#to wish you had been in a coma before so that you have something in common with the new guy too'

[bahngarang]

chapter 11.0 ☆ bsfs 2 lvrs (reluctant)

ss: 3

wc: 3,200

cw: emotions via bickering, chronic illness angst, chan is called 'freak' and 'slut' once each (lovingly), chan being a freak for like half a second, yn is bad at feelings

a/n: I'M BACK !! (finally)

this took way too long but exams really just wiped me out completely and then with the heatwave here I have like minus energy but it's done !! yippee !! now we can get to the fun chapters I've been daydreaming about and not actually writing

have fun reading my loves <3

"how long have you known?" chan asked suddenly, pulling yn's attention away from their phone.

they hesitated, fidgeting absently with one of their earrings before answering. "seven years," yn answered in a mumble, looking down at their lap.

chan paused mid bite, chopsticks halfway to his open mouth. the rest of the room were in similar positions of shock.

yn cleared their throat awkwardly. "when we went out for my birthday after you debuted... you know, when the button on your trousers gave up on life and you practically flashed me..."

instead of responding, chan shoved noodles in his mouth, staring very intently down at his bowl. he did not like to be reminded of that particular moment.

that afternoon all those years ago had been... eventful. it was something the both of them could look back and laugh at now, but back then? pretty mortifying.

chan had been wearing an 'old faithful' pair of trousers that he had refused to admit he was growing out of – but, after eating a big meal, they'd admitted it for him. the thread holding the button on finally snapped, his jeans sliding down to reveal his soul mark low on the right side of his hip. 

they had been happy for chan, seeing him debut, finally, but it had most definitely reopened old wounds that had maybe never fully closed. how they'd hoped and prayed for their body to heal after waking up from their coma, how they'd wished to one day wake up and have everything since that day turn out to just be a horrible nightmare. to not have to abandon everything they'd worked so hard for.

but no. every day yn woke up with a stiff, tender knee and a weight lying heavy on their chest. and that weight had only grown since all their other aches and pains had started showing up three years ago. it was a sore spot then, and honestly it was an even sorer spot now.

it was because of that, that yn made the stupid decision to keep the secret from him. it was a dumb decision, they knew. but their pride had held them back from doing the thing they were secretly yearning to. over time, it just became more difficult to face the fact that one day they might have to admit it... and now it had been seven years, and yn was regretting that decision more than ever.

for perhaps the first time since they'd come together, the eight boys were speechless. yn could practically hear the dust settle over the group.

jeongin was the first to speak up amidst the silence. "was it our fault that you didn't tell us? did we do something?"

his voice was small, almost hurt, and yn was suddenly hit with the reality that their actions hadn't just affected them. it was a very simple concept, that, somehow, they still hadn't fully managed to grasp yet.

keeping that secret... it had been an act of love... right?

but was it? they weren't so sure any more. 

yn had always managed to convince themselves that they were doing it for the boys' own good. that they were better off without knowing, better off without that burden when they already had so much to deal with.

if the roles were reversed, though... yn knew they wouldn't see it that way.

because it wasn't done out of love, not really – it was done out of fear.

fear of not being enough for them. fear of being too much work. fear of opening up and then being rejected yet again.

and the thought of tearing out their heart and placing it in their hands to keep safe, only to have it returned to sender once more, bloody and barely beating, was too much for the fragile muscle to handle.

"no, it's not you," yn reassured jeongin softly. "you guys didn't do anything. it's me. i... i was just... scared."

"scared? of what?"

"i don't know, just... you're all so..." yn hesitated, unable to finish the sentence. "and i'm... i'm not..." they sighed.

in theory, yn knew that having a chronic illness – well... more than one, really, with all the comorbid conditions – it didn't mean that they were worth less than other, able-bodied people. but god, did it feel like it when sometimes all they could do in a day was feed themselves and their cat, just barely. and trying not to compare themselves to people who's bodies actually worked was a never ending, uphill battle, especially when their soulmates were the type of people who could push their bodies to the limits and still be able to get out of bed the next morning. it was infuriating to not be able to do the basic things one needed to do to survive when you once took that ability for granted.

over time, yn had managed to work through it, a little. their worth wasn't intrinsically tied to their health, they knew that, it just... it felt like it. knowing that didn't stop them feeling like a failure every time they had to order food because they were too exhausted to cook, or spend hours in bed after a simple shower, or neglecting their hygiene because they couldn't get out of bed due to the amount of pain that wracked their body.

"and, besides that... i know i'm not... i'm not going to fit in with the group the way the rest of you do. i've spent so long pushing you all away and you're all... close..."

"you know, for someone so smart, you can be incredibly stupid," chan remarked.

"excuse you?"

"excuse me? you're the one who seems to think we're so shallow that we wouldn't love you just because of your conditions."

"okay first of all. 'just'? it's a big thing, actually. with the whole ruining my life aspect of it. secondly," yn paused, swallowing thickly. "no, i didn't think that, but, you know... it's more of an 'i don't think i'm worthy of love' type of thing rather than an 'i don't think you'll like me'.. thing... i guess."

they laughed nervously, catching an eyeful of chan's exasperated expression. it was weird admitting it out loud. "don't look at me like that."

he gave them a withering look, swallowing his bite of noodles before speaking. "i've been in love with you since i first met you." there were mixed reactions to this information from the rest of the room. some of them had definitely been privy to that information before now. yn wasn't part of that group.

"that's... not how that works," yn murmured skeptically.

"okay, well, it happened for me."

"you can't love someone without knowing them," yn objected. "at most – at most – it was infatuation. even that, i think, is a strong word."

"you're so unromantic."

"is that even a word?"

"it is now. and despite what you're going to argue, I've been in love with you for..." chan paused, and yn could almost see the loading screen in front of his eyes as he calculated it. "... fifteen years, and you being sick hasn't changed that."

"he's been very annoying about it," seungmin commented. "all... mopey."

"i do not mope!" chan said indignantly through a mouthful of food.

yn held in a snicker, muffling it with a cough and covering their mouth. chan absolutely did mope – usually, it was a bit melodramatic, just to be irritating. but every so often, when something really made him emotional, he sat in the corner of a room, playing genshin with a cute little pout.

"don't you start," he grumbled.

"what? i didn't say anything."

"yeah, yeah..."

a little while later, chan had finally managed to kick the others out, leaving him, jeongin and yn in their dorm. the youngest, luckily, had the presence of mind to clear off for the night and retreat back into the safety of his room.

meanwhile, chan was busy following yn around like a little lost puppy, barely leaving them alone to change into their pajamas, before trailing after them into the bathroom while they brushed their teeth. he sat himself on the toilet seat lid, just... watching quietly. it was only mildly unnerving. although, it wasn't the creepy type of watching, so it wasn't that bad. it was almost... admiring. or maybe yn just hoped it was.

yn tried not to acknowledge chan's gaze while going through their routine, but ended up turning to him in the middle of their skincare, their face lathered up with cleanser. "why are you, uh..."

"staring?"

"yeah."

chan shrugged, a gentle smile forming on his lips. "i never thought I'd see you here, like this. it's nice." he paused, fidgeting with a distressed string on the hem of his shorts. "i always hoped it was you, you know."

"really?" yn asked, disbelief clear in their tone.

"mhm. and since the mark had your initials, i... well, it didn't help my fantasies."

"you had fantasies about me?" yn huffed out a laugh, leaning back against the counter and folding their arms over their chest. they feigned nonchalance, but their heart fluttered dangerously loudly against their ribs. what if he heard?

"that's so..." they laughed again, shaking their head. he was too cute. they had never dared to think that anyone would have fantasies about them. and here he was, just admitting it like it was nothing. "corny."

"corny for you."

"psh." yn flapped a dismissive hand in chan's direction, turning back around to rinse the cleanser off their face. of course, they were probably just as corny for him as he was for them, they were just worse at expressing it. way worse. perhaps, with time... they might be able to figure out how to show it. now that they were actually allowing themselves to feel it, or trying to.

"... what kind of fantasies?" yn asked in a hushed voice, not looking up from the sink.

"just... i don't know. holding hands. cuddling," he mumbled sheepishly.

"we've done that before."

"i know, but..." chan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "that was different."

yn hummed noncommittally in response as they rinsed the cleanser off their face, water dripping down their arms and soaking the cuffs of their pajama top. grimacing, they stood there, frozen, for a few moments, holding their hands up awkwardly before chan appeared behind them, rolling up their sleeves.

"oh. thank you." when they looked back up at him, they followed his line of sight to the messy makeup bag of skincare on his countertop. "do you... want to organise it?"

chan almost deflated in silent relief, gently nudging yn sideways and tipping out the contents of the bag. he spent a good couple of minutes deciding where everything should go, before placing them in order ever so carefully, meticulously making sure the labels were perfectly aligned. it wasn't even like there was much there to arrange. yn's things were rather minimal.

finally, he generously let them continue their skincare – with the caveat that he was allowed to give and take the items as needed. so they couldn't mess up his arrangement. whatever made him happy.

he spoke up again after a minute, his eyes trained on their bonnet. "you... know you're wearing that inside out, right?"

"huh? oh. yeah, i know," yn said. "turns out the silk is only on the outside, which is... antithetical to its purpose."

"... you could just buy a new one."

"this one still works!" yn protested. "there's no point buying another one. it's past the return time, anyway, it would just go to waste."

"why didn't you return it before then?"

"... i would only get a partial refund..." yn admitted.

"i forgot you budget like a demon," chan said with a quiet chuckle.

"force of habit. i was a broke college student for like, eight years. and don't you still fight with the rest of them about who has to buy ice cream? you're millionaires."

"touché."

"you take the bed. i'll sleep on the couch." chan said as the both of them stepped into his bedroom. he made it sound perfectly sensible. it wasn't, of course – like, hello? back issues, anyone? but it was very him. being nice to the detriment of himself. "what?" he asked, seeing yn's face.

they weren't having any of it. a firm smack upside the head might be able to knock it out of him, but they valiantly restrained themselves. "that bed is big enough for the both of us. i don't have cooties, we'll be fine. unless... there's something you're not telling me?"

chan giggled, the tips of his ears turning red. "i don't think i have cooties..."

"see? you'll live. i don't bite."

"you don't?" he made it sound like he was almost... sad about it.

"freak," they said, smacking his arm.

"hey!" chan pulled away dramatically, holding his arm and pouting dramatically as he flopped into his desk chair, looking up at yn with wide eyes. "rude. you're so mean to me." he sniffed offendedly, keeping up the dramatics for a few more seconds before a smirk pulled at his lips. "but i did write railway, so i'm not sure what you're expecting."

"oh, you're admitting it now?" yn asked, perching on the end of his bed and folding their arms.

he shrugged.

"you're infuriating."

"so i've been told."

the mild bickering dissolved over time into a comfortable silence between the two of them. chan, with his headphones on, focused – or seeming so – on his music. yn wasn't sure how he could concentrate so well this late at night, but then again, his mind didn't get overridden by brain fog that sapped every coherent thought. at least, not as often.

at least they could somewhat fix their attention on the screen in front of them, mindlessly scrolling on their phone. it wasn't... fun, exactly, but it was something to do. maybe going to sleep was a better idea, but it wasn't the right time yet. their usual bedtime was over half an hour away. sleep was probably the better option, but the routine... they had a routine. what was the point of it if you didn't follow it? and it wasn't like they could sleep anyway, not with the light from chan's laptop illuminating the room.

they gave up eventually, refraining from throwing their phone across the room, despite the fact that they really, really wanted to. it was all stupid. everything was just... stupid.

curling into the fetal position, yn pulled the covers up over their shoulders and stared blankly at the wall opposite. their mind was running at a hundred miles per hour, and yet, not running at all. semi-coherent thoughts were a luxury. it was at times like this they they began to wonder what the point of it all was.

chan, as if sensing their mood, spun around on his swivel chair, eyeing them suspiciously. yn glanced over at the slight squeak of seat – he wasn't one to take even miniscule breaks when he was in the groove, so something was clearly weighing on his mind.

"are you going to sleep soon?" he asked, pulling his headphones off so they hung around his neck.

"depends," they murmured, shifting under the duvet so they could look at him without straining their neck. his eyes were filled with a painful amount of concern. "if you're going to keep lighting up the room with your laptop, it's not happening any time soon."

"ah. sorry. i'll go out into the living room." chan saved his work, closing his laptop and stood up, moving to open the door and leave the room.

"chan– wait, don't–"

he stopped in his tracks, turning back to where yn lay on his bed. "you want me to stay?" yn nodded self-consciously.

"i have to work–"

"do you?" yn asked pointedly. chan did need to work. sure. everyone did. but he could definitely skip one single night of not staying up until stupid o'clock in the morning. "just this once?"

"... fine." he set his laptop back onto his desk. "until you get to sleep, okay?"

"okay." it wasn't exactly the eight hours of sleep they were hoping to wheedle out of him, but it was probably the best they could get right now. baby steps.

yn shifted over on the bed to make room, watching chan pull off his shirt and shorts. it was nothing they hadn't seen before, but the circumstances were a bit different back then. he was also more... defined this time. if they weren't so sleepy...

"slut," they mumbled playfully as he folded his clothes, and set the pile down on top of the hamper.

chan turned, giving them a disapproving look, hands on hips in what could only be described as a dad pose. "in my own home?" he asked, exasperated.

"m-hm."

and then he laughed, smile wide and eyes crinkling up into slits like the wolfchan sitting next to his pen holder – yn couldn't help but to smile too, smaller but still there, hiding it as they drew the blanket up to their chin. he was so beautiful like that, they thought, half sure that he could hear the way their heart palpitated just by looking at him.

"you're so mean to me," chan said, clambering into bed in nothing but his boxers.

"and yet, we're still friends."

"... still friends, huh?"

"well, i... didn't want to assume..." yn said, chewing their lip.

"stop that," chan muttered, using his thumb to pull yn's bottom lip from between their teeth. "but was me saying i've been in love with you for fifteen years not enough of a hint? i want to be your boyfriend."

"we don't have to be that yet if you're not ready," he assured. "i'll wait as long as you need. the rest of the guys will too."

yn hesitated, taking in his words before mumbling, "i do want you to be my boyfriend."

"i sense a but."

"you could have anyone you wanted." the unsaid remainder of that sentence hung in the air. he could have anyone he wanted – so why would he want them?

"yeah, and... i want you. you're part of 'anyone i want'." chan reached forward, plucking yn's glasses off their face and placing them on his nightstand.

they watched him for a split second before rolling over. they couldn't trust themselves to look at him much longer without saying something stupid. chan shuffled closer, pressing his chest against their back. slinging an arm over their waist, he pressed his face into their neck, inhaling deeply. yn had to suppress a shiver.

he spoke up again, his voice low. "i love you. you... don't have to say it back."

yn's breath hitched in their throat, and they squeezed their eyes shut, attempting to control their breathing. deep breath in, hold, breathe out. repeat.

the things he did to them without even trying.

"i love you too, channie."

he smiled against their skin, just slightly. "go to sleep. i still have a track to finish."

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[blurglesmurfklaine]

You already know where this is going

🤠🤠🤠

I'm not even working on this section of the fic yet but you gave me this idea so i'm giving it back <333

-

Edamame ignored and eyes still trained on Evan, it's clear Paul is in one of his hyper focused getting-to-the-bottom-of-this states and has no intention of letting the subject drop. Then, Paul's eyes widen, alight with recognition.

"You're that firefighter who saved those people from that stuck roller-coaster!" He announces proudly, satisfied with his ability to piece together the past. The rest of the table choruses in agreement. "I knew I recognized you, man. Damn, Evan, that stuff made national news."

The light in Evan's eyes dull and Eddie finds himself staring as Evan does everything in his power to keep the rest of the 126 from noticing. " I uh, yeah. That was me."

Mateo jumps in, shaking his head in protest. "No, no, that can't be it. I saw this news article about this firefighter who got his leg crushed by a ladder truck, and I'm positive it's him."

Evan purses his lips sheepishly. "That was me, too."

Eddie snorts. "What, next you gonna tell us you lived through a hurricane, too?"

"It was actually a tsunami."

Nancy gapes. "How are you alive?"

"The tsunami was less scary than the comas, honestly," Buck begins frantically in an attempt to downplay it.

"Comas?" Mateo asks. "As in multiple?"

"You could give TK here a run for his money," Marjan points out.

TK laughs, pointing a fork at himself. "Overdose, gunshot, and hypothermia."

"Breadstick, gunshot, and lightning strike."

"That was you!?"

[buckleydiaz]

“I’m not gonna disappear, you know,” Eddie says, lowering his mug to meet Buck’s eyes.

“W-what?” Buck stammers, blinking away like he got caught doing something wrong.

“You keep staring,” Eddie says, carefully, “like I'm gonna vanish. Or go back to Texas without telling you or something. I'm not.”

It’s been hours since Buck met him at the airport, drove him home, made him tea. And Eddie’s felt the weight of his gaze the entire time. Buck hasn’t said much, which Eddie isn’t surprised by, honestly. He’s not really in the mood to talk himself. But there’s something quietly devastating about the way Buck is looking at him. Eddie’s not sure what to do with that.

“Sorry,” Buck says.

Eddie sighs. “Don't apologize, it’s not…I don't mind that you’re looking. Just—you know you can talk to me, right?“

“I know,” Buck says. He’s trying to sound casual but his voice comes out just a little unsteady. Enough for Eddie to catch it.

“It’s, uh, it’s not that,” Buck adds, after a beat.

“What?”

“I don't—I don't think you’re gonna vanish. It's just… you look different.”

“You mean this?” Eddie rubs at his chin self consciously.

Buck’s eyes flicker momentarily to Eddie’s face before his gaze drops again. He nods.

After Eddie got the call, he couldn’t help but blame himself. He should have been there. Maybe if he was, Bobby would still be here—with his team, with his family. Not for the first time, Eddie felt like he couldn’t bear the sight of his own reflection. He felt small, useless. He thought maybe it would get easier with time. It didn’t. And with each day, as the guilt grew, so did the stubble on his face—thicker, darker. An awful reminder of the time that passed since Bobby—

Eddie sets the mug down, afraid it’s gonna shatter in his grip.

“You don’t like it?” he asks, and the words taste like ash in his mouth.

“No it, uh, it looks good. You always look good. It’s just—god, it’s stupid.”

“Hey,” Eddie bumps Buck’s foot under the table, keeps it there. “Whatever you’re feeling, it’s not stupid.”

“I’m…” Buck exhales, “I’m not sure if you’re real.”

Eddie opens his mouth, then closes it.

Buck shrugs. “Told you it’s stupid.”

“No! No, um, I—what do you mean I’m not real?”

There’s a moment where Buck doesn’t say anything, just stares at his own hands on the table, fidgets with his fingers. Eddie waits. Doesn’t push.

Eventually Buck speaks.

“After the lightning strikes, after the uh—“ Buck clears his throat, “the coma. I had this thing I used to do every morning. A-a checklist. To make sure I wasn’t dreaming. That I was still me.” Buck’s eyes stay locked on his hands, and Eddie desperately wishes he’d look at him again. “Ever since he—“ Buck stops, swallows, sniffs. “I wake up and I pray for this to be a dream. An awful, terrible nightmare. I pray, Eddie. And it’s—“

Buck’s hands are shaking. Eddie reaches out, takes them in his own.

Buck finally looks up. His eyes are impossibly sad and impossibly blue, and Eddie is struck by how beautiful he is. It’s a weird thought to have at that moment, but it’s true nonetheless.

“Sorry, this is so embarrassing,” Buck says, a little wetly.

“Hey, it’s not embarrassing, okay? You’re dealing with it. We all are.”

“Look, I know you’re real. I know that. But also just—everything is so different, you know? Nothing makes sense anymore and you look different. And it’s like—like, how do I know I’m not dreaming?” Buck says. “Does that make sense?”

It doesn’t. But Eddie gets it anyway.

He wraps a hand around Buck’s wrist, lifts his hand up to his face.

“You feel that?”

Buck doesn’t say anything, just looks at him.

Eddie closes his eyes, presses his face into Buck’s hand a little more.

“I’m here, Buck.”

Buck’s hand starts moving on his face, careful fingers trace his cheeks, his jaw, his chin. Eddie’s breath catches when a thumb ghosts over his bottom lip.

“You’re here,” Buck says, voice barely a whisper.

Eddie nods.

“He’s really—“ Buck's voice cracks. “He's really gone.”

“I know,” Eddie says, because what else is there to say?

Eddie’s eyes sting. He lets go of Buck’s wrist and places his hand on Buck’s shoulder, thumb gently grazing the base of his neck. He wishes he could press his lips to his temple, like he does with Christopher. He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls him in, presses their foreheads together.

They stay like that, breathing together, until their eyes are red and their cheeks are wet. Eventually Buck pulls away, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his cardigan.

“Thanks,” Buck says.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. For—for being here, I guess.”

Eddie wants to tell him that he’s always going to be here. But that’s not true. He's leaving in a few days. He’s always leaving.

“Hey, you have a razor here somewhere, right?” is what he says instead.

“Come on, you don’t have to do that,” Buck protests, and Eddie is pretty sure he catches a small hint of a smile on his face.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. ”I think I do.”

[muletia]

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

[tfp] obsessed!orion pax x human!reader

summary: what if optimus' obsession bypassed his memory loss? what if he was so infatuated that even his past self yearned for you?

cw: fluff, pinch of angst, canon divergence: orion is taken by the autobots, obsessive thoughts, clinginess, orion literally cannot be left alone for one(1) second, tbh nothing happens in this, i just wanted to write obsessed!orion interacting with you, bad writing, silliness

word count: 4700

"Come to the base. It's urgent."

As you stare at the terse message from Ratchet, your chewing slows and stops. A storm of questions whirls in your mind, panic creeping into your body. Before you can even type a single letter, your phone rings. The caller is none other than the Autobot medic himself. You answer in less than a second.

"Hello? Ratchet, please don't scare me—what exactly happened?"

"It's about Optimus." Your heart skips a beat. "During the last mission, he was... injured. Or, to be precise, damaged."

"Is it serious?" you ask, pacing nervously around the break room. Lunch now long forgotten. "Will he be all right?"

"Physically—he's never looked or felt better. Mentally, however... that's a different story. I'll explain the details when you get here. And make it quick."

"Hold on, wait—I can't just leave work early like that. There's a whole procedure for this. I can't just waltz out, even though I’d love to leave right now."

"...In an hour and a half, I expect to see you here at the base. See you then."

He hangs up. You stare at your phone screen for a moment, replaying the conversation in your head. Something serious must have happened—Ratchet wouldn’t disturb you at work otherwise. And it involved Optimus... You bite your lip, torn by indecision. You need to at least make sure he's okay, to see with your own eyes what Ratchet was talking about. Otherwise, you'll regret your negligence and spend the rest of the day worrying.

Shoving the half-eaten sandwich into your bag, you rush to your computer to draft a request for early leave, praying fervently that your boss will grant it.

You kept pressing the gas, speeding toward the base, trying to balance obeying traffic laws with worrying about the Autobot. You knew he had been preparing for a mission recently, he had told you about it during a ride you shared, but you didn’t expect it to end like this. Maybe you should have, considering you were associated with a race of aliens deeply embroiled in a centuries-long war, but you always pushed such unpleasant thoughts to the back of your mind, wishing your friends the best. Now, though, all the worst scenarios were coming to the surface. Had he fallen into a coma? Was his processor damaged? Had he died? You didn’t want to think about such an ending. Optimus was alive. You were sure of that.

Seeing the familiar red rock, a tight knot of anxiety gripped your throat. In a few moments, you were about to drive into what was practically your second home, not knowing what awaited you. You glanced at the clock. You were half an hour late—well beyond the time Ratchet had given you.

As if on cue, the medic called you again.

“Don’t enter the hangar. Leave the vehicle at the entrance.”

Before you could say a word, he hung up, leaving you to sigh in frustration.

Following his instructions, you parked at the main entrance and made the rest of the journey on foot. The lights seemed especially harsh, glaring into your eyes as the tunnel stretched endlessly ahead of you, as if warning you, giving you one last chance to turn back. But no force on Earth could stop you now. Determined, you marched forward, needing to know what had happened to your friend.

The hangar was full of Autobots, their sheer presence intimidating. You had thought you were over the feeling of smallness that came with being one of the humans among them, but now it hit you again, hard, dredging up memories of when humans in their midst were still a novelty. You froze for a moment, your courage momentarily disappearing in the shadows of giants.

It wasn’t until your eyes landed on the reason you had left work early that you began to breathe again. Optimus stood there, seemingly whole and healthy, facing the platform where the kids likely were. Relief washed over you. He was alive. Your heart was still racing, but the weight of dread lifted slightly, leaving you braced for the next wave of bad news.

"Hey, sorry I’m late. Work took longer than I expected," you called out.

Your voice immediately caught his attention. Optimus turned to you so abruptly that it shocked everyone present, abandoning the conversation he had been engaged in. Tilting your head back to meet his gaze, you were surprised when he knelt down on one knee, making himself more accessible. You still had to look up, but now his face wasn’t obscured by his… windshields.

The first hint that something was off was his smile—wide, cheerful, and curious. Optimus didn’t smile like that, not even when something genuinely delighted him. Worry started gnawing at you again. Something was wrong.

"Greetings. You must be our next human ally, correct?"

At first, you were at a loss for words. Of all the scenarios you had imagined, memory loss hadn’t even crossed your mind. But before the conversation could veer into awkward territory or panic could take hold, you managed to reply, mirroring his smile.

"That’s right."

"You seem… familiar. As though we have met before."

The hangar fell silent, the atmosphere thickening.

"Of course he would remember her," Ratchet hissed under his breath. You shot him a glare filled with venom.

Focusing back on the mech before you, you forced a calm smile, masking the whirlwind of emotions inside you. You felt like you were on the verge of exploding—uncertain whether to jog his memories or pretend this was truly your first meeting. Why hadn’t anyone given you guidance on how to handle this?

"Erm, well…" you began, only for Ratchet to step in and spare you.

"Humans can look quite similar at first glance," the medic interjected. "Orion, this is [Name], the last human who should know of our existence."

A flicker of something lit up in his cyan optics—something indefinable, known only to him.

"Greetings, [Name]. It is a great pleasure to meet you."

He extended a servo toward you. Tentatively, you clasped one of his digits, ignoring the ache in your heart. This shouldn’t have been happening. You shouldn’t have to forge a new relationship with someone so dear to you. It felt uncanny—like he was wearing Optimus’s skin but was someone entirely different inside. It was unnerving, disorienting. Yet this stranger had knelt before you, reduced himself to your scale to show respect, just as Optimus always had. It was a glimpse of his alternate self, a sign of the inherent honor and kindness he still carried.

"Hello, Orion. The pleasure is all mine."

Letting go of his servo, you gave him an apologetic smile, signaling the end of the conversation. You needed answers, clarity about the situation, before you could decide how to proceed. As Orion straightened up, you stepped past him toward the platform. You could feel curious optics on you, particularly his, as you fist-bumped the kids. Unbeknownst to you, Orion clenched his servo in the same way you had during your handshake.

"So," you said to Ratchet, "what happened?"

The medic sighed, clearly weary of recounting the story yet again. But you had to know. You listened intently, the details unsettling and at times horrifying, but you felt a growing sense of calm. At least now you knew what you were dealing with—what topics to avoid, how to act. The relief faded, however, when you learned that the first attempt to restore Optimus’s memories had failed, and no date had been set for the next.

As Ratchet spoke, most of the team dispersed, leaving only you, the medic, and Orion in the hangar. Taking a moment to process everything, you glanced at Orion, catching his curious gaze.

This was your new reality. Optimus was gone, yet not entirely, standing just a few meters away, watching you intently. It was too much to dwell on. You needed something to distract yourself.

Standing from the couch, you headed down the stairs. You figured you’d be here for the rest of the evening, so you might as well find something productive to do.

"[Name]?" Orion’s voice stopped you in your tracks. He looked genuinely concerned. "Are you leaving already?"

His behavior puzzled you.

"I’m just going to grab my things. I’ll be right back."

"I see. May I accompany you?"

Oh, that was adorable—especially with the hopeful tone in his voice.

"I’m not sure you’ll fit in the tunnel in your current form," you teased with a laugh. "It won’t take long. I’ll be back in a minute."

This time, you quickened your pace.

For several hours, Orion's life had been filled with uncertainty. He didn’t know how he had ended up on this planet, who the Autobots around him were, or why they called him "Prime" when he felt he was unworthy of the title. And now, another enigma had appeared—you. Orion could not rationalize the overwhelming need to be near you. He had felt it the moment he laid his optics on you. The need to stay close, to converse, to observe. The need to know you better. Never before had such intense emotions stirred within him for anyone, let alone a stranger. But you weren’t a stranger. This may have been your first meeting, and he may have spoken to you for the first time, but you were not unfamiliar. Of that, he was absolutely certain.

Seconds stretched into minutes, and minutes into hours since you had disappeared into the tunnel. He regretted not following you, even if it meant transforming into his alt-form. At least he would have kept an optic on you, preventing the gnawing feelings of confusion and longing from devouring him from inside.

Ratchet watched his friend closely. He recognized that look, that body language. He knew what it signified, what storm was brewing in Orion’s processor. Optimus had been the same when it came to you. For a brief moment, his friend was back. Too bad it was under such circumstances.

"Do you really remember that woman?" he asked.

"I am not certain," Orion replied, still gazing toward the tunnel. "I feel like she is not a stranger, even though I know this was our first encounter. And as… Prime, if I indeed held that title, was she close to me?"

Primus.

"Perhaps closer than any human, but only Optimus knew to what extent. That might explain why you recognized her."

"Then she is special."

"Everything points to that."

Orion glanced at him, offering a faint smile. For reasons Ratchet couldn’t quite explain, the gesture was hard to look at. Fortunately, you emerged from the tunnel, giving him an excuse to start working again.

"See? I told you it’d only take a minute," you laughed, a black backpack slung over your shoulder.

Orion didn’t confess the truth—that by his reckoning, you had been gone an eternity. He watched intently as you climbed the stairs and took a seat on the couch.

"So, Orion," you began, "what did you do on Cybertron?"

Oh. You were curious about him? Truly? He had never thought of himself as particularly interesting.

It was fortunate that you were not looking at him because his body language betrayed his embarrassment.

"I was an archivist. Do humans on Earth have similar professions?"

"Of course. You know, I’ve always admired archivists. It’s meticulous work, requiring patience and nerves of steel—if you know what I mean. Anyway, it’s an important job, and anyone who takes it up is very cool in my book."

"Cool?"

"You know, fascinating, impressive, admirable."

"Does that mean that... in your optics, I am… cool?"

He asked without thinking and immediately regretted it when you gave him an amused look. Embarrassed, he tilted his helm downward. For such a towering and formidable being, he was also astonishingly skittish. It was peculiar to see a former Prime in such a light, but it made him more relatable, more emotionally accessible. Even so, you couldn’t deny that you missed Optimus.

"Of course, you’re cool to me."

That answer brightened him. A spectacle of stars dances in his optics.

You returned to typing on your laptop, but Orion had other plans for you.

"It seems I still have much to learn about this planet."

"I think you’ll catch on quickly. Besides, if it makes you feel any better, the other bots don’t know everything either. If you’re ever unsure, just ask. I’ll do my best to help."

"Thank you, [Name]. Your kindness is very important to me."

"Anytime. If you’d like, you could also explore our literature—it’ll give you a good insight into what humanity is all about. That sounds like a fitting activity for an archivist, doesn’t it?"

He would much rather have you as his sole source of knowledge about your species, as it meant spending more time with you. He wanted to know not just what you were but who you were—your interests, where you worked, how you spent your free time, your philosophy, beliefs, and hobbies. Everything you were willing to share. He wanted to know you inside and out, to solidify this sense of connection and make it real. And if you wished, he would bare his own secrets, reveal his spark, and show you every part of himself. Perhaps then you might look at him just for a second longer.

"Yes, I believe that would be an enjoyable activity. And what is it that you do?"

He asked question after question, each answer adding a new layer of understanding about you. He shared a little in return, preferring listening to you—your opinions, your perspective.

Time passed swiftly in your company. Relentless and unforgiving, it waited for no one. Orion realized this when you set aside your device and began stretching. It was a mesmerizing sight—your movements were so different from those of Cybertronians, fluid, and light. That was until the air was pierced by the loud crack coming from your back.

Energon froze in his fuel lines, and his spark leaped to his intake.

"[Name]? Are you alright? Are you harmed?"

"Hm?" you hummed, confused. He looked as though calamity had befallen him, as though you’d been beheaded. Then you remembered—it was Orion, not Optimus, and the human body was weird. "Oh, that. Don’t worry, I’m fine. It’s perfectly normal." To prove your point, you began cracking your knuckles, stopping quickly when you saw his horrified expression. "Okay, sorry about that. But really, I’m fine. I just need to stretch."

"Alright…" he replied, though he didn’t seem convinced. You couldn’t blame him.

You rose from the couch and stepped down from the platform, intending to take a short walk. Panic erupted in his spark. Oh no. No, no, no. He didn’t want to be left alone, not after such a jarring experience. He wouldn’t let you out of his optics now—not even for a moment.

"May I accompany you?"

"Of course!" you replied without hesitation, smiling—a gesture he immediately mirrored. "It won’t be very exciting, though."

"On the contrary, I find you to be a most intriguing individual."

"Oh, thank you," you said, clearing your throat, embarrassed. Compliments delivered in that baritone still flustered you.

Together, you ventured deeper into the base, bypassing various sections. In the training room, Arcee worked on her speed, while Bulkhead struck a makeshift punching bag fashioned from an old car. The children watched the spectacle, occasionally entertaining themselves. You both quickly slipped past the always-open entryway and continued on your way.

“[Name]?” Orion inquires. You turn into an empty hangar with a high platform, starting to ascend the stairs.

“Hm?”

“How do humans attempt to court their partners?”

You hadn't expected that kind of question. You stop mid-step, pondering your answer. When you look at him, his expression is dead serious, though his optics betray a determination. Why would he want to know this? You decide it’s probably mere curiosity.

“It depends on the person.” You continue climbing the stairs until you finally reach the top, now level with his faceplate. “Some buy gifts like flowers, others go on elaborate dates. But the common factor is spending time together, and getting to know one another. Feelings tend to develop naturally that way,” you explain. “Actually, that’s an interesting topic. How did it work on Cybertron?”

“Similarly. However, instead of exchanging ‘flowers,’ we presented rare metals or crystals to leave the best impression. To demonstrate strength and potential as a partner.”

“I know a few people who would totally fall for that approach. Heh, I’d be thrilled to get a geode myself.”

Orion suddenly lights up. Were you suggesting something or just sharing an opinion? Whatever it was, he felt compelled to try. To prove himself worthy. Perhaps he could even find the ‘flowers’ you mentioned.

“I see. Thank you for enlightening me.”

“You’re welcome?” you reply, unsure exactly how you’ve helped, but the sight of his broad smile and bright optics makes it all worthwhile. He was utterly adorable.

The two of you chat casually until you’re forced to check the time. You inhale sharply, and Orion tilts his head slightly, curious about your reaction.

“It was great talking to you, but I really need to go. I have work tomorrow and I’d like to get some sleep.”

Panic flashes across his face. He had enjoyed your company so much. He didn’t feel alienated or alone when he was with you. The sense of connection played a significant role, but Orion had already let you into his spark. He had found a safe harbor in you and wasn’t ready to drift away just yet. He wasn’t ready to let go, even if the world around him were to crumble.

“May I accompany you?” he asks, desperation seeping into his tone.

“Excuse me?”

“May I accompany you?” he repeats, now begging.

“My home isn’t exactly designed to host a giant robot. Besides, it’s dangerous and... wait, do you even know the traffic regulations?”

His expression answers the question, but he still attempts to defend himself.

“I have acquainted myself with them partially.”

“Who has the right of way at an uncontrolled intersection?”

He opens his mouth but quickly closes it again, visibly crestfallen. He looks as though he might cry.

“Orion, we’ll see each other tomorrow,” you reassure him. “The first thing I’ll do after work is come here.”

He frantically searches for an argument to keep you with him—anything to prolong your company. Then he remembers his first encounter with human children.

“Every child was assigned a guardian who escorted them home and ensured their safety,” he states, refusing to give up. “Do you have a protector?”

“Unofficially, that was Optimus…”

“Then I would like to carry on his mission.”

“I’m not a child, Orion.”

“I understand that. I merely wish for your safety, [Name],” he explains earnestly. “And… I would prefer not to part from the company most dear to me.”

Your thoughts drift back to something he said earlier—how he recognized the bond you once shared, even though this was your first conversation. He hadn’t recognized Ratchet or anyone from his team—only you.

You tried to put yourself in his position. To suddenly find yourself in a foreign place, surrounded by strangers addressing you by a false name and feeding you information that might as well be fiction. And then, in a world where nothing is familiar, someone steps in—someone you vaguely recognize. You might not know their name, but you know there was once a connection. Wouldn’t you cling to that tiny thread, desperately pulling it closer if someone tried to take it away?

Orion had found solid ground, and you were unintentionally trying to undermine it. You exhale softly. You already knew you’d be saying goodbye to sleep tonight.

“Alright.” His smile makes it all worth it. It’s as though you’ve handed him a star from the sky. “Let’s see what Ratchet has to say about all this.”

"I see no objections."

Orion looks at you with excitement sparkling in his optics.

"Wow, that was quick."

"It's a good excuse for Orion to explore the area and get accustomed to his alt mode."

The medic refrains from adding that if the former leader remained at the base, he would likely have wasted away in longing for you, lamenting to every sentient being that he couldn't wait to see you again. Though the comment teeters on the edge of his glossa, he opts for discretion. Optimus, at least, had never vocalized his peculiar obsession with you quite so openly.

"Should anything unusual occur, contact me immediately. Someone will come for you in the morning," Ratchet advises his friend before turning to you. "Good night, [Name]."

You thank the medic for his diligence and ask him to take some rest, earning a piercing glare that almost feels lethal, then retrieve your backpack and head toward the tunnel. Orion stays close by, not leaving your side even after transforming. Ever the gentleman, he opens the door for you, visibly delighted at the prospect of your first shared drive together. In his mind, this was more than a mere drive—it was a deeply intimate act, almost akin to inviting a partner into one’s private space.

But his dreams are promptly shattered when you inform him that you have your own car.

The journey is uneventful but nerve-wracking; you constantly check your side mirror to ensure Orion is still following you. Thankfully, there are no issues, and he even remembers to use his turn signals when necessary. Everything proceeds smoothly until you pull into your driveway and are struck by a dreadful realization: Will a Peterbilt even fit in my garage?

You park your car to the side, leaving Orion enough space to drive safely. Exiting your vehicle, you open the garage door and wave at him to proceed. You nervously bite your thumb, watching the massive truck carefully edge into the space. There are barely three centimeters between the roof of the truck and the ceiling. When you close the garage door, the already limited space shrinks further.

"So, do you regret your decision now?" you ask, stepping around to the front of the truck.

Orion transforms with meticulous precision, carefully positioning his limbs and helm to avoid damaging the walls. The process goes well until his helm grazes the ceiling with an audible thud, dislodging a few small pieces of debris. He winces slightly and rubs his helm but offers you a warm smile.

"I do not regret my decision."

"Pfff, well, that's good. Are you all right?"

"I am unharmed."

You can’t help but feel guilty for confining him to such a cramped space, but it was his choice. If he insisted, he would simply have to endure it. Of course, that meant you would have to endure it, too, as the issues began almost immediately.

"All right, I’m going to grab my things. I’ll be back in a moment."

He panics again—something you’re beginning to expect from him.

"Please, do not leave me."

His voice is unchanging. A deep and thick baritone that permeates your body, speaking straight to your soul. It is strange to hear the same voice coming out of a shamed and uncertain being, begging you for company.

"I’ll only be gone for two minutes."

You reach for the door handle, but his servo shoots forward, blocking your exit.

"Orion," you chide, your tone sharp and reprimanding.

He doesn’t meet your eyes, his apprehension laid bare.

"Please, I do not wish to be alone."

"Two minutes," you say firmly, though your annoyance falters when you see the raw emotion in his optics. Sighing, you place a hand on the edge of his digit, catching his attention. "I’ll be back. I promise."

He believes you, of course he does. He trusts you to return, yes, he even knows it. It doesn't change the fact that he is frightened, he feels alone, and your proximity calms the storm raging through his processor. His whole body is clamoring for you, screaming for you to stay with him. He craves bodily contact, he wants your soft hands to stroke his metal and your lips to whisper sweet nothings. He wants more, he wants to feel the softness, more, more, more.

He takes his servo away.

"Good mech."

As you disappear through the door, Orion buries his face in his hands. Despite his embarrassment, he can’t suppress a grin. He had enjoyed that moment—far too much.

He wants to hear you say it again.

When you return, you’re carrying a blanket, a deck of UNO cards, some snacks, and your laptop. Orion beams at the sight of you but frowns when he notices you shivering.

"Are you cold?" he asks with concern.

"Hmm? A little, but I’ll warm up soon."

Without warning, he gently scoops you up in his servo, handling you with the utmost care. The shock is brief—you don’t even have time to protest before he places you on his chassis. His servo remains loosely wrapped around you as a precaution, but your back presses against his warm metal frame. Tilting your head up to glare at him for pulling such a stunt, you find him already watching you, amusement dancing in his optics.

"Ask next time before you do something like that," you scold lightly.

"I make no promises," he teases, earning a playful flick to his digit.

"I was planning to play UNO, but since you pulled that move, let’s watch a movie instead. Unless you’d rather do something else?"

"I leave myself entirely at your mercy."

He would have been content doing nothing as long as he could hold you close.

"All right, then. A movie it is."

It's hard for him to keep up with the plot when he's overstimulated, but he tries, because your questions encouraging discussion come out of nowhere. And it was just at moments when he started to drift off, when the optics shifted from the tiny screen to you; when there was only you and him in the world. Sometimes, however, he would focus for longer, especially during the romantic scenes. He longs to experience something similar with you, an indestructible, sappy love. To recite poetry into your ear and watch you blush, to announce to everyone how much you mean to him. To bestow expensive gifts, the geodes you mentioned earlier. He needs your tender words, your praise, your touch. You could do whatever you liked with him, and he would give you his spark.

He worries when you fall silent for too long.

"[Name]?" he calls softly, leaning closer to check on you. Relief washes over him when he sees you’ve simply fallen asleep. Poor thing—you must have been exhausted.

Still, a part of him resents it. He wanted to talk to you longer, watch more films, learn more about human romance to win your favor. But he knows his thoughts are selfish. Setting the laptop aside, he carefully covers you with his other servo, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety.

He's not sure he'll be able to recharge. At least not now, when he was too absorbed in devouring you with his optics. You felt safe with him. You gave him your trust. You chose him.

A spark of possessiveness sweeps through his processor. He doesn't want to let you go. He doesn't want you to go to work tomorrow and leave him for eternity. He also knows he shouldn't think that way. The spark goes out.

Watching you sleep, his processor churns with thoughts. You trusted him. He vows to prove his worth tomorrow, to show you just how deep his feelings run.

Because he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be himself. How much longer he will remain as Orion Pax.

[ixloom819]

Snap Back to Reality (P4)

Here's the next part of the Yan!Sylus AU. Enjoy!

Sylus was a busy man, being the head of an operation such as Onychinus. There were endless meetings to attend and paperwork to do. He would spend hours clicking on his computer, eyes only occasionally glazed with boredom as they scanned pixelated words.

But now, his office wasn’t empty anymore.

When you first appeared in this world, Sylus gave you a harmless administrative job for Onychinus, so you could make yourself useful outside of your knowledge. While complaining about work was a fundamental human aspect, you did truly appreciate having something to do with your day. It helped give you some structure in the day and kept the calmer days from being boring.

Now, the two of you worked together in the same space, filling it with each other’s presence. You would talk occasionally, but there was no need for conversation. Existing in the same room felt like enough to soothe your souls.

Mid-afternoon, you stood from your chair and stretched. “I’m going to go get a snack from the kitchen,” you announced. “Do you want anything?”

Sylus glanced up at you and smiled. “I’m alright. Thank you, my love.”

It was ridiculous how easy it was for this man to make butterflies flutter in your stomach. Giving him a smile, you crossed the room and stepped out the door.

You had a second where you heard a panicked cry… Luke? “CRAP, WAIT-!”

A blinding pain struck your head, and blackness immediately engulfed you.

…

The first thing you saw was white. White with blurry lines.

You groaned and tried to sit up. Your body aches all over, but you only remember something hitting you in the head. Was it one of the twins’ pranks?

You caught someone out of the corner of your eye. Was that… a doctor?

You’re finally awake, he said. You’ve been in a coma for quite a while now. We were a bit worried.

You leaned back, stunned silent. A… coma…?

…Of course, that made sense. Being put into a fictional world? Somehow romancing a character meant for someone else? It had been one of your first theories when you ended up in that world.

And yet… it had lasted so long. Felt so real. Was it really all just a coma dream?

…Was it all fake?

…

You don’t remember leaving the hospital. But here you were, back in your ordinary life.

Familiar faces - coworkers, friends, family - welcomed you back. Told you how glad they were that you were okay and how worried they were.

You met them with smiles that didn’t quite reach your eyes, assurances that you were fine, and appreciation for their concern.

Life shifted back to how it was before the accident. Back to normal.

But it didn’t feel normal. Not when you had adopted a new normal, even if it was just in your head.

You found yourself squinting as you passed a window. It was too bright outside. You were used to seeing black clouds and a blood-red moon. Even when you first arrived, it was beautiful in its unnatural climate. You kept wishing for the weather to turn overcast.

There was busy noise around you, but it wasn’t the same as it was there. At the Onychinus base, it was either peaceful quiet or a huge racket from whatever mischief the twins were getting into. The noise here was a constant buzzing that grated on your nerves.

And the people…

It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with them. They were still the people you knew, people you cared about. But note they seemed… dull. Restrained. Compared to the unbridled chaos of Sylus, Luke, Kieran, and even Mephisto, they were all just… flat.

…

You don’t remember going home, yet here you were. You were curled up on your bed, looking at your phone. Looking at the Love and Deepspace app.

Do you dare open it?

You have to, you told yourself. If you were going to get over your coma-dream-world, you had to start going back to normal. And that meant playing Love and Deepspace and remembering that it was just a game.

You click on the icon. You went to Destiny Cafe.

There he was. Large stature, silver-white hair, and scarlet eyes, Sylus smirked at you in all his glory.

Except… it wasn’t the same. You internally marveled at your mind’s capacity to give Sylus features that couldn’t exist in his finite, pixelated form. The way his eyes wrinkled at the corners when he smiled. The line by his mouth that the twins swore up and down was a dimple.

He spoke. “Welcome back, kitten.”

You flinched. Without realizing it, you had exited the app and shut off your phone.

Kitten…

You remembered the one time Sylus had called you kitten in that world. You had reacted similarly. You had flinched away a bit and immediately said, “Don’t call me that.”

Sylus was surprised both by your protest and the speed with which you had done so. “And why’s that?” he’d asked teasingly yet genuinely.

You’d felt silly admitting it, but you answered, “…That’s your nickname for her. MC, Miss Hunter, your sorceress. That’s her name. Not mine.”

I’m not her is what you hadn’t said but meant.

Sylus didn’t soften or scorn you, nothing to show acknowledgement. But you hadn’t heard him call you kitten after that moment.

It was ridiculous, you told yourself. Kitten was just the voice line used. It was your name on the screen. The game didn’t have the capability to say each player’s individual name.

Yet, it was a reminder that he wasn’t talking to you anymore. He was talking to the protagonist, the one he was supposed to love.

You didn’t mean anything to Sylus anymore.

…

You don’t remember going to the store. You’ve been having trouble remembering going places. Maybe you should go back to the doctor, get some tests done.

Right now, you were in an aisle, trying to remember what you were there to get. You scanned the shelves of foodstuffs, wondering what it was you needed.

Someone called for your attention. You turned to look at them.

It was a guy, one you didn’t recognize. He wasn’t bad looking, but he didn’t catch your interest either.

He told you that you looked beautiful. A bit surprised to get a random compliment, you thanked him.

Then he asked if he could get your number, saying he’d like to take you out sometime.

You froze. What was happening? Was a random guy really asking you on a date literally out of nowhere? It didn’t feel real…

A face flashed through your mind. Silver-white hair. Red eyes.

Don’t be ridiculous, you scolded yourself. Sylus wasn’t real. It wasn’t like you’d be cheating on him.

Here was a nice guy asking you out. Maybe this is what you need. Probably not as a long-term relationship, but something to help bring you back to reality.

He wasn’t Sylus. It wasn’t fair to compare this guy to a fictional character; standards made to be unmet.

Yet the heart was hardly logical. And you couldn’t ignore the pit in your stomach as you considered it.

So you thanked him, informed him you weren’t interested in dating at the moment, and then left the aisle.

…

You don’t remember coming into a waiting room. The walls were all white. This must be the doctor’s office, right?

That must be why you’re here. These lapses in memory and purpose couldn’t be good for you. You needed to make sure nothing was wrong, that you were alright.

You passively scanned around the room. It was filled with chairs and side tables, and magazines were lying on the tables. There were other people in the room, presumably waiting their turn.

Finding nothing catching your attention and not interested enough to pick up a magazine, you sat back in your chair and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

How much time had passed? You looked at the clock on the wall. It looked a bit past… 

7:20? AM or PM, it was a weird time to meet with a doctor - either too early or too late.

Wait…

You looked around the room again, focusing on the people. There were people there, you were sure of that, yet…

You couldn’t make out any definitive information. You couldn’t tell how old anyone was, what their hair color was, what they looked like.

Was this…?

You grabbed a magazine. One last test. You opened it to a random page and tried to read it.

You couldn’t make out any words. You tried, but they came out as lines of black, squiggles in your vision with no meaning.

You were dreaming.

Your head started hurting.

That’s why things were so weird. That’s why you didn’t remember going places, because you just shifted to the next scene. That’s why you kept glancing over people, because they didn’t have semblance unless you actually knew them.

That’s why you felt disconnected from the world.

Because it wasn’t real.

Your head was pounding.

How did dreaming work? Weren’t you supposed to wake up soon when you figured out you were dreaming?

Wake up.

It hurts.

Wake up.

It hurts so much.

Wake up…

…

You felt the shift. Where you had felt awake and upright, now your body felt heavy with sleep, especially around your eyes. The headache persisted.

You forced yourself to open your eyes, blinking the blurriness away.

You recognize your surroundings. You were in the Onychinus medical wing.

You felt an enormous sense of relief. You were back…

The next thing you notice is the person by your side. It was Sylus. He was scrolling through his phone - probably some business-related stuff. His brows were furrowed in a way that indicated something was bothering him.

You marvelled at seeing him in his true glory. So many little details about him… how could your mind have come up with them? Your heart swelled at the sight of him.

You pushed yourself up, his name on your lips. “Sy-”

A splitting pain shot through your head, and you stopped in your tracks, hissing as you clutched your head. “Ow…!”

Large, steady hands grabbed you and settled you back down on the bed. You opened your eyes to see Sylus with his complete attention on you. He looked worried at the pain you were displaying, but you also saw relief, tangible in comparison to how you had seen him a moment before.

“Careful, darling,” he murmured. “You’ve got quite the concussion.”

“Yeah, figured it was something like that,” you said, trying to joke around the pain. “What happened?”

Sylus’ expression soured just a bit. “It would seem,” his voice was a bit chipped, “that the twins had forgotten that I’m not the only occupant in my office anymore.”

“Ah,” you said with comprehension. “A prank meant for you?”

“A prank meant for someone more durable,” Sylus agreed. “Trust me, they’re dealing with the consequences.”

You knew he wouldn’t hurt them. But you still winced inside at the idea of what Sylus would consider a suitable punishment for them.

You took a moment to steel yourself. Then you pushed yourself up again. Your head screamed in protest, but you didn’t stop until you had embraced Sylus, holding him in your arms.

You relished in being able to feel him. His body, his scent, his heat, his heartbeat. You didn’t realize how much he soothed you until you lost him.

You could tell you had taken him by surprise by the way he stiffened a bit. But he was quick to reciprocate, wrapping his arms around your shoulders while moving you closer to him to make you more comfortable.

“What’s this about, love?” Sylus asked in his teasing yet curious tone.

“I just… missed you,” you said softly.

“Did you go somewhere?” Again, said as a joke, but meant as a real question.

You had a moment’s doubt on whether to tell him. But you didn’t want to hide things from him either. “I dreamed that… well, this was all a dream. That I survived the accident and woke up.”

You felt the sliver of tension creep into his body. “Is that so?”

If you hadn’t felt the tenseness and learned his different tones, you’d think Sylus was merely conversational.

“Was it a good dream?” His tone was casual, but you could tell the hidden question behind it. Did you prefer being back in your world? Were you happier there?

And you knew your answer.

“It was nice to see everyone again,” you responded, because you wouldn’t lie to him. You moved back, wincing a bit, so you could meet his gaze. “But I missed it here.

“I missed you.”

It looked like your response brought back a year of life in Sylus. Any tension melted away, and he pulled you into another hug. “I’m glad,” he said softly. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that…”

You smiled. “Sylus, you don’t have to worry,” you replied, rubbing his back soothingly.

“My home is with you.”

Hey everyone! I didn't say this in the last post so as to not spoil the twist, but I'm finished with the main story of this AU. I'm planning on doing a few more short stories like this, and I may take requests, but that's about it. Thank you so much for all the support and encouragement. I wouldn't have gone this far without you :)

[screwitbaby]

naive

hamzahthefantastic x reader

day 6/7

summary: part 6 of the naive series!! mandy and martin get back together in the worst way possible but it’s okay because you and hamzah get to have some fun of your own…

contains: SFW and NSFW content ;-)

w/c: 2.8k-ish

~

It's awkward. You know that. Hamzah knows that. The mosquito buzzing by your ear knows that. You only hope Mandy knows that she scarred you for life.

"In my defense, I thought you would come back a lot later," she says.

You stare at her blankly. Martin hasn't made eye contact with you since last night. Hamzah's sat next to you, completely checked out of the conversation and scrolling on his phone. If you could click your heels three times and teleport home, you would.

"So you could fuck in my bed for several more hours?" you seethe.

"It's a hotel bed! It's not even yours!" Martin argues.

"It's a bed that I was supposed to sleep in!" You feel like you're about to pop a blood vessel. "Why didn't you just do it in your suite?!"

"It was a spur of the moment thing," Mandy says, walking over to sit next to you. "We were just going to talk. I didn't plan for it!"

Hamzah looks up from his phone and raises his eyebrows at the familiar words. You roll your eyes and turn to Mandy before he can see the red rush to your face.

"But hey, we aren't fighting anymore," Martin points out, scooping more sand over his pale chest.

He's been working on burying himself in the sand for the past hour since you and Hamzah joined them on the beach. You're grateful for that fact.

After being unpleasantly surprised by the sight of him in his birthday suit upon entering your hotel room, even a single glance at his body reminds you of the unholy vision. You and Hamzah had returned from your day on the town after eating out (ahem) and wanted a peaceful place to recover from your food comas. The couple seemed to have other ideas. You did a 180 and left without a single word.

"I don't even know what to say to you right now," you tell Martin without looking in his direction. "Mandy, why? Just why?"

"I'm sorry," she says, but there's a smile on her face that makes you scowl. "It's a little funny!"

"No, it's not!" you cry out. "Every time I shut my eyes I get a flashback to Martin's pasty asscheeks!"

"Hey!" Martin shouts. "Mandy loves these pasty a—"

"Shut up," you and Mandy say at the same time, albeit your tone is a little more hostile.

"At least you get to sleep in Hamzah's room from now on," Mandy whispers to you. You pinch her and she squeals. "I basically did you a favor!"

"You only have to do me a favor because you did some shit in the first place!"

"Guys, calm down," Hamzah says, waving his hand between you and Mandy, "we'll just get the sheets changed. It's not that big of a deal."

"So you're on their side?" you question him.

"Oh my god," Martin groans.

"Okay, if you're that disgusted, we'll get you a new room," Hamzah offers.

"They're all booked for the season," you grumble. "I checked last night after... the incident."

"And there's no way I'd pay for that," Martin says. You glare at the side of his head.

"When I said 'make up and make out' I didn't mean it literally," you tell Mandy. "I can't believe this."

"So dramatic," Hamzah teases. "C'mere."

He wraps his arm around your shoulders and even though you're upset, you don't move away. It helps you to cool off, but you can't stop your brain from wishing the clouds would part and smite the couple down in that moment. You lean closer into Hamzah's embrace and take a sip of your cocktail, avoiding Mandy's inquisitive stare.

You don't even know why you're so distressed by this whole thing, it should be a net positive that Mandy and Martin made amends. Plus, you had such a great time prior to the event, you shouldn't let it ruin your mood. It really isn't as big of a deal as you're making it out to be. Something about it rubs you the wrong way, though.

"Okay, I have one last question." Your words make the group groan and you shush them. "If I didn't walk in on you, were you going to tell me about my bed?"

The couple's silence speaks volumes.

"You fucking freaks!" you nearly scream. Hamzah flinches away from your voice and coughs into his fist to poorly disguise his laughter. "Ew! Ew-uh! What the fuck!?"

"We didn't even think that far," Mandy laughs out, "I'm sorry!"

"I hate you."

Since there isn't much to do on the beach but lie around and day drink with the two people you currently despise most, you and Hamzah decide on going someplace else. Nearing the end of a trip is usually draining, but with him it's like every minute counts for something more and that gives you the strength to push through your desire for self-isolation.

"We could get frozen yogurt?"

You shake your head.

"Go to an aquarium?"

You shake your head again.

"Do our laundry?"

"For real?" You scrunch your face in disapproval.

"I don't know what you want from me," Hamzah says, squeezing your hand tighter. "We're in a foreign place and we're bored as hell. You try to give me some ideas."

As you walk further up the street, swinging your hand in his, you spot an interesting store in your peripheral vision.

"Hamzah," you say, pointing. "We need to go."

He looks up and scoffs. "Are you 12? We're not going in there."

"Why would a 12-year-old be in a sex shop?" you joke and pull him along. "It'll be goofy and silly. Please."

"This is so stupid," he says, but ultimately obliges.

The two of you walk in and are instantly greeted by a wall of monstrous dildos. You bite your lip to not laugh out loud at Hamzah's disgruntled reaction and drag him over to an idle worker, all while he's quietly protesting your mischief.

"Please don't," he mumbles, much too late.

"Hi," you greet the worker cheerily. "My boyfriend and I would like to know some of your recommendations for starter toys."

Hamzah blushes beet red and you grin deviously.

"Sure, follow me," she replies, leading you to the back of the store.

You feast your eyes on the seemingly never-ending array of degeneracy. It reminds you of walking into the back of a Spencer's when you were in middle school, only so much more serious. This is top notch stuff. You find yourself actually becoming intrigued.

"Here we have our bestseller," the worker says, taking a toy from the shelf and presenting it to you. "This is a bullet vibrator. Great for travel."

You hum, nodding your head. Hamzah's hand is a dead weight in yours as he looks between the ceiling or his shoes, avoiding eye contact with the multitude of phalluses surrounding him.

"This here is another great pick," she says, showing you a glass dildo. "Simple, but satisfying. Comes with your choice in any of our flavored lubes."

"Ooh," you exaggerate. Hamzah makes a grunting noise and it takes all of you to keep from bursting out laughing. "Do you have anything that's more for... him?"

"Ah, yes, of course."

The worker turns to unlock a display case in the corner and brings a little rubber toy out. Hamzah rubs his eyes like he's trying to awaken from a nightmare.

"This is very popular with the tourists," she says, handing it over to you. "Press this button."

You do as she says and the cock ring not only lights up, but also starts wriggling in your hand. It tickles your palm and you giggle, reaching over to press it to Hamzah's arm to catch his attention. He jumps as if he's shocked by an electric current.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes to the worker, pinching the toy between his fingers and hastily dropping it back in the display. "I just realized I'm perfectly capable of pleasing my girlfriend on my own. Goodbye."

With that, he tugs on your hand and nearly sprints to the exit. You cackle while he makes you cross the street to get as far from the store as possible.

"It could've been worse," you tell Hamzah as he slides the key card to his door. "She didn't even get to the sex swings."

"Please shut up," he says, tired of your bullshit.

He still holds the door open for you, even though you've been messing with him all day. You walk into the room and place your shopping bags down. You had convinced Hamzah to window-shop after your little stunt, but you couldn't help yourself. You ended up buying some knickknacks and cute postcards for your family and friends back home.

"Do you mind if I take a shower in here?" you ask him, taking your shoes off.

"You're really not going back to your room?"

"You wanna get rid of me that fast?" You dramatically fall back on his bed. "I thought what we had was special."

Hamzah walks over to you and holds himself above you at arms length.

"I didn't exactly agree to the whole 'boyfriend' thing," he quips.

You pull him forward by his collar and smile. "Then why'd you call me your girlfriend?"

His eyes hone in on your lips. "I was just playing along."

"Really?" you question, placing your hand on his cheek. "And how far are you willing to play along for?"

You move up and capture his lips in a kiss. He responds eagerly, like you knew he would. His hand grips your waist and you quietly moan into the kiss, trying to rile him up. He takes the bait, pressing his body to yours and pulling the both of you further up the bed. When your head comes in contact with the pillows, you roll him over and sit in his lap to grind your hips. He tries to touch you and you stop him, holding him down by his arms. He could easily overpower you, but he stays pinned down, staring up at you with his big doe eyes.

"I don't think people who aren't really girlfriend-boyfriend should do this kind of thing..." you trail off.

You climb off the bed and walk straight to the bathroom, tossing your shirt off before closing the door behind you. You hear some shuffling outside as you strip and step under the shower head. You begin to lather some hotel body wash in your hands right when the door opens. Through the fogged glass, you see Hamzah taking his clothes off, but you pretend not to take notice as you rub the suds all over your body.

Hamzah steps into the shower behind you. You close your eyes to step under the shower head and wash the soap off, still paying him no attention. When you bend over to grab the shampoo, you feel his hands trail up your thighs and settle on your hips.

You turn with the bottle in your hands. "Do you mind?"

"Nope," he says.

He takes the bottle from you and pours some into his palm before placing it back. You watch his face as he reaches up to massage your scalp with the shampoo. He's concentrating hard, but the contact is gentle as he takes extra care of not tangling your hair. It's cute, but it would be cuter if you didn't feel him growing against your thigh.

"Does shampooing usually give you a boner?" you ask.

"Yeah, always," he replies sarcastically.

You giggle and close your eyes, enjoying the salon experience. When he's done, he moves you under the water and dips your head back to rinse your hair. You switch places with him after teaching him how to apply conditioner and grab the body wash again, but for him this time. He sighs as you massage his shoulders with the soap and you spread the rest down his torso. Your hands trace the curvature of his pecs and waist, taking a little too much time with each section just to feel him. When your touch begin to descend, he places his hands on your hips and pulls you forward. You sharply inhale as his dick prods your lower belly.

He leans in to kiss you, making you completely forget about your task and wrap your arms around his shoulders. His tongue finds yours and you feverishly return his advances, running your fingers through his soaked curls to smooth them out of his face. When his hand reaches down your back to cup your ass, you moan and lift your leg to wrap it around his hip. His other hand does the same and he carries you to push you against the shower wall. His erection nudges your center and you thrust forward, desperate for any friction. He teases his tip through your folds and against your clit.

"Be my girlfriend," Hamzah whispers, in between leaving open mouthed kisses on your décolletage.

You toss your head to the side, too overwhelmed to even respond. He continues his actions, feeding off your pleasure. You grip the back of his neck and bring his mouth back to yours.

"Be my boyfriend," you mumble against his lips.

You reach between your slick bodies and pump his shaft a few times, your foreheads pressed together as you watch his eyelids flutter from the sensation. Lining him up, you feel him gradually enter you. Both of you breathe heavily and as soon as you get used to his size, you buck your hips. Moans fall from your lips like water droplets, echoing against the bathroom tiles as he begins to thrust into you faster and faster. You clutch his shoulders and he buries his face in your neck, his groans vibrating against your wet skin.

Letting go of one of your legs, Hamzah kneads your tit, pinching your nipple then soothing it with the pad of his thumb. You whimper and stand on your tippy toes as he pounds into you, trying your best not to buckle from the feeling. His lips suck on the side of your throat, sure to leave marks in the places he lingers. You dig your heel into his lower back, wanting—no, needing to feel all of him.

When you start clenching around him, he glides his hand down your front and rubs circles on your clit. You gasp out breaths, digging your nails into his back.

"Feel good, baby?" he pants in your ear, his hips crashing into yours with each word. "Tell me."

"Yes, Hamzah, yes," you sob. "Harder, please!"

He complies, the wet slapping getting louder between you. Your eyes screw shut as white heat fills your veins from your head to your toes and all you can do is moan haphazardly. He's in a similar state, his voice breaking as curses fly from his lips. He fucks you through your climax, holding out as long as he can while he flicks his hand relentlessly. Once you’re completely spent, he pulls out with a groan and cums all over your stomach and thighs. You raise a trembling hand to stroke him until he finishes and his moans steadily fade out.

Your chests rise and fall as you attempt to catch your breaths. Hamzah lightly kisses up your neck, still holding you against the wall as the both of you recover. You bring your other leg back down to the ground and lean your weight on him.

Pushing him under the shower head, you watch the way his curls slowly shrink back into place.

“Shampoo,” you breathe out.

Hamzah hands you the bottle and watches as you return the favor for him.

“Put your head down, please,” you request. “I’m too shaky.”

He laughs silently but does as you say. Your fingernails graze his scalp and he makes little noises of approval.

“Body wash me,” you say.

“Do I have to?”

“Yeah.” You bring his head up to make eye contact. “Boyfriend-ly duties.”

The two of you leave the shower after a couple more minutes of teasing and fondling. Hamzah wraps a towel around you and you plug the blow dryer in as he grabs one for himself. He’s about to leave the bathroom when you call him back.

“C’mon,” you say, beckoning him to the mirror. “You don’t style your hair?”

You grab a tiny dollop of conditioner and run it through his curls.

“I usually just let it air dry.”

“That’s fine, but you should always moisturize.”

“Every time?” he asks like it’s an unfathomable chore.

“From now on, yeah.” You scrunch some of the strands. “Can’t have my boyfriend looking crazy.”

“You’re really loving that title, huh?” he teases.

“Am I not supposed to?” you ask, washing your hands in the sink and looking at him through the steamy mirror. “If I knew how simple it was to get that title, I would’ve fucked you a lot sooner.”

Hamzah chokes on his spit.

~

a/n: i realize this whole chapter was basically abt sex and yk what i don’t even mind it. how we feeling abt there being one part left? what do yall think is gonna happen omggggg🙈 also should i do an epilogue or just stick with 7 being the ending? lmk!!!! love yall as per usual<333

[thequeenofcurses]

Cracks In the Mirror (I See You) Headcanons or

Blind!Gojo x Reader Headcanons

These headcanons were written with a female reader in mind, but they're 95% gender neutral. The actual full fic will continue with a female reader. This is read best in light mode!!!

cw: MAJOR SPOILER WARNINGS FOR CITM/ISY. okay, i should have wrote/posted this before starting the fic, but oh well >~<. if you plan to wait for this fic (which i don't really recommend because i am a slooow writer) DO NOT READ THESE HEADCANONS. Again, these headcanons are basically the whole plot, so SPOILER ALERT!

masterlist | jjk masterlist | read on AO3

Satoru Gojo, once the world’s most sought-after model, had it all: fame, fortune, god-like beauty, and an ego so obnoxious it practically walked into the room before he did. But underneath the glitz and glamor, he was unbearably full of himself and totally blind to everything that truly mattered.

Satoru Gojo was a total jerk the first time you meet. You accidentally bump into him at the doctor’s office, spilling your drink all over him. He’s dressed in very casual clothes, leaving no possible way to tip you off; and he instantly gets in your face, flaunting his reputation like it’s a trophy. You have no idea who he is, and you don’t care. His attitude is enough to turn you off instantly.

Satoru Gojo later finds out you're a model too — not nearly as famous, of course — but all that could change, he claims, when you’re both scheduled to audition for the same campaign. His plan? Take over the audition, show off his charm, and “help” you shine… in his shadow.

Satoru Gojo ends up auditioning with you. The chemistry is undeniable. The way you move, the tension in your eyes, the spark. Everyone in the room is breathless. For a moment, even he forgets it’s all just a scene. But the second the director calls cut, he’s reminded: it’s fake. You’re not real. He has a fiancée waiting at home.

Satoru Gojo, spiteful and cocky, picks you as his costar for his upcoming commercial, knowing that you dislike him. You’re surprisingly flattered until you realize it’s all a setup. He was planning to humiliate you in front of the entire Hollywood cast and crew. The result? A total fucking disaster. You’re the headline on TMZ: “Unknown Model’s Meltdown Caught on Camera!” It’s career-ruining.

Satoru Gojo goes to the bar to celebrate his recent engagement to another supermodel. The drinks are flowing, the congratulations never end… but his mind keeps drifting back to you. The audition scene you two filmed replays on a loop in his head, and for a fleeting second, he wishes it had been real. That it had truly been you and him in that moment, and not just two characters.

Satoru Gojo tries to call you, just to apologize, an extremely rare moment of vulnerability,  but when his fiancée catches wind of it, she shuts it down. She demands all of his attention, and just like that… he forgets all about you. Or pretends to.

Satoru Gojo sneaks out of his fiancée’s bed one night and tracks you down. He’s curious. He wants to see you without the glam, the studio lights, the pressure. He finds you walking your dog at a park, dressed in sweatpants, a tank top, messy hair, and to his surprise, he thinks you’re gorgeous. He almost approaches you… but he turns around and walks away.

Satoru Gojo shows up to set the next day for a makeup/screen test for his upcoming film. Impatient and irritable, he berates the makeup artists and crew, insisting everything be done “his way.” But when filming begins, there’s a loud CLINK — something shatters above him. Before anyone can react, a cascade of chemical-laced glass falls onto him. It hits his face and eyes. He screams as it burns and he’s immediately rushed to the hospital.

Satoru Gojo goes into shock from the tragedy of it all. He falls into a short coma. You hear about it from your doctor (who knows you were a fan of his, once), and you're allowed to visit. You speak to him even though he can’t respond. You don’t owe him kindness after what he did to you, but you offer it anyway.

Satoru Gojo wakes up to darkness. Panicked, he yells for someone to turn the lights on. Nurses rush in, trying to calm him down. Eventually, Shoko arrives and breaks the news: she saved his life. But the acid caused irreparable damage. He’s permanently blind now. And he was lucky to survive at all.

Blind!Gojo, doesn’t feel lucky. He’s furious. He asks for his fiancée… only for Shoko to tell him she hasn’t shown up at all. Just a singular voicemail. No visit. No flowers. No love.

Blind!Gojo weeps for the first time when he’s alone. He touches his once-perfect face, now marred by acid burns and scarring. The world’s most beautiful man is now reduced to a tabloid tragedy. Another cautionary tale. Without his looks, who is he? If he didn’t have his beauty, what did he have?

Blind!Gojo is visited by you again and this time he’s awake. You chat with him casually, and reveal that you come to the hospital weekly for vague checkups. You offer to help him program his phone, show him how to use voice commands, even call a few of his contacts for him. Most don’t pick up.

Blind!Gojo offers to hire you as his personal assistant. With no more offers left for you in the modeling and acting industry and bills piling up, you take the job.

Blind!Gojo who despises you so much at first because he thinks you pity him, just like the rest of the world, but you don’t. You’re one of the only people who still sees his soul, not his past image. Working for him was awkward at first. He's cold. You're distant. But little by little, something shifts. With the money you save on the side, you start a podcast in your free time. Something just for you. Something with your name on it. You never imagined it would blow up.

Blind!Gojo who starts depending on you for more than just scheduling and errands. You're the only one who doesn’t tiptoe around him, who doesn’t pity him. You call him out on his attitude (even though he’s blind he’s still such an asshole sometimes), and for the first time in a long time, he listens.

Blind!Gojo, who gets even more depressed than he was when his fiancée, Mei Mei, sends a text that she wants to break the engagement. His phone read the words to him out loud, breaking his heart even more. She didn’t even have the gall to tell him face to face or at the very least a phone call so he could hear her actual voice.

Blind!Gojo, who accidentally stumbles across a podcast while scrolling through the voice commands on his phone: your podcast.

Blind!Gojo, who instantly recognizes your voice, soft, sweet, and unbearably honest. You talk about healing, about loss, about finding purpose after the world gives up on you. You never name him, but he hears himself in your words. One episode ends with a quiet confession:

“Sometimes the people who hurt us the most are the ones who need the most love. And sometimes... we give it anyway.”

Blind!Gojo, who doesn’t say anything for a while, just listens. Every episode. It becomes his nighttime ritual. He finds comfort in your voice in a way he never expected. He couldn’t find a better way to drift off to sleep than hearing the sound of your voice.

Blind!Gojo, who finally brings it up one day while you're helping him button a shirt for an outing. “So... this podcast of yours. You’ve got a good voice for radio.”

Your hands still on the last button, and instead of responding right away, you gently brush your fingers over the back of his hand. You admit it’s your side project, something that gave you hope when you had nothing else. You confidently offer:

“If you ever wanted to say something on there... I could set it up. Just to talk. Might make you feel better. And less of such an ass,” you say the last part quietly, but he still catches it

Blind!Gojo, who scoffs at the idea. Him? Opening up? But your voice lingers in his head long after you've left for the day. That night, he sends you a voice message, something short. Just a thought. A memory of his. You weave the audio into your next podcast, but leave the audience guessing who’s the owner behind the mystery voice.

Blind!Gojo, who becomes an unexpected hit! Your listeners fall in love with his dry humor, sarcasm, and moments of vulnerable honesty. From then on, he becomes a regular co-host, and for the very first time in his life, it’s not about his face, his body, or fame. It’s about his words. About him.

Blind!Gojo, who begins to heal through the podcast. Through you. You both start laughing more, talking more (off the mic) too. You start to have long, late-night conversations and early mornings filled with delicious coffee and soft smiles. You start to become his best friend, his lifeline, his anchor. He still got visits here and there from his other friends, like Suguru Geto, but you were something different, someone special. You were more than just his assistant.

Blind!Gojo, who is blindsided (ironically) when, one day, during a recording, you announce you're stepping away from the podcast. He stiffens beside you, the mic still hot. You don’t say why to the audience. But after the recording, you pull him aside and finally tell him the truth: you’re dying.

Blind!Gojo, who stands frozen, unable to form a sentence. You sit him down and tell him gently, with the grace only someone who’s accepted their fate can muster. Your voice is soft but steady, carrying the weight of truth like you’ve been holding it for a while.

Blind!Gojo, clenches his jaw, but he doesn't say a word. You continue and tell him your story because you have to, because he deserves to know.

It’s terminal: stage 4 cancer. It’s been coming for a while. And you didn’t want to be remembered as someone fading away; you wanted to live until the very end. If your parents had it their way, they would’ve had you locked up, hooked to machines, and waiting for miracles that wouldn’t come; but you didn’t want to just exist, you want to live. 

Thankfully, Doctor Zayne always took your side, allowing you to live your life freely as long as you came to your weekly checkups. Satoru Gojo becoming your best friend gave you something to live for.

Blind!Gojo, who finally breaks down, and for the first time, you let him hold you. The realization hits him like a truck. That day at the hospital – the day you two met, when he brushed you off like just another forgettable voice. You were there because you were dying. And he, blind in more ways than one, was cruel to the only person who truly saw him.

He’s come a long way since then, you both have, and he thanks you for it. That night, you share an intimacy that’s more than physical. It’s raw, it’s real, it’s everything that could have been. He uses his hands to explore your face, body, and every crevice he can find. And for the first time since the accident, while you both make love together, he feels he can truly see again.

“I… see you,” he whispers, large hands gently scanning your face. “I see you.”

Blind!Gojo, who wakes up to an empty bed weeks later. You're…  gone. You passed peacefully, but not without preparing something first.

Blind!Gojo, who receives a call from your doctor. You’d already signed the forms and left behind instructions. You wanted him to have your eyes. A match was possible (something you secretly discovered while making preparations). A chance, however slim, to give him back a part of what he lost.

Blind!Gojo, who undergoes the transplant, and for the first time since the accident, opens his eyes to a world that’s both brighter… and lonelier. The first thing he sees after his eyes are healed is your photo on the podcast desk.

Satoru Gojo, who returns to the podcast, now titled “Through Her Eyes”. He speaks about grief, growth, humility, and healing. He no longer talks just to be heard anymore. He talks because you taught him how to feel.

Satoru Gojo, once the world's most sought-after model, now just a man with a heart full of regret and eyes that only see because of the woman who changed him.

a/n: this was the first time i ever did headcanons before and it was lwk fun. it also helped me overall (as a writer) to thoroughly outline the story for the full fic (+ the full fic will have the extended spicy scene). im still working on it among my other million drafts, im just really slow whenever I don't have motivation.

not sure if you guys want to be tagged in this so PLEASE read the above cw notes so you don't get spoiled! tags: @emochosoluvr, @mashtura, @pickledsoda

satoru gojo

[pascaloverx]

HAUNTED

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future. If there's no interest, unfortunately, I will be abandoning the idea.

AO3 LINK ONE

© credits for the owners of the pictures used. they don't belong to me. credit is not mine for the pictures.

PREVIEW

Strange noises surround you, and the brightness stings your eyes, but you want to wake up. In the distance, you hear a woman shouting for a nurse to come help. Is she a relative? A friend? You wish you knew. You feel connected to machines, surrounded by tubes, which nearly makes you gag. “Don’t pull on any of the wires attached to you. A nurse will be here to help you. My name is Lois Tryon. Detective Lois Tryon.” The woman speaks, trying to sound gentle but coming off as forced. She smells of cigarettes and alcohol. You remain silent, motionless. You don’t want to die—even though you don’t even know who you are.

"How long have I been here, Detective Tryon?" you murmur with some difficulty. There might be other important questions, but right now, this is the only one you need answered.

"About two years," she says, sounding almost excited about your recovery. A medical team enters your hospital room, adjusting and checking your body as if you were a doll—a sensation that’s starting to make you feel nauseous. The detective vanishes amidst the medical team as they check your reflexes, vital signs, temperature, and run several other clinical tests that will apparently tell them how you’ve woken up and if you’re truly all right.

Everything felt so secretive, with nurses whispering as if you couldn’t hear them. Two doctors were even debating whether they should tell you something or not. They decided to wait for Dr. Mayhew, whoever he might be. After a while, you drifted off to sleep, still waiting for them to explain what was going on. You had the same dream as before—a strikingly attractive man dressed as a priest making you kneel, asking for forgiveness for some unnamed sin. What stood out was how he always touched your face gently, saying that if you truly sought forgiveness for what you had done, you would have to accept your punishment. Then you would start taking off your clothes for him. The man dressed as a priest would then put you between his legs and spank you. He used to ask if you would be a good girl for him, and when you answered; he would whisper to you to take responsibility for what you did. And then you found yourself surrounded by blood and corpses, like a nightmare.

This time, you opened your eyes, letting out an almost desperate cry. There are fewer tubes attached to you, fewer wires surrounding you. There’s also a doctor—a different one from those who tended to you before. He’s lying back, asleep in a chair that doesn’t look at all comfortable. You wonder if it’s common for doctors to fall asleep beside their patients or if you’re getting special treatment due to the time you’ve been unconscious. The doctor is strikingly handsome. He looks exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and his breathing deep and steady. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t wake at your cry.

You try to get up, nearly falling back at the sudden motion, but on the second attempt, you manage with some difficulty. Unsteady, you grab one of the spare blankets at the foot of your hospital bed and gently drape it over him. But there’s something peculiar—you feel as if you’ve seen him before. You move closer, laying your fingers lightly on the warm skin of his hand. His hair falls messily over his face, obscuring your view. Then you recognize him: the slightly wicked priest from your dreams, too alluring to be a saint, who meted out your penance. Yet something within you stirs, as if he holds a deeper meaning, something that seduces and captivates you. You touch the scar on his forehead, feeling a surge of electricity ripple through your body.

Then he grasps your hand, pulling you down onto his lap, where you land anyway. You’re silent for a moment, staring at him. “You used to brush my hair away from my face whenever you wanted to tell me something embarrassing,” he says, his voice close to yours, a sly smile playing on his lips as he settles you in his lap. “You’d say that if you focused on my scar, you wouldn’t feel so shy talking to me.” You’re surprised, but you don’t move. Something about being close to him feels familiar, leaving your body unresponsive in his presence.

“I imagine you don’t speak like that to all your patients, Doctor…” you say, trying to keep a serious tone as you study the face of the man whose lap you’re seated on. He chuckles, clearly amused. “Dr. Mayhew to some, Charlie to others. But to you, I’m husband.”

The words startle you, and you jump off his lap, steadying yourself on the hospital bed. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” you ask, bewildered. You’re married?

“I know this might be difficult to understand, but we are married. Don’t feel pressured to remember—it’s all right…” he murmurs, rising from the chair and moving toward you. His calm tone, almost as if he’s trying to make you feel safe, is surprisingly comforting. Your gaze falls to his hands as they reach out to you, but you instinctively move to the opposite side of the bed.

“I’m sorry, but there must be some mistake. You can’t be married to me. Your face looks like it stepped right out of a magazine. I can barely believe you’re a doctor, let alone my husband. If this is a joke, know that it’s unfair to mock someone who doesn’t even know her own name,” you say, sounding slightly indignant. But honestly, what are the odds he’s really your husband?

Dr. Mayhew laughs, a sound both frustrated and enchanted. He runs a hand through his hair as if searching for patience. “It’s funny you’d say that. When we first met, you called me a ‘Ken wannabe.’ Later, you swore you hadn’t fallen for me because of my looks. When you remember that, I’ll be sure to remind you of it,” he says, his gaze deep and searching, as if his eyes are speaking more than his words.

“If you’re my husband, then tell me something only you would know about me!” you exclaim before he can come any closer. Your hands are trembling—whether from the intensity of his stare or some other reason, you’re not sure.

"You like to fuck when you're stressed, usually you prefer me to fuck you from behind but when you're pissed off, you bounce on me like there's no tomorrow. You don't like to feel pressure so I personally think you married me not because I'm handsome but because I let you be in charge. When I asked you to marry me, you broke up with me. You thought I was rushing things, and you couldn't stand the idea of not being able to give me children. You had two cats when you were younger and you named them 'Beelzebub' and 'Crowley' because your mother was very religious and you never liked her." He seems sincere, even if he's embarrassing you on purpose. It's obvious from the way he talks about your sex life, which you can't even confirm.

“Hold on, Doctor. We both know the sexual details were unnecessary. If I can’t remember other parts of my life, am I really going to remember what our… sex life was like?” you say, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Your hands are beginning to sweat, but you don’t break eye contact with Dr. Mayhew.

“Actually, of all the details I’ve shared, those are the only ones we can test right now,” he says, closing in on you with surprising speed. His gaze is fixed on you, predatory and intent, as though you’re his prey. Strangely, you feel no embarrassment—just a stirring curiosity to uncover this for yourself.

“Do you often suggest casually sleeping with your patients? We are in your workplace, after all,” you say, feigning reprimand, though part of you wonders if he’s ever done this here before.

“I only suggest it to those who are married to me. And honestly,” he says, drawing closer to you, his voice dropping to a whisper, “we’ve done far worse in both our workplaces.” He nods between himself and you, hinting at shared memories. There’s a tension in the air, something almost tangible. You swallow hard, unsure why his closeness doesn’t make you uncomfortable—but rather feels strangely familiar.

“You sound extremely dangerous saying things like that,” you murmur, holding Dr. Mayhew’s gaze as if daring him. For a moment, you think he might close the distance and kiss you—a thought that leaves you unsettled. How should you respond? You’re not even sure if you believe he’s really your husband.

“You were always one to take risks; has amnesia made you forget your true nature?” His fingers trace lightly along your arm, his gaze heavy with desire. He clearly wants you, yet that alone proves nothing. Whoever you once were, in this moment, you feel as though you’re standing bare before him.

"I hope I’m not interrupting the happy couple, but I heard Mrs. Mayhew was awake. I thought I’d finally come to speak with my most anticipated witness. I’ve waited two years for this conversation,” Detective Lois Tryon stands in the doorway of your hospital room, a victorious smile on her face. Dr. Mayhew doesn’t look pleased to see her there. They exchange a tense look, while you remain close to him, caught between their silent standoff.

“I don’t believe it’s appropriate to question my wife mere hours after she’s woken from a two-year coma,” Dr. Mayhew says, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “I’m sure you’re aware of her memory issues, Detective Tryon. It would be courteous of you to give her a moment to adjust.” You’re taken aback but stay pressed against his well-defined frame, momentarily wondering if he’s a doctor or a bodybuilder.

“It’s no surprise you don’t think it’s appropriate for me to question your wife,” Detective Tryon replies, her tone laced with sharpness. “I would have to reveal to her that her husband is a primary suspect in a series of murders. That he’s so determined to evade justice he might’ve orchestrated the accident that left her comatose. And that he’s been having an affair with the lead investigator of this case—while she’s been unconscious.” Mayhew tenses, a flicker of fury crossing his face as he grips your waist tighter. You watch as his features contort slightly, weighing the situation. You can’t help but wonder if you’re witnessing an innocent man being falsely accused or a guilty man feeling the noose tighten. For some reason, this only heightens your intrigue in him.

[bullet-prooflove]

The Ghost That Lingers In The Nighttime: Charlie Reid x Reader

Tagging:@kmc1989 @littleesilvia @wrestlequeen @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @beebeechaos

Summary: Charlie's becoming accustomed to the late night visits.

Companion piece to:

Risk Management - Charlie realises the two of you have been keeping secrets from one another.

Deals With The Devil - Charlie's fall from grace starts with an act of love.

After visiting hours, when the ward is dark and the corridors empty, Charlie sits with you. He listens to the rhythmic huff of the ventilator, watches the arcs of the heart monitor and he holds your hand squeezing tightly because he knows keep down in his soul that you can feel him there.

Between the hours of 10pm-1am is your time. He dedicates three hours of his day to being propped up in a plastic chair that makes his ass numb and his lower back ache, reading to you.

 At first he starts with the Tribune but the damn rag is so morose that he doesn’t blame you for staying in that coma. Instead he starts picking up the books from the shelves in your apartment. He’s been dropping by every couple of days to water your plants, sometimes he takes a nap on your bed because it’s the only place he can sleep without the nightmares. For a brief moment of time, being there amongst your things makes him feel whole again, like he isn’t waiting for the other half of his heart to finally wake up.

“Because you are going to wake up aren’t you honey?” He whispers as he reaches out to brush your hair behind your ear. “You aren’t going to leave me here all alone. You wouldn’t do that to me.”

That is his biggest fear, that you vanish from this world, that you leave him broken and ravaged to face this place without you.

The worst part, he finds of being in a relationship with you is this part, the helplessness. The knowledge that it won’t be him they call if something goes bad, that he doesn’t get a say in the medical decisions, that he doesn’t get to learn the ins and outs of the procedures. Every bite of information he gets is second hand, it either comes from the night shift nurse he’s befriended or down the CPD grapevine. He's not included in your care plan, he’s just the dumbfuck who has to stand up at a press conference and tell the world how sorry they are this has happened to you.

Hell, he only learned about the attempt on your life because an emergency departmental meeting that was called about the optics. He wasn’t even aware there had been an officer involved shooting because he’d had OCD conducting a series of raids across the city that afternoon which had required a blackout across comms.

If he was officially your partner they would have called him immediately. He’d be able to turn up at the hospital during visiting hours, bring you flowers, console your family. He’d be a formidable presence in your life, someone who  advocated for you, who vocalised your wishes. As it stands, he’s none of those things, just a ghost that lingers in the nighttime.

Bullshit like that, it’s something you’re going to have to talk about when this whole thing is behind you, because Charlie he can’t go through this again and he certainly doesn’t want you to go through it. He couldn’t stand the thought of you standing at the edge of his grave site in your dress blues, mourning the man you love but toasting to your superior. If something happens to him he wants you to be the recipient of his benefits, he wants you to get all the things that you deserve for putting up with his shit.

He sighs before he returns to the book he’s set down on the secure cupboard next to your bed, the one with all the get well cards resting on it. It’s a cowboy romance, Bourbon and Lies, you’d gotten into the genre after the two of you watched Yellowstone together. Eating popcorn on his couch during Sunday evenings was the highlight of his entire week. He can see the appeal of the reading material as he reads out some of the spicier scenes with a flush in his cheeks.

It's one thing talking dirty to you in bed, it’s another getting a hard on while he’s trying to read a love story at your hospital bedside.

“Oh honey, I can see where you got the idea about the whiskey from now.” He says when he’s reading the sequel out to you. “That was one of the most memorable fucking nights of my life.”

You licking it off his skin. The duality of the ice from his glass and the heat of the bourbon bringing him right to the pinnacle of release before he blew his load in your mouth. That was the first evening he spent with you, he knew he could never go back after that.

He groans when the alarm on his phone goes off. He would stay here all night if he could but he needs to grab a shower and a couple of hours of sleep before he’s out on the street again, pulling apart the entire infrastructure of The First Nationals, the gang who put the hit out on you. He’d got the shooter but he wants the shot caller, the guy who had the audacity to put a green light on you. Charlie had sent the pictures of his handiwork with Franz to the asshole from a burner phone with the words ‘I’m coming for you’. The son of a bitch has been in the wind ever since.

He raises to his feet, his thumb tracing over the apple of your cheek as he looks down at you in that hospital bed. The longer you remain unconscious the less likely it is that you’ll come back to him, the nurse had told him last night. He leans over the bed, his lips brushing over your forehead before his grizzled cheek presses against yours.

“Wake up for me today ok?” He whispers into your ear. “I don’t know how to live without you anymore.”

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[raven-dor]

obi-wan is worried about you - drabble #1

i was watching masters of the air and i felt inspired to write something about someone in a recovery room... 🩵♥️💗 - and obi wan felt obvious to me, slight self depricating thoughts, fluff, mentions of injury, blah blah blah more fluff but like slight angst bc they can't love each other bc of the jedi code or whatever word count: 824

Your head was pounding, the last moments before you passed out playing on shuffle in your mind. You groaned, squeezing your eyes tighter as if that would help rid yourself of the memories.

Anakin barking out orders, the sound of dozens of blasters firing, aiming for the man who'd shot you. Ashoka racing over, wishing you could reach up and wipe away her tears. Obi-Wan's fearful cries from across the battlefield when you crumbled to the ground.

You couldn't find the energy to wake up, to pull yourself out of this 'coma'. You couldn't help but think that no one would miss you, no one would mourn you. It was hard, having no family, no lover. The Jedi code, with all its benefits, made one feel terribly alone at times.

You'd made your own little makeshift family during your time in the Jedi order. Anakin, Ashoka, and Obi-Wan were your friends, your people, the ones you knew you could rely on.

For now, you were just another body in the constantly full hospital wing. Thanks to the Clone War, more and more Jedi were getting put out of commission. You were just another statistic for the monthly report.

"I know you're awake." Obi-Wan's familiar timbre cut through your thoughts, startling you enough that you jumped. He laughed, most likely shaking his head like he always did.

You felt heat rising to your cheeks, his laughter enough to make you melt. He had this horrible habit of making you a blathering mess, tripping over your words, and giggling at nothing. Forcing yourself to wake up, you squinted as the bright daylight attacked your tired eyes. "Obi-Wan."

"You've been out for days." He was forcing himself to sound calm, you could tell by the way his knee was bouncing at the speed of light. He was anxious about it, your injury. Of course, he was. Obi-Wan was an anxious man. "The others were starting to worry."

You scoffed, sitting up in your bed, ignoring the way Obi-Wan jumped up to fix the pillows so they would support you. "Yes, I'm sure Anakin is beside himself."

"Ashoka has visited every day." He skirted around answering your comment. "She brought you flowers."

You looked over at your side table, smiling at the pathetic bouquet, now wilting from the lack of water in it's vase. "She's a sweet girl."

"She is."

You looked curiously at the older Jedi, a mischievous smile etched on your face. "How did you know she visited me every day?"

He could have lied, he could have said she told him, but he didn't want to. He never could lie to you; you were his greatest weakness. His greatest- He sighed, leaning forward in his chair. "I was worried sick about you."

"I knew it!" You laughed, pain shooting through your ribs from the action. "You shouldn't have done that, Obi."

"You just crumbled to the ground." His eyes were wide, wide with fear, worry, and concern for your safety. "I tried to help, I brought you here myself. But you still-they said you might not wake up."

You reached out, holding his hand in yours. "You're terribly kind for worrying about me."

"Of course, I was worried about you." He looked down at your joined hands, smiling to himself. "You know that I- that I love-"

"You can't-" You frowned, squeezing his hand as if that could offer any comfort. "You know we can't-"

"I know." He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing the back gently. You sighed, wishing he would just kiss you, that he would break the code. "Have I mentioned I was worried about you?"

You smiled, leaning your head back on the pillow, eyes full of adoration for the man sitting beside you. "You might have."

"Master-" You sat up straight, hands ripping apart as the young apprentice raced toward you. "You're awake!"

You nodded, smiling at the young girl, your arms wide open. "Ashoka."

She jumped on the bed, falling into your hold. Obi-Wan winced, itching to reach out and separate you. He was sure Ashoka was poking into something. "Be careful, please."

"I brought you flowers."

"I saw." You smiled, placing a comforting hand on her cheek. "You're very sweet for doing that."

"Did it help?" She crossed her legs, eyes wide as she waited for a response. "I hope it helped."

"It did." You nodded. "I think the smell from the bouquet lifted me out of my sleep."

"Good!" She was fully grinning. "I'm glad."

Obi-Wan simply watched, heart twisting at the sight. You had a comforting presence, one that instantly melted anyone's defensive nature. Seeing you with Ashoka was especially painful, as his mind drifted to forbidden thoughts of a family with you. With children.

For now, as he laughed at the young girl bothering you, this would do. Your smile was enough, the secret promise you had made with each other was enough.

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[erwinsvow]

being popes wife while he’s in prison means the most world shattering sex when he gets out he is not gonna stop for HOURS you really would just have to let him get it out of his system and fuck you into a coma

this actually made me like almost faint i'm not even kidding. i'm just gonna set aside the internal worry i have that nothing i write for him makes any sense or is out of character and just write about this for a minute thank you -> i wrote this like a week ago and never answered and look how far we've come so i'm gonna post it because this is the anon that started it all!!!! wherever you are thank you!!

in my perfect little world he would go to his old apartment first, before going to the house. you, his perfect little wife, would be the devoted type who came to visit him once a week, once every two weeks if you really had to. it's a really long drive but it was always worth it to you. the type who without fail asks his family if anyone wants to come with you this week. in my little au i would make her a nurse who works three on, four off and she uses those four to go visit pope, sometimes staying overnight in some hotel and then visiting again the next day before she drives home. as much as it means to pope that you would drive so long to see him week after week, i don't think he would like it. he would think it's too dangerous for you to drive eight hours by yourself, that it's dangerous to visit him when there's so many leering, unbelieving eyes that this is the wife that pope's been hiding back at home. and i think he wouldn't want you to see him like this, even though you're just moping at home, that this is the part of each week you look forward to. i don't know, maybe even after a year of marriage before he got arrested and the time you've been going to visit him, pope can't process that there is someone in his life who loves him this much. that he's not a burden, that you're not scared, that you do all of this willingly just to see him and hold his hand for a couple of hours, that you're always in tears when it's time for you to go home, that you answer his calls immediately, even if you're at work.

so you can imagine the kind of loyalty he has to you, since he's seen firsthand the kind of love you have for him. so when he gets parole, he doesn't tell you about it. doesn't want to get your hopes up like he did last time, and then he had to break the news to you over the phone and listen to you cry for the rest of the allotted time, and go back to his cell with the realization that you're still at home crying and there's nothing he can do to help you. so he keeps it quiet, drives himself home with the windows rolled down so he can hear the ocean again, thinking about the face you'll make when he's in front of you again. and fuck if it doesn't live up to every expectation he's had in his head for the last three years. the way you look in the comfort of your shared home, not just dressed up for him inside the barren prison. you're probably doing something that's part of your routine, the one he's had memorized since the two of you got together, cleaning up from breakfast and baking something since it's saturday.

you freeze when you hear the door open. pope's brothers usually tell you if they're swinging by, but they normally never come around unless they need you to stitch one of them up or something. you don't think they had any jobs planned for today, but then again, you could be wrong. but it's not loud enough to be them, you'd hear cursing and shouting and screaming if it was. a little stupidly, you step out of the kitchen towards the front door, without so much as a weapon to defend yourself. but you have this hope, that one day your husband will walk through those doors again like you haven't been living alone for the last three years.

today is the day your wish came true. and he does love your expression, wants to memorize it so it can never truly leave his mind. but what's better is when the two of you get into bed because he has no intentions of getting out of bed, because he has a lot to make up for. three missed birthdays—yours and his, three wedding anniversaries (and three other anniversaries, the first day you two met). all the times he should have been there for you when you had a bad day at work or got anxious around his family or needed him there, like when your car wouldn't start or the breaker short-circuited and the power went out. i've talked enough about pope and wifey's sex life, but same as the show, he goes to smurf's house after. someone asks him where you are. "i'll bring her by tomorrow. she couldn't walk."

EXCUSE-

[writingwisterias]

Dreams

Death Island! Leon Kennedy x GN! Reader Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hospital, Coma, Injury, Near Death, Fluff Summary: One Month to go before a well deserved early retirement and all he can think about is the future

If you like this then I'll give you all a big kiss because I worked hard making sure this one flowed correctly!!

An early retirement was something that he never envisioned for himself, his life never seemed like it would end in something he wanted to do. The grass in the back garden was finally tended, the flower beds blooming beautifully as he stood watching over it with a coffee in hand. It was peaceful, weird. Something he was never quite used to. The soft barks of the dog were loud as they echoed in the open space. His money that he saved was more than enough to treat himself to this space, though it often felt too lonely. Until he found you, the light of his life. You just slotted yourself into his world without even trying. You worked perfectly understanding his duties and responsibilities he had to fulfil. The dog was next, a retired police dog. A protector in case something went wrong whilst he was away but he didn’t need to worry about that anymore. Not when he could see you from where he was standing, playing in the long grass with the old boy. 

He could see your smile the way you would pet him as he brought the ball back. It felt too much like a dream, like he never actually went into the office and demanded his retirement early after yet another mission gone bad. He felt lost without his work, his service. Having to train his hands to do something else other than fight, survive and protect. No hobby seemed to stick, nothing seemed to fill the gap he was left with. It was strange that he would spend so many years hating on his service, his job to then wish for it back. The scars that littered served as a reminder of what he went through, his medals of service shown proudly in a display case that you insisted on making. He watched you look at him, the grin on your face only growing wider. Your hair glowing in the sunlight as it blew into the wind. 

He wanted to reach you, to step off the porch and race to you. Scoop you in his arms and run through the garden with you. The dog following behind you both barking happily. Yet, his feet didn’t move from the back porch. His hand only raised waving at you. You never came closer– some days it felt like you were further and further away. The garden seemed to grow longer each passing day, the line of flowerbeds changing every so often. 

You watched him, the light shining brightly on him. His skin that was once full of colour -- now laid pale looking even more sick underneath the white light of the hospital. That damn beep engraving itself into your brain. You were meant to be happy with it, it meant he was still here. His heart steadily beat as you watched over him. Your hand clutching his tightly that your fingers grew sore.

There were others in the room coming and going, offering you food - drink anything you needed. They couldn’t help you though because they can’t help him. You didn’t want to cry anymore or return to a home where his side of the bed was cold. You didn’t want to lie on his pillow in case his scent got washed away even though that beep was proof he could…will…return. “Wake up please” You whispered as you laid your head against the side of the hospital bed.

His hand was cold, it shouldn’t be cold. It’s never been cold except for the time he bounded over to you when you were playing in the snow, shoving the frozen fingertips against your stomach as a joke. You remembered that night, the first winter in your new house. The one he always wanted with a large garden to play around with, to host family and friends with BBQ's and other events.

One month was all he had left, of all his service. It had to be their version of a fuck you that his mission had to have been another dangerous one, they couldn’t have just given him a simple chase like they did a few years ago. Sure it ended up being tied into something more but it was simple. The government showed how much they thought of him when they sent him there healthy and brought him back in a coma.

Just one month.

One. 

There were no more tears to cry anymore, your eyes were puffy from the amount you had been crying. It wasn’t fair. That he was so close to finally being able to lead his own life now he tethered on the edge of it.

“Leon wake up please” You begged again, voice waving as anger laced it. How dare he set it all up to just end here? You knew he was fighting that irritating beeping was proof he was still here. You needed his presence, you needed him just like all those times he needed you. The others jumped up as you spoke again, watching you with sad eyes as you screamed at him. Begged him to come back. You didn’t care if the hospital staff forced you to leave, you would come back the next day and do it again. Until he woke up. 

Leon continued to smile despite wanting to walk towards you. His foot never seemed to land on the grass, only hover. He felt bad, ignoring your smile and your voice that called out to him in a sweet tone. He wanted to warn you of the storm he spotted, the one that was coming behind him. He could feel the cold air trying to rip you away from him. Trying to force him to come back inside. Leon couldn’t…not without you. “Come back!” He shouted. You couldn’t hear him, not over the wind or the disappearing sun. His heart beat wildly in his chest. If only he could step on the damn grass. 

The beeping grew louder, doctors began to pull you away but you continued to shout at him. Even from the corner of the room where Chris held you against him. All of you watching in horror as Leon thrashed around. His hands gripping the sheets. You didn’t know what was happening, your shouts turning into whimpers as you stared at him. Watched as they tended to him. Your voice hurts, your body hurts, everything hurts.

Why Leon? Why did it have to be him? 

Leon turned around towards the house, the thunder crackled louder. He knew he needed to head inside, his brain was conflicting with his heart. You would come back surely. You would round the dog up and bring him back inside. You’ll come running through the doors laughing as the two of you are soaked beginning to help him shut the doors against the harsh winds. You wouldn’t stay out there, you would have heard him. The anxiety bit into him as he walked closer to the safety of the house, was the main light always this bright? You would shout at him if he found out you turned this one on and not the lamps. Always one for ambience lighting. The thunder was so loud, booming as it roared above him. Once he was inside he turned to watch you running up the garden to meet him.

Only you were gone, the flower beds had changed again. 

The nurses and doctors backed away from the bed, their bodies no longer hiding him from your view. They spoke to you but you couldn’t hear them, not when those eyes stared at you again. Chris’ grip had loosened, your legs wobbled as you approached the bed. His stubble bit into your hand as you cradled his face. “Leon?” You whispered. He smiled. He was here smiling. Your name sounded so sweet coming from his lips. You didn’t realise you could cry anymore, you thought all the tears were gone. “Never do that to me again” You laughed as you brought him close. “Please” 

It wasn’t until later - when everyone had gone home. With genuine smiles this time not the pity ones you had been given the past few days. Leon held you against his chest, his fingers working their way through your hair. He had been quiet, the silence at first you thought was just him getting overwhelmed by the full room. Or the numerous tests the doctors were running on him to make sure everything was okay. Yet, it continued as he held you now. His brain elsewhere whilst he remained here with you. 

Leon was the quiet hero, the one that was constantly praised and reminded of his success but never allowed to process the loss he had experienced. The saviours guilt that landed deep inside every time someone else died on his watch. Hero's were given parties and parades in celebration for their wins. Congratulated and recognised on the streets for their service but not him. All the work he had done was in silence, encase somehow someone linked him back to that one night that changed his world. A dark shadow of his past that effects everything he has done. He did what he did out of the goodness of his heart, out of just wanting to help people despite the horrors and baggage he has gained along the way.

His actions spoke louder than any words, that was why you fell in love with him. Why you knew no matter what he would have come back to you. Leon didn't love quietly like he was a hero. He shouted it to the stars above you, screamed it to any person that asked about you. You were his entire world, everything that was worth fighting for was in that dream he had. The survivors guilt washed away for just a moment when you got that house and he finally realised that he deserved something good. A slither of happiness to outshine all the bad. That was you. It will always be you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You asked. He flinched at your break of the silence. Leon sighed, his head landing on the shit pillow he had propped up behind him. “I was dreaming…during the coma” he stated simply. His words followed by a comforting silence, the space for him right now was much like all the nights he would return from missions and hold you like this. Only that was in the safety of your home, not the cold hospital that never seemed to be just as silent as you wanted it. “We were home with a dog, an older service dog. I’d watch you play with him in the garden but each day you got further and further away. The garden seemed to grow bigger and I could never reach the end. I couldn’t step off the back porch to meet you” 

“Then there was a storm, I tried to call you inside but when I turned around you were gone and I was awake” he continued as did the silence that followed his words. The two of you are taking in the gravity of the situation. It was then you realized his idea of heaven was his ending with you, the home you were in the middle of building, the garden that still hasn't been tended to. 

“I shouted at you. Screamed even. Begging for you to wake up, to come back - not to let it end like this” you admitted quietly. Leon felt you shift so you were sat up on the bed, your legs laid out over his thighs. Your soft hands landed on his face again guiding him to look at you. The world seemed to disappear when you did, nothing else mattered except him. Not anymore. “I’m back” He whispered, smiling softly at you. His lips touched your palm and kissed them. They were warm again, as were his hands when they touched your wrists. His fingers entwine yours looking at the ring on your finger. The same one that matched his. You nodded to his statement. “Maybe my shouting was the storm, waking you up from your dream?” You spoke again, leaning against his chest. Your head tucked neatly underneath his chin. “Well your anger and love can sometimes be like a raging storm” he teased. 

He was back, finally. Your bed would be warm again, the house would feel like home once more. “At least your recovery period leads up to your final day. I don’t have to worry about this happening again” You giggled. Leon smiled, his own chuckle leaving his lips briefly. “You’re doing all the gardening though, I have an idea for what it should look like. Now that I've had time to think about what the future might be like.” 

[revelboo]

Coma kid updates? 🥺 I love him sm

Sure!

Coma Kid Pt 10

B-127 x Reader

• “Not my favorite place,” he says, laughing and pressing those memories firmly down where they can’t hurt him anymore. Wishing them away. “You never really know how many levels there are until you know.” Can’t even remember what he’d done wrong to get sent down there anymore. Who he’d annoyed. Processor just refusing to dredge the memory up. Burying it with everything else that hurts him.

• He’s smiling and his tone hasn’t changed, but there’s almost panic in his optics. Something real under the constant yammering. “How long were you down there?” You ask and his smile wavers slightly, one corner of his mouth pulling in almost a nervous tic. Alone. He’d mentioned that he’d still have been alone if not for Optimus finding him. “Bee?” Why does that thought bother you? Him all alone, nervously talking to himself, to the walls. Or had he just existed in silence and now that he has someone to talk to, he can’t shut up?

• “You’d think I’d remember, but honestly, I was there so long, I have no idea,” he says, grinning so wide his face hurts. Doesn’t want to talk about it. About before. To remember the glow of the incinerator and the almost hypnotic pulses as things just ceased to exist. There had been a purity in it. A flash of heat and light and then nothing. Quick. It would have been quick. Maybe painless. “Are you hungry? Let me find you something.” And you grab his wrist when he tries to slide you off his chassis.

• As eager as he is to chatter nonstop, this he doesn’t want to talk about and it makes you more determined to hear it. “What did you do down there?” Alone. And those blue optics stare at your hand on his arm, smile becoming slightly manic. Slightly strained. Why can’t you just let it go? Why does it matter to you when you’re planning on escaping anyway? If you take it at face value, he was sent fifty levels underground if you’re understanding him correctly. Alone. A punishment? Your mind keeps hanging on to him down in a dark space by himself.

• Staring at your little hand on him, he can’t meet your eyes. Mouth opening and closing, not wanting to remember, but you’re his mate. Shouldn’t keep secrets from you if he wants you to trust him. “I watched the conveyor belt,” he says, words slow. “There was a chute that fed it and the belt carried it to the incinerator. I can still hear the sounds, the belt humming, the incinerator opening and closing. I was supposed to sort what came down, look for anything salvageable.” Scrap. It had mostly been scrap. But sometimes, it was broken bodies. Cybertronians thrown away like trash. The first time one had come through, it was a head and part of a torso, dead optics staring. He’d fallen down recoiling from it, staring at that mouth yawning open in a silent scream. Too frozen to lunge and stop the belt, watching in horror as the body was fed into the flame. And then pretending it away. Lying to himself that he was wrong. His processor playing tricks on him. There’d been no body. And he just kept lying.

Previous

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[muliwamm]

So Pretty

Summary: Takes place in Dr. Stone Season 2 episode 11 where Tsukasa is about to get put in the freezer by senku, but he wants to talk to you one last time.

Cw: use of y/n one time, angst, SPOILERS!! I think that's all

Pairings: Shishio Tsukasa x Fem!reader

A/n: um.... happy valentine's day 🤩🤩

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

"...It's because Mario only thinks he's huge because he ate the mushroom," Senku laughs as he fiddles with tubes and cords connecting to the large freezer.

"He's tripping balls. Ten billion percent tripping," he says as his body tenses.

"Right?"

"Am I right?"

Silence.

"Am I right, Tsukasa?" Senku huffs with a tinge of hurt laced through his tone.

"Senku..." Tsukasa whispers from his resting place on the makeshift stretcher.

"Hm?" Senku hums with his back still facing Tsukasa.

"Can you... Can I talk to y/n? One last time?" Tsukasa mumbles hoarsly.

"Oh, yeah. Sure. Let me go get her," Senku walks out the cave but doesnt make it far because you were lurking around the corner anyway.

You couldn't walk away. You couldn't just leave him there. You had hoped that things could turn out differently. That maybe Senku was able to find a solution to quickly re-petrify Tsukasa so then you guys can easily revive him again.

You knew it wouldn't be that easy. Not in this world, no.

Senku was smart, but there was a ten billion percent chance that he couldn't find a way to turn Tsukasa back to stone in under 4 days. Additionally, no one in your relatively small congregation of people was a surgeon or had remotely any medical experience.

So here you were, sitting on your knees beside Tsukasa as his body slowly but surely gives out.

"So..." you mutter, failing to keep eye contact with him.

"So," he croaks, giving you a weak smile.

"We've officially been dating for 1 week, 14 hours, 17 minutes and... 35 seconds," you say, sounding defeated.

"Heh, you've been counting, pretty girl?" He let's out a faint laugh, not too hard as it physically pains him to let out anymore than that.

A tear falls down you cheek and lands onto the hard stone floor of the cold cave.

"C'mere," Tsukasa says, signaling you with his finger to lay next to him. You slot yourself in an open space next to him, laying on your side.

Tsukasa turns his head so it faces you. "You're so pretty," he smiles softly.

You eyes water even more at the sight of his drooping eyes and dark circles. You bring a hand up to gently cup his face and rest your forehead on his.

"Wish I told you sooner," you cry softly.

His features soften as he watches tears stream down your face.

"It was unavoidable," he whispers.

"But if I told you earlier then maybe we wouldn't be here. You would have never left and we could have all stayed together," you huff.

"You, me, Senku, Taiju and Yuzuriha. Us against the world," you search Tsukasa's eyes for something, half expecting him to jump up and say it was all some prank and he's actually okay. He doesn't.

You told Tsukasa you had feelings for him after the cease fire of the Stone Wars. You had known him before the entire world got turned to stone. He was your best friend and you stuck by him the entire time since his sister was in a coma.

You think you fell for him freshman year of high school but it could have been sooner. All you know is that you fell in love with Shishio Tsukasa and you dont think you could ever stop loving him.

"I know... but the time we did have together was great, no? And I trust..." Tsukasa starts, but pauses to take a breath.

"I trust that Senku will figure out what caused all this, and then I can be with you again." He says.

"I love you," you cry harder.

"I love you too, angel," he kisses your forehead.

"Dont loose yourself because of me, okay? Keep being the smart, amazing girl I've always known." He says.

"Promise?" Tsukasa asks.

"I promise."

You stroke his cheek softly as you bring your head closer to ever so gently kiss him. It was so passionate yet so soft and your head felt like it was floating as your conscience fades away from the world around you, only seeming to focus on him.

When you kissed him for the first time, it felt like romantic picnics in an open meadow. Like eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on a warm spring afternoon as you sit in the grass and watch the clouds pass by.

It felt like coffee shop dates and evening strolls in the park as you held hands and talked about anything and everything. It felt like life was finally just beginning.

It didn't feel like that now.

It feel like your suffocating but taking a breath of fresh air all at once. It felt like the walls were closing in and you were sinking deeper and deeper into the dark abyss of your brain.

You hated goodbyes.

You both finally parted, staring deeply into each others eyes.

"M'so tired," Tsukasa whispered.

"Just let it happen," you smile brokenly.

"M'gonna be right here when you wake up, okay?" You say as your body wracks in shivers.

"Y'so pretty," he whispers once again while smiling. Your heart seems to shatter all over again.

You watch his eyes slowly close, his puples slowly being shadowed by his eyelids.

"So, so pretty," He mumbles one last time before his eyes finally shut, and you feel his once slow but steady pulse come to a stop.

You lay there for a moment, staring at his lifeless face and internally beating yourself up for his death even though you know it wasn't your fault. He and Senku had a mutual agreement on this. And those two, as stubborn as they are, always keep their promises.

And now its your turn to keep yours.

You hear footsteps approach behind you before a voice says, "y'ready?"

You lay there for a few more beats before slowly sitting up, and bringing Tsukasa's arms to cross over his chest.

"I'm ready."

[fatuismooches]

Would it be too heavy of an angst to introduce the concept that on some very rare unfortunate occasions, sick!reader has flare ups so bad that they're literally inconsolable for a lengthy amount of time.

Every time these severe flare ups occur, all previous treatments dull in effect, it was like the illness is evolving right before Dottore's very eyes just to torment him and his lover. That despite all of the breakthroughs, it all inevitably comes crashing down back to the very beginning.

The flare ups are not at all peaceful. Not mere lethargy or pallor. During these episodes his lover is often wailing or at times, screeching. Blindly swiping at anyone that comes near, mind lost to agony. Alpha had been deeply scratched on his arms once when he had to sedate them.

During these periods, the only true method is to induce a medical coma until Dottore found a new alternative to ease their pain. Even still, putting his own spouse to sleep for an indefinite amount of time left a bitter tang on the back of his throat.

Despite all of Dottore's vast knowledge, there were still things he sought to understand, a process that he usually found thrilling. However, his thirst to understand the unknown dried up when it came to the complications of your illness - he didn't wish to wait, to create a dozen hypotheses and trials and experiments to develop the same unhelpful conclusions each time - he wished to have the answers in his hand immediately so you would finally stop suffering. But of course, wishing for something that wouldn't come true would be a waste of time, and in true Dottore fashion, he did not waste a moment doing so, and instead took the matter into his own hands as usual, putting all his efforts into helping you.

And yet there are times when even the wise doctor is rendered uncharacteristically helpless. Sure, there had been flare-ups before, but he was prepared enough to quell them over time. But this was different, and he could not predict or pinpoint a cause. Even when you tried to sleep to ignore the pain, it ended up being too difficult to fall asleep, or you were woken up all too quickly, being thrown right back into the sensation that felt like it was tearing your mind, body, and heart apart. It's extremely rare for Dottore to feel dread in the pit of his stomach, but whenever he sees you crying out like this, he does.

Not only is any medicine ineffective, ingredients nearly exhausted from how many things the segments tried, they can hardly even get through to you with words, and any soothing phrases go unheard. They are frantic, even the older ones are worried - but it's nothing compared to the state you're in. Everything about it feels wrong - it's wrong you have to deal with it, it's wrong to watch your descent of pain, it's wrong that nothing he ever tries is a complete excess, it's wrong to use force on you to help you.

Only in a rare moment of lucidity can you cling to your husband's legs and weep, the words falling out your mouth hardly coherent but the pleas for help are more than obvious. And with that Dottore can only gently hold you before wordlessly injecting you with something that makes you go limp in his arms. At least now, you're no longer conscious of your pain - he'll make sure to slip you into a land of dreams where nothing hurts. But the fact is that you should be here with him instead, unhurt, but he can't do that for you, the taste of failure fresh on his tongue.

When you're finally brought back to reality, you'd expect Dottore to be happy that you're finally with him again. And well, he absolutely is, just not in the... most obvious way. When you squeeze his hand and thank him for helping you, he finds it difficult to look at you. He deserves no thanks for temporary relief. He deserves none of your gentle touch from robbing you of your precious time. Any of that makes him grit his teeth, feeling bitter although the moment is supposed to be sweet. But he can't make the feeling go away, at least not anytime soon.

[mrshowlettsgarden]

hiiii can i please request prompt 11? thank u!!

─➭ i got two requests for this prompt! ugh, I wish somebody would hold my hand the way logan would. hope you guys love this one! - kaya <3 (prompt list)

Hold My Hand, Please - Logan Howlett: the one where you get anxious, and he notices

─➭ pairing: Logan Howlett x professor!fem!reader

─➭ content warning: prompt #11, very mild anxiety, comfort, soft!logan

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Logan noticed right away when he first met you that you play with your fingers when you're nervous. But after the last few months he’s spent his time with you since he came to the mansion, you do it when you’re stressed too. Whether you're caught in an uncomfortable situation, you’re thinking, or simply when he’s around you.

But for the last reason he hasn't come to that conclusion yet and he does not need to know that he makes you nervous in a good way. 

Sometimes you tap each finger on the opposite hand with your thumb once or even twice per finger. Other times if you’re wearing a ring or rings you continuously turn the ring over and over again, along with turning it the opposite direction. Another time he’s seen you pick at the skin of your fingers but that one is a rarity. You’ll even tap your nails on each other to a beat.

It seems that you play with your hands and fingers to distract you from whatever it is that’s pushing your buttons, but he can sense that sometimes it does little to nothing to help.

During his time at the mansion, he's made it a routine to check on you when you're hiding in the greenhouse at night. It puts himself at ease even though he knows you’re safe in your element. And he enjoys the quiet walk towards the greenhouse away from the chaos going on back inside the house.

Today he noticed that you’ve been in the greenhouse all day. You haven’t come inside the house at all so he went to check on you.

As he walks towards the door, he senses something is off right away. Especially with the way the branches nearly threw the door open in his presence. He scrunches his eyebrows as he picks up his pace to find you. 

“Y/n?” he called out as he walked further through with caution.

“Over here, Logan,” he hears your soft voice come from his far right.

He comes out from one of the flower covered archways to find you standing in front of the chalkboard that’s filled with a bunch of letters and numbers that he can’t find the will to decipher. When he walks closer to you, he sees that you're rolling a piece of chalk between the pads of your fingers as you stare holes into the board. 

“Hey, you alright?” he asks as he stands next to you mimicking your stance in front of the board.

“What makes you think that I’m not?” a gentle smile graces your lips as you continue to roll the chalk all over your fingers. 

You haven't looked over at him yet. Too afraid to lose the pattern that you’ve been studying about a plant Charles had given you this morning. You’ve never met a more stubborn plant before, and it's been hard to communicate with it because well… you almost want to say it too shy to speak.

It has an unnatural growth pattern and possesses something in the stem of it that has paralyzed those who’ve touched it with bare hands. So far, the ones who have touched the plant haven’t recovered yet. They're still paralyzed from the neck down and one is under a coma.

It’s a powerful and dangerous plant. And you just can’t figure out what the fuck it is… 

“Well, for one thing you almost tore the door off while I was walking up here,” he smirks as he gazes through your neat writing. But the jumbled up words and numbers is hurting his eyes."Jeez, are ya' tryna' create a new math equation in here?" he jokes.

A small, quiet laugh was heard from you and when he looks over in your direction he can see the distress in your bunched up eyebrows. Upon seeing the look on your face, he moves his gaze to your hands. The grip you have on the small piece seems to have gotten stronger that it’s close to breaking with bits of it falling off.

“Hey, hey,” he says worriedly as he takes a hold of your hand, and you finally look at him. You have an upset look on your face and he’s ready to punch a hole into whoever and whatever it is that’s causing this. He removed the chalk from your hand and weaved his fingers between yours in comfort. “Talk to me… What’s buggin’ ya’?” 

You're almost in tears as the weight of your stress starts to release, feeling the warmth of his hand engulf yours. You look up at him and you begin to feel at peace seeing his hazel eyes matching your gaze. You sigh before explaining to him that Charles has tasked you to figure out what, when, and how this plant came to be. And despite literally having the power to help you figure out what the problem is, it’s not helping whatsoever. 

“I don’t know what to do, Logan,” you say in an uneasy tone as you look down at your shoes in defeat.

The hand holding yours tightened as he took a step closer to you. You feel Logan’s free hand lift your chin to get your eyes to look back at him and when you do, your eyes widen a little to see the most tender look on his handsome face. You don't think you've ever seen a look on him like that before.

“What do you need, darlin’” he says just above a whisper. 

You didn't have to think about what you needed because he was already doing it.

“Just keep…holding my hand, please,” you whisper.

Logan gives you a simple nod of understanding. 

“And I won’t let go till you tell me too.”

Even when you do, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to.

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