Which filler flowers and greenery should be used? The shape of the arrangement matters too. As do a lot of other minuscule details. 

The details are important to him. Making sure the customer is satisfied with his creation is easy, hardly anything to worry about, but making sure that he’s satisfied with the work he’s done is an entirely different thing. A simple glance at Hyunjin creating a flower arrangement and it doesn’t seem like it takes too much time or energy. He moves in fluid movements, placing one flower after the other, a blank expression on his face. In reality, it’s a time-consuming process and it takes a lot of thought and precision to create the arrangements he does. Still, his hard work pays off greatly. He didn’t know he’d be where he is today, but he’s great at what he does—which is why people always come back. 

His favorite floral arrangements to make are the ones that have to do with romantic love—a date, wedding, or anniversary—since Hyunjin feels it gives him a lot more freedom for creative expression. Like floral design, love is of significant importance to Hyunjin, especially romantic love. Seeing people express their love and admiration for each other via flowers is beautiful to him, as he is a hopeless romantic after all. 

A small order of carnations arrived at the shop one morning. Unmarked and not on any receipt nor written in any book. Carnations are typically cut flowers (as in, used for decorative purposes), so consequently, it’s not unlikely for the shop to have extra, especially since Felix, one of the other floral designers, loves to use them for arrangements. The flowers catch Hyunjin’s eye in particular, not only because they’re striped carnations, but because there are three of them, obviously not enough to do much with unless for a small arrangement. 

Felix, as full of knowledge as he is, once explained to Hyunjin that during the Victorian era, carnations were used to speak very straightforwardly. Unlike other flowers that have many different, complicated, and often overlapping meanings, carnations could be used to respond to something—like a love proposal. If one was asking another for their hand in marriage, the recipient of the proposal may respond with a yes by giving the proposer a solid color carnation, such as pink, white, or even red; however, the yellow carnations mean no. Striped carnations generally mean a refusal of love, almost regrettably so. I love you, but I cannot be with you. A message that Hyunjin is more than familiar with. 

Perhaps it’s an omen. A sign that he’s going to fall headfirst into another relationship resulting in yet another heartbreak. A sign that if he falls for someone again, he may not get back up this time. Hyunjin often wonders if fate is real—he knows it is, he can feel that it's real—but has he been fated to fall in love over and over again just to reach the same emotionally catastrophic end that he always does? Maybe he did something in a past life that would warrant this anguish.

He shakes the thought from his mind, for the time being, choosing instead to blissfully and ignorantly fall victim to his subconscious. He won’t admit it out loud, and when the thought arises, he pushes it out of his mind in embarrassment, but Hyunjin loves the feeling of heartbreak. It stings. In both the worst way and the best way. And while he genuinely does hate heartbreak, it’s almost like he’s addicted to it. 

And then the bell of the door rings, signaling to Hyunjin that there’s a new customer. He looks up from behind the counter and his eyes meet Lee Minho, your boyfriend. 

You and Hyunjin had met in the fourth grade. It can only be described now, all of these years later, as an instantaneous click. You both felt comfortable with each other and eventually opted to do everything together, very soon becoming the best of friends. From grade school to adulthood, you’ve kept a secure friendship. Confiding in each other about everything—when one of you is low, the other is sure to pick them up. 

There’s a sheepish smile on Minho’s face as he approaches the counter. The expression takes Hyunjin aback. The smile is surprising because Hyunjin swears that the older man typically has a permanent scowl on his face. Hyunjin greets him, giving a small smile and a wave. 

“Need flowers for a date?” Hyunjin asks, fixing his standing posture. 

“For something better actually,” Minho’s smile grows wider, as if he cannot contain it. Hyunjin thinks this might be the biggest smile he’s ever seen across Minho’s face. Minho places his hands onto the cold surface of the counter, lightly tapping in it. “I’m proposing this weekend.”

Hyunjin’s jaw drops in awe. Never had he thought Minho was a man interested in marriage. Not only that, this means he’d be losing his best friend to married life. Next thing he knows, you’ll start having kids! His mind begins to race around, unforgiving. 

When Hyunjin the two of you were younger, you and Hyunjin would talk about your hopes and aspirations for the future. Of course, the topic of marriage and creating a family entered the conversation. You expressed that when you truly love someone, there’s no need to get the law involved for a piece of paper. Hyunjin couldn’t help but laugh, he felt that your reasoning was a bit childish, joyous of true, deep love. However, when you told him that though, it put a couple of things into perspective—most significantly, how you and Hyunjin are opposites. Hyunjin aches to get married and wants a few children too, he thinks the idea is beautiful. Still, for Hyunjin, the possibility of him actually getting married feels too far-fetched; unimaginable, and unattainable. Would anyone love him enough to want to marry him?

Minho breaks Hyunjin away from the depth of his mind. “I was thinking of a nice bouquet to give them, and you’re my guy for that.” 

Hyunjin exhales as he looks at Minho. He can’t even crack a small smile. He feels he should be happy—but something within him feels wrong. Someone dear to his heart is getting married and he can’t even pretend to be excited. He should be happy for you. He knows he should be happy for you; but he cannot find happiness within himself at all at this moment. 

Hyunjin and Minho aren’t exactly friends. Had it not been for you, they doubt they would have even crossed paths. It’s not that Hyunjin doesn’t like Minho, he’s a cool, upstanding guy; but is he worth being your boyfriend? Let alone, is he worth being your husband? In Hyunjin’s perspective, absolutely not. Sure, from the things you tell him, Minho treats you with love, care, and the utmost respect, but Hyunjin thinks there’s something…off about him, even after four years of you and Minho being together. From Minho’s perspective, it’s obvious that Hyunjin has a crush on you. He’s teased you about it multiple times, but to you it seems highly unlikely that your best friend since practically forever would be in love with you—but it happens. 

“Here, I’ll show you the ring.” Minho fishes into the front pocket of his jeans, pulling out a black velvet box. He opens the box, places it on the counter, and turns it to Hyunjin. 

The ring is gorgeous. Hyunjin can tell it’s been updated and has had a few repairs, probably a ring kept within the family. He knows this because after looking at so many rings, both through work and in his own free time (self-admittedly pathetic of him to just go looking for engagement rings and wedding bands while he’s desperately single), he’s starting to notice the small differences. 

“Wow.” Is the only thing that leaves Hyunjin’s mouth. 

Minho continues to talk, but it all goes in one ear and out of the other. Hyunjin is lost within his head. One thought after another, layering and locking himself within his own mind. Hyunjin remains on auto-pilot for the rest of his conversation with Minho. Towards the end of it, Hyunjin fishes out the most pathetic fake smile he possibly could. Hyunjin, per usual, promises to do his best at making the best floral arrangement he possibly can. Before he leaves, Minho says something to Hyunjin that sticks with him for the rest of his day. 

“They’ve always liked your arrangements, so just do what you do best. I trust you.”

The carnations are back. Another three. 

Coincidentally, they arrived on the same day that Hyunjin has to create the floral arrangement for Minho’s proposal. Hyunjin can’t lie, while this project was constantly on his mind; subconsciously putting all the pieces together one by one—he absolutely put the entire thing off until the last minute. Hyunjin has never once dreaded coming into work until now. Just the thought of working on the arrangement makes him sick to his stomach. But now there’s no more time left. 

Everything that Hyunjin needs for the making of the arrangement is spread out right in front of him. 

He chooses a white vase as the foundation—white, along with being a symbol of purity or innocence, is also a symbol of new beginnings and marriage, the latter representing what the arrangement means as a whole—sleek and rounded in an hourglass shape. Usually, for engagement bouquets, Hyunjin uses a clear vase to ensure that the flowers stay healthy and alive (of course while being taken care of). However, neither you nor Minho are any good when it comes to taking care of flowers, so Hyunjin figures he can do whatever he wants when it comes to his creation.

The foliage comes first—Hyunjin preps the stems, pulling off the lower leaves that might hang in the water, clipping the ends off the stems before they dive into the water. Floral arranging is not only art, it’s a science. The plants have to be inserted into the vase at an angle so that the arrangement can take shape. The arrangement needs to be balanced and colorful, preferably. Vase arrangements require layering, it’s easier to start with the heavier flowers first; two red chrysanthemums on opposing sides. He cuts the stems so that the flowers hang low in the vase, almost acting as a focal point if not for his statement flowers. 

As a standard for his arrangements and bouquets, Hyunjin chooses flowers that signify love and new beginnings. He also needs to make sure that the flowers he chose actually look nice in the bouquet, as if not, he feels the need to completely start over.

As he works on his creation, Hyunjin allows himself to get lost within his thoughts. Everytime someone comes into the shop, a smile on their face as they’re picking out flowers for their lover; Hyunjin feels something within him break, just a tiny crack at the surface of his identity. For a brief moment, with his work, he’s allowed to peak into the lives—the relationships—of others. Everything from the great moments of excitement to the bad moments that hope and pray to be forgiven. All of it sends Hyunjin spiraling into the depths of his memory. 

He remembers his high school years. Going back to classes after the summer he hit a growth spurt. His voice got a bit deeper, too. Suddenly, all eyes were on him. Hyunjin was desirable. Shy as he was, he enjoyed it. And after a few experiences, he’d seemingly gotten over his timid behavior, though still introverted. It was a strange time. He remembers falling deep into infatuation only for things to not pan out. Before the situationship begins, the sharp sting of heartbreak lingers. 

Just a few months back, Hyunjin got his heart broken yet again when his now ex-girlfriend left him to get back with her ex; some total loser named Changbin, of whom she had been originally dating sometime before Hyunjin. It’s not you, it’s me, she said. I just don’t feel the same as you, she said. Maybe we’ll meet later in life, or in the next, she said. He knew she didn’t mean it. That she was just feeding into his past-life and karmic romantic ideologies to lessen the blow. Within that same week (at minimum, three days later), he sees a mutual friend post a picture from a double date including said ex and her boyfriend. 

It stung. Badly. And he’s over it now. In fact, he’s so over it that he can hardly remember her name. Sooyun? Miyeong? See? He can’t remember it. It wasn’t the worst breakup that Hyunjin has experienced. Not by a mile. The worst actually was a couple of years ago, his longest relationship which lasted a year exactly, getting betrayed on the one-year anniversary of their one-sided love. The memory still stings, so Hyunjin prefers not to talk about it—but once it comes time for self-reflection, he thinks of the memories in awe—sickly attached to the distant memory of something that failed to work out. What if? He thinks. 

But three months (yeah, his most recent relationship was only three months; yes, he’s still a bit broken) with someone—constantly talking to them, getting acquainted with their lifestyle, seeing them often, kissing them, feeling them—changes a person; for better or for worse. So, Hyunjin is lucky he got out of it with only hurt feelings. A faint tug at his heart and, understandably, anger surrounding the situation, if anything. Nothing unmanageable that he can’t work or date away. 

Past relationships have driven him into a slump. Depressed and unable to create or live, even, until he finds himself somewhere within the next person—both metaphorically and actually—when he’s really at his worst; the ‘best’ thing to do is to relieve his stress by burying himself inside of someone in an effort to escape intense personal feelings. This occasionally backfires whenever he catches feelings for whoever he fucks and the cycle repeats itself. Over and Over. An unfortunate life lesson that Hyunjin has to continue repeating: spiritually, possibly due to the sins made in a past life; but actually, because he rarely ever learns from past mistakes, especially if it has to do with romance. 

Hyunjin, is, quite simply, a hopeless romantic in every sense of the term, but at a specific level of naivety. Aching to see the good in people or a situation even if it has near-disastrous results to his psyche. Before even speaking to someone, he’d have already envisioned their first few dates, their marriage, and growing old together. It embarrasses him badly. And no matter how many times he has to sit down with himself, reminding himself to calm down, that he should take things slowly, he’s already experiencing heartbreak. 

He’s tried the dating scene multiple times since this most recent breakup. A few dates here and there, and more than a few hook-ups as well (What can he say? He’s a single man). He was mostly encouraged by other friends, and you, to reopen his Tinder account and get back out there. And Hyunjin, easily influenced, did just that. It didn’t last long though, simply due to the fact that he found himself bored almost immediately after each date or hookup. He’s simply wandering through life, boldly yet blindly, without inspiration. 

Then he feels that spark. It’s just as he’s putting the finishing touches on his creation. 

That very familiar, almost sickening spark deep within his soul that he found himself craving after going so long without. Feelings. Of the romantic variety. For you. He can say that he initially realized them during a party hosted by a friend of a friend. You were surrounded by some of your close friends, drinking, and smiling all pretty as you do; and that’s when it started. It was like the universe expanded in a way that could be physically felt—similar to that of an out of body experience—an intensity that feels so right. He could damn near feel the temperature changing in the room due to some kind of universal shift. The vibrations of the music gets heavier, and the chatter of people blurs together—time slows down but is going all too fast. 

But perhaps he’s had these feelings for you for a while now. Maybe since you first met as children. Hiding them deep within himself. Covering up his feelings by searching for you through countless other people. Perhaps it is why many of his relationships never work out. 

It has to be fate calling out to him. Hyunjin clings to this thought and the feeling that it gives him.

Hyunjin questions himself like he does every time he realizes that he has feelings for someone. What do I like about them? He ponders it. Though it doesn’t take long for him to figure it out. Everything. He likes everything about you. From the way you type on your phone to how you order food at restaurants. He loves how concentrated you get when reading something and he likes how you walk a little weirdly. He likes your opinions and the way you see the world. Those small, specific things that make you who you are, are what Hyunjin loves. You as a person, inside and out. The good and the bad. All desirable and undesirable things. 

This is bad. Really bad. The realization feels bad. 

Hyunjin has had feelings for tons of his friends before. He never tells them, but if he does—because hey, life is short—then it never goes past a -with-benefits label. His friends mean a lot to him, and while a romance could strengthen a relationship, it could also weaken one. Some people are meant to stay friends. Perhaps that could change between you two. But it cannot. Hyunjin remembers one little fact: you are in a committed relationship. Of four years. With Lee Minho of all people. 

What does Lee Minho have that Hyunjin doesn’t? He’s just as pretty. Just as charming. And he’s a few centimeters taller. Plus, he’s known you longer than Minho has. If anything happens, you’d certainly pick Hyunjin, right? But Minho wants to marry you and Hyunjin doubts himself as being ready for that type of commitment even though he craves it desperately. 

By the time that Hyunjin has finally finished the final pieces of the floral arrangement and sneaks away from his thoughts, Minho saulters into the store. Speak of the devil. 

He’s smiling just as wide as he had days ago. Tonight is the night that he proposes, Minho informs Hyunjin. To which, Hyunjin congratulates Minho—but he hopes that you say no. He prays that you say no and, just to add insult to injury, you laugh in Minho’s face, despite how crude it’d be. In the pit of his stomach, though, he knows that you’ll say yes to Minho.

Minho leaves with the flowers after a few minutes of chatter; but not before he pays and leaves quite a hefty tip. 

The rest of Hyunjin’s day goes by dryly. A permanent pout rests on his face, as noticed by his coworkers. He’ll just shyly smile so as to not cause any worry. Hyunjin remains on autopilot. Smiling, talking to his regulars and answering the questions he might receive throughout the day. For the most part, though, he retreats to the dark and cozy area of his mind. 

—

He decides to take a refreshing walk back home. It’s only about a fifteen minute walk, and he does it often. More time to think. His headphones are tight against his ears, but not uncomfortable. Hyunjin initially chooses to blast a soft, slow tempoed song before he switches to something more heavy and aggravated. 

The music is cut and a millisecond later, his phone rings. It’s you. Oh, god. You’re going to rub your relationship in his face. 

When Hyunjin answers it, there’s an, albeit fake, smile on his face as if you could see him, and he begins to speak in a typical cheery tone. He’s cut off by a sob. He can’t understand a thing you’re saying and he panics. He stops in his tracks, hand curling to grasp at air in a panic. His eyes widen while he searches for any thought in his brain to console you. 

“Are you home? I’ll be on my way, okay?” He informs you, voice filled with worry. “We can stay on the line until I get there.”

And he stays on the phone with you until he reaches his home; and then the entire fifteen-block walk to your place. Avoiding the eyes of those who wonder whether he might be talking to himself. He hurries, speed walking the entire way—and almost sprinting at one point when your sobs had suddenly gotten worse—in order to reach your apartment in less time than it would usually take. 

He’s buzzed into your building and within a few seconds he’s at the door of your apartment. He doesn’t need to knock, as you open it immediately. Tears are staining your cheeks and you walk up to hug Hyunjin, not bothering to welcome him into your home. 

Now, everything is seemingly on pause, and Hyunjin is comforting you through your own heartbreak. Once again, time is both slowed down and sped up—he’s present but still lost in his head somewhere. Still, he waddles the both of you into your apartment, and kicks the door closed with his foot. 

He notices the flower arrangement he’d made just hours prior, sitting untouched on the kitchen counter. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Hyunjin questions. Dealing with those emotions, especially right after they surface, is difficult, and the last thing Hyunjin wants to do is push you into speaking about it—he knows the fresh wounds of a heartbreak all too well. So, he remains by your side, patient, and comforting until—if—you decide to speak. 

The two of you begin rocking side to side slowly. It’s soothing, and you’re able to speak just quietly. 

“Well, he proposed,” His stomach turns, tightening to the point where he becomes nauseous for a moment. Hyunjin even nearly rolls his eyes, but the thing that relieves him is the reason he’s here—obviously you turned Minho down. That, or Minho dropped dead; but that’s not as likely. Yet, the thing that nearly makes Hyunjin sicker is how much he hates that he’s happy that you declined the proposal. 

“And I declined. I-I said I wasn’t ready for marriage yet. Told him I wish we had discussed it a bit more before he did anything so we’d be on the same page. B-but I begged for us to stay together and he said… he said he couldn’t do it.” 

You bury your head in Hyunjin’s chest, weeping a bit more. 

“I know it hurts,” His words get lost in his mind somewhere, feeling as though he isn’t adequate enough to comfort you. 

“It hurts so bad.” You grab his hoodie with your fist tightly, twisting and tugging at it. 

“Let’s just cry it out. That always helps me.” He suggests, hand running up and down your back. 

“Cry with me? Like that scene in Midsommar?” You laugh through your sobs despite the hurt you’re in. Not that it matters to Hyunjin, of course. You can feel him laugh and, fortunately, it makes you smile. 

“Only if you want me to.” He unknowingly returns the smile. You don’t respond, but you ponder it—even as just a joke. 

The room falls silent but the silence is comfortable. That’s what you love about being around Hyunjin. You intrigue him, and while he always wants to know what’s going on in your mind, he never pressures you to speak. Sometimes, we learn more about ourselves—and to an extent, other people—through silence. 

The hug breaks. You fail to meet Hyunjin’s eyes. You walk off to sit in the living room and Hyunjin goes to get water for the both of you. He sets the glasses of water down and takes a seat next to you. 

“Where is he?” Hyunjin asks. His palms are sweaty, so he wipes them onto his jeans.

Your frown somehow deepens before you speak. “Went to stay with his parents.”

Silence. Hyunjin can tell that you’re lost in thought. He feels a bit odd. Individually, you both have gone through a significant amount of breakups; but each one is different from the last. It’s been so long since you’ve had your heart broken. To see you like this after so long—eyes red and puffy with a tear stained face, bottom lip quivering as you try to console yourself—it breaks Hyunjin. He does what you would do for him. 

“What will help take your mind away?” His voice is soft, barely above a whisper. 

You ponder for a moment. “Remember back in February when you and Miyeong broke up? The sleepover we had while Minho was away? We stayed up all night eating snacks and watching romance movies,” 

He nods. Despite being deeply hurt to the point he got sick, the latter part of that week was one of the most enjoyable times that he’d had in forever. The two of you ate, drank, cried, and watched cheesy romantic movies (to which Hyunjin cried more). Through the stuffy fog that is heartbreak, Hyunjin was reminded that, sometimes, life isn’t so bad. 

“What if we did that again for a couple of days?”

Hyunjin ponders it, considers it, but… “We both have work.” He pouts.

“Not tomorrow, though. I just don’t want to be alone right now,” You need him. A crutch. A support system. And you know he’ll never let you down. “Plus, you act like you haven’t stayed over for long periods of time before! Remember the time that Jisung refused to shower out of spite so you slept over here?”

Hyunjin lets out a short chuckle. He knows that when he goes back to his apartment, it’ll be left a mess. But for you, he doesn’t mind cleaning up after Jisung. “Fine. But only because I love you and I want you to feel better, loser.”

—

“You just have to find your thing, you know?” Hyunjin takes another shot. Neither of you are sure just how many you’ve both had. 

“Like, you know, my thing is art, and flowers and, you know, expressing myself with them. It’s the one thing I can always come back to and feel good about. Not betrayed, not hurt, or anything. But good. That shop—god—it’s like the one place in this world that’s for me.”

He’s venting now. He shouldn’t be. This is all about you. Tonight is all about you. So he cuts himself short, words still lingering on the tip of his tongue. There’s a momentary silence, eventually broken by you.

“Are you implying that you want to fuck your flower shop?”

“Wha…? No! I’m just saying…I’m trying to help you!” His ears become red.

“Hm. Not sure. Sounds like you’re confessing your love for your job,” Hyunjin looks at you with a face full of temporary disgust. “I’m jooking! Find my thing, something to express myself with, I know, I get it.”

“I’m sorry,” 

“Don’t be.”

Silence once again occupies the room, planting itself comfortably between you and Hyunjin. Hyunjin doesn’t mind the silence. You do, though. 

“You know what’s kinda funny?” 

“Hm?”

“Minho used to mention, from time to time, how he believed you had a crush on me,” You smile. Hyunjin, however, is caught off guard, eyebrows raised with his eyes slightly wide. “I would always laugh it off but part of me kept thinking What If?”

“What if I had been with you instead of Minho. I mean, you wouldn’t propose to me without having a simple fucking conversation, right?” You ramble on. “You wanna know a secret?”

“Sure.” “Two secrets! It’s actually two secrets!”

“One,” You tilt your head to smile at Hyunjin. “I had the biggest crush on you for years. But I was so hurt because you kept going after literally every fucking body else. Wish you had paid attention to me.”

“And Two!” You continue, not as sad. Ignoring the previous sentences that came from your mouth. “I wish I could kiss you right now. Would you let me?”

He can’t believe the words that come out of your mouth. For a moment, Hyunjin feels ill. He’d somehow missed the signs. You wanted him, too. His eyebrows string together in a brief expression of sadness. He shakes it away. Hyunjin nods and leans in, his eyes close and he puckers his lips. Within a second, he feels your lips on his and then your hand on his thigh. 

Sparks. That’s the only way that Hyunjin can describe it. Your mouth is warm, wet and Hyunjin can only melt into you. The two of you melt into each other. Lips mashed together as your tongues slip into each other's mouths, swapping spit. At this point it’s more than kissing. It’s heavy and messy. It’s full of hurt and passion and the feeling of being missed. Or having something missed out on. Uncertainty. Neither of you have come up for air to interrupt the makeout session. Losing yourselves within each other's mouths—lips and tongue, occasional teeth. 

You end up climbing atop of him to straddle. Breaking the kiss to pin Hyunjin to the floor. You stare down at him, searching within his eyes. “Do you want me?”

“So much.” The two words leave Hyunjin’s mouth desperately. He’s in anguish. 

He tries to sit up, to chase your lips but he’s properly pinned. You plant one soft kiss against his lips. You stand, beckoning Hyunjin to follow you to your room; disappearing into the hallway. And Hyunjin does just that; leaving his sober self to pick up the pieces of a drunken, immoral night. 

© PLANETDREAM 2024

[alicewrotethis]

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨﹒

ㅤ۫ㅤ ˚ ۪˖𓏲﹒synopsis!! kuroo decided to stop for coffee before practice, he didnt expect to meet you ㅤ ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤ ˚౨ cw!! k. tetsuro x fem!reader ﹒ ◠ note!! frank oceans 'blonde' album just reminds me of kuroo in all ways idk, PART TWO SOON this was just on my mind i had to write some of it ౨ wc!! 1k, wanted to make it longer but im so sleepy i cant think of words, next part will be longer !! big plot twist coming soon trust

The sound of Frank Ocean's voice in your airpod quickly replaced the silence as you flipped the sign indicating you were now open, you had hoped it would be a slow morning today since you'd be the only one here for the next few hours. Your manager couldn't make it due to a 'family emergency', and you believed him, well, you believed him the first four times he used that excuse this month. You'd like it better if he told you straight up that he'd like to sleep in some more, you'd have no problem doing a job that's meant for two people. With school starting up again most of your coworkers had quit, now devoting their time to academics, which you didn't mind.

You grabbed the broom that was sitting behind the counter, wanting to do one last sweep before the regulars came in for their usual morning coffee and pastry, and it's not like you had anything better to do having already made fresh pastries two hours before opening.

You began quietly humming along to the lyrics, not hearing the ringing coming from the door.

"Hello," A gruff voice spoke out, and usually you'd be cheery, replying in an instant, but usually you'd hear the customer.

Kuroo instantly recognized the song you were humming along to and a smile appeared on his face from familiarity. Though he was visibly confused about why you kept sweeping, had he not spoken loud enough?

This wasn't his usual coffee place but it was the only place that opened at six in the morning and was spoken very fondly of by Lev.

He cleared his throat preparing to speak out louder this time, but you quickly spun around and took out both your airpods, a shocked look prevalent on your features as you hastily spat out apologies while bowing profusely.

Kuroo let out a small chuckle at your actions, a hand coming to the back of his head as he stood their awkwardly.

"Frank Ocean?" His voice snapped you out of your apologetic state, your flustered blush never moving.

"Yeah! I just lost track of time and thought I'd have a bit more time to finish sweeping and I swear I wasn't igno-"

"It's okay, things happen, I remember when I was young like you." He cut off your rambles before you spoke yourself into the grave.

Only then did you realize how tall this guy was, he was tall but he didn't look old. What did he mean by that? How old was this guy? His bedhead hair gave him an even taller illusion. He wore a red tracksuit, a clothing item you're familiar with, he must be from Nekoma. Then what the fuck did he mean by 'young like you'? You brushed away your confusing thoughts and wondered if he knew Lev.

"Can I get a coffee now?" He asked, taking note of how long you stared him up and down, which silently inflated his ego.

"Yeah! Of course! Sorry," You quickly led him to the counter, letting the broom rest against the brick wall, turning to log into the register.

"Do you need a menu?" You asked, staring up at him, you hadn't seen him here before, you usually remembered all your regulars and customers since you've worked here since, well, you could legally start working. And you're sure you'd remember a face like his. He had distinctive cat-like eyes, and the way he stood, like he knows he's attractive.

"I'll just get an Americano," He spoke, reaching for his wallet as the price displayed on the register.

"Don't worry about it, it's on me for not paying attention" Your hands shot up dismissively.

A smile grew on his lips, "You sure? It's not a big deal," He didn't mind that you weren't paying attention, but a free coffee is a free coffee.

"Yeah! It's only espresso and hot water," You explained, turning around to start the espresso machine up.

You felt nervous under his gaze, knowing that he could see your every move. It had never made you nervous in the years you worked here, but now it was the only thing on your mind. You weren't sure why you were so nervous, it's not like you hadn't seen an attractive guy before, you didn't even know this guy's name.

"And a name for the order?" You said playfully, back still turned to him to hide your blush, but if you were facing him you'd catch the playful smirk he displayed while watching your form.

"Kuroo,"

"Kuroo," You repeated, testing the way it rolled off your tongue, and he relished in the way you said his name, how innocently you pronounced it. He couldn't help the way his eyes drifted lower and lower.

The espresso machine beep cut both of your thoughts shut. Kuroos eyes snapped back up while he internally cursed at himself.

Placing the to-go coffee cup lip in place you grabbed the sharpie from your smock pocket and popped the lid off, writing 'kuroo :)' on the side and promptly handing him his drink with an innocent smile, hoping you had spelled his name correctly.

He returned your smile and placed his large hands around the cup, brushing against your smaller fingers which sent a shiver down your spine, something that didn't go unnoticed by him.

"I'll be seeing you,"

"Yeah!" You watched as he turned towards the door, the bell chiming as he took his leave. The silence of the coffee shop settled in and you had already missed his presence. You knew today would be a long day, would he be here tomorrow?

Kuroo made it halfway to Nekoma before he realized he didnt even get your name, he didn't even think to ask, he debated on running back and asking for your name but you'd probably be busy by now, he would just need to ask next time he went. He wasn't sure when next time would be due to practice and his matches, but for now all he could do was trace your handwriting with his thumb as he entered the Nekoma boys gym.

mlist. rules. tags.

© 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 ─ please don't copy, translate, or post any of my work without my permission !

[lie-lacdreams]

Some headcanons in Thermo & Turmoil so far (for Curly and the reader)

Because I just inserted hella headcanons into the plot and feel an urge to explain all of them and then some more lol

(Before I begin I would like to start off by mentioning that I'm a bit clueless when it comes to using Tumblr so please forgive me let me be incompetent and ignorant in peace)

In this story, reader is in her mid to late twenties, like 26-28 years old. Curly is in his early to mid thirties (33-35), which means he joined Pony Express likely fresh out of college or trade school

Reader is a chemical engineering graduate student, specializing in green synthesis and catalysis. What this all means is that she has a particular interest in sustainability and organic chemistry

The way her morals and ethics left her body after getting accepted to work at Pony Express, a shady company with not the best green practices (she was desperate to find a job, okay?)

one last related thing - the timeline of when things happen in the game vs. in this story aren't very well-aligned. I'm going off of my own timeline for plot reasons

Okay, now on to more fun and general headcanons I have for Curly ~

I subscribe to the common belief that Curly is a big romantic. How could he not be??? He tried to seek out relationships throughout his twenties but remained unsuccessful to find someone who would stay with him through the crazy structure of his occupation. Imagine being in a relationship with someone who you couldn't see or communicate with for months to a year at a time. I absolutely get it

It all makes sense because he's absolutely married to his work. He's kind of come to terms that he can't have a long-term romantic relationship and a career as a freighter ship captain. Those two things simply don't go together well

At this age, Curly has reached the peak of his career - and when he comes back from another successful trip, he has quite a bit of monetary compensation waiting for him in his paycheck

Single and childless, he's financially comfortable - he has his savings but he also will pay the bill for his friends and family 8/10 times (would he fight for the bill? Of course not, he gave his card to the waiter halfway through the meal to pay)

He doesn't feel bitter about his lifestyle. He chose it, after all. Sure, he sometimes wishes that he had stability on Earth and a family of his own to go back to, but he loves living vicariously through his friends and that to him is enough for now. Every wedding, baby shower, friend's child's birthday party - if he's off the clock, he will absolutely be there and having the time of his life

Speaking of children, he would love to have some of his own someday, but as a single man who spends most of his time in a big metal box suspended in zero gravity, he doesn't know how to interact with them and is kind of awkward

He's very open minded to different cultures and new experiences.

Curly has been to a few Indian weddings where his friends would drag him out to the dance floor and make him learn Bhangra. He's jumping along like the rest of them, moving his arms animatedly to the beat of the music

like okay this white boy can dance! The crowd is so entertained

he's not a picky eater and would eat nearly anything. When he visited Thailand, the locals tricked him into trying balut (fertilized duck egg) and when he didn't react and mentioned that he didn't mind the texture that much, it left them confused and a little pleased

he sleeps warm and can't tolerate humid weather. Going to Thailand nearly ended him

He's so community-minded. This is why I could envision him with so many 1st/2nd gen immigrant friends. Man just gets it

This is also why the Chinese restaurant near where he lives loves him. The owner loves to use him as a role model for his son

You know that one family friend growing up that was stacked with accolades that your parents would compare you to? (or maybe that's just my own experience...) That is Curly for this poor little boy.

He's actually such a people pleaser, but hides it so well under being such a confident authority figure, so it just comes off as helpful and supportive instead

He loves when people go to him for advice. He may or may not have the experience to give the advice, but regardless he will try his best to come up with a solution

[killerlookz]

i hope this doesn’t put any pressure on you because its not meant to at all but can u give us a preview of anything in your drafts 🥲

yes! absolutely i can <3 here's an extra long preview bc i haven't published anything in a hot min:

preview of the heartbeat!au "honeymoon phase" fic:

warnings: rpf below, do not proceed if you dont fw that but this is in rpf tags so why were you even here to begin with

The light of your phone sears into your eyes, a start contrast from the dark of your bedroom. By now your circadian rhythm undoubtedly in deep disarray. However bad you knew staying up way into the early hours of the morning was, you couldn't seem to rip yourself from the distraction of the blue light, perfectly coded algorithms keeping your anxieties at bay.

For the last week of your life your usual peaceful sleep had been ripped through by horrific nightmares, leading you to prefer to just skip sleeping all together. Of course, you knew that wasn't exactly possible, but maybe if you could just avoid falling asleep until the sun came up you could finally be freed of those dreaded night terrors.

The mattress dips beside you, a groan falling from Joost's lips, peacefully asleep next to you. It had been hours since you had said goodnight to each other, since he kissed you with the promise that you two would soon would be deep in slumber. You hadn't bothered to tell him about your nightmare issue, it had felt so childish. You had only been together for a few months now, your relationship seeming far too fresh to deal out what you had deemed "embarrassing" information. Besides, what was he to do about that? It wasn't like he had the power to change the workings of your subconscious mind.

The comforter slips from Joost's shoulders as he shuffles in his sleep, rolling from one side to another, now facing you. You finally pull yourself from your endless scrolling, turning your head to get a look at Joost. He's illuminated just right by the sliver moonlight that peaks through your curtains. The corners of your mouth peak in a slight smile, a rush a warmth running through you as your eyes finally settle on him.

You couldn't believe your luck with him, desperate for friends outside of your classmates after making the leap of faith to transfer schools and move to a different country for your final year of university. You'd been working as a waitress in Amsterdam, which, all things considered wasn't an ideal position for you, given your less than stellar Dutch, but locals were usually sympathetic to your situation, and tourists hardly spoke Dutch anyway. The day you had met Joost had started as what you had postulated to be the worst shift of your life. Hungover during a rush that seemed to last for hours, constantly seated with the most impossible to please customers. Once you were out of the weeds you had been seated with what you were promised to be your last table of the night, trying your best to suppress a groan and an eye roll as you walked up to the table, your eyes immediately falling to Joost, who had been there with what you would eventually learn were his closest friends.

You had thought you known the type, unruly hair, and scattered tattoos, dressed head-to-toe in Supreme, a cocky smile pressed to his lips. Attractive no doubt, but a type. The type that was undoubtably too interested in the Soundcloud rap scene, probably attempting to make it in that space too as a cheap rip-off of Lil Peep. The type to blow all his money on what streams his mediocre raps did get on box-logo shirts and supreme branded underwear. You could already hear the surface-level introspection of his lyrics, writing about how sad and heartbroken he'd been left by all the girls in his life when in reality he was nothing more than a fuckboy with a shitty nail polish job.

Being young and living in a city you had seen the type before, served the type more than a handful of times since you had started your job. They were always the same, traveled in large groups, like that was their "entourage", usually loud, demanding, and obnoxious, thinking their 2,000 Soundcloud streams, hundred dollar T-shirts and knock-off designer shoes made them a celebrity. They'd flirt with you and act aghast when you dared not to flirt back with them.

You had thought you known the type. But when you had gone up to begin helping his table, your previous perceptions had immediately been shattered- immediately becoming even more attractive upon your realization that he wasn't the worst. There was a quiet flirting underneath his goofy- yet reserved demeanor, the type of flirting you didn't mind and eventually reciprocated when he'd become a regular.

It was apparent that you had gotten the fuckboy thing all wrong. When he had finally got the courage to ask you out he hadn't even seen particularly in a hurry to sleep with you, though that wouldn't stop you from giving it up that night.

As Joost softly snores from beside you, you can't help but want nothing more than to be fitted snuggly between his arms, head pressed to his chest- listening to his heartbeat as you fall into a deep, peaceful sleep. But your current aversion to sleeping aside, you can't bring yourself to potentially wake him to do so.

You take your eyes from him, focusing back on the harsh light that burns into your retinas, continuing your scrolling, barely distracted by another long groan leaving Joost's lips.

"Ga slapen," (go to sleep) His voice surprises you, slow and thick with sleep- you hadn't expected him to be awake.

"Hmm?" You hum, pretending to not have heard him, you set your phone down on the bedside table and focus your attention to Joost.

"Hoe lat is het?" (What time is it?) He yawns, struggling to open his eyes.

You don't want to answer, knowing he'll question you on why you're up so late.

"Go back to sleep," You coo, hoping he'll be tired enough to listen without any resistance. You reach out a hand, slowly carding your fingers through his hair. You lift some pieces that had gotten stuck to his forehead with sweat, Joost was the type to overheat in his sleep, furiously kicking the blankets off of the two of you in the middle of the night, or perhaps worse rolling over onto you while he slept, causing you to suffocate in his humid body heat.

"Nhn, nhn." He tuts, his eyes finally opening entirely, "Je kan niet zomaar (You can't just)- Nhn, You can't just rub my head back to sleep." English finally coming back to him as he sits himself up against the pillows, his head now at your shoulder height in your upright position.

"I tried," A small smile pokes at your lips.

"Why are you awake?" His questioning isn't interrogative, still clearly very sleepy as he nuzzles his head into the pillow, "What time is it?" He asks again.

"I don't know," You mumble, your voice dipping out, answering more-so the latter question.

"You can't lie to me," Joost presses his forehead to your arm, snuggling in to you. How true that was. It surprised you how fast he was able to learn you- the subtleties of your mannerisms, able to pick up on your true emotions from the smallest tells.

"It's late," You simply respond, "I'll go to bed soon." Trying to avoid any further questioning.

"Not soon," Joost whines, his voice stifled by where his lips touch your skin. He throws an arm around the front of you, "Now."

You can't do much besides sigh in response, fidgeting under the comforter to sink down to his level. Your face is right in front of Joost's now, the warmth of his slow breaths ghosting over your skin.

"Sleep now," Joost tightens the arm he had slung around you, using it to pull you closer to him. He's unbearably warm, but you melt into him anyway, turning on your side to press your chest into his.

"I can't."

"Not tired?" Joost asks, "Why not?"

"So tired."

"Then sleep." Joost puckers his lips, barely stretching out his head to press a kiss to your forehead. It's so simple to him just sleep, if only it was that easy for you.

"Can't Joost."

"Why not?" He asks again, pushing harder this time.

"Dunno," You hum, pausing for a moment trying to formulate the least embarrassing way to describe your situation, "Bad dreams I guess, I dunno." You speak quickly, hoping maybe he won't catch all of it, the processes of his brain slowed by sleep.

Joost suddenly becomes more aware, more awake, like you've said some sort of sleeper phrase to activate something in him.

"Could have just told me that, schatje." He coos, it's reassuring, and you suddenly feel so stupid for holding that in. "Could have told me that before I feel asleep without you."

"Seemed stupid." You sigh, pushing your face further into the pillow.

"Not stupid." Joost assures, "What are they about?"

"Don't know. Just- bad."

"I'm sorry." Joost frowns. You feel the arm that he holds around you sneak under the comforter, coming to snake around your torso, his hand pushing into your back to press your body closer to him. The front of your T-shirt no longer just grazing the bare skin of his chest, but rather the two of you have molded into each other. "What can I do?" His lips now pressed against your shoulder from this closer position.

"Nothing,"

"No?" He places a small kiss to your shoulder through the fabric of your shirt.

"Not unless you can go into my brain and control my subconscious and make me dream of like puppies and rainbows." You follow with a dry laughter, any real humor stifled by your exhaustion.

"Mmm, if I could I would liefje."

[silentscrying]

🎸 out of my mind ! 💿 track two: kowalski, status report

guitarist!ino x drummer!reader

summary: it's the annual battle of the bands at the fix, your college campus's iconic live music bar, and this year you're taking the stage as the drummer for indie rock group cursed technique. you know the competition is strong, but no part of you is ready for lead singer and guitarist takuma ino. you lock eyes at the edge of the stage, and something starts—something that might make you feel alive even more than the beat of the drums.

warnings: language, alcohol, mentions of drugs/drug dealing, toge bullying, unbearably cute dogs. || sfw. 9k words.

"I SHOULDN'T CUSS in this, right?"

It’s the day before the other four artists premiere their sets at Battle of the Bands, and you haven’t been home since six in the morning. You’re running on caffeine and spite and the pursuit of the story, parked on a high stool across the bar from the one and only Ieiri Shoko.

Toge leans on the counter beside you, opting to stand. He’s agreed to pay for the next snack run in return for you letting him be your partner. You both know you’re going to end up doing most of the writing, but you don’t really mind. Toge would if you asked him to, but you love this kind of thing in a way he just doesn’t. Plus, he’s better with a camera than you, and he’s taking photos tomorrow night.

You laugh, pulling out your phone to record. “You can say whatever you want as long as it’s honest. Be candid.”

“You might regret saying that!” Gojo calls from the back, and Shoko silences him with a glare.

“Are you coming or not?”

Gojo grins and finishes up whatever he’s putting away in the storage room, then strides out and leans his elbows on the counter.

“Do you mind if I record?” You point to the open voice memo app. “Makes it easier to quote you correctly.” You also just hate running interviews when you’re scribbling hand-written notes the whole time. You’d much rather have a genuine conversation and worry about the details later.

Shoko waves a hand airily. “No problem.”

“Absolutely,” Gojo says. “You can probably sell that for thousands.”

You set the phone on the counter, next to one of the tiny pumpkins scattered across it in celebration of the beginning of October. You and Toge bounce back and forth as you run through the standard start-of-interview checklist, having them spell out their names, getting their ages, hometowns, degrees, all that jazz. And then you launch into the stuff you really care about.

“So, you opened The Fix about ten years ago now, correct?”

Shoko nods. “Yeah, a little over two years after we graduated.”

You look at Gojo, whose eyes are even more alarmingly blue in the daylight. “And you were hired right away?”

“Utahime first, then me,” he nods. “Best for last, y’know.”

Shoko snorts. “We knew each other in school. I just took pity on him.” She smirks as Gojo’s jaw drops. “You can quote that.”

“Right, so all of you were friends in college. And you came together to start this place—what was the idea behind it?” Toge chimes in. “You said you studied nursing, Shoko?”

And you sit and listen as Shoko explains. Back in college, she was at the top of her class. By graduation, she’d been accepted to basically all the best med schools. She had her pick. She could do whatever she wanted. But she realized that what she wanted wasn’t that at all.

The medical field is brutal, she tells you. It’s all late nights and emotional burnout. People yelling at you, misplaced anger when you give them the bad news. Getting attached to people only to watch them waste away.

“I needed to get out before I got too far in. Maybe it was selfish,” she admits. “But I wasn’t cut out for it. I have so much admiration for medical professionals, but I couldn’t be one of them. A few clinicals and I was already feeling the consequences of giving too much of myself and getting nothing back.” She shrugs. “So I named it The Fix, as some kind of homage to the medical background. And I figured I’d just make sure it’s safe.”

Something sits heavy in her gaze as she stares at something behind you, middle distance, like she’s remembering.

“Why a college bar?” you ask, nudging the phone across the counter to pick up her voice better. “I mean, the extra security, thinking about underage drinking, dealing with a bunch of broke university kids. You could’ve just as easily opened a different bar in a more lucrative area. What was the appeal?”

She smiles crookedly. “Appeal. Well. My senior year, I was working in the local ER. And I saw… god. So many kids came in there needing their stomachs pumped, or kids who’d done laced drugs, gotten roofied, harassed, it was… I mean, it was a city university club scene. They weren’t safe. And I just felt like I needed to give them that. I couldn’t stay there as a nurse or a doctor. But I could do this.” She shrugs. “Sorry. That was probably way too much.”

“No,” you say quickly, smiling at her. “That was—that’s what we came here for. Shoko, that’s amazing. And it’s not selfish, taking care of yourself. You’re still here taking care of others.”

You don’t know Gojo well. Most of your stories about him come secondhand from Nobara, who knows him through Megumi. She paints the picture of a flamboyant, obnoxious bartender who’s more like a weird uncle to her than anything. From what you’ve seen of him at The Fix, you know this to be mostly accurate—he’s rarely serious, always taking flack from the students and giving it right back, ragging on Utahime, begging Shoko to play his playlist instead of Geto’s and knowing she’ll never cave. But now, as he listens intently to Shoko, you think you’re seeing another side of him.

There’s something troubled on his face as she speaks, like he wishes he could reach into the past and help. Like he regrets it.

The bar’s not the only thing that has a different side in the daylight.

“She’s right,” Gojo tells Shoko. It’s not much, but she looks up at him a bit surprised, something in her expression softening. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, not quite there but not quite not. “You’ve got a pretty big heart under all that RBF.” Shoko rolls her eyes, the moment over.

“What about you?” You turn to Gojo, nudging the phone his way. “Why a college bar?”

Shoko turns toward him, leaning a hip against the bar, just as curious as you are. “I think kids deserve to be kids,” he shrugs. “And if I—if we—can create a space where it’s actually safe for them to do that, it feels important.” His gaze shifts from you and Toge to the empty bar, the stage and floor and high-top tables that tomorrow will be full of music and laughter and students knowing they’re allowed to let loose here.

“There aren’t a lot of places out there that are exclusively for students,” he continues. “It’s this weird phase, college, where you’re figuring out who you are, trying to take risks without losing too much. It’s a lot. And you look at the crime rates, date rape drugs, theft, DUIs, in the city, and it’s just—this place gives them the room to learn and grow and mess around and have a good time without the danger of the… I don’t know. The outside world. Does that make sense?”

He drums his fingers on the countertop, then seems to abruptly remember the recording and stops. “I think it’s just… well, no one’s allowed to take youth away from young people. So that’s why I’m here.”

You wonder what Gojo was like in school. He majored in gender studies, which you’re pretty sure is what Todo is at least minoring in, too—you’re not sure how it’s applicable to anything, but Nobara says he likes to pull his diploma out from behind the bar and say he’s an expert in women. It seems a far cry from this rare, more subdued version of Gojo you’re seeing right now. You’d guess he’s grown quite a bit in the time he’s been here. And Shoko’s been here to witness it.

He’s not a business owner, like Shoko or Geto. And according to Nobara, he definitely doesn’t need this gig to make a living. He’s here because he wants to be.

“These last few years have been nice, in particular,” he offers. “Just ‘cause some of us have kids going here. I mean, you know the Fushiguros. Suguru’s got the twins. And I know Ino’s not Nanami’s kid, but they’re tight.”

“Wait, what?” Nanami is the bar’s primary security guy, a bouncer who never lets a fake ID fool him. He’s part of the reason this place is so safe. Toge spins to look at you as you blurt out the question, caught off guard. “Uh, sorry. I just didn’t—I didn’t know they knew each other.”

Shoko studies you with tired, intelligent eyes, and you can’t help but feel the tables have been entirely flipped. You’re the one being interrogated, wordlessly, by the woman across the counter. You feel like every thought in your head is scrawled across your face for her to read.

“Yeah,” Gojo says, unaffected. “Ino looks up to him a lot, I think. Even though he’s an old man who reads the newspaper for fun.” He snorts. “He’s a good guy, though. And Ino’s a good kid.” He finally clocks the way Shoko’s looking at you and cocks his head, appraising.

Thankfully, Toge cuts in with another question. “So, we’ll be around tomorrow for the bands and to take some photos and observe,” he explains, glancing at you to make sure he’s got the information right. “Will Geto be around?” You’d wanted both owners’ perspectives, and now that Gojo’s reminded you of the twins, you’re even more curious.

“Yeah, Suguru and Utahime will be here tomorrow night,” Shoko says. “And Nanami. Geto would totally be down to talk to you some other time, too, when it’s a bit quieter.”

“Amazing,” you say, pulling the phone back toward you. You’ll need details, follow-ups, but you need to process this first, write some things down while they’re fresh in your mind. ‘Thank you so much for this. We appreciate it.”

“Anytime, kid,” Shoko says, waving you off. “See you tomorrow.”

As you turn off the recording, Gojo and Toge have already devolved into conversation about the bands and predictions about tomorrow night. A few posters are scattered across a low table near the door, and you pick one up, smiling at the blocky lettering advertising Black Flash. There are posters advertising all of the artists, and they look amazing, straight out of one of the alt rock venues in the wider city.

“They’re sick, right?” Gojo calls, nodding to the posters. “I gotta hang those up, actually. Thanks for the reminder.”

You wave goodbye to Shoko and Gojo and lead the way out, Toge just behind you.

“Man,” he says, and you brace yourself, recognizing his teasing tone for what it is. “They said Ino’s name and you look like scared Bambi or some shit.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, elbowing him.

He holds his hands up. “I’m just living in pursuit of the truth! Like Kusakabe would want.”

“Is your camera battery charged for tomorrow?” you say in a blatant attempt at a topic change.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Toge Inumaki, chronically irresponsible student and—”

“Okay, sorry I asked, holy shit.” He sticks his tongue out at you. Then he hesitates, frowning, and then he’s pulling out his phone and calling someone in his favorites list before you can see who it is. “Hey,” he greets. “What? No, she didn’t kick me out. Hey. Hey.” You snicker and Toge glares at you, pressing the phone closer to his ear. “Yutaaa,” he whines. “Do you know where my camera battery is?”

—

Even when you’re not the one on stage, you live for Fridays at The Fix. Tonight you’re doing double duty—because of the dual elimination at the end of the round, all of the competing artists are here. It’s not a requirement, but you want to see what you’re up against, and the sentiment seems to have carried. You and Toge are also in reporting mode for your project story.

The band on stage right now is… well, you can’t say new wave metal is really your thing, but it’s definitely theirs, and the audience is loving it. The Cull, you write in your notes. Look up names.

You couldn’t make out the lyrics if your life depended on it. It’s three guys and a girl, vaguely familiar, but you’re fairly certain they’re seniors and absolutely certain they’re baked right now.

“God, this is loud.” Yuta winces, turning to face you, and then his eyes flicker to something over your shoulder. You divert your attention from the stage and just catch the brief commotion in your periphery. Nanami has a kid by the elbow, and he’s escorting him out the side door, expressionless. The kid’s obviously drunk out of his mind, tripping over himself, shouting something that Nanami doesn’t bother to respond to.

Maki follows your gaze and wrinkles her nose up in distaste.

“Who’s that?”

“My cousin,” she says flatly. You glance quizzically at Megumi, who is definitely standing five feet away and not being escorted out of the bar.

“Dude, how much family do you have at this school?”

She sighs. “Just Mai and Megumi and him. Naoya. He’s a piece of shit.”

“Clearly,” Toge says. “He broke the M theme. No respect for the family alliteration.” Maki kicks him in the shin.

“One last round for The Cull!” Panda calls from the stage, and your ears slowly, very gradually stop ringing with the raging new wave music. The stage techs get to work behind Panda as he introduces the next group.

“Up next, making their debut, we’ve got a sophomore girl pop trio. Give it up for MOTION CAPTURE!”

There’s a big cheer from the bar, and you turn to see Geto grinning. Three girls take the stage, the blonde one grabbing the mic and adding, “All caps!” The girl beside her is very obviously her twin sister, though her hair is straight and dark while the blonde’s is tugged into pigtails. Light and dark. The girl on keys has a long, black bubble braid that she pushes out of the way as she settles in to play.

The blonde plugs in her electric and calls out, “Alright, I’m Nanako.” She tests out a chord, the sound reverberating, filling the bar all the way up to its high ceilings. “That’s Mimiko, that’s Remi, and we’re just here to have a good time.”

“Hey,” a voice says behind you, and you jump. You turn to find Takuma holding two drinks, offering one to you.

“Oh! Aw, thanks, you didn’t have to do that. How much do I owe you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Nothing.”

“Takuma—”

“Nothing,” he reiterates. “Anyway, The Cull. Thoughts?”

You take the drink and try it while you think on your answer—it’s the same thing Nobara got you last week. How did he know?

“I didn’t really understand any of the lyrics,” you admit, shrugging. “They weren’t bad. Not really my genre. Do you know them?”

Takuma shakes his head. “I had a gen ed once with that Rin kid, but I don’t know the other ones. These girls aren’t bad, though.” He’s right—they’ve launched into an Olivia Rodrigo cover that’s actually decent. They could work on their voice control, but they’re young and fun and having a good time and working the crowd, and that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?

You sing along, alternating between your drink and exchanging quips with Toge and talking with Takuma. You like this new balance between your band and his, the easy camaraderie.

When the girls wrap up their set, you whoop and cheer and Kirara shamelessly watches Hakari move things off the stage, arms bare in his cut-off tank.

“You’re subtle,” Takuma tells her, and she tugs his beanie down over his face.

“Hey!”

You grab his drink before he can spill it and grin as he yanks his hat off and readjusts it. His hair is a fluffy mess underneath, and it’s kind of endearing.

When the girl pop trio is done, two guys take the stage, one in white and one in black. They’re clearly related, dark hair and pale skin and piercing eyes, and Panda introduces them as the Kamos. You don’t know if they’re brothers or cousins or what. But they’re good—they sing a few alt rock covers, play guitar.

“Damn,” Nobara sighs, a little longingly, her gaze settling on Choso as he takes over the chorus. “They’re…”

Beside her, Yuji wrinkles his nose. “Dude. That’s my half-brother.”

Nobara hums noncommittally. “And?”

He groans, tipping his head back and staring at the exposed beams of the ceiling, run through with colored lights. “Why does this always happen?”

Toge is taking more photos of them than is strictly necessary, considering your story is about the bar and not the band, but you let him have this. Scattered throughout the crowd are more kids with cameras, freshmen from the entry-level reporting classes with big underage stamps on the backs of their hands. Somebody mistook Toge for one of them earlier, and Maki hasn’t let it go all night.

You jot down atmospheric notes on your phone, little things that’ll help set the scene for your project lede, keeping an eye on the bar as much as you can. Geto has jumped in at the bar, which he usually does when the place gets busy, and Gojo is terrorizing Utahime again.

“How’d your interview go?” Takuma asks, nodding at your notes. It shouldn’t faze you so much that he remembers what you told him about your story, but you can’t help the little kick of your heart in your chest at the reminder.

“Good! Really good.” And then you catch sight of Nanami, back at the door after calling a cab for Maki’s asshat cousin. “Actually, Gojo mentioned you.”

Takuma’s brows shoot up. “Gojo? Why?”

Nanami has always seemed incredibly reserved, stony and silent in a way Takuma has never been. You don’t want to pry, but you’re also curious about the relationship between them, how they met, what they are to each other. The journalist in you wants to know.

And then there’s the part of you that just wants to know Takuma.

“Well, he was talking about the twins and the Fushiguros, and he kind of mentioned something about you knowing Nanami?” You try to sound casual, jerking your chin toward the door where Nanami is posted, like a tall, blond guard dog.

“Oh,” he says, surprised, but he shrugs, not seeming too alarmed by the question. “Yeah, I’ve known Nanami for… a long time. He’s kind of a mentor. He’s the reason I met Fushiguro in the first place, actually, ‘cause of him knowing Gojo.”

You’re considering asking how exactly they did meet when the Kamos wrap up, Nobara staring up at them dreamily, and the stage clears out for the final artist.

Whatever questions you had are thrown out the window, because you know who this is. Everyone knows who this is.

Fifth-year student and resident SoundCloud rapper, Ryomen Sukuna. Or D!SH0NORED1, according to the posters.

“Oh, here we go,” Megumi groans.

Despite his reputation on campus, you don’t know anyone who’s actually close to Sukuna, except Uruame. You mostly know that he deals at the skate park and that he’s clean about it.

And that his raps are truly, genuinely horrible.

He lets Panda give a stilted introduction and launches into a verse, mic too close to his mouth, making hand gestures or stepping to the beat of his backing track. His tattoos are even more stark and bold under the stage lights.

“My blood type’s B, your type is me, my zodiac Caprisun, it might be controversial but you’re still lookin’ at me, son!”

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Kirara mutters. “I’m gonna bleach my eardrums.”

“Caprisun?” Nobara whispers. “Oh, dude.”

You might be a terrible person for thinking it, but watching this guy’s performance makes you feel infinitely better about your odds of advancing in the tournament.

His final song is a new one he introduces as Frosted Flexin’, and Maki looks like she’s about ready to keel over dead.

“Frosted flexin’, I'm the cereal king, pourin' oat milk in the mix, yeah, I'm doin' my thing,” Sukuna spits in his low voice, swaggering up to the front of the stage. You are trying so hard not to lose it.

“Sukuna being an oat milk truther wasn’t on my bingo card,” Toge says.

“Got the swag of a squirrel and the brain of a dove, call me trash, but you're still showin' me love.”

“Thoughts on the amount of swag a given squirrel possesses?” you ask Takuma. He laughs, loud and bright, and then seems to very seriously consider the question.

“I don’t know if campus squirrels have swag. They live in luxury. They probably eat better than we do,” he says. You can’t argue that—you did once see a squirrel outside your sociology class run by with a full bagel in its mouth. “The wilderness squirrels, though, I think they got a scrappy kind of swag. Like, I wouldn’t cross them.”

You nod sagely. “I want them on my team in the apocalypse.”

He nudges you with a shoulder. “Am I on your team?”

You glance at him, make a show of looking him up and down. Maybe you’re imagining it, but you think he’s blushing a little. “I don’t know. How fast can you climb a tree?”

Sukuna is nearing the end of his song, now, saying, “Off-tune, out of sync, yeah, I know it's a sin, but you'll play it back twice 'cause I still might win.”

He actually, physically drops the mic and Hakari swoops in and catches it, clearing his throat and saying into it, “Yep, friendly reminder that equipment’s expensive! Everyone give our last artist of the night a hand, yeah?”

There’s scattered applause and more than a few confused faces as Sukuna lopes off stage, and Panda hops back up to explain the voting system for anyone who wasn’t here last week. “QR codes to the Google form are posted around the bar,” he says.

Out of all eight artists, the bottom two will be eliminated. You’re nervous. But voting was open last week too. You can’t vote as a member of the band, and it’s all done through school Google accounts to avoid double votes or the link getting sent out to non-students.

“Open until tomorrow morning,” Panda reminds the audience. “Results and second round schedules will be posted on the Instagram at some point tomorrow! That’s it for this Friday at The Fix. Have a great night, folks. Get home safe.”

Gojo whoops dramatically from the bar, and Panda gives him a weird look before getting off stage.

Your friends start heading toward the door, and you grab Toge and excuse yourself to catch Geto at the bar. Gojo sees you first. “The newsies!” he calls.

“Like the musical?” you say in lieu of a greeting. “Banger soundtrack.”

“I could dance on newspapers,” Toge says.

“Geto!” The Fix’s other owner smiles at you, soft and genuine. Part of his dark hair is pulled back and the rest hangs loose over his shoulders, a stark contrast to Gojo—like the Kamos, you think, or like Nanako and Mimiko. Light and dark. “We were wondering if you’d be down to set up a time to talk. Has Gojo told you about our story at all?”

Geto smiles, drying a glass and leaning against the bar. “He told me he’s gonna be the front page of every paper in the city, which I assume is a horrid exaggeration,” he says. Gojo looks affronted. “Shoko mentioned you’re doing a feature for class, though. I’d be happy to.”

“We have our Monday night class time open for field reporting the week after this one,” Toge offers. “Will you be around?”

“I will indeed. Utahime, too, if you want to speak to both of us. And Gojo won’t be here, which might be beneficial for you.”

“Suguru,” Gojo gasps, pretending to stagger back. “You wound me.”

“Mhm,” he says, unaffected. “What time works best for you two?”

You set up a time to interview Geto and Utahime, then say goodbye to him and Gojo and run to catch up to your friends. It’s a nice night, and since you didn’t have to deal with instruments, you all decided to walk.

“How goes the… journalisming? Journaling?” Takuma asks when you fall into step beside him.

“Good, all good. Reporting is maybe a better word, but valiant effort.”

“I like journalisming. Can you just submit words to the official dictionary? I’m gonna do it.”

“No,” Toge says, and you blink. He shrugs. “What? I tried once. But the only submission form I could find was for the Bureau of Linguistical Reality and it wasn’t like, a legitimate dictionary form. There’s all these requirements, it’s horrible.”

“What word did you try to submit?” you ask warily, not sure if you actually want to know.

“Some things,” Toge says solemnly, “are better kept secret.”

The night is hazy, only small rays of moonlight piercing through the cloud cover, and you make your way through the campus roads guided only by the streetlamps and Maki’s reliable sense of direction.

Part of you wants to ask Takuma to come over, or Yuji to insist the band come over to his place again, just so you can keep talking. But you have work to do, things to write and transcribe, lists of follow-up questions to make, and that’s only your workload for this one class. You still have exams this week, and you need to study now so you can balance it with rehearsals. Assuming you actually advanced to round two, that is.

And part of you worries you might be taking this too fast, too. You don’t typically integrate people into your life so quickly. You like spending time with Takuma and Kirara and Yuji and even Megumi, though he’s pretty quiet. You just don’t want to jump in too far too fast.

At your place, you say your goodbyes and head up to your room to get some work done. Toge uploads his photos and puts them in your project folder on Drive. And you spend the night doing what you do best, aside from drumming—writing.

Youth for the young: JU alumni run safest live music bar in city limits

You don’t even notice the time until it’s past one in the morning, and you’re nearly asleep at your desk. The dark has crept across your room, the only source of light the desk lamp and your laptop screen. Finally, you push the computer shut and flick off the light, flopping into your bed. A few missed messages pop up when you hold your phone up, wincing at the bright screen.

takuma: just letting you know i made the treacherous journey home safely takuma: many miles of hardship takuma: thought i was gonna die halfway there

You smirk and type out a reply.

you: did kirara have to save you takuma: i resent that takuma: (yes) takuma: wait why are you up it’s so late you: journalisming you: why are YOU up takuma: travel adrenaline takuma: (coding project due monday that i just started) you: TAKUMA

The next text to come through is a voice note, and you can’t help smiling as you hit play and his voice fills the open air of your bedroom.

“Okay, in my defense, I thought it was due next Monday. Which maybe isn’t my defense because it means I just can’t read due dates, or maybe I just can’t read, but I thought I had a lot more time and then one of my classmates texted me asking for help on this block of code and I told him I hadn’t started and he was like oh my god, Ino, it’s due in three days, and I was like no it’s not, we have so much time—turns out we don’t have so much time, so I’m over here staring at my screen until the vessels in my eyes pop—”

He yawns, and it makes you yawn too, despite the screen separating you. “Sorry, agh. Anyway, I have to write this program that uses some kind of randomized generator…”

You find your eyelids fighting gravity, exhaustion washing over you as he explains the project and all the reasons he’s not that worried about getting it done by Monday because actually he’s on a roll and it turns out the code isn’t that different from a similar project he did last year so he can just lift the main blocks over and wow, he’s tired, and you stifle a laugh as the voice memo comes to an end and he says, “Okay, gosh, I should go to bed. You should go to bed. Stop journalisming, Skip, get some sleep. G’night.”

You grin, plugging your phone in and sending him a voice memo of your own.

“I’m done journalisming. Still haven’t written that story on you, though. Night, Takuma.”

The last thing you see before you fall asleep is his reaction to your text. It’s a thumbs up, but after a few seconds, it disappears, replaced with a heart.

—

“I’m gonna die,” Nobara groans.

You’ve been checking Instagram every hour on the hour for the bracket results, but to no avail. The five of you are sprawled out in the living room, a Fleetwood Mac record spinning in the corner, cups of coffee and tea and scattered remnants of breakfast dotting the table and the floor and the windowsill.

You have post notifications on for the Battle of the Bands Instagram page, but you check anyway, as if you somehow missed it.

“Okay,” Maki says. “Cut it out. No phones.”

“Maki,” Toge groans. “How do we live with the suspense?”

“Go around and give a rundown of your week?” Yuta suggests.

“Aw, highs and lows, it’s like elementary school,” Nobara says happily. “I’ll go first! High: annoying slacker guy in my marketing class got a shit grade on the group project and the rest of us got As. Low: Skipper won’t give me Ino lore.”

“Lore,” you mimic. “I don’t have any lore. We’ve known each other for like, two weeks.”

“That’s enough time for lore,” she insists. “What’s your high? Ino?”

“Okay, jeez,” you say. “Maybe it’s that Toge and I had a really good first interview for our project story.”

Toge blinks at you.

“Fine, maybe it’s Takuma.”

Nobara grins in a way you can only describe as malicious. “Okay,” you say, pointing at her. “Low: whatever that is.” She sticks her tongue out at you.

“My low is Skipper bullying me in class,” Toge says. “And my high is she said she’d be my partner, so I’m not gonna fail.”

Yuta nods sagely. “Maki?”

“Uhh,” she says eloquently. “My parents won’t stop pestering me about fall break. But I aced a test on Thursday in anthro, so there’s that.”

“You’re not going home, right?” you ask. She shakes her head resolutely. Maki doesn’t go home unless she absolutely has to—one thing she and Mai actually have in common.

All of your phones go off at once, a mix of buzzes and beeps and Apple watchfaces lighting up, and Nobara screams. “I can’t look!” she cries. “Someone tell me!”

You click on the notification and pull up the post, heart racing.

The first slide is a generic Battle of the Bands announcement with the cool ass graphics you’ve been seeing on the posters. Whoever designs those needs a raise. The second image is the bracket for next Friday, with the first knockout round of three—only one group will move on to the finals. “Who is it?” Nobara asks anxiously, pacing the room. “Oh god, I’m gonna die.”

“Shibuya Incident,” you read off, unable to keep the smile from your face. “Angel.” Nobara groans overdramatically. “And the Kamos.”

You swipe to the next screen, heart in your throat. OCTOBER 18, it reads. THE CULL. CURSED TECHNIQUE. BLACK FLASH.

“Oh my god!” you scream. “Oh my god, we made it!”

Toge yanks you to your feet and starts hopping around the living room, and Nobara shrieks with joy as you pull her into the celebration. Even Maki and Yuta are sporting wide smiles as they watch the three of you bounce around like kids on a sugar rush.

“What, no Sukuna?” Maki teases when you’ve calmed down. Toge clears his throat and does his best impression, going as far as to make his pants sag a little around his waist.

“Frosted flexin’, I’m the cereal king, pourin’… uh, duh nuh nuh, something doin’ my thing,” he says in a deep voice. “Uh… squirrel? Somethin’ fuego, that’s Spanish, uhhh…”

“Oh my god, let me look it up,” Nobara cackles, pulling up SoundCloud. “It’s I’m the king of bad decisions, got a throne made of Legos, took a bite of my mic and said these bars are fuego.”

Yuta physically winces. “Does he really sag his pants like that?”

Toge shrugs. “It felt right in the moment.”

“Wait, who’s the other one eliminated, then?” you ask, running through the bands in your head. Yours, Takuma’s, Black Flash, the Kamos…

“Motion Capture,” Maki says.

“No, it’s all caps. You have to shout it. MOTION CAPTURE!” Toge hollers. Nobara snorts.

You aren’t entirely surprised, but you have a feeling the girls aren’t too put out about it. They’re young, too—they’ll have their time to shine eventually.

You grin, flopping back onto the couch. “Okay, rehearsal when? Tonight?”

“Yeah, I have to go to a friend’s to figure some stuff out for a project, but I’ll be back at like… five?” Yuta says.

“Oh, fuck, I gotta go too!” Nobara says, darting toward the stairs.

“Group project?” Maki asks.

“Shopping! I gotta pick Miwa up in like, ten minutes!”

Maki rolls her eyes fondly. Yuta stands up and grabs his bag, heading toward the entryway, and the rest of you gravitate instinctually to the kitchen. Nobara is out the door moments later with a wave and a shout, and Toge grins.

“What,” Maki deadpans, not a question.

“I printed memes to hide on her Polaroid wall. Be right back.”

You snort, turning your attention to the window to watch Nobara cruise down the block. The view of her sleek, small car is interrupted by Yuta’s jungle of plants.

“I hope they’re not too cold,” he says, frowning as he tugs a jacket on over his white hoodie. “Do they look okay to you?”

“Yeah,” you say, pointing to the one in the white, ovular pot. “Especially this one, it’s getting so big! What’s his name, Snorlax?” Yuta had a phase where he named at least six plants in a row after Pokèmon.

“No, that one’s Rika, after that TV show,” Maki corrects, not looking up. Yuta blinks, looks between her and the plant, whose vines have started to creep up the window. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Both of your eyes on her have her looking up from her phone, expression flat and unaffected. “What?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I didn’t know… anyone paid attention.”

Maki shrugs. “You talk to them out loud.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” Yuta laughs and waves one last time before he walks out, closing the door behind him. You count to five in your head and then whirl on Maki, entirely unable to keep the shit-eating grin off your face.

“Kowalski, status report.”

She blinks at you. “What?”

“I said—”

“No, I know, just—on what? What happened?”

You groan, dragging the heels of your hands down your face. “Maki. Please.” You gesture wildly between her and the door, wondering if she’s genuinely this oblivious or if she’s just as good a liar as Mai. “Are you—did we not just witness the same interaction? Jesus, Maki, put the boy out of his misery!”

Seeing Maki frazzled is not a common occurrence. The most agitated you ever see her is talking about her family or trading passive aggressive jabs with Mai. This is an entirely new sort of disarray—she’s flustered.

“I—what?! I can’t do that! And he’s not miserable. He’s that nice to everyone.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands with your elbows on the counter. “Maki! He likes you. And your face is telling me you like him back.”

She scoffs, turning her head down and crossing her arms defensively. “I’m not messing things up by dating my bandmate. We live together, Skip, he’s my best friend, if things got messy—”

You hold up a hand. “First of all, offensive. I’m your best friend. Second of all, I hear no denial. Also, it won’t get messy. You are the two most mature people in this house and you know how to separate personal from practical. If anything, it’s gonna kill the vibes of the band and the house if you just keep stewing in the sexual tension.”

“Oh my god,” Maki groans. “There. Is. No. Sexual. Tension.”

“There’s always sexual tension,” Toge announces, walking in and jumping up onto the countertop, legs swinging. He looks between the two of you innocently. “What are we talking about?”

“You might be of some help, actually,” you say, turning to Toge with your hands clasped.

“Uh, actually? Not oh, Toge, you’re always so helpful, thank god you live with me and keep my life interesting—”

“Nevermind.”

“No, pleeease,” Toge insists, sticking out his lower lip. “What?” His gaze shifts to Maki, who’s blushing a furious red. His mouth turns into a small O. “This is about Yuta?”

You didn’t think she could get any more scarlet, but here she is.

“Does everyone think that?” she groans, throwing her head back in exasperation.

Toge shrugs. “I thought we were all just quietly skirting around it until you both snapped.”

“Nobara doesn’t skirt around anything,” Maki says.

“Well, there’s no way she doesn’t know,” you point out. “Maybe she just respects both of you enough to leave it alone.”

“Hah!” Toge snorts, poking you in the ribs. “That means she doesn’t respect you. She wants the Ino lore.”

“I’m gonna tell Nobara about the memes.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Abruptly, you realize you never got around to Yuta for highs and lows, what with the chaos of the brackets dropping. “Ah, guys,” you say. “We missed Yuta.” You pull up the house group chat.

you: YUTA DROP YOUR HIGH AND LOW IN THE CHAT you: YOU ARE NOT FORGOTTEN freak no. 1: yes you are utah: haha aw that’s nice utah disliked a message from freak no. 1 utah: uhh low is maybe that toge keeps leaving memes all over our room. like i keep finding them tucked in my notebooks and everything freak no. 1: SLANDER freak no. 1: LIBEL you: not the same thing freak no. 1: SHUT UP utah: high is someone remembers the names of my plants!! :) nobara: Sorry, using voice text while I drive. Who knows the names of your plants? You and God? utah: maki! :)

“Okay, well, respond,” Toge says, poking Maki in the side. She glares at him and likes Yuta’s message.

“Guys,” she says exasperatedly. “What the hell am I supposed to do? Does he know?”

And you’re not sure, honestly. You don’t know that Yuta is even aware of his own feelings, let alone aware that Maki reciprocates them. You shrug helplessly. “How about… ask?”

“Jesus,” Maki says.

“Not him, Yuta.”

Maki socks Toge in the shoulder and levels him with a disdainful look. “You are the bane of my existence.”

“And the object of all your desires,” Toge proclaims in a horrendous Bridgerton accent. He made you watch all of it with him in two days. Maki refused.

Now, she just shoves him, and he squeals as he falls off the kitchen counter.

“Children,” you sigh. “Do you need to be separated?”

“Yes!”

—

“Why is this so hard?” You stand with your feet planted on Takuma’s skateboard, which is confoundingly, entirely different than balancing atop your longboard. “Oh my god.” You lurch forward as the board rolls a bit to the left, unable to stifle the squeal that comes out of your mouth.

Takuma stops it with one foot.

“Your center of balance is lower on a longboard,” he laughs. “Like, here.” His hands wrap around your waist and you tense under his grip, and he immediately freezes, jerking his arms back. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“No! No, it’s okay,” you blurt, sheepish. “I just wasn’t expecting it, I—here.” You try to fight the blush furiously rising in your cheeks as you take his wrists in both hands, putting them back where they were. You clear your throat, suddenly too warm. “Um. Okay, so—do you turn the same way?”

“Pretty much. You just lean,” Takuma says, and you shift your weight to your heels, letting him steady you. “It’s a bit harsher than you would on a longboard, though. Unless you want me to send you right into kickturns?” His tone is teasing and you pretend to consider, tapping a finger against your chin.

“Mm. Maybe later.”

You’ve been at the skate park for a while now, and you’ve only recently ditched your longboard for the skateboard. Takuma brought the extra board you saw hanging on his wall the other day, and he uses it to demonstrate while you practice riding back and forth, getting a hold on your balance. After you feel like you can make it a good distance without pinwheeling your arms, you come to a staggered stop beside him.

A flash of blue-green hair grabs your attention, and you watch a kid in a lightning bolt hoodie slip under the ramps. The park has been pretty deserted today aside from a few guys doing tricks in the pit, a chilly Sunday with the sunlight muted by the clouds.

“Ooh, drug deal in action.” You poke Takuma in the side.

“Ah, probably Sukuna. He deals here all the time.” Sukuna’s business is one of those things everyone’s aware of but nobody talks about. He’s consistent and pretty safe, as far as drug dealers go, but he’ll deny any involvement while smoking a joint if he has to.

“Who’s space buns?”

“Uhh…” Takuma narrows his eyes, and the guy slips out again. “Damn, that was fast. Oh, that’s Hajime. Another senior, I think. They hate each other. Fastest deals I’ve ever seen.”

“I wonder how much of his songwriting is just… while he’s really, really high,” you muse. Swag of a squirrel doesn’t strike you as a particularly levelheaded thought, but hey, it’s certainly memorable.

Takuma leans in and says conspiratorially, “I’m pretty sure I heard him dropping bars here the other day when I was with Yuji.”

You snort and look up at one of the smallest ramps, one you think you could handle without falling on your face, and point to it with a raised brow.

“Oh, moving up in the world?” Takuma kicks his board up and starts walking over, and you do the same. Before you put the board down at the top of the ramp, though, you hold it up to the light, noticing a few short, white hairs caught on the surface.

“Is this… fur?” Maybe there was a cat hiding out somewhere when you were over. Kirara seems like she’d have a cat.

Takuma sighs. “Yeah, the dogs shed like crazy. It gets everywhere. I don’t think I even left that on the ground.”

Your jaw drops, and you stare at him until he looks back at you. “Dogs?”

“What? Yeah, Fushiguro’s—”

“Fushiguro has dogs? Dogs plural? In the house?”

“You didn’t know?”

“No!” you cry. “What? Oh my god! Where were they on Wednesday? How many? What are their names?”

Takuma leans back on the rail next to the ramp, grinning. “I can’t believe you didn’t know. Oh my god. They’re so cute. Tsumiki had them Wednesday, I think. Mandated auntie time. Do you wanna meet ‘em?”

“Do I want to meet them?” you repeat, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Uh, yeah. Are they home? Oh my god. I love dogs.”

“I couldn’t tell,” he deadpans, but he’s smiling still. “Yeah, they’re home. And you can meet them if you go down this ramp without dying.”

“You’re cruel,” you say, situating yourself on the board. “But I will. And then I’ll meet the dogs and become their best friend and they’ll love me more than you and Megumi combined.”

“Confident.” He comes up beside you, checking your stance. The ramp didn’t look steep or long at all from your vantage point across the park, but now that you’re atop the board, it feels suddenly very steep and very long. “You got it. Just don’t panic, keep your stance.” He drops his own board and cruises down the ramp, hardly even trying.

“Okay, go!” he calls from the bottom. “C’mon, Skip, the dogs are waiting.”

“Oh, god,” you murmur, the wind catching your words and whisking them away. You ball your hands into fists and push off, planting your foot back on the board and trying to keep your knees bent, but not too stiff, as you careen down the ramp. Don’t panic, keep your stance. You’re at the bottom in what feels like nanoseconds, and the sudden shift from ramp to flat ground has you stumbling off the board with an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak of alarm.

“Nice!” Takuma laughs as he catches you, the board rolling a few more feet ahead. His arm is wrapped around your front, the other holding you up by the shoulder, and this time you don’t tense under his hands.

“Thanks,” you say a little breathlessly, grinning, the tiny spike of adrenaline making you almost lightheaded. He lets his hands drop when you’re steady on your feet, and part of you mourns the warmth a little. But there are more pressing matters at hand. “So, about those dogs?”

You opt for your longboard on the way back down your street, cruising along beside Takuma, who has his extra board tucked under his arm. You’ve got a lot to do tonight, all the last-minute preparation for another crazy week, but you can and will drop everything to pet a puppy. Or two. Always.

And they’re actual angels. Big, fluffy angels on earth, one white and one black, and they’re all over you the second you open the door.

“Hi!” you say happily, sinking down to their level. The white one immediately tries to burrow into your lap. “Oh, hello! You’re so nice, aren’t you?” You glance up at Takuma. “Where’s Megumi?” You grab the white one’s collar and check the tag—Shiro.

“Shiro thinks she’s a tiny dog,” he says, bending down to ruffle the fur behind her ears. “Uh, Fushiguro’s at the animal clinic. He works there Sundays. And Tuesdays, I think.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, he’s a vet student. You didn’t know?”

“I did not.” The black one is licking your face, and you giggle and check his tag, too. Kuro. “Hi, Kuro. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

“He’s got such a soft spot for animals,” Takuma says as he kicks off his shoes. “You should see when they both try to sleep in his little twin bed. It’s ridiculous.”

“I love them,” you say, burying your face in Kuro’s scruff. “Hi, doggies. You’re awful cute, you know that? Mhm. Yes you are.”

When you finally look up again, Kuro’s cold nose nudging insistently at your palm, Takuma is leaning against the wall, looking down at you with his phone discreetly angled your way. “Takuma!”

He laughs, not bothering to hide it anymore, very clearly taking photos of you with the dogs. “It’s cute!” he insists. “I’ll send them to you. Proof for Fushiguro of your master plan to make them like you more than him.”

“And you,” you remind him.

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

You gesture pointedly to the two dogs, who are all over you and not him. It’ll be a nightmare trying to get all of Shiro’s white fur off your black jacket later, but it’s worth it.

“You’re new,” he says. “New scent. It’s the novelty factor. I am their favorite.”

“You sure? I’m pretty hard to compete with.”

He smiles, looking from you to the photos he took of you and the dogs. “Yeah,” he says. “You are.”

—

The first half of the new week goes by in a rushed routine of classes, homework, and rehearsals, each night ending with you collapsing into bed, new and old lyrics fighting for dominance in the back of your mind. Sticks re-taped and drum heads re-tuned, assignments turned in and drafts edited. Your classes are ramping up as midterms approach, and Yuta bounces between his own work and poking his head into everyone’s rooms, making sure they don’t forget about dinner.

Toge follows through on his snack run promise, and the two of you spend hours on Tuesday afternoon trading two different flavored bags of Doritos back and forth, Toge writing photo captions while you edit your story lede.

Takuma, Hakari, and Kirara have offered to help Cursed Technique record a single on Wednesday night, and the five of you have been drilling the new song you wrote up, down, and sideways.

Finally, Wednesday arrives, and you’re all crammed into the recording studio space, instruments set up and headsets tuned in.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Nobara says to Hakari on the other side of the glass. She taps a finger on the mic in demonstration, and you hear it in your own headphones.

“Great,” he says. “Skipper?”

“Skipper? I hardly know her,” Toge says, earning a harmless smack upside the head from Yuta and a not harmless smack upside the head from Maki.

“I will throw these at you,” you tell him, holding up your sticks. Toge sticks his bottom lip out, pouting.

A snicker from beside you draws your attention back to Takuma, kneeling just beside the throne as he adjusts the kick mic. He has you hit it a few times while Hakari monitors the levels. You feel oddly self-conscious like this, him looking up at you, but then he smiles and it’s not strange at all. It’s stupid how fast he can put you at ease with a look.

“Nice,” he says. “Okay, that should work, yeah, Hakari?”

It’s Kirara who answers, “Yeah, you’re good.”

Takuma stands up, claps his hands together once, and looks at you. “Okay. Kill it, Skip.”

“Yessir.” You salute him with a stick and he makes his way to the other room, closing the door behind him.

“All good?” Yuta asks, glancing at each of you in turn before giving Hakari a thumbs up. It’s strange to be on this side of the glass, to think about your music being played back, to think about it on Spotify, out in the world.

“Next Fix,” Takuma says into the mic, locking eyes with you through the window. “Take one in three, two…”

The song starts out simple. You click your sticks together near the mic, on two and four, while Maki lays down a four-bar loop.

Yuta keeps glancing at Maki while she plays, utterly unaware, and the look on his face is so soft you want to shake Maki by the shoulders until she does something about it.

Nobara’s got her eyes closed with the headset over her ears and her hands around the mic, entirely engrossed in the song.

“It’s comin’ on, comin’ strong, spinnin’ up out of the blue, mmm,” she sings, stretching out the vowels. “And I’m on the ground, bleedin’ out, until my next fix of you, ooh.”

Now you start up with a light rock beat, closed hat and a bit of a dragging buzz on the snare hits. Just as you transition into the beat, Toge comes in with some low chords and Yuta moves down the line in syncopated sixteenths.

Hakari is nodding approvingly and Takuma has a wide grin on his face, and you can’t help smiling back.

“I need it like a lung,” Nobara sings, swaying a bit. “I need it like a light. It’s got me twisted up. I need you here tonight, tonight, tonight, oh, oh, I wanna—”

And this part is your favorite—Nobara sings each two-syllable phrase while you pound on the toms twice, emphasizing it with the kick, and then the backup vocals echo her. Get my (get my) next fix (next fix) of you (of you, of you, of you.)

Kirara pumps her fist in the air twice, in time with the beat, and your bandmates can’t keep the smiles off their faces. You’ve got something here, you really do. This might be your best one yet.

When the song’s over, Nobara whoops and tugs off the headphones, jumping around the cramped studio space with a grin on her face. “That was so cool! Oh my god. Guys, we sound good. We actually sound good.”

“Damn,” Kirara calls. “Okay, girl drummer. Good shit.”

“Not bad for a first run,” Maki admits, adjusting her bass strap over her shoulder. “Do we wanna try recording backups separately at all?”

“Good call.” Takuma nods. “Let’s run that again without the backups and record them over, see what happens.” He’s in full producer mode, flipping switches, colored lights reflecting in his eyes as he and Hakari talk shop away from the mic. He’s good at this, you realize, running sessions like this, making sure things go where they need to go, that everyone’s heard, that things get done. It’s a little bit like watching him skateboard, or seeing him on stage. There’s a confidence to him here, a smooth, easy energy. He’s in his element.

“Alright,” he says after a minute. “Let’s hear that again.”

And you play it again. And again. And again. And you are so in love with this moment, with your band, with a couple rowdy kids on the other side of the window, the rasp in Nobara’s voice and the expression on Yuta’s face and Maki’s obliviousness and Toge’s consistent, head-banging keys, and your drums and your words and the music, and the lyrics feel right to you.

You need this like a lung.

directory | prev. |

jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro @bisforbuse @risararelywrites @idkidk32

a/n: GUYS. loml @shutuppeter is so downbad for soundcloud rapper sukuna that she's writing fanfic of my fanfic😭 credits for frosted flexin' are all hers LMFAO so go check that out (MDNI for that one though).

yutamaki nation rise. also, i kinda love this fic. there may be spinoffs for other characters in the works...

[lonelychicago]

wip saturday!

tagged by the lovelies @honestlydarkprincess and @midsummersmorn

uhhhh so, this is a new wip! that's all im gonna say

The foreman dismisses all of them and the firefighters start to pack up their things— all in all, it was a short, easy call. But it left Eddie rattled and off-kelter, torn up in two. A part of him wants to get the hell out of there as fast as he can, wants to run far, far away from Buck and the guilt that's been clawing at his throat for years, but that now it's at an all time high.

Another part of him, though, doesn't want to ever move from there. Before he can stop himself, his eyes drink in Buck desperately, like a dying man in the middle of the desert stumbling into some fresh, delicious water.

His white t-shirt sticks to his chest, made nearly transparent with sweat. The hard lines and ridges of his stomach ripple under the damp material as he moves, shifting his safety helmet from one arm to another as he shifts in place. Eddie can't help it when his gaze from falling to where Buck's work gloves are shoved in the tool belt slung around his waist, so heavy that it drags down the waistband of his jeans, so they're riding slowly on his hips.

He's so much broader and muscular than the last time Eddie saw him.

Seven years ago, Buck was tall and not really scrawny— He was one of their star school athletes, captain of the football team and one of the best members in the wrestling team. He'd been toned and one of the most popular guys at school. But now, he's triple the size he'd been then, and his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, doesn't seem as boyish and easygoing as it once was.

That's Eddie's fault.

“Hey, Buckley. Why don't you come with us to the station? You'll get free lunch in exchange for Diaz's most embarrassing, cringe worthy stories from high school.” Chimney says, and Eddie wants to laugh, cry, and kill his friend all at the same time. “Besides, what better concussion watch than a group of well trained professionals?”

“Uh…” Buck's eyes dart quickly from Eddie to literally anywhere and anyone else. “I don't know—”

“Cap makes a mean lasagna. You really don't wanna miss that.”

“That's true,” Bobby grins.

“Come,” Eddie finds himself saying, his mouth moving and speaking the words out loud before his mind can even process what's happening. “You should come. We can, uh, catch up.”

Catch up? What the actual fuck? Eddie knows damn well where Buck's been all these years, and the guy probably hates his guts. He's probably cussing him out internally, wishing Eddie would just go away—

“Okay. Sure.” Buck's soft voice cuts Eddie's spiraling and then there's that. “Just let me grab my stuff really quick, and I'll follow you guys back to the station in my car.”

tagging: @monsterrae1 @bi-buckrights @beyourownanchor6 @bigfootsmom @devirnis @maygrantgf @father-salmon @underwaterninja13 @eddiebabygirldiaz @exhuastedpigeon @watchyourbuck @thelikesofus @spotsandsocks @daffi-990 @diazsdimples @theotherbuckley @tizniz @dangerpronebuddie