#you ever get a feeling where like. you know who sent them

[peppertoastuniverse]

something good – gojo satoru x reader

contents: gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru mention, ieri shoko mention, light angst with LOTS OF FLUFF, mentally strugging softboy!satoru gojo, lots of yearning, 2 pages of making out, slightly suggestive summary: gojo uncovers hidden memories and realises that all he needs is you wc: 3.6k a/n: thank you to the anon who sent this sweet request!

spring time, second year.  “.. it looks like me and you haven’t really changed that much, hey?” he says softly, the fondness for you showing in his younger face all those years before.   even when he didn’t ask, he knew that you would always be there. you were his constant. he didn’t know when he started seeing you in everything he did, if you could see his thoughts, you’d be able to see your smile reflecting back at you.

“satoru?” still concentrating on his nintendo DS, he sighs. he recognizes suguru’s tone, it either going to be a deep question or a fucking stupid one. he rolls over with a groan on suguru’s bed to face his best friend, his book that he was reading lay forgotten on his desk. “yeah?” satoru asks lazily, eyes darting back to his flashing screen. “who do you see yourself as in the future?” oh, here we go. satoru fights the need to roll his eyes. “what do you want for your life?”  “pff, I want to just fucking beat this level.” he says aggravatingly, groaning dramatically as his character dies again. suguru laughs seeing his flashing screen, previous annoyance disappearing instantly, satoru can’t help but grin back – he always liked suguru’s laugh. 

“...don’t you ever think about it though? the future?” the future?

he blinks. blessed with great strength and power, he knew from a young age that that choice wasn’t something that he was lucky enough to have. satoru never had to worry about the future, he had his whole life planned out for him. the thought never saddened him, and why should it? he wasn’t a fool and believed that all things were equal in this world. he was the chosen one, the future of jujutsu society – that was just how life was –  another consequence of being the honoured he supposed. but glancing at suguru’s thoughtful expression, the flicker of hope and despair in his violet eyes, his rough hands winding through his dark hair, it was clear to see that this obviously mattered to suguru. satoru didn’t understand where suguru was going with this but it was just like him to worry about things that didn’t matter. satoru sighs, attention back to his game,  “i dunno, it’s hard to say when we’re already the strongest. what else could you want?” suguru scoffs, shaking his head “you won’t be a teenager forever – you’d better wake up sooner or later, satoru.” satoru jolts awake, moving his blindfold up to rub his eyes irritatedly. 

shit, for once he didnt mean to fall asleep.

still feeling slightly disoriented, he hastily slides off of the couch, moving quickly to his room down the hall. groaning as he glances at the clock in the hall, he sighs hoping to ignore his slightly teary eyes. he was going to be late – you were going to kill him. 

satoru hasn’t been sleeping well lately – not that it was from a lack of effort. he’s tried melatonin pills, exercising before bed, even those sleepy girlie time party mocktails – or whatever you called them – but nothing helped. it definitely wasn’t the endless missions that the irritating higher ups were making him go on, he was used to the workload. maybe he was worried about something. walking quickly through his room, satoru wondered if you were getting enough sleep. did you have dreams too? sleep never seemed to be there when he wanted it. rubbing his face, to fully pull himself into reality, satoru could still feel the remnants of the quiet comfort produced by his unexpected dream. he felt shame at the feeling. guilt in the comfort. 

satoru didnt get a lot of sleep to begin with, but there were times where the extra hours awake weren’t all bad. he might as well be useful, which is how satoru started learning how to cook in the early hours of the morning, proudly surprising tsumiki and megumi with cute bento boxes. he would binge watch a whole tv series at once, determined to tell nanami all about it at jujutsu tech. but he thinks the best use of his time awake was when he was simply seated on the couch with you, listening to you talk about your day until the drowsiness would overtake you and he could just hold you for a little bit. he liked when you came over, tsumiki and megumi liked it too. just last week, when he saw your expression melt when tsumiki begged you to stay for dinner, giving into her like you always have. satoru remembers your grin as you sat next to silently pleased megumi, picking out the tender pieces of chicken from your plate to give him more of his favourite. when you were around satoru noticed that fushiguros were more at ease, and he couldn’t help but think that maybe it would be better if you moved in. but this was uncharted territory – a necessary boundary– protecting you from the rise and fall of his storm. his greed would have to lay dormant in his dreams. 

but the lines were getting blurrier throughout the years. satoru couldnt deny how his face would light up when you’d call him while he was on a lengthy overnight mission. concern smothering the delight in your voice that he was still awake (“satoru! what the fuck, did you even sleep today?”), he’d easy dodge your concerns, covering the fatigue in his voice with teasing remarks and crude jokes to your obvious frown.  “tell me something good, satoru” you’d say, seeing right through him like you always did, voice still laced with sweetness, wanting nothing more than to listen to him talk. 

taking wide strides across his room to throw something on, satoru rustles quickly into his closet grabbing whatever looked clean and appropriate. if he showed up in his crinkled pajamas again to a meeting again, you’d surely cuss him out. his eyebrows crease at the thought of disappointing you, he was supposed to make you smile not stress you out – he made a promise to himself to always look out for you and there you go again worrying about him. 

hastily grabbing the folded dark blue sweater at the back of his closet, blue eyes widen at a box toppling to the floor. its contents dramatically spilling across the cold hardwood floors. 

great. he didn’t have time for this. groaning, he quickly kneels down to right the box, his breathing hitches. 

strewn across his floor, he sees scenes of his missing dreams. photographs of his time at jujutsu tech as a student, his eyes taking in the many photographs that shoko had taken, moments of a simpler past. gathering the pile of photos, he slowly rifles through them – a photo of shoko and him with matching peace signs, a photo of you doing shoko’s hair, blurry photos of suguru chasing after you when you’d steal his cigarettes, snickering photos of him trying to climb suguru like a tree, a photo of you and kento sharing sandwiches. 

another lifetime ago. he picks up the slightly faded photo of himself and you, a reminder of a well loved memory. satoru shakes his head softly at the way you sat on his back while he was sprawled out on the gym mats, his glasses perched at the top of your head acting as a crown on your shit eating face.  satoru cant help but grin at his own small pout in the grainy photo. shoko always had the best timing. you had a bet with suguru that if you could get gojo’s glasses, he would treat you to unlimited free ramen from that nice place in shibuya with the fresh noodles for two months. 

satoru remembered how you’d excitedly roll off him ignoring his grumbling, “toru, you know i had to win! it’s suguru! have you seen how much sugu eats? that fucker would run me dry! but don’t worry, i’ll get him to pay for you too.” 

he never told you that he had let you win of course, not putting up much of a fight, distracted by the smile on your face – so bright that he couldn’t bear to diminish it. you must have had some sort of curse in your smile, even convincing a begrudging suguru into paying for satoru everytime, “sugu, you have to! he’s going to whine and cry, do you really want to deal with that?” 

after that month, satoru never went to back that ramen place again– too sick of it to go back. he could hear the creaking floors when the three of you would arrive,  the smell of the rich broth and the sound of suguru’s laughter when he teased you.   satoru knows you havent had shio ramen since then – you insisted on have ramen for every meal for a month to suguru’s annoyance. perhaps he’d invite you to go eat there again if it was still there. 

somewhere in his mind he thinks he hears the warm sound of your arrival, the jingling of the key that he gave you when the fushiguros first moved in. your usual light steps, heavy now with annoyance. 

“really, satoru?” you yell, annoyance dripping from your sharp tongue. “i’ve been calling you a billion times, this is an important meeting – we can’t be late again. you fucking said you’d be ready by the time i –” you see his still figure hunched at his closet. your eyes narrow in confusion, your tightened fist unclenching at the sight of his still broad back. 

“... satoru?” you call, voice softening as you notice the tension in his shoulders and the unnatural stillness of his too tall body. curiously you creep up behind him, your  slow hands feel his shoulders, the tension cold and heavy in his muscles, your hesitant hands leaving a trail of fire behind them. arms weaving their way around his slender neck, a place that you’ve been before. your eyes take in the photos strewn on the floor, visions of a past life swirling in his cluttered mind. your eyes widen. 

“..’toru?” you try again – more gently – calling him from the abyss, a light in a rough storm. eventually, you feel his large cold hand reach up to gently hold your right hand in response, his blue eyes tear away from the photographs, tousled white hair leaning against your abdomen, his tired eyes looking up at your concerned face. 

“hey.” he greets you, trying to mask his fallen expression with a hollow smile, a carefully practiced defense, something that he developed in childhood but perfected in suguru’s absence. but you knew him well. you knew how his eyebrows would crease or how his lip twitched when he was on the verge of crying.  

the dark rings around his eyes echoes you concern – were they darker than usual? you sigh as you take into account his far away stare, his icy watery eyes. crouching down, all anger forgotten, you look over his shoulder to take a closer look at the photo he’s holding. apologetically you let go of his hand in exchange for the photograph, sitting down beside him instead. you miss his eyebrows furrow slightly missing the comforting squeeze of your hand. a bittersweet smile dancing on your face, you stare at the photo, all words dying on your suddenly too heavy tongue. a photo of a past life, a happier time:  suguru’s exasperated expression contrasting his bright amethyst eyes, face fashioned in a pout as he was sandwiched obnoxiously in between you and satoru. a wild grin decorating your face, mischievous eyes closed in mid laughter at suguru’s grumbling, while satoru pulled bunny ears behind suguru.

“oh god, look at him.” you whisper pointing out suguru’s dark shorter hair when he first arrived at jujutsu tech. you almost forgot what he looked like before he – 

your eyes blink, you didn’t want to think about it. 

satoru scoffs, “i know, doesn’t he look like an idiot?” 

“remember how you’d make fun of him all the time? you were such a bully to him – he really hated you when we started.” you laugh sadly.  

“that’s not my fault, he was fucking asking for it! he kept calling me q-tip! or nepobaby!” he counters, betraying tenderness in his tone. “shut up, i know you liked it when he called you anything close to baby!” you quip back, face denouncing you in a soft grin. a heavy silence invades the intimate space between you two, his absence sitting in between you, his rightful spot now vacant.  suguru. you lean your head on satoru’s shoulder, his arm moving around you to settle at your waist instinctively. you look into his eyes reading him easily: i miss him too. 

suguru’s defection was still a sore spot in your mind. satoru still hasnt been able to say his name out loud, suguru’s name carrying too much weight. you suspected that satoru wanted to carry his best friend with him despite the heaviness, a sense of masochistic comfort. you hoped that he knew that you were always there for him when the time came, you still felt the hurt too. 

but there was a strange sort of solace that still lingered in his name. suguru’s memory was still soft if you focused but the pain caused by his name was still sharp and rough around the edges. when was the last time you and satoru spoke this openly about him?

the memory still hurt. a wound that would reopen at any given movement, unable to heal, cutting deeper as time went by. 

mercifully sensing the pounding of your heavy heart, satoru clears his throat and fishes out another photo in the messy pile. a photo of shoko and himself, a cigarette dancing on shoko’s lips, gojo looking at her in mid conversation. 

“ewww – look at you here.” you point out, wrinkling your nose, “this really wasnt your best haircut...” 

he scoffs, the twinkle in his eyes showing you his amusement.  “you’re the one who did it – ”

“oh fuck, right!” you laugh, thinking about the very first time satoru begged you to cut his hair – shoko was away on a rare mission–  yelping at you when you closed your eyes in nervousness, resulting in an uneven cut. you both remembered how shoko laughed so hard she cried when she saw him. you definitely didn’t cut his hair this time, admiring his soft locks and even trim. you move your generous hands to comb through his soft hair gently, enjoying the feeling of his undercut under your slow hands. he closes his eyes, a please sigh escaping his lips, tension immediately easing from his body.

“it’s better now though, hey? makes me even more handsome,” he teases, his eyes still closed. 

“nah, still ugly. brings out your buggy eyes. ‘m so glad you started wearing the blind fold.” you mutter, still playing with his hair absentmindedly. 

ignoring his whine, you laugh, “wow, shoko still looks amazing though.. look at her cute little cheeks! I forgot how she used to put pins in her hair like that.” previous annoyance disappearing instantly, satoru can’t help but grin back – he always liked your laugh. 

he watches while a strange far away expression infiltrates your face, picking up a photo, edges creased contrasting the vividness of his memory. shoko and suguru smiling at the camera, while you and satoru were in mid conversation smiling at each other. spring time, second year. 

“.. it looks like me and you haven’t really changed that much, hey?” he says softly, the fondness for you showing in his younger face all those years before.  

even when he didn’t ask, he knew that you would always be there. you were his constant. he didn’t know when he started seeing you in everything he did, if you could see his thoughts, you’d be able to see your smile reflecting back at you. your presence somehow simultaneously exciting him and putting him at ease. maybe it started when you stole his glasses in first year, or the countless detentions you both got in. surely, it must have been the night that suguru left. in the darkness he wasn’t sure who was holding who, your tears mixing with his as you clung to him in your sleep.

maybe it was when you showed up at megumi’s school when he first got into a fight even though you were in the middle of a mission last month, a fire in your eyes. or maybe it was when you comforted tsumiki when she came home upset over a fight with one of her friends. maybe it was in the way you talked her through it, rubbing her back gently while you listened to her through her teary words. or when you ate all his mochi yesterday, cheekily claiming “you said you’d share, satoru!” whenever it started, he knew that something different was blossoming into maturity in the past few months – something that he never knew could be a possibility –  let alone for someone like him. 

“we should take an updated photo, we never have photos of just us,” you decide, turning to face him fully. “my phone or yours?” he asks, eyes still the photo, breathing in the way you smiled at him all those years ago. unchanged. 

“mhm, yours.” you say as he digs his phone out of his back pocket. “i want a good one, ‘kay toru?? i dont need any more photos of you sticking your tongue out..” you mutter, scooching closer to him. “oy, come closer – you’re so far,” you whine, grabbing his forearm urging him to get closer for a better photo. 

“c’mere then..” he mutters, gently shuffling you so that you’re sitting in his lap, as you hum in content at the warmth of his skin against yours. he easily drowned you, this familiar place, his familiar embrace. yet this time you felt the tide shift, something softer, vulnerable – the calm waters after a storm.  you lean your head to his as you both smile for the camera as the shutter echoes through the room. 

moving impossibly closer to you, he turns his head towards you, his phone lay forgotten on the floor. sensing his stare you turn your head to his, eyes questioning his soft gaze. as the air grows thicker bursting with the weight of years of fondness and poorly hidden desires, your eyes flicker to the curve of his lips. breathing the same air as him, you feel light headed, drunk off the very presence of him.   

inching closer he feels his soft lips meet yours, a fluttering feeling, hesitant and foreign but firm and sure. you easily wind your arms around his neck, sighing as you pull him closer, jumping into the deep end when you’ve been wading in the shallows for years. he effortlessly maneuvers you to straddle his lap, large hands pressing against your back, pulling you closer to meld his heart to yours, his hands begging to memorize the feeling of you. 

too preoccupied drowning in him, you hesitantly break away from him to breathe, only to rest your forehead on his. grounding yourself in the feeling of his warm breath on your cheek, uneven and heavy, your erratic heartbeat threatens to break the fragile silence. the air grew hot and heavy, buzzing with anticipation and nerves.  satoru bumps his slender nose with your playfully, causing you to grin. a relieved smile dancing on his face in reply, a silent conversation dancing in his eyes, a celebration of his love, a proclamation of his devotion to you, an apology for waiting this long, an admission of forever. 

needing to feel more of him, you move your hand to cup his flushed cheek, the sweetness in his skin grounds you once more – satoru was always the question and the solution wound tightly into one. confessions of the past and future swirling in his blue, you meet the weight of his tender gaze like you were carrying the strongest’s life in your very hands. his skin burning with your touch, you greedily move to kiss him to soothe the ache, swallowing his smile in your greed. 

melting with the reassurance of his lips to yours like a signature on a previously forgotten love letter, you wonder how you lasted this long without his lips on yours. you bite back a pleased smile as he reciprocates eagerly, deepening the kiss, tongues dancing, his soft lips moving in tandem with a bruising promise to always be yours if you let him. when your hands weave through his hair, a dark purr escaping his throat, reverberating through your core. his arm grips you tightly as his other hand moves to settle at the nape of your neck, feeling your heart beat in sync through his flushed skin. 

breathlessly, with great effort two magnets part, your hands loosening your grip on his soft t shirt. breaths tangling together, drinking in each other. 

still intoxicated by the feeling of you, satoru can’t help but nuzzle into your warmth, his forehead finding yours once more. his eyes still on your swollen lips, evidence of his want, his mind already on the thought of kissing you again, like he would die without the feeling. “y’okay?” you mumble, heaving chest enjoying his touch. 

he chuckles at the absurdity of your question, you should know by now that he was always okay as long as you were with him – the only time that he feels he would get better is when you were there. 

“hey – don’t laugh…” you mutter suddenly embarrassed by his stare, a deeper blush finding a way onto your cheeks emphasizing your growing pout. laughing fully now, his strong arms bring you closer as they wind around your waist sweetly.

unable to resist, you lightly kiss his jawline as his wandering hands brush some hair out of your face. “hmph, you’re such a dick and after everything i do for you too…” you playfully whisper without malice, leaning into his broad chest, rolling your eyes.

“mm.. how should i make it up to you?” he mumbles, slender hand tilting your chin up to force your gaze to look at him. as you bravely meet his tender gaze, you notice that something different was in his eyes.

“damn, i gotta help you with that one too?” you tease, giggle blooming in your throat as he kisses your nose gently. “well… i have a few ideas.” he hums, moving to kiss you fully, slow and sweet savouring you. “you always do…” you mutter, eyes on his grinning lips. 

perhaps now he could answer suguru’s question he thought as you move to rest your head on his shoulder. satoru knew he wanted you. holding you in his arms now, feeling your shy smile on his neck –  he knew that you were something good.

requests are open a/n: they did not make it to the meeting lol ngl this request was tough, but i loved the challenge of writing my first smoochie smoochie scene. reposting this as a stand alone piece for maintenance.

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[loganhowlettshousewife]

the librarian

logan howlett x latina!reader

summary: after the events of logan (2017), in a world where logan survives, he and laura move to a small town to start a new life. laura quickly becomes very attached to the librarian, and seeing you with his daughter makes logan fall hard.

warnings: swearing, insecurity on logan's part, potentially slightly out of character but i’m choosing to believe that logan softens up a bit after laura

this is the longest oneshot i've ever written so please be kind because it took a lot of time. my first language is not english, so please do not be rude when offering feedback. i am also not latina, so feel free to offer constructive criticism if you notice anything wrong in the fic.

special thank you to @raeinyourdreams for the spanish dialogue.

series masterlist - my masterlist

you love your job. the library is quiet, peaceful, and you spend every day surrounded by your favourite thing: books. those who come to the library are typically kind, hardly do you have to deal with rude comments or entitled behaviour. you get to plan fun events for the towns kids and toddlers to introduce them to the joys of reading. and on every school day, between 3:00 and 4:00 pm, you get to see laura howlett.

the first time she came into the library, it wasn’t planned. you live in a small town, with an even smaller school, and when laura’s dad failed to show up on time to pick her up, she was sent over to the library next door. she’d stomped through the automatic doors, her small frame tense with irritation, her jaw clenched, slamming her bag down on the ground beside her as she sat down at one of the small circular tables set up in a corner of the small building.

she crossed her arms and stared at the door as if her dad might finally show up if she thought about it hard enough, never sparing you a second glance. so you’d left her alone to stew in her rage, putting away books from the return pile, glancing at the clock every few minutes.

you couldn’t hide your staring when her (extremely attractive) dad finally showed up, heavy footfalls crossing the doorstep and thick, tanned biceps filling your vision. laura cursed at him in rapid spanish, and he grumbled that he didn’t understand a word she was saying. you giggled to yourself at the thought that you never would have gotten away with using such language at her age.

the next time you saw her was a week later, and this time, despite her heavy glare and intense ‘don’t talk to me’ attitude, you approached her. her gaze was suspicious and distrusting as you spoke, asking her in your native tongue if she wanted a book to read while she waited. she’d stared at you for a long minute before saying, “¿hablas español?”

she slowly opened up to you after that, like a flower blossoming in the springtime, short sentences turning into longer rants, into admittance of her inner thoughts and worries and struggles. you give her book recommendations that are popular within her age group and help her with her homework when she struggles with the material, translating words she doesn't understand perfectly. in return, she tells you about her school and home life, about how she’d moved here with her dad, about how she’s only really known him a few months.

you don’t know her past, only the glimpses she’s given you here and there, anecdotes she drops into conversations before changing the subject just as quickly, but you know that she’s struggled with adjusting to all the changes in her life. you’re grateful that she’s allowed you such insight into her mind, that you can help her even in small ways. you can’t help it - she’s wormed her way into your heart, with her quick quips and short temper and snide comments.

“¿crees que mi papá es guapo?” she asks you suddenly. it’s an evening like any other, the two of you working through her science homework together. you choke on your saliva as an image of logan howlett flashes through your mind, his stern face and the hard intensity of his eyes, his large stature and broad back that you always watch, entranced, when he walks out of the library with laura in tow.

“¿por qué preguntas?” you ask her instead of answering as you erase a mistake on her paper, blowing away the leftover scraps the eraser leaves behind.

“las mamás de thea estaban hablando de lo guapo que es.” laura replies, a grimace twisting her face. her eyes narrow as she observes your carefully blank expression. “¿tu opinas igual?”

you shake your head, clacking your tongue against your teeth, “mejor concéntrate en tu tarea.”

the howletts live two houses down from you, on a street of mismatched suburban houses and carefully manicured lawns. sometimes you’ll see logan outside, smoking a cigar on the porch in a thin wife-beater that shows off his large arms, watchful gaze observing the neighbourhood as though surveying the area for potential threats. 

he seems oblivious to the stares he receives from both women and men passing by, walking their dogs or going for a jog, faltering when they pass his house, interest and attraction and jealousy, staring for a few moments too long to be casual. he never gives any of them the time of day, doesn’t respond to their small-talk questions or smiles. his frown just deepens, putting emphasis on the lines that mark his face, a physical manifestation of a life of constant worry and pain.

you’re admiring him from afar as you often do, peering through the window above your sink as you rinse your dishes, when you notice a gorgeous woman approaching his house. she’s all long legs and glowing dark skin, walking right up to him with all the confidence in the world.

and logan howlett, the brooding, mysterious man who keeps to himself and hardly interacts with anyone unless absolutely necessary, smiles at her. it’s a barely-there expression, a softening of his usual gruff persona and resting bitch face, but you notice it nonetheless. the woman is clearly emboldened by his response and leans into his space as she speaks, pressing a hand to his bicep, skin against skin, mouth moving in words you can’t hear.

you look away, pulling the curtains closed on the window, preferring to watch the pale fabric sway slightly than whatever interaction is happening there. you scrub your dishes a little harder than necessary after that, but no one is there to see it but you.

laura packs up her bag, shoving the papers inside randomly, no reason or order to it. you grit your teeth at the thought of how wrinkled and disorganised it’ll all be later, when she needs to find something specific or when it comes time to hand in her work to her teacher, but you keep your mouth diligently shut, because if there’s one thing you know about laura, it’s that she’s stubborn and temperamental and doesn’t take well to criticism.

logan stands beside the front desk, not far from where you’re flipping through the pile of books that had been returned while you were busy with laura, his hands on his hips as he watches her somehow both rush through the task and simultaneously take much too long to complete it. there’s obvious adoration in his eyes, a fondness that can’t be faked by the best of actors.

“do you-,” he starts, stops, an unfinished question that lasts a few seconds while he chases the right words, “laura really likes havin’ you around. talks about you a lot when you’re gone. so i - uh - wanted to invite you over to dinner. no pressure.”

you beam, books all but forgotten, “really?”

he grunts in response, shrugging. it’s not much as far as responses go, not terribly enthusiastic, but he wouldn’t have brought it up to you if he was against the idea, you assume. so you place a hand on his arm, more for your sake than his, enjoying the feeling of his sun-warmed skin and the smooth dark hair against your fingertips, catching his attention so his eyes fall on you instead of laura.

you think of the woman you’d seen speaking to him a few days ago, and a thrill runs through you, a stupidly possessive thrill that you have no right to feel. there’s nothing going on between you and logan, just mutual care for a troubled girl who hasn’t made any friends in school even after weeks.

this is for her, you tell yourself. to make sure she has a support system, people she trusts, to hopefully get her to open herself up to the possibility of other relationships, friendships with children her age who can help her learn what it means to let go and be a child for a bit. but in your mind, there’s still a rather large part of you preening at the fact that you’re going to have dinner at the howlett’s, and you bet that other woman can’t say the same.

“just let me know when,” you say, “i’m not typically very busy so whatever works on your schedule.”

“¿podría ser hoy?” laura asks, bounding up to the two of you, “porfis.”

you can’t say no to her wide eyes and hopeful smile, so you close up the library early. it’s fine, you live in a small town and no one ever really visits the library late at night anyway. the only person who may want to visit has her own key, a copy you’d made after finding the same teenage girl sleeping on the floor of the library six days in a row, having broken into the building each time.

it’s a short walk to the howlett’s house, laura talking your ear off the entire way there, ignoring the looks logan shoots her when she inevitably switches into spanish seemingly without noticing. but you know what it’s like to speak more than one language, you know the way conversations flit in and out between languages, and you can tell it’s often purposeful, done to get a rise out of logan.

“it’s good that you can understand her,” logan says as he unlocks the front door, his daughter running into the house and leaving the two of you behind, “i can’t, half the time. probably makes me sound like a shit dad.”

“it doesn’t,” you assure him, “laura talks about you all the time when you’re not around and she thinks you’re wonderful. she said you’ve only been in her life a few months? you can’t be expected to learn a whole language in that time.”

logan ignores your praise just as you’d expected him to do, “i think you remind her of home. it was fucked up but there were good parts. and i took her away from there. i did it for her but she still had to leave everythin’ and everyone she knew.”

“i’ll gladly be that piece of home if she needs it,” you say softly, “you got her out of a bad place. i don’t know much but i know that. her home is wherever you are.”

talking to logan is frighteningly easy, and the conversation continues as he heads into the kitchen. their house is nice, clean but sparsely decorated, not the artfully minimalist look of a magazine cover but rather the home of someone who never really knew how to settle down, how to allow a place to become more than just a shell, a temporary refuge to eventually be left behind. it screams logan, and makes you wonder what exactly he’s been through. 

but laura’s things are strewn around the place, a jacket of hers thrown on the couch, comic books that have seen better days piled on the coffee table, school papers on the countertop. it chases away the cold feeling that would otherwise linger between these walls.

you help logan cook, not willing to stand around doing nothing while you wait for the food to be ready. you admit to him that you’re surprised at his talent in the kitchen, and for a moment his jaw tenses like he’s going to tell you something difficult but he doesn’t. his arm brushes against yours as you hand him the spices that he requests, and goosebumps raise on your arms at the feeling.

laura eats like she hasn’t had food in days, and says the meal tastes better because you helped make it, which makes you laugh and logan roll his eyes. chiding laura on her table manners reminds you of your childhood, and an image flashes in your mind, unbidden, of you in this very same setting but as laura’s mother and logan’s wife.

it’s a vision you push away, one you’ll allow to linger as you’re falling asleep but that has no place in your thoughts now.

“next time we should do this at my house,” you comment, without really thinking over your words, your attention on laura and logan’s hand that lingers close to your thigh under the table, not touching you but present enough to offer a good distraction, “to make things fair, i mean.”

“next time?” logan repeats, and you falter, realising what you’d offered. there’s a familiarity in the way you’d made the offer, a throwaway comment, a familiarity that doesn’t exist between you and logan - at least not yet.

“if you’d want,” you offer slowly, “and if laura wants. i just - had fun tonight. it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to do it again.”

and you do. approximately once a week you start to have dinner with the howletts, switching between their place and yours. they’re a familiar presence in your life now, enough that you don’t startle when one of them sneaks up behind you, impossibly light on their feet, the stealth of hunters stalking their prey. you’d told this to logan and he’d raised an eyebrow at you and smirked but refused to explain his reaction to your words.

you start to teach logan recipes from your childhood, the sweet spices and flavours that bring you back to being laura’s age filling the kitchen. you argue with logan about not needing a recipe, saying you just know when it’s right.

though she never comments on it, you see the way laura’s smile brightens every time you place a dish on the table. you hope it brings her a modicum of comfort, reminds her of her place of birth the way it always does for you.

you haven’t felt so free in a long time, and you come to the belated realisation that you’ve been lonely lately, something you can only differentiate now that you feel it shifting. you love your friends but they have busy lives of their own, and you love your library but books can’t compensate for human contact, try as you might. 

“te noto estresada,” laura comments, poking your hand when you stare off into space for the third time that day.

“lo estoy,” you respond, “se averió una tubería y ahora tengo que llamar al plomero, pero no quiero..”

most kids wouldn’t care to have a conversation about these more monotonous, adult subjects, but laura pauses in her homework to give it a genuine reflection. she taps the eraser-end of her pencil against the table, nodding to herself like she’s just come up with an obvious solution.

“no tienes que. mi papá sabe reparar cosas,” she says, “pídele el favor.”

you hate to take advice from a child, even if that child is laura, who often acts much older than her age, and you hate to bother logan even more, but you don’t make much as a librarian and if there’s any way to save some extra money, you’re willing to embarrass yourself in front of the hot man you may have a slight crush on. 

you broach the topic when he comes to pick her up as usual, and to your surprise, he agrees easily. you don’t even have to ask the question, as soon as he’s heard the problem he’s offering up his help.

he shows up at your house later that night, deeming it fine to leave laura home alone since there’s only a 40% chance she’ll break something. he’s dressed in only a thin wife-beater, biceps on full display as he hunches under your sink, the muscles in his back flexing as he works. you stay in the kitchen, using the excuse that you should make sure he’s not making it worse, but spend the entire time staring at the shape of him, large and broad and everything you want.

“thank you,” you tell him when he’s finished, handing him a beer that you’d bought specifically for when he showed up at your place.

“no problem,” he says, shrugging, not making eye contact with you in a way that’s uncharacteristic of him, “no point havin’ you pay someone to do it when i can do it just fine.”

“but you had no obligation to help me,” you remind him softly.

“you help me all the time,” he responds gruffly, “you deal with laura’s shit and don’t complain. you spend time with us even if you got your own life to worry about. it’s only fair.”

you frown at that, “i enjoy spending time with you, logan. it’s not a favour of some kind that you have to repay.”

he grunts an acknowledgement that you don’t quite believe, quiet as he finishes the rest of his beer, and then he’s gone.

it’s hard not to know everyone in a small town, forcing you to make polite small talk with people you walk by who ask about your life and your family and friends and how’s your job going? it’s frustrating, one of the reasons you plan your errands for later in the evening, when the crowds are thinner and most of the people in the grocery store are people like you, who don’t want to be bothered, and teenagers wreaking havoc in the aisles.

you’re looking at fruit when you hear someone call your name, a voice that’s not immediately familiar, which raises alarm bells in your mind, the sound crescendoing into a siren as the click-clack of heels approaches. you resolutely keep your eyes in front of you, hoping that if you look very busy choosing avocados, perhaps you won’t be bothered.

this technique fails immediately, a woman coming up to your side and picking up the avocado you’d just put back, squeezing it to check if it’s ripe. the act is innocent, trying to put you at ease, but you know better. if she was just here to grab groceries she wouldn’t have called out your name, wouldn’t be tilting her head towards you with a saccharine smile.

you’ve seen her around, though you can’t remember her name, an older woman with two boys whose divorce was the talk of the town for a few months last year. from afar she appears put-together, dressed in business-casual attire indicating that she hadn’t had the time to change from her work clothes, blonde hair slicked back into a bun. but up close you can see the strands of hair that had begun falling out, the way her eyes were tight at the corners. a tired single mother.

you feel a pang of guilt at the way you’d immediately wanted to dismiss her, remind yourself that you have the day off tomorrow so you can sleep in, and smile at her.

“so, i heard a rumour, and you know i’m not one to gossip,” she glances your way expectantly, so you prompt her to continue, “which is why i’m asking you directly. you and logan howlett… do you have something going on?”

you pause, considering. it wouldn’t be a lie to say yes, as there is something going on between you and logan, though you know how she’ll interpret the words. you know that she would return home and immediately call everyone she knows to spread the news, and since the townspeople hadn’t left logan alone since he’d moved here, it would eventually spread to him, someone or another asking him about it, pressing for details.

“we’re… friends,” you settle on eventually, “i help laura with her homework sometimes after school and we got to know each other from that.”

it’s a truthful answer, if not deliberately vague. you hate to be the center of drama or attention - there’s a reason you chose to work at a library, quiet and unassuming and not interesting enough to be the subject of speculation.

she giggles, a true laugh, her expression softening with a hint of relief. she bumps you with her shoulder as if speaking to a longtime friend and says, “well, just between you and me, i know a lot of women who are going to be relieved to hear that.” 

you and logan grow closer, to the point where laura no longer initiates most of the time you spend together. you introduce him to your favourite movies when he mentions how long it’s been since he watched one, evenings spent giggling at the television screen while laura sleeps upstairs, having gone to bed long ago.

hours pass so quickly with logan by your side, until the sky resembles a painting, and he walks you home under the constellations of stars. he hangs by the door for a while longer, the both of you drifting, not quite ready to part ways, but you both have jobs in the morning and so you reluctantly bid him goodnight, letting the door to your home shut behind you, hiding the way you beam when he says it back.

dinner comes and goes like any other week, and soon enough you’re standing in logan’s kitchen helping him clean the dishes. this is the part where laura leaves the two of you alone, not wanting to be dragged into the chore, slipping out in that creepily silent way of hers.

there’s a tension that clings to logan tonight, a darkness that’s permeated over the evening, one you’d noticed when he’d come to pick up laura from the library and had almost said something to you but stopped. it wasn’t unusual for logan to be silent, letting you fill the majority of the conversation with your stories and laughter, responding with comments that make you laugh, proud smiles tugging on his lips when your body curls into him.

you’re not surprised when he puts the final dish in the washing machine and turns to face you, something akin to determination in his eyes, though you hardly know anything that could be the cause.

“another parent asked me out today,” he says, “the mom of someone in laura’s class.”

“oh,” you say, certain being stabbed in the heart would hurt less. you’re suddenly slightly nauseous, and you briefly consider using it as an excuse to go home early, but you’re not a coward. you won’t run from a conversation that’s inevitable.

one day logan will meet someone, whether that day is today you aren’t sure, and he’s going to fall for them. you consider the possibility that that person could be you, but you’re normally good at reading people, at seeing the subtleties in body language to indicate attraction, and logan has never given you any signs of your feelings for him being reciprocated.

it could be that he’s generally just a difficult person to read, that over the course of his life he’s had to learn to bury his emotions in a way many people don’t. it’s possible, believable even, with how long it had taken you to learn the intricacies of his expressions, the way the slightest tension between his brows could mean several different things. or, you think, he’s just not into you.

“is that good?” you ask, instead of voicing your current thoughts, which are a mantra of: fuck, fuck, no, fuck, please no.

“no,” he replies like it should be obvious, “her son is an asshole who tried to bully laura on her first day of school. she punched him.”

“good for her,” is your only reply.

you feel awful for the way his vehement denial makes you feel, a pleased warmth spreading in your stomach, a happiness you’ll carry with you all the way home. it’s not your place, and yet here you are, hoping that he doesn’t find love, thinking that you’d rather he be alone forever than with someone other than you. it’s selfish, cruel, makes it hard to keep your expression neutral over the disgust you feel at yourself rising.

logan’s watching you carefully, “it is good for her. she almost got suspended but i think even the principal was afraid of her.”

the conversation pitters out, your answering hum the only reply you can give with your mind wandering. it’s the perfect time to ask, the conversation relevant enough that it won’t be coming out of nowhere, a casual query that he can refuse to answer if he so desires.

“but otherwise,” you say, “if there was no history between her son and laura and she’d asked you out, what would you have said?”

“no,” he says again. quick, easy, painless and yet horribly painful for you.

“is there anyone in town that you’ve noticed?” you ask because you can’t help yourself, the pull of curiosity is too strong, almost as strong as the pull that always brings you into logan’s orbit when you stand close enough, bringing you unconsciously closer.

there’s a pause long enough to make your heart race, the beat so loud you can hear it ringing in your ears, a hard rhythm that’s much too rapid to be healthy. you wonder what logan can see on your face, following the way his impassive gaze traces over you, catching on your eyes and the quirk of your mouth.

when he speaks at last you can hardly hear it over the rushing sound of your anxiety. “i’ve noticed you.”

“what?”

“you,” he repeats, shrugging like it doesn’t matter, “but i’m old and worn. too much for a pretty thing like you. and there’s so much you don’t know about my life, horrible shit i’ve done that’ll make you look at me different. i’m angry and violent and i drink too much to deal with my emotions, even if i’ve cut back since laura. and her, laura. i got a kid now. can’t force that responsibility onto you too.”

you lift a hand up, silently asking him to stop, to allow you time to process the words you’re fairly certain were not a hallucination. he refuses to look at you, jaw clenched, staring instead at his hands the way one would stare at a murder weapon, an angry glare that speaks of hatred, pain and resentment.

it’s that look that makes the decision for you. you place your hand on top of his, dark glare now pointed at your hand, faltering when your fingers trace the grooves between his knuckles. you allow him a moment of silence to process, content to wait now that your mind is no longer racing, overthinking every breath and creating unlikely scenarios. rather, you feel calm, and you hope that the way you squeeze his hand transfers some of that peace to him.

“is this your version of asking me out?” you ask when his eyes lock on yours, a raging storm hiding behind the calm facade of his careful mask, “because normally people don’t try to convince the other person to say no.”

“i’m not asking anything,” he replies, voice hoarse, “i know how i feel about you. but i’m a mess and i can’t ask you to deal with that.”

“alright, well, even if you’re not asking this is me saying yes,” you tell him, turning his hand so his palm faces up, lacing your fingers together, skin still slightly damp from the washing you’d been doing.

he doesn’t let go of your hand, but he changes the subject. you don’t argue. logan has some sort of feelings for you, though he hasn’t put them into clear words, and for now, that’s enough. you can wait while he wades through whatever self-hatred spiral is happening in his mind, the excuses he’ll give you for why you can’t be together. because he was holding back before, when he’d explained why he wasn’t good enough for you. he’d forced himself to stop talking, but you can tell there’s more behind that angry rant.

so instead of pushing, you let the rest of the evening pass as it usually would, playing monopoly with laura, her temper rising when the game doesn’t go her way, cussing at the board in spanish. she’s creative with her insults and you press your lips together tightly to hold back a laugh. you’re certain logan knows what she’s saying, or can at least make an educated guess, but he doesn’t comment on it.

she heads upstairs when she loses, stomping her feet down on every step, a strange contrast to how she often moves like a shadow. you’re content to let her walk away, knowing the anger isn’t real - she’ll grumble and stew in the loss for a bit before moving on as she always does.

“you need to know what you’re getting into,” logan says, and it takes you a while to piece together what he means, your earlier conversation pushed to the back of your mind during monopoly. “if you agree to this and then realise it’s too much and leave - i don’t think laura’d be able to handle it.”

there’s an unspoken, and me, in the way he watches you, vulnerable, something logan loathes to be. so you wrap your arms around him, not for the first time, but it hasn’t yet lost its novelty. you feel his body heat despite the layers of clothing separating the two of you from making direct skin-to-skin contact, sighing in pleasure as you relax with your head on his chest.

“we’re not strangers logan,” you say, “i know who you are, how you treat me, how you treat your daughter. and if more of this is what it’s like to date you, to be with you, i don’t see myself leaving.”

diversity december taglist: @raeinyourdreams @meetmypointlessaddiction @chubbyhedgehog @yxtkiwiyxt @isepod @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes

latina!reader taglist: @naggywaggy @mami-veracruz @spencerswh0r3 @gl1ndathegoodwitch @taextannie

[tsams-and-co-memes]

Just heard that Kat is leaving a lot of her online spaces because no matter where she goes, she gets bullied and harassed, and I'm speechless. She's a wonderful, talented person, and she doesn't deserve any of this. It's literally just a witch hunt at this point, which is so so unbelievably stupid

Why can't people just walk away when they don't enjoy things? Harassing and bullying people because they don't cater everything they do to your specific wants and needs should not be the default that people resort to. Anyone who does this sort of shit needs serious, professional help, and they need to go touch some grass or something

I don't like that this is happening. Not at all. I know I usually try to keep this blog as drama-free as possible, but I can't stay quiet about this. I've stayed quiet about a lot of things in my life for far too long, and I'm getting pretty fed up with it

Some of this bullshit makes me want to leave this fandom too, but I'm determined to stay, because I love the stories that are being told, I love the characters, and while the writing can be a little silly sometimes, I like it! I adore what these shows are doing, and I'm so happy that I can watch these things for free, because if I had to pay money to see them, that'd really suck, and I'd never be able to afford it

I will stay as long as possible, and I will continue to support the VAs however I can, because they're amazing and they deserve all the support and love in the world

If there's anyone following me that supports the horrid behavior that's been going on, anyone who thinks people are justified to target Kat, or anyone who's sent any hate to any VA ever, I don't want you here. This is my space, and I want only kindness and acceptance here, so take your bullshit somewhere else

I'm tired of all this nonsense, and honestly, I feel embarrassed and ashamed sometimes to even associate with this fandom. It is so, so bad, but I'm hoping that it'll eventually be sorted out and resolved

[writingtraumaforever]

'Green' Justice: A Courtship Mini-Sequel

Notes: I really hope you guys like this introduction to Rouge! Don't worry, there will be more of Amy in the future. I took creative liberties on why and how the other characters begin appearing, taking inspiration from Sonic X's reasoning in the show.

Summary: More and more Mobians are showing up on earth, and Sonic is super excited about it!.. Until a certain bat shows up and gets a little too close to Shadow for his liking.

Courtship Masterpost!

Link to my AO3!

Start:

Sonic has officially decided. He hates bats.

Yup. What’s good about bats?? They’re scary, they carry diseases, they can fly, see in the dark–

Okay. Bats are kinda cool.

Oo! And Batman!!

Anyway. So maybe he doesn’t hate all bats.

But he doesn’t like this one.

See. Turns out that when he and Shadow use Chaos Control to go Super?? It creates connections between worlds. Kinda like the warp rings but instant. So after the ARK battle, more and more “aliens” like Sonic, Knuckles and Tails started showing up from other worlds. This has been mostly kept under wraps by GUN since some humans feel threatened by Sonic and those like him’s very existence, thinking they’re too powerful and only seem to bring trouble wherever they appear.

Which is kinda fair.

But they literally saved the world from being crashed into by a giant space station like– a year ago?? So what’s the big deal??

Anyway. Sonic’s entire family pretty much is partnered with GUN at this point because of this. They’re started a whole new program called the ‘Mobian Project’: Mobian being the new term coined for their kind. Mobo-Sapiens being the scientific term. Knuckles came up with ‘Mobian’. Said it sounded like the words ‘mammal’ and ‘alien’ had a baby, so it made sense.

It all essentially meant that if a new Mobian showed up on GUN’s radar, Sonic and Team were dispatched to welcome them and help them assimilate to earth’s culture safely. Shadow came along if the Mobian had special abilities like Sonic’s speed or Tails’ flight, taking record of them to report back to GUN. Surprisingly, though, most Mobians were pretty basic. Just your regular anthropomorphic animal beings. 

The only one who had any sort of new abilities so far was a pink hedgehog Sonic had found named Amy. She was like. Crazy strong. And she could summon this giant and terrifying hammer out of thin air! And she was like. A witch or something, Sonic was pretty sure. She did palm readings and tarot card stuff, and she was rarely wrong– if ever.

He met her when Eggman used the quill Sonic gave him in exchange of working with him to fight Shadow awhile back to create a robotic version of him called Metal Sonic. Eggman had managed to pick up her arrival on earth on his radar before GUN had, and sent Metal Sonic to kidnap her. Long story short, Sonic saved her, and she was practically a part of the family now! She lived with Randall and Rachel, pretty much an honorary Handel now. And JoJo got a sister!

Sonic liked her. And she liked him. Her and Maddie really hit it off, too. And Shadow. He told Sonic once she reminded him a lot of Maria..

Anyway, Sonic was pretty happy about this little project they had going with GUN. And with Maddie, Tom and Shadow all keeping a close eye on the organization to make sure they don’t do anything sketchy, he had zero problems working with them. Especially if it meant helping more lost Mobians like him find their home..

He hadn’t met a single one he hadn’t liked yet, even though they were few and far between..

That is.. Until the stupid bat came along.

He doesn’t even know where she came from! Apparently it’s classified, but Shadow told him GUN caught her infiltrating their facility. She nearly got away with a chaos emerald! And evidently that’s all it takes to get on GUN’s good side, weirdly enough, because next thing Sonic knew, she was working for ‘em.

And partnered, specifically, with Shadow.

Shadow hadn’t seemed too mad about it, which just irritated Sonic more. Shadow always said he preferred to work alone, so what made this girl so special?? 

“She’s good at incognito field work, which is good because that’s my weak point,” Shadow explained, “And she can fight. Really well. I wasn’t sure about her at first, but it doesn’t look like I’ll have to worry about her holding me back.”

“I’d really like to meet her,” Sonic had so foolishly beamed back, excited about having yet another of their kind on earth, “She sounds super cool!”

She, in fact, sucked.

He met her nearly a week later when he was at GUN waiting on Shadow. He had been away a few days, but Sonic wanted to surprise him by being there to greet him when he came back. It was while he was waiting that he saw her for the first time.

And she was… blessed. Blessed is a good word for it. One that Aunt Rachel often uses to describe ladies with large- ahem, how does he put this like a gentleman?… Knockers.

She was all curve and confidence, looking absolutely stunning even after a long mission with full makeup and a few cool piercings on her left ear. Her GUN suit was very sexist in Sonic’s opinion– who authorized such a revealing and tight uniform for a field agent??? It wasn’t practical at all.

But none of that is what really got his attention.

What got his attention was the way Shadow was smiling while she talked to him. They were walking out of the building, Shadow’s arms crossed and an amused look on his face.

And her gloved hands— why do her gloves go all the way up her arms?? Who does she think she is?? The Queen???— are all over him as she walks beside him. One arm is interlinked with his own, the other hand moving to rest on his bicep as she talks about something that’s obviously just soooo funny.

Her pink lipstick makes every word she’s saying seem vibrant, but Sonic is sure she’s surely not that interesting.

He should go save Shadow from such a boring conversation. Yup.

He’s gonna do it.

He’s gonna go over there and stop her from harassing Shadow any further.

Even if he is smiling… and seems perfectly comfortable with her arm around his.. and hasn’t even noticed Sonic is there like he usually does the second he catches a whiff of his scent..

Sonic’s tail sags behind him, his ears folding back. He suddenly feels silly. Stupid. Foolish. Embarrassed.

He takes a few steps back, the need to run suddenly becoming overwhelming and suffocating. In the process of turning to leave, he finds himself tripping right over a parking bumper and falling with a little gasp. His eyes shut for the impact—

Except it doesn’t come. Instead, black arms cradle his body right above the concrete. Emerald eyes open and look up to see Shadow staring down at him with knitted up brows.

“Are you alright??” 

Sonic hates how concerned he sounds. How his chest thumps from his heart pounding inside it.

“Uh-huh,” the blue hedgehog nods with an awestruck look in his eyes. Shadow looks right back at him, taking a moment to examine him as if to make sure Sonic truly is just fine before he offers a small huff and amused curve of his lips.

“What are you doing here??”

“Waiting for you,” he answers honestly as Shadow helps him to stand back up properly, Sonic offering a bashful smile at how Shadow’s hands linger on Sonic’s arms even once he’s standing.

“You didn’t have to do that, I was coming to see you..,” he rubs his hands down Sonic’s arms, fingers brushing along the backs of Sonic’s hands before he lets him go. Sonic shivers.

“I know— I just wanted to be here to welcome you back,” Sonic explains with a little blush on his muzzle.

Then his eyes catch movement behind Shadow.

The bat.

She’s standing there smirking with a hand on her hip. Watching them.

Shadow follows Sonic’s gaze to the bat, clearing his throat and quickly stepping aside to introduce them properly, “Oh, Rouge. This is—“

“Sonic the Hedgehog,” she finishes knowingly, reaching her hand out to shake Sonic’s, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Aw yeah?” Sonic forces a smile and shakes her hand despite his twisting stomach at her acknowledgment, “All good things, I hope.”

“Mostly,” she winks, “I’m Rouge.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about you too! Agent Rachel is my aunt. She talks about you sometimes.”

“Oh?” Rouge’s ears perk at this, but then a playful pout is placed on her rosy lips as she directs her attention back to Shadow, “You don’t talk about me?”

And Shadow, the absolute idiot, nods immediately and dumbly confirms, “I’ve told Sonic of our partnership.”

“I’m flattered,” the bat grins, her smile full of mischief and coquet. Sonic’s stomach twists more.

 “Did you trip??” Shadow’s gaze returns to Sonic, seemingly dismissive of the previous conversation and still worried over the fact he just prevented Sonic from cracking his head on the concrete.

“Oh, um— yeah, I was just— I forgot I had promised mom I’d pick up another bag of Ozzy’s dogfood. He’s out, so… I was gonna go.. get that..”

Shadow’s frown looks uneven, eyes observing Sonic in a suspicious sort of way, “I could go with you??”

“No, no! That’s fine. I didn’t mean to interrupt you guys’ uh-..,” he awkwardly gestures both his hands to Shadow and Rouge before clearing his throat and, “cool-spy-conversation.”

“We were just debriefing and saying our goodbyes,” Shadow replies simply, looking at Rouge again, “I’m sure Rouge has her own life to get back to.”

“Hardly,” she shrugs nonchalantly, “Haven’t had the time to really make any friends here yet. Or get to know the town..”

And Sonic, the poor, unfortunate dummy he is, absolutely word vomits with zero thought behind it, “You should come bowling with me and my family tonight!”

He mentally facepalms.

Rouge blinks at his sudden loud and aggressively inviting voice, Shadow staring at Sonic now with a confused sort of look.

Sonic flounders a moment before offering a wide grin and awkward chuckle, “I just mean— we’re going bowling tonight. There are tournaments coming up, and my big brother is on a bowling team, so we’ve been going to practice a lot.. You could come?? Since you don’t.. have any friends here yet..”

Shadow’s brows furrow a bit at this. Sonic may be trying his hardest to seem cool and friendly, but Shadow knows better. Knows him.

Something’s up.

“That’s mighty nice of you, Blue,” Rouge smiles, Sonic’s nerves grating at the unauthorized nickname, “But I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing at all! In fact, with you and Shadow there, it would even out the teams! Whuddo’ya say??”

Shadow looks at Rouge, Rouge looking back at him before shrugging with a smirk, “I guess I could use some fun.”

“Great!” Sonic beams, sounding way too enthusiastic about her agreeing to come. Very forced. “We’ll be expecting ya! Anyway, I’d love to stay and chat some more, but I gotta run. Y’know how dogs get when they’re hungry!” Sonic laughs so damn awkwardly, his teeth feel weird in his mouth. “See ya!”

Shadow opens his mouth to tell him to wait, but he’s already gone. Only thing left of him is the small patch of dust he kicked up in his leave.

Rouge snorts behind him, “Sheesh. I know you said he was a ball of energy, but I didn’t expect him to be so skittish.”

“He’s not normally like that,” Shadow mutters, brows furrowed and eyes still looking in the direction Sonic disappeared off to.

“Well I’m not hatin’. He’s your man. Who am I to judge?”

Shadow just sighs, crossing his arms and his mind racing with possible explanations of Sonic’s odd behavior.

•••

“And then I invited her to come bowling with us!!” Sonic horrifically concludes, groaning as he collapses onto the couch face-first dramatically.

“Nnmf-mm-mm-mmf-mm.”

Maddie blinks amusededgy but sympathetically at the sight of her poor, destressed middle child with his mouth buried in the cushions, “…Didn’t catch that, sweetie.”

Sonic lifts his head just enough to clearly pout, “I said I need to get longer gloves,” his face splats right back into the cushion.

“Oh Sonic,” Maddie moves to sit on the couch, rolling her boy so that his head is resting in her lap rather than buried in the couch, “There’s nothing wrong with your gloves.”

“They’re not cool enough. They’re basic,” he grumbles with a little furrow of his brows at his hands, as if the white gloves he’s currently sporting have personally offended him.

“Not cool enough??” Maddie scoffs, “Oh honey- green is not a good color on you.”

“I’m blue, Mom. Blue. Have you seriously thought I was green this whole time??”

“No—“ Maddie sighs and rolls her eyes hopelessly, her hand resting in Sonic’s quills to soothingly pet through them, “It’s an expression. Someone who is metaphorically green means they’re green with envy. Jealous.”

Sonic gasps dramatically, “I am not jealous!”

“You sure sound jealous,” she points out with a quirk of her brow, “Not to mention- where has that classic Sonic confidence gone?? I’ve never heard you sound so insecure and down on yourself!”

“I’m not insecure,” Sonic defends with a huff, crossing his arms defiantly as he pouts up at his mother from his spot in her lap, “I’m just-… needing some changes. Upgrades! I’m finding myself.”

“You already know yourself,” Maddie reminds him with a little poke to the middle of his forehead, “And Shadow knows you too. And he likes you. Not some batty version of you.”

A sigh escapes Sonic’s nose at this, averting his eyes with a grumbled “I know”. Why’d she always have to be right??

He’s quiet a moment. His ears folding back and a vulnerable look in his eyes as he looks back to his mom, “But what if he likes her more..?”

“Well..,” Maddie sighs and then shrugs, “then it’ll be okay. You can’t fault him for how he feels or her for being the one to make him feel that way.. you care about Shadow, right??”

Sonic nods slowly, “He’s my best friend..”

Maddie smiles all soft and empathetic, “Then you have to be prepared to be okay with whatever makes him happy..”

Sonic frowns at this, looking down at his gloved hands with a knit in his brow as he ponders this. 

Is he ready to step aside if it means Shadow will be happier without him?? Is he ready to lose the guy he’s spent so much time with, so many conversations with, so many adventures with.. if it means Shadow will be better off?..

Yes. He is. It’ll kill him, he thinks. But he could do it for Shadow.

“But just to be 100% clear??” Maddie adds with a hand tilting Sonic’s head back up to look at her, “I seriously doubt that’s gonna be the case, kiddo.”

Sonic offers a tired sort of smile at this, “Thanks, mom..”

Maddie hums and leans down to place a kiss to his forehead, “Anytime, sweetheart.”

It’s about that moment Knuckles strolls in to grab some snacks from the kitchen and finds them like this, blinking at them a few times before immediately having a determined glare overcome his face, “Is it time to enact my duties as eldest of the sons of the Wachowski tribe and bring harm to the Utmost Being of Life??”

“Not yet, Knucks,” Sonic sighs with an eyeroll.

“Mm. I shall be at the ready,” and with that, he goes back to gathering his grapes.

•••

The family arrives at the bowling alley promptly as always, very good at always being on time despite their constant chaos. Wade is already there with a lane booked and warming up, Knuckles immediately going to greet his bowling partner merrily. 

Sonic feels like a pile of nerves, standing in line with his folks as they wait to get their bowling shoes. His eyes are darting around. No sign of Shadow or Rouge yet, but if he knows Shadow, he’ll be here any second—

“Boo.”

Sonic nearly jumps out of his quills, spinning around with wide eyes and a yelp to find Shadow standing there snickering.

Sonic’s glares at him, asserting a playful shove to his chest as he scolds, “Personal space, man! That’s a good way to get yourself knocked out!”

“As if you could ever,” Shadow rolls his eyes, still looking amused at his successful scare. Then he’s pausing to eye Sonic up and down with a small smile, “You’re wearing my jacket..”

Sonic blinks and looks down at himself with a light blush, “Oh! Yeah, it-.. it said it would be a bit chilly tonight, so I figured—“

“It’s 85 degrees outside,” Shadow smirks knowingly.

“I meant in the bowling alley!” Sonic lies with his blush deepening as he looks behind Shadow and shifts the subject, trying not to sound too hopeful, “Where’s Rouge?? She not come??”

“I imagine she’s on her way,” Shadow shrugs with a quirk of his brow at Sonic.

“Oh- you didn’t come with her??”

Shadow blinks, “..Why would I do that??”

“I just thought-.. nevermind,” Sonic shakes his head dismissively, turning to the alley worker now that he’s at the front of the line and asking for his shoe size. Shadow brings his own shoes because he refuses to put his feet where other people’s feet have been.

Which. Fair.

They make their way to where the others are waiting, already putting their shoes on at lane 13. Tails and Tom are making silly faces with the alley screen so that the tvs will play the silly bobble head skits between each turn. 

Maddie is helping Knuckles tie his shoes. Again.

Sonic swears having giant mittens instead of gloves cannot be that great.

Sonic can feel Shadow’s eyes on him as they walk, choosing to ignore it and do his best to keep his casual smile on his face. 

“..Are you alright??” Shadow eventually asks, grabbing Sonic’s arm just before they joined the others as to have a more private conversation, “Did something happen when I was gone??”

“Huh?? No! No,” Sonic chuckles with a shake of his head, “Well— not outside Knuckles traumatizing squirrels in the backyard by trapping them and having them compete with Ozzy for the title of  ‘Wachowski Tribe Pet’, again. Ya’know, I still don’t think he understands what a pet is—“

“Sonic,” Shadow says firmly, making Sonic’s smile disappear, “…I’m serious.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Shads,” the blue blur reassures with a soft look, “Everything is totally chill.”

“You’ve just been acting strange since I got back, and—“

“Hey boys!”

Sonic and Shadow’s eyes each turn to see Rouge approaching, now dressed in a simple hot pink v-neck and black leggings with matching pink heels.

Who wears heels to a bowling alley???

Her super cool piercings shimmer in the disco lights..

Sonic should get super cool piercings.

No…

No, don’t be green, Sonic.

She approaches with a friendly wave and smile, her hand resting on her hip, “So this is a bowling alley, huh?? Pretty nifty.”

Right. She probably doesn’t even know what bowling is. Makes sense.

“Hello, Rouge,” Shadow politely greets.

“Hey! You made it!” Sonic grins, smile spread far too wide.

“A lady never bails on an invitation,” she smirks, her eyes shifting to Sonic’s attire, “Cool jacket.”

“Oh, uh— thanks, it’s actually—“

“So this is the infamous Wachowski family, huh??” Rouge interrupts before Sonic has the chance to get it out that it’s Shadow’s jacket that he gave him, the bat looking behind them at their group preparing for their match, 

“Uhh infamous??” Sonic’s head tilts with a quirk of his brow.

“Everyone knows you guys. Especially at GUN. You all are who started all this, after all,” she explains.

“Oh..,” Sonic says a bit sheepishly, “Yeah, well. We’re just a normal family.”

They look over at the Wachowski’s and their two other Mobian sons preparing for the bowling match, Sonic having a fond little smile as he watches Maddie help Tails stretch and Knuckles and Tom search for the appropriate ball sizes for them all.

“Yeah.. normal,” Rouge smirks with a quirk of her brow, her eyes lingering on the echidna..

“Come on! I’ll introduce you,” Sonic offers with a nod of his head towards the group, the three joining them now at their lane.

Shadow places the duffle bag with his personal bowling ball and shoes down on the bench next to where Tom sits, beginning to unpack his things as Sonic stands with Rouge before them all,

“Hey guys! This is Rouge. She works at GUN too.”

“Rouge!” Maddie immediately grins, moving to shake her hand, “I’ve heard so much about you from my sister.”

“Handel, right??” Rouge smirks, shaking Maddie’s hand, “She’s a fun gal to work with.”

“Try growing up with her,” Maddie mutters back sarcastically before politely adding, “I’m Maddie.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Maddie.”

Tails peeks out from behind Maddie’s legs before stepping out and holding his own hand out now, “Hi! I’m Tails.”

“Aw yeah, the boy genius!” the bat gives an impressed little smile, “I’ve heard you give our technologies division a run for their money.”

“Heh,” Tails removes his hand from hers and humbly rubs the back of his neck, “I just tinker a bit.”

“You’re too modest,” she winks, Tails blushing a bit and quickly scurrying away all shy.

Tom is sitting next to Shadow— who is now putting his shoes on. He offers Rouge a little wave and smile from his seat, “Tom.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Tom,” she nods, “Donut Lord, if I’m correct?”

Tom chuckles at that, “Sonic tell you about that??”

“Shadow, actually.”

Tom quirks a brow at Shadow to which Shadow merely shrugs in response, continuing with perfectly lacing and tying his shoes.

Knuckles approaches now, having been conversing with Wade through most of this. He eyes her suspiciously, Rouge seeming to share whatever curious vibe he’s giving if the way she eyes him up and down is anything to go off of.

“And you’re the echidna,” she observes aloud, smirking slow at the older brother.

“I am. The last,” he says honest and proud, “And you are??”

“Rouge,” she answers, holding her hand out for him to shake—

Uh oh.

Sonic should stop her. 

Warn her.

Instead, he just watches with a knowing smile.

Knuckles reaches a hand out to take hers, “I am Knuckles of the Wachowski clan—“

“HEY!” she’s immediately jerking her hand away, trying to shake the pain out of it and causing everyone’s eyes to snap to the two at the sound of her yelp. 

Knuckles just stands there unphased. As if this is just how every introduction on earth is meant to go.

Sonic honestly doesn’t know if he knows any different.

“What’s the big idea?!” she glowers at him, Knuckles seeming a bit thrown off by her assertiveness, “You nearly broke my hand!”

“I was simply offering a courteous earth handshake. It is custom to this world to squeeze the hand of another when meeting them,” he explains as if he’s making perfect sense, and she’s the crazy one.

“Not enough to turn my hand into mush, you Knucklehead!”

Knuckles’ cheeks puff angrily at this, “Why does everyone call me that?? That is not my name! I clearly stated it was Knuckles—“

“It’s called an insult, genius,” she huffs, still clutching her throbbing hand.

“Insult??? You dare to insult me?! I demand a duel to the—“

“Woahwoahwoah—.” Maddie quickly steps between the two before things can get too out of hand, “no duels. No battles, no death arenas, no.”

Knuckles is still glaring at Rouge when he huffs out a, “Fine. We shall settle this with a game of bowling.”

“How am I suppose to bowl if my hand is broke??”

“That is not my problem. It’s not my fault you are fragile.”

“FRAGILE—?!”

“Okay! Why don’t we all simmer down,” Maddie tries again, gently ushering Knuckles away to create more space between them. He does the thing where he points two fingers at his own eyes and then points them at Rouge as he turns to return to Wade. Sonic taught him that.

Sonic can’t help but bite back a little snicker as he watches Rouge turn away with a huff, still clutching her hand.

His amusement immediately dissipates when he finds Shadow at him with a disapproving frown.

Sonic clears his throat and looks away, pretending not to notice.

Shadow stands with his bowling shoes now on and laced up, moving to Rouge to place a hand on her back and gently usher her away, “Come on. Let’s get you some ice for that..”

Sonic watches them with a frown, his ears bending back and a pout working its way onto his lips.

Well.

That backfired.

•••

They split into teams. Knuckles and Wade competing against one another for tournament practice’s sake, picking between the Wachowski’s and Shadow and Rouge.

Wade picks Rouge right of the bat (pun intended). Sonic is fairly certain this is because Knuckles demanded he have her on his team since Rouge has never played a game of bowling in her life.

“I’m Wade, by the way,” the deputy introduces as she approaches his side of the lane, holding out his hand to shake hers only to immediately put it back down when he only receives a glare from her in response. 

Too soon.

Knuckles picks Shadow, the most precise bowler of the amateurs.

Wade picks Tom.

Knuckles picks Maddie for “equality’s sake”.

Wade picks Sonic, meaning he’s on Rouge’s team. Yay.

And it ends with Knuckles picking poor Tails who doesn’t seem to yet have the strength to get the ball to go down the middle quick enough to do any real damage to the pins, resulting in usually a 4 or 5 on his first bowl.

Taking lane 14 next to 13, Team Wade starts the match.

Wade is their first bowler, going through his typical routine before rolling the ball down the alley and receiving an easy strike. The team cheering, though not surprised by his skill.

Knuckles steps up then, amethyst eyes locked in a glare with Rouge as he stands right in front of the lane and chunks the ball. He never looks. The pins nearly exploding from the impact of the strike. Rouge huffs. His eyes narrow further. 

He steps away to allow Rouge to go.

Stepping up to pick up her ball, Sonic notices her heels are still on.

“Oh, uh- Rouge?” she turns to face him, “As much as I’m lovin’ your bowling chic, you can’t step out there with those on. They get mad if you damage their floor, trust me—“

“I won’t touch the floor, no worries,” she winks, Sonic frowning in a confused way as he watches her turn back around to bowl.

Her wings spread before she steps out on the slick wood, flapping just enough to allow her to hover as she rears the ball back and then tosses it down the alley. 

And she’s strong because that ball flies!

It barely even touches the ground before hitting the pins, knocking them all down from the sheer impact of her bowl. She smirks at this, turning to meet Knuckles’ eyes with a sassy little “hmph” before she sashays back to her seat.

Knuckles is fuming. Sonic would honestly love her for this is the circumstances were different.

Instead, he finds himself feeling ill at the impressed look on Shadow’s face.

The game goes on like this. Wade, Knuckles Rouge and Shadow getting a strike every time, Tom and Maddie getting a few in here and there and Sonic and Tails getting mostly spares or high numbers. Sonic would much prefer to curl up in a ball and spindash down a strike, but the manager said he couldn’t do that anymore since his quills were scratching up the floors..

The game is close, and typically Sonic would be playfully smack-talking the opposing team, but he’s strangely silent. Emerald eyes always watching the bat, observing her movements and attitude and form..

How she always gets a stupid strike.

And while he obsessed over her, ruby eyes watch him. Concerned and curious by his uncharacteristically quiet nature.

Sonic stands in the back leaning forward against the wall the bowling balls are nestled in, watching the game but not really watching the game. His mind is elsewhere. That much is obvious to Shadow. That along with the fact he isn’t sitting by Shadow and chatting him up after Shadow has been gone away on a mission is.. odd. He’s barely spoken to him all night.

 Approaching Sonic quietly as Tails takes his turning bowling, Shadow leans next to Sonic and keeps his eyes on the fox bowling as well. 

“You’re sweating,” Shadow eventually says from Sonic’s side.

“Huh?? I’m not sweating,” Sonic snorts with a roll of his eyes, a small shake of his head.

“You are,” Shadow mutters, “You should take the jacket off. Your cheeks have been flushed most the night. You’re likely overheated.”

“My cheeks are not flushed,” Sonic frowns defiantly.

“They are,” Shadow pushes, now looking at Sonic and frowning at his defensive tone, “What’s got you so uptight??? Why Don’t you just take the jacket off and come sit with me for a bit—“

“Why do you want me to take your jacket off so bad??” Sonic argues with a little glare at Shadow, making the hybrid blink in surprise at the sudden hostility, “I can keep it on if I want.”

Shadow pauses and then frowns, his own patience wearing thin. He doesn’t deserve this sort of snippiness, he hasn’t done anything. “Hey. I’m just worried about you. There’s nothing wrong with me worrying, especially when you’ve been acting like a fool since I saw you at GUN earlier.”

Sonic huffs at this, rolling his eyes and looking away with an angry little frown and annoyed shake of his head. His cheeks are flushed darker again. 

“You’re the one that’s been acting different.”

“Me???” Shadow scoffs with wide eyes, “Oh please do inform me on how I’ve been different.”

“You’ve been with her,” Sonic’s eyes dart daggers at the bat who is giggling to herself as she watches Knuckles take his next bowl. 

Shadow follows his eyes to Rouge and blinks in confusion before returning them to Sonic, “Rouge??”

Rouge’s ears twitch at hearing her name.

Sonic looks back to Shadow now, eyes growing glossy and face heated with growing shame and embarrassment for his behavior, but it’s like he just can’t stop himself—

“Yes, Rouge.”

“What about her??? I can’t help that I have to work, Sonic—“

“I saw you two,” the blue blur hisses out, face dangerously close to Shadow’s now in a daring and angry sort of way, “At GUN. I saw how yall were laughing together and holding arms and being all couple-y.”

Shadow is so lost at Sonic’s words right now, having been oblivious but now slowly beginning to snap pieces together, “‘Couple-y’???”

“You know what—“ Sonic now begins aggressively stripping the jacket off his arms, fumbling a bit at his wrists as they get caught on his gloves but eventually getting it off with a huff and shoving it at Shadow, “Take your stupid jacket since you don’t want me wearing it so bad.”

Shadow’s hands go up rather than taking the jacket being held out to him, looking hurt by Sonic’s sudden rejection of his gift, his scent, “What?? No! That’s yours—“

“Hey, boys, heard my name—“ Rouge is there, now. Looking cool as always but there’s a bit of awkwardness in her stance.

“Fine!” Sonic huffs, ignoring her words and moving to instead shove the jacket at her. Tossing it this time so that it hits her rather than waiting for it to be taken, “She can have it!”

Then he’s storming out, turning and stomping out of the bowling alley and leaving Shadow and Rouge both staring wondering what the hell just happened.

“Hey!” Wade calls with a frown, “It’s almost Sonic’s turn! We only have three more rounds!”

“Ha! Dishonor! He left your team before inevitable defeat because you suck!” Knuckles boldly mocks with a booming laugh, oblivious to the drama unfolding.

“We do not suck, we’re winning by six!” Wade argues.

The two continue their competitive bickering as Rouge looks down at the jacket with a frown and then at Shadow who is staring off in the direction Sonic had gone looking absolutely distressed. 

The pieces fall pretty quick.

”I need to go talk to him,” Shadow says determinedly, worry laced in his voice. But as soon as he makes a step, Rouge is reaching out to stop him.

“No..,” Shadow turns and looks at her with knitted brows, “Let me..”

Shadow isn’t sure for a moment. She is what has made Sonic so upset, after all.. but after Rouge gives him a reassuring smile, he gives with a nod, watching as the bat walks off in the direction Sonic left with jacket still in hand.

Maddie and Tom exchange worried looks before Maddie stands up from her seat and moves to comfort Shadow, having a little more insight on Sonic’s rash behavior than he seems to.

“Hey, sweetie..,” she says softly as she approaches him, her heart aching at this sweet boy’s almost scared eyes looking down at his hands as if they had done something wrong..

She’s grown very fond of Shadow over the past near-year. He and Sonic are a perfect match, even if they’re not official yet, and they balance each other out so nicely.. Almost as if they were made for one another, Maddie has often thought.

She’s learned Shadow has a deeply sensitive heart, one that’s quite larger than most people’s. He feels things so much deeper than others, with so much more intensity and devotion. He unapologetically tries. Harder than she’s seen anyone else ever do in her lifetime..

He’s simply stunted on how to properly project these emotions.. he struggles with getting those overwhelming feelings out properly, with sharing them in a way others can comprehend and understand. But he’s grown. Sonic has helped him with that..

Sadly, Sonic himself struggles with big emotions, too, now and then.. and he struggles with not letting them out in a whole new way. He simply bundles them up and suppresses them inside rather than messily letting them out like Shadow. Let’s them all build until he inevitably explodes. Like he just did..

“What did I do??” Shadow frowns, eyes slowly lifting to the woman who has now become a mother figure to him as well in many ways, “How do I fix it??”

He looks terrified.. like he’s losing Sonic. 

He can’t lose anyone else. He can’t lose Sonic.

“Oh honey..,” Maddie sighs sympathetically, crouching down to his height to wrap her arms tight around him and hug him to her, “You didn’t do anything..”

“He’s so upset..,” Shadow mutters, immediately leaning into her hug but wrapping his own arms around himself. 

“This is a Sonic problem,” Maddie reassures, “Not something you did. He is dealing with something he hasn’t really dealt with before, and we know how he can be with changes..”

Sonic hates change, especially when it’s something he’s unfamiliar with or can’t predict the outcome of. Her mind immediately goes back to how betrayed he had been when Tom had initially planned to move away from Green Hills. The decision to stay was certainly the right one, but it was also a sneak peek of how Sonic finds new and sudden things a bit overwhelming.

He’s matured over the years, of course. But he’s still a kid. And he’s still processing all sorts of new emotions– especially since Shadow came into the picture.

“But what changes have even occurred??” Shadow questions, tilting his head back to look at Maddie properly, his ears twitching like they want to fold back but refuse.

“Well..,” she sighs, trying to find the right words without making anyone any sort of bad guy or victim in this situation. It’s all just a lack of communication, not so much a legitimate conflict. “Up until a few weeks ago, Sonic had you all to himself..,” she explains softly, hand lifting to gently brush down Shadow’s upsettingly raised quills. Mellow him out some from his distressed state. This is a hedgehog thing, she’s noticed. Both Shadow and Sonic’s quills seem to raise slightly and get pokier when upset. Like a cat raising its fur.

“Now he’s having to share you with someone he doesn’t really know well,” she continues, watching as Shadow’s eyes look down in thought as he processes her words, “Someone he obviously thinks is cool enough to compete with his own charisma..” “Rouge,” Shadow states quietly, eyes lifting in realization to Maddie, “He’s envious of her..?” “Moreso jealous than envy,” Maddie winks with a small smile, “He doesn’t want to be her necessarily, but I think he might feel threatened by her new place in your life..” “But Sonic can’t be replaced in my life,” Shadow assures with a knit in his brow, trying to understand why the hedgehog might be so upset by this. It seemed silly to him. Sonic should know Shadow would never replace him..

“Maybe he doesn’t realize that,” she says gently, “He’s a pretty straight forward guy, Shadow.. A lot goes over his head if it’s not put out in the open. Maybe you two should talk a bit more firmly on where he stands with you and what exactly you two mean to each other..” Shadow ponders her words a moment, looking at her before nodding slowly, “We communicate poorly when it comes to emotions.” “Your words, not mine,” she giggles with a little shrug, “..you’re not at fault here, though, okay?? I need you to understand there’s nothing wrong with you having friends outside of Sonic. And he knows that, too. He’s just thinking a little too into it right now, and a little more insecure than he likes people to believe. He’ll snap out of it eventually, and just be happy you’re branching out some. This is a big step for you: making a friend on your own. And I, for one, am proud of you.” Shadow’s brows knit tight at this before a relieved sort of smile forms on his lips, “Thank you, Mrs. Wachowski..”

“Don’t let this discourage you from making more friends in the future,” she gently rubs a hand over his ear before cupping his muzzle softly, “You did nothing wrong, and Sonic will be okay.” Shadow nods against her palm before glancing towards the door, “I should go talk to him, shouldn’t I?” “Absolutely,” she smiles with a wink, standing once again just for him to look back to her with a grateful nod before walking towards the exit.

Knuckles watches this all unfold, a little scowl on his face and mind venturing away from the bowling match. Instead now focused on his little brother that is obviously very upset because of the dumb bat. 

The group decides to pause the game and grab some snacks while waiting for things to simmer some with Sonic, Shadow and Rouge, Knuckles taking this opportunity to go and find the bat for himself and show no mercy for inflicting pain on the Wachowski tribe. 

Outside, Sonic is pacing back and forth on the roof, hoping he wouldn’t be followed or found up there. He’s muttering scolds to himself, fingers running through his quills irritably and eyes full of guilt and regret at how he just acted.

“Stupid, why’d you have to be so stupid,” he hisses to himself, closing his eyes in annoyance as he drops his arms to his sides with a huff, “His face.. He looked so hurt..,” he frowns and opens his eyes to spot a rock on the floor, scowling at it before bending down to pick it up and glare at it as if it had personally offended him, “Why do I have to be so annoying!?” He turns and chunks the rock off the roof with a growl, a spark of blue in his quills and eyes as his powers are triggered by his high emotions and the rock is sent flailing towards space.

“Wow,” Sonic flinches and spins around at the unexpected voice, “And here I thought Shadow was the one with anger issues.”

“Look,” Sonic immediately huffs, trying to keep his cool but sounding a bit out of breath as his hackles rise, “I know I shouldn’t have thrown the jacket at you, and if you give me time to cool off, I’ll offer a way better apology. But right now, I’m soo not wanting to look at you.” Rouge blinks at that, landing from where she had just flown up to the rooftop upon hearing his little tantrum up there, “Mwah??” She places a hand on her chest as if to clutch her pearls, scandalized by his hostility towards her. Except she’s not, immediately letting the facade fall as she smirks and, “That should be a crime. I’m easily the best thing to look at in this boring, little town.” Sonic’s eyes just narrow at her, growling under his breath before turning away from her to cross his arms stubbornly, “Then why don’t you just leave??” Obviously offended by her insult to Green Hills.

“No can do, Blue. My new friend invited me here, and it would be a real shame to ruin a new friendship over a silly jacket,” she offers, taking a few steps towards him but not getting too close in case he still is too angry.

Sonic pauses a moment, turning his head slightly to look at her over his shoulder, “You think I’m your friend??” “Well, I was hoping,” Rouge chuckles, now approaching him fully to stand behind him and watch with slight relief when he turns to face her properly again. This time he doesn’t look like he wants to chunk her off the roof like he just did that rock. Instead he looks… guilty. Embarrassed.

“...Why would you want to be my friend after how I just acted??” “Because you just had a diva moment,” Rouge shrugs, “Trust me, I have plenty of them. And if I was held accountable for every time I had one, I’d never make any friends.”

Sonic looks down, rubbing his arm sheepishly with a small frown as he eyes the jacket she’s holding in her arms, “..I didn’t mean it. Snapping at you. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings or anything..” “Oh hun, you didn’t hurt my feelings,” Rouge smirks reassuringly. “I didn’t??” Sonic blinks, looking up at her. “Sticks and stones, Blue,” she shrugs with a wink, “Not the first time I’ve had someone not like me simply because they’re intimidated by me.” Sonic wants to defend himself, argue with her that he wasn’t intimidated by her.. But..

“Yeah. I guess that’s my problem, huh?? Kinda seems unfair you have to be treated bad simply because you’re so cool.”

Rouge puts a hand on her cheek to feign bashfulness, “Oh stop. You’re making me blush.” “You are! You’re– you have cool piercings, and you’re pretty like– all the time, even after long missions! And you fight really good, and don’t seem to let things bother you–” “Now who said all that??” Rouge tilts her head with a little quirk of her brow.

“Well… I just kinda.. Assumed.”

“Hey. That’s where you went wrong. Everyone knows to assume is to make an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’.”

Sonic blinks.

“What??”

“I’m saying,” Rouge sighs, moving to sit on the edge of the roof now, jacket settled in her lap, “don’t judge a book by it’s cover. I’m not as perfect as I make myself out to be. Hard to believe, I know.” Sonic looks at her a moment before moving to join her on the edge, settling beside her with a foot propped up on the ledge and his arm resting on his knee. Overlooking the bowling alley’s parking lot.

“Besides, you’re pretty damn cool, too, Blue,” she adds with a small smirk, “Hero of earth? Fastest thing alive?? Look around, you have tons of people who care about you. That can’t be for nothing..”

Sonic shrugs, “I got real lucky, I guess.” “That ain’t luck, sweetheart,” she corrects firmly, Sonic glancing at her suddenly more stern tone, “People aren’t drawn to luck.. They’re drawn to good. And you’re probably the good-est thing anyone here has had in a long time..”

Sonic looks down again, thinking about her words. In a large way, he did bring them all together. They love him, he’d never doubt that. Maybe she’s right.. Maybe it’s not luck. Maybe it’s just.. him..

“I know Shadow certainly thinks so,” she adds with a knowing smirk, peeking at Sonic out of the corner of her eye to see him blushing a bit and his eyes widen slightly.

“Shadow-... Shadow’s biased. All he knows is me. The second he finds something new and better, he’ll… he’ll see I’m not as great as I’ve told him I am.”

Rouge snorts at that, “That’s some pretty selfish thinking.” Sonic looks at her confused, “How is me admitting I’m lame selfish???”

“It’s not. But you putting words in Shadow’s mouth for him is. You can’t think for the guy, kid, you gotta let him come to his own conclusions. Shadow knows a lot, okay?? He’s not some sheltered puppy. Hell– he’s seen more than you or I combined, I’m pretty sure..”

Sonic stays quiet, looking at her as she turns to look at him and continues.

“And he’s seen you. He knows a good thing when he sees it, and that’s all he sees when he looks at you. Good. And I think he knows he’s hit the jackpot managing to coral a good thing like you.”

Sonic blushes a bit and looks away again, fighting a small smile as he looks up at the half-blown up moon..

“He’s not looking at me, Sonic,” the bat adds with a little bump of her elbow to his arm, “He’s only got eyes for you. And I think you know that.. You just needed a reminder.”

Sonic sighs at that, looking back to Rouge and offering a small smile, “...I like you.”

Rouge just laughs at that, rolling her eyes at him and shaking her head, “I give you a whole speech on self worth and not being intimidated by false assumptions, and all I get is a ‘I like you’???”

“Hey! That’s an honor,” Sonic chuckles, “I’m the good-est thing in this town!” Rouge snorts at that, grinning as she shakes her head, “Gee. Glad it’s not gonna go to your head.”

They laugh another few moments before their giggles die down and they’re left sitting there content with one another.

“..I really am sorry for being a jerk,” Sonic says after a moment, turning to her to hold out his fist, “We cool?” She looks at his fist then him, offering a smirk as she fistbumps him, “We’re cool.”

Sonic nods, feeling way better already.

“Besides. Would be a damn shame if the two hottest kittens in this town weren’t friends,” Rouge adds with a shrug. “Oh, for sure. We’re gonna be such an iconic duo– earth doesn’t know what’s coming,” Sonic agrees matter-of-factly with a nod of his head.

“Agreed. So what’s up with your older brother??”

“Dude, ain’t that the question of the hour,” Sonic snorts with a helpless roll of his eyes.

“He doesn’t have much goin’ on in his head, does he?”

“He’s actually really smart! Just.. only with the things he already knows about.” “Obviously, he doesn’t know about manners,” Rouge huffs.

“Yeahhhh, that’s not his strong-suit, no,” Sonic rubs the back of his neck. “Guess someone will have to teach him,” Rouge shrugs, leaning back on her palms with a mischievous little smirk.

Sonic’s head whips around to look at her with wide eyes, “...Ewwww, that’s my brother.” “Hey. All is fair and all that jazz,” she shrugs, giggling at Sonic’s obvious disgust. 

“Ugh. Just leave me out of it,” Sonic shivers, Rouge humming a little chuckle.

Her ears then twitch, hearing something from behind. Turning to look, she smiles softly and then slowly moves to stand up, “Well, I’m gonna get back in there. Let you two chat..” “Two??” Sonic’s brows furrow as he turns to look around and sees Shadow standing there looking… very upset.

It breaks Sonic’s heart, that guilt immediately rising in him again as he swallows on the lump in his throat.

“Oh..”

Rouge walks to Shadow, pausing beside him to hand his jacket off to him with a little wink, “Go easy on him. His cute makes up for the stupid.”

Shadow merely gives a grunt in response, taking the jacket as it’s handed to him with his eyes locked on Sonic’s.

Rouge flies back down below to the entrance, reaching to pull the door open only to freeze at the sound of someone clearing their throat.

She looks to her left to find the echidna stepping out from the shadows where he had obviously been eavesdropping. 

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to sneak up on a lady??” she huffs, crossing her arms as she faces him, shifting her weight on her leg to stand all sassy with her hip out.

Knuckles ignores her words, stepping in front of the door beside her as he eyes her.

She almost feels nervous at this. How he’s sizing her up like he’s judging a pie at a county contest or something. But she doesn’t show it, merely leaning forward and narrowing her eyes at him with a quirked brow. “Take a picture, echidna, it’ll last longer–” “Thank you for comforting my brother.” She blinks, standing up straight again as her stance tenses at the unexpected appreciation.

“What?” “Sonic. My brother. I am not the best at knowing how to handle when my tribe is upset.. I am glad you were here to ease his mind,” Knuckles explains, his fists limp at his sides to show his openness. No hostility.

“Oh..,” she raises a hand to her chest, a slow smile forming on her lips, “Well in that case, you’re welcome.” “I will not forget this good deed you have performed for my clan,” Knuckles nods formally, a hand lifting to heavily rest on her shoulder and squeeze, “I am in your debt.” Rouge grunts a bit at the heavy weight of his fist on her shoulder, shrugging it off with a, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Dusting her shoulder as if he might’ve gotten dirt on it before pausing and then forming a mischievous little smirk on her lips as she looks at him, “I can think of a few ways you could repay me..” “Anything,” Knuckles says so dang nonchalantly. Like he doesn’t know what that deep voice promising that word can do to a girl. Probably because he doesn’t.

She just hums at this, reaching to grab the tip of one of his front quills hanging over his shoulder and give it a little tug so that he’s down to her level.

He crouches a bit hesitant as she leans up to whisper in his ear..

Then his eyes go huge and his muzzle matches the color of his quills, quickly pulling away with an absolutely scandalized look on his face, “MY INNOCENCE! My sweet innocence– I will not perform such an act, you batty woman!” He’s already rushing inside in an attempt to get away, Rouge laughing as she moves to follow after him with a shrug. “What??? Girl’s gotta eat..”

The door shuts and above on the roof, Sonic and Shadow are still staring at one another as if unable to make the next move.

Sonic swallows hard, slowly pushing himself up to stand from the edge and face him properly.

Shadow doesn’t move. Just stares at Sonic with this.. strange look on his face. A mix of hurt and fear and anger and… something else. Determination maybe??

Either way, Sonic is the first to speak, knowing he’s the one that owes the apology here.

“Shadow, I–.” he swallows hard, feeling the lump in his throat grow bigger with each word and finding it harder to speak, “I’m so sorry. I was really stupid in there..”

Shadow starts walking towards him, and Sonic just keeps word vomiting as he always does, his feet feeling frozen in place as the hybrid stalks towards him.

“I was being dumb and insecure and assuming things and I should’ve just talked to you about how I was feeling instead of being all dramatic about it and I just really care about you and am scared that maybe you’ll think I’m like super lame one day and won’t want to be around me anymore and are you gonna punch me?? Because I totally get it if you do, but also, my precious face–” Shadow reaches Sonic and shuts him up.

And by ‘shuts him up’, he means he grabs him with his face cupped in his hands and jerks him to him to crush their mouths together.

Sonic squeaks, eyes going huge and tail immediately wagging so fast that he might take flight like his little brother does. Shadow’s eyes are clamped shut, keeping his lips firmly pressed to the hedgehog’s and his hands holding him in place as he kisses him.

It’s awkward. Very inexperienced and firm and not at all soft and romantic like movie kisses are. Sonic can feel Shadow’s fangs peeking through his lips against Sonic’s own mouth from how firmly they’re pressed to his, but he is soooo not complaining.

And in his shock over this entire moment, he forgets to kiss back, standing there like a stiff noodle with his hands flexed in surprise at his sides and not touching Shadow.

A few moments pass and Shadow pulls back with a quiet ‘smack’ of their lips parting.

Sonic is still staring at him all frozen and tail wagging giddily. Shadow opens his eyes to look at him as well now, a deep blush dusting his cheeks as he clears his throat and looks down a bit awkwardly, “Just, um– just to make myself clear on where we stand,” he explains, lifting a fist to his lips to clear his throat–also to rub over where he can still feel Sonic’s on his.

“Oh,” Sonic croaks, voice sounding shaky and breathy and higher than normal.

“I hope that’s okay.”

“Yup.” “And we’re.. clear then?”

“Crystal.”

Shadow breathes out an amused puff of air at Sonic’s short answers, rolling his eyes before finally finding the courage to look back up at him and finding Sonic is now smiling like the stupid idiot he is.

Shadow just offers a soft smile back, moving to then take the jacket all this mess derived from and gently drape it back around Sonic’s shoulders. Straightening the collar, he looks back to Sonic’s eyes and finds the hedgehog’s pupils are still blown but his gaze has softened from shock to something akin to lovestruck.

“This belongs to you,” Shadow says firmly once the jacket is on Sonic properly, “Only you.”

Sonic melts a bit.

He’s got a feeling they’re not talking about the jacket anymore.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I know I just sent an ask regarding the Miss Raven relationship post, but I saw the scrapped Yuus one and I wanted to ask smth related (⁠⇀⁠‸⁠↼⁠‶⁠) sorry if two asks in a row are too much in this regard too!

first of all I LOVE YOUR STYLE 😭 it's so cute, I always get excited when you post art. and it's so interesting to get to see a part of your creative process in making characters, even if they didn't end up existing. ( THE ONEE-SAN YUU... Miss Raven was saved from falling for another charming smile... and so were the rest of us )

in regard to ocs, I wanted to ask... do you have any other twst ocs? I think I read some old posts about some RSA ocs, but I wanted to ask specifically if there's another "big" one in terms of story/being as fleshed out as Miss Raven 🧐 or if you ever plan to make another Big Oc™️ in terms of lore like u did for her

also... I wanted to ask... now that you finished her main story, is there any other long form (?) stories you want to explore with her? I know you're hosting the future!au event rn, and you've written more side stories (?) about her in similar events... but I mean as in- again, a longer sort of story. I'm just genuinely curious, since I really like your work + her specifically and I'm curious about whatever you have planned for her 👀 but ofc it's totally okay if you have other plans orrr if you'd prefer to let the heavy Raven lore rest for a bit!!

[Referencing this post and this blog event; the asker’s Miss Raven relationships ask is here.]

adskjblfabfqyovf OTL Thanks??? I get anxious about posting my art because its usually hand drawn, non-committal sketches 💦 I personally really like reading about other people's creative processes so I tend to scribble notes all over my drawings, and then they get all messy and cluttered... I'm glad you like them regardless though.

I like drawing Onee-san!Yuu’s art eyes and hair… She is very dainty and cute! Her personality is fun to toy with too, since how she acts and how she’s truly feeling are so starkly different. I’ve thought about her so many times, it’s almost like she’s psychically reaching out to me in an attempt to have me formally implement her 😂 Again though, not sure if I’ll ever settle on a Yuu because the concept of a Yuu does not really interest me.

Aaaah, my RSA OCs were back from like 2020-2021. I never did manage to flesh them out and I think I’ve lost the fire to. I have several NRC OCs that I haven’t shared because they aren’t that fleshed out either. Of those, I think my favorite is my twisted!Iago (who is in part also inspired by my own pet)… He’s just a punk ass (first year Scarabia) kid and Jamil’s self-proclaimed minion (Jamil has no idea who he is).

Ironically, I think the most detailed NRC OCs I have at the moment are the three based on mob students:

Even then, I don’t think they’re super deep… Pome A can be summarized as "ex-delinquent who now has the goal of becoming 'a gentleman'" (similar to Deuce, who wants to be an honors student). Scarab B is basically a Jamil fan boy (though he's less angry/pushy about it than Sebek is; he has more eager puppy energy). The most detailed one of the bunch is Octa A, who is very anxious (Idia-sh) due to being sorted into Octavinelle, where his dorm members are constant sources of stress. Outside of that, he's a very... homely "boy next door" type. I picture him coming from a tightly knit island town and helping out his family at a community center where they help people find jobs that best suit them. (If you couldn't tell, a lot of Octa A's backstory is inspired by the Lilo and Stitch animated series.) The mob student OCs were conceived because I thought it would be funny to sometimes write from the perspective of unrelated onlookers watching all of the crazy stuff that happens on NRC campus and just going, "What, AGAIN????" They feel more like unserious gag characters, if anything.

I have actually considered writing a sequel to the Tale of the Cursed Raven for the longest time! If you've read the original tale, Vil, Azul, and Idia play prominent roles throughout it. The second saga would theoretically give the other dorm leaders (Malleus, Leona, Kalim, and Riddle) importance. Note that 3 out of 4 of the dorm leaders in the latter group are nobles or have noble relatives. That's because the (potential) sequel would involve themes of social status and who gets to shape the future. A-And hey, maybe it could focus on Raven's relationship with L*ona instead of J word this time-- The synopsis is as follows: Having finally broken her curse, Raven Crowley is now free to live as she wishes in a happily ever after of her own making... or is she? One day, a strange invitation arrives from an unknown sender, beckoning her to Briar Valley. Amid whispers of Malleus Draconia's ascension to the throne and a grand ball to decide the dragon's bride-to-be, the timing is certainly strange. "This is far too suspicious," she thinks. "I simply won't go." Then a sparkling carriage pulls up to the gates of Night Raven College, claiming to be looking for a princess in black feathers. Accompanying that carriage are two men cloaked in white and a woman that shines like starlight.

"Who are you?" Raven asks, feeling as though they've met before in some distant past. "Why, I'm your Fairy Godmother. I'm here to make all of your dreams come true."

Perhaps this meeting was always meant to be.

(I WANT TO BE CLEAR: despite how the synopsis sounds, it is NOT meant to be Raven x Malleus. I would appreciate it if readers refrained from discussing this topic, please and thank you.)

As you can probably tell by that 💦 the story sounds very ambitious... and unfortunately, I don't feel comfortable writing it because we're still missing so much from the canon main story. I'd like the OB Malleus and Grim arcs to complete so I understand the full scope of the story and how the loose ends are tied up (particularly Malleus's reaction post-OB and how, if at all, he embraces change). More lore on dragon fae would be helpful as well. I'd also ideally like a Briar Valley hometown event so I can see what the culture, traditions, people, politics, etc. are like before I attempt to depict it in my writing.

In this sequel, there would be many OCs introduced--at least 4 of them! I've been cooking a lot behind the scenes ^^ One of these OCs you've actually met in the original tale; it would be the Enchantress (Estella) that originally cursed the Storyteller. 2 of the other OCs are what I would describe as Estella's helpers, who are meant to be her equivalent to Silver and Sebek. One is inspired by the concept of the “messenger dove + dove with the olive branch” and the other is inspired by Swan Lake. The 4th and final OC is basically all but confirmed would be a foil character to Malleus, an ambitious nobleman twisted from Nerissa (the villain from Enchanted).

Here’s some doodles I have of the 4 OCs I mentioned! The first two are “the dove” and “the swan”, respectively. The bottom two are concepts for twisted!Nerissa and Estella.

This sequel would expand more on Estella's motives and background (something I mentioned in my afterthoughts), as well as tie in history and political intrigue as Raven’s forced to navigate those circles. It would most likely be set a year or so in the future, and the events that take place would inform Raven’s internship decision in her fourth year. (She would be a scribe in Briar Valley!) I’d like part II to feel like a story event that supplements or follows up on the development in part I/the main story.

xbjsbsjsjsb Anyway 🤡 That’s all I feel okay with revealing for now. I want to be clear and reiterate that this is all just a theoretical sequel and I’m not sure if I’ll actually get around to writing it. It’s definitely been fun to conceptualize though ^^

I’ll leave you with this concept art:

[aliesbienish]

buddie x reader where they’re a couple, but they both meet reader separately, for example she’s an ER nurse or something and they both gain feelings for her and feel guilty and tell each other until they realise they both like the same person and decide to go for it together??

The doctor is just what they ordered

Established Buddie x Reader

Eddie met you first. You were exhausted, nearing the end of a busy 12 hour shift, with your hair spilling out from what was once carefully constructed braid and remnants of god knows what on your scrubs. He’d handed over a driver involved in a nasty collision and was sitting waiting for Hen so they could head back to the station.

Eddie had grabbed a seat across from the nurses station and had a perfect view of you taking a sip out of a coffee mug only to grimace at the taste.

Simultaneously as you thrust it back onto the desk in disgust a paper coffee cup appeared before your eyes.

“I think you could use this,” Eddie smiled, gently nudging your hand with the, blissfully, still warm coffee as you stared at him in confusion.

“I guess I now know why my ex didn’t believe me when I swore up and down I liked his cooking,” you quipped, gratefully grabbing the drink.

“If it helps the fact that the mug had been sitting untouched since I sat down nearly twenty minutes ago also whatever was in that cup wasn’t going to go down well,”

“Hmm I’ll except that explanation, solely because I’d like to stay blissfully unaware if my face is an open book or not.” You took a sip of the coffee, the heat almost making up for it being from a shitty hospital drink machine before coming to a realisation.

“Hang on, does that mean I just stole your coffee?”

“Stole is an interesting choice of words when I literally handed it to you. But no, you technically stole my colleagues.”

“Even better, get me in the bad books of someone I don’t even know.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll only tell her that you claimed it while my back was turned and proceeded to call her all sorts of bad names,”

“Wonderful, I’m assuming she’s a firefighter too?” You asked having caught sight of the man’s LA Fire uniforme. He nodded in affirmation. “Great, it’s not like I’ll ever see her again,” you noted sarcastically.

“Im not sure you will, since I for one have never seen you before,”

“That’s because I’ve just moved here. Regrettably I don’t know the good hiding spots yet so I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other,”

“Well I for one look forward to it, I have plenty of other colleagues I can turn against you,”

“Great,” you laughed, barely managing to stop sitting out the coffee.

“Well there she is now,” He pointed at a women across the room waving at him to get a move on. “Nice to meet you Dr…. Sorry I didn’t get your name,”

You laughed, introducing yourself and shaking his hand.

“Right well I’m Eddie,” he said, giving you a nod as he turned away,”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Buck’s first meeting with you was a bloody mess, literally. It was only a few weeks after Eddie had first saw you, and in true Buck fashion it was chaos.

Los Angeles had been hit with a Tsunami, the worst in the US since 1964, and the hospital was overwhelmed with patients. Luckily Cedars-Sinai was far enough inland that the hospital hadn’t been damaged, but others had. Meaning that they couldn’t take on emergencies but they also had to transfer critical patients who were already there.

The hours since the Tsunami were a blur as you moved through emergency patients addressing their injuries enough to keep them stabilised, before moving them off to specialised wards.

You were currently in the bay waiting on an incoming ambulance, with for a critical but awake patient. From what you could gather the poor guy had been at the pier when the tsunami hit, spent the day rescuing others despite being already injured, before collapsing at the makeshift VA hospital. They’d sent him across as he needed to be imaged to make sure their wasn’t internal damage, and with the VA running on generators they weren’t able to do it there.

The ambulance pulled up abruptly, knocking you out of your thoughts, and the paramedics open the door to a man who was smiling despite the downright awful day you had. You followed the paramedics into the ER, listening as they rattled out Evans, Buck as he apparently preferred, injuries and symptoms.

“Hi Buck,” you introduced yourself, “sound like you had a rough day,”

“Wasn’t my favourite. Although I’m sure yours hasn’t been a walk in the park either,”

“More like a marathon dash if I’m honest. However between the two of us I think I’ve had it easier, I got to stay dry after all,”

“Not a fan of swimming?” Buck laughed.

“Love swimming, just never liked waves. Silver lining to all this is that I get to call up my mum and tell her how wrong she was calling my fear ‘irrational’,” Buck started laughing again, but quickly grimaced and held the left side of his upper abdomen.

“Alright, time to pause my one woman show and get you check out. You lie back and relax okay,”

“Thanks Doc,”

You quickly went through the motions of your head to toe assessment. Buck had clearly suffered rib bruising and had cuts that had been hastily patched but needed better dressings, otherwise externally he was in surprisingly good nick. It was the leg you were worried about, ordering a CT to make sure it was all okay. You placed Buck back into a quite corner of the ER to get his bandages redressed and wait out the results while you dived back into the fray. After a few hours you got to give him the good news.

“Hiya Buck,” you greeted pushing through the curtains. “Your looking a bit more spritely,”

“It must be the food they serve here, ever since I got my hands on a sandwich I’ve been feeling a million bucks,” he winked.

“Oh ha ha. I also don’t believe you, I’ve tried the food here and I don’t think anyone’s had a higher reaction than ‘meh’. Should I call for a psych consult?”

“Threatening a sick man. That’s low,”

“Well the good news is I wouldn’t call you sick, just slightly bruised and battered. You’ll have to promise to rest up but I don’t see why you can’t go home straight away,”

“That’s great news! Thanks for everything today, this hospital stay has been one of the more pleasant ones due to you,”

“Bet you say that to all your doctors. Now is someone available to pick you up or do you need me to give anyone a call?”

“My partners just outside making a call, I’m all good to go! Thanks again,”

“Bye Buck,” you smiled closing the curtain behind you.

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Eddie was exceptionally grateful tonight that both of his boys were safe and relatively uninjured under his roof.

Chris had taken some coaxing to get to sleep but he’d eventually drifted off. Buck, after Eddie had told him to stop being a idiot and thinking he was in any way to blame for the events of the day, was in a surprisingly good mood.

So good he was in fact humming under his breath a rather upbeat tune as they lay in bed.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie whispered, turning Bucks head gently towards him so they were lying facing each other. “Are you sure your okay? Not that I want to doubt you but you’re taking today exceptionally well,”

“Ed’s don’t worry, I am now. I wasn’t to be honest initially but the doctor at the hospital was great and she calmed me down, and got me laughing,”

“That sounds like excellent beside manner,”

“The excellent-est. I would like to request her for any future, likely inevitable, injuries I sustain.”

“Shut up Buck, I don’t want to see you hurt again if I can help it.” Eddie groaned, placing a kiss on his forehead. “Which doctor was it?”

Buck relayed your name smiling, and Eddies face dropped. “Oh.”

“Oh? What’s oh mean Eddie?” Buck questioned sitting up and turning his body to Eddie.

“I’ve met her that’s all, and she’s young and pretty. Funny too.”

“Was that oh jealousy?” Buck asked exasperated, “you silly man,”

“Its just she would be perfect for you, and I imagine a lot less baggage.”

“Sweetheart, while I admit she’s appealing, I love you. Your what I want, and I happen to love Chris,”

“I know, I’m sorry. I can’t helped being worried.”

Buck pulled him into a kiss. “Don’t be,” he whispered against his lips before pulling away.

“Wait hang on!” He paused as Eddie tried to chase his lips. “You noticed all those things about her too, yes?”

“Maybe…”

“So does that mean you are also attracted to her?”

“Buck I would never do anything to jeopardise…”

“Ed’s I know that,” Buck cut him off, “I think this is a good thing”

“How so?”

“Well we both like her. So why don’t we both date her?”

“Im sorry what?”

“You. Me. Her,” Buck punctuated. “Doesn’t that sound good,”

“I don’t think it’s that simple Buck,”

“Why not? If she wants this too than what’s the issue? And don’t you dare say it’s not accepted, because you and I both know that caring what people think only hurts.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay Buck. If she’s also interested then let’s do it”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The last few weeks had been filled with thinking about Eddie and Buck. You managed to meet two lovely men, who talking with seemed as natural as breathing, so you could help day dream about them both individually and rather embarrassingly together.

So when the two men walked into the ER together you were almost sure you were daydreaming again. They’d approached one of the nurses who mortifingly pointed straight at you, ensuring the boys caught you staring. You gave an embarrassed wave as they came towards you.

“Hi Doctor,” Buck winked.

“Hi Buck, Eddie. Nice to see you both…together,”

“Ah yes, literally actually. We’re boyfriends” Eddie acknowledged, his face flushing red.

“Oh that’s great,” although the disappointing feeling washing over seemed to disagree, “I don’t doubt you’re amazing together,” you said genuinely. At the very least it gave you hope that two of the most genuine people you had met were together. “Here for a follow up?”

“No actually, I hope this isn’t too upfront but we we’re hoping you’d like to join us for dinner sometime soon?” Eddie asked, Buck nodding beside him in encouragement.

“Oh, as a thank you? You absolutely don’t need to do that,”

“No, although I definitely want to thank you,” Buck replied, “as a date,”

“A date?” You squeaked.

“We know it’s unorthodox but we both couldn’t stop thinking about you and once we realised we were thinking about the same person we had to try,”

“You do realise we’re going to be a scheduling nightmare right? I mean doctors and firefighters aren’t know for their set hours”

“Worse comes to worse there is the hospital cafeteria, they have some of the best sandwiches” Buck jokes.

“And coffee,” Eddie added.

“Delusional the both of you. It’s like you want this to fail”

“Is that a yes?”

“I get off in 15, meet you in the cafeteria?”

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Well that escalated. Thank you lovely Anon for your request.Hope you all enjoyed. Any medical knowledge (or lack there of) is brought to you by 24 hrs in A&E.

X Ali

[hunters-knot]

The corridor is long, dark, and silent. Doors line both walls, and you aren't sure what door leads where. You aren't even sure where you are in the first place. You decide that you should head towards the far end of the hall. Each step on the cold linoleum flooring is quiet. Is this a dream or a nightmare?

You begin to lean towards nightmare when you hear the sound; shuffling, slithering, like a duffle bag was being dragged across the floor. You stop and draw in a breath, your blood cold and your heart skipping. The sound persisted, but you weren't sure where it was coming from. Behind? One of the rooms? You didn't know what to do - Run? Wait? Hide? It was impossible to tell. If you had even an inkling of what was going on you could make a better decision, but you knew nothing.

Little bits of debris fell onto your head and shoulders. Parts of the boards that made the ceiling. You looked up and met the thing's eyes. Two yellow eyes peering out from a hole in the ceiling. From the way that its pupils thinned into two slits, you had a bad feeling. So you ran.

First you heard the THUD of something heavy hitting the ground behind you, then the sound of something moving again. Even though you ran at a full tilt, the sound grew closer and closer to you. You knew you couldn't get away if you kept running straight, so you tried the first door you came to in a desperate attempt to escape.

Locked.

It descended upon you before you could damn your luck. You got a brief look at it, though; it was several meters long and shaped like a snake, except a humanoid torso sprouted from the body. Arms reached out to grab you. Large hands clasped around you. The head was like a human's, except for the eyes and how the mouth opened unnaturally. You were grabbed, lifted, and swept away. The snake-thing was incredibly fast, so much that you barely could tell where you were before you were somewhere else already.

Some boards were pushed out of the way by the snake-thing and it crept into a room that seemed to be a den. Bedding was collected in one part of the room, with blankets and pillows, and on the other side was a television. You were deposited into the nest and the snake-thing began to coil itself in the nest around you. You had a feeling that you weren't a meal to be eaten, but a different kind of meal, when you saw the two slick and large hemipenes.

You weren't so scared anymore.

A hand grabbed your arms and lifted them up above your head, and the other peeled your pants off. The snake-thing glanced at your face with a nearly apologetic look, but it didn't stop. Once your pants and underwear had been torn off, you were turned around and pressed into the bedding. You felt your legs get spread, and then without warning, the two serpent cocks were plunged into both holes. You have never felt so... Full. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you heard a hiss of pleasure escape the monster who had decided to make you theirs.

Each thrust stretched you out and filled you up, both cocks thrusting in tandem and pulsing eagerly inside you. The feeling made you nearly scream, but the snake-thing placed a hand over your mouth to muffle you. For some reason, that turned you on more. Your hips bucked against its own when it hilted inside you. It felt like the two cocks were about to touch your lungs. Its body rolled in a quick, rhythmic gyration, and each motion sent you closer and closer to your release. You hit it quickly, tears flowing as you came harder than you ever had on those two rods, but the thing didn't stop. You were brought to orgasm again. And again. And again. You lost count after seven.

When the snake-thing reached its own release, it grunted and hissed before pumping what felt like litres of hot seed into both of your holes, making you feel warm and completely full. It continued for a few moments, then the long and muscled body of the snake-thing pulled out of you and plopped into the nest again.

"I am -" It started, its voice neither masculine nor feminine, "I am sorry."

You shook your head and kissed it.

"I'll forgive you if you do that again." You whisper.

[bitethedevil]

More Than Our Fathers (Raphael x Demigod!Reader): Chapter 7

Chapter: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven

Fic Summary: It was in the years after the Fall of Netheril that fate decided to push the two of you together: the daughter of the God of Divination and the son of the Archdevil of the Eighth. An unlikely pair, but you learned throughout the years that you had more in common than you thought: you were both driven by ambition and you both longed to become more than what your fathers made you.

Read this on AO3

Summary: Raphael and you finally succeed. Mephistopheles enters the scene.

(AN: I finally finished editing this chapter Updates are going slow and you can read about why here. But I am trying to get back to it)

The Gift of Seeing, of true seeing, was not chasing the reflective surface of raindrops across a window and hoping to see something in them, as it had always been for you. It was not small droplets that would show you the bigger picture in the rare case that they happened to clash together in their downward descent.

True Seeing was not raindrops. It was rivers. They were clashing violently together when they met and drowning everything in their path, and you had not yet learned to swim. From the second you broke the scepter and your father’s divinity grabbed onto you like a ravenous animal, you were being flooded.

From the first seed sprouting millions of years ago, to the end of everything, you saw it all. Birth, death, birth, death, birth, death… Joy, grief, anger, jealousy, love, hatred… You saw everything there ever was, everything that ever will be, and everything there ever could be.

You.

Are.

Drowning.

You were not entirely sure what your body was doing. You were not in it any longer. You were everywhere, every time, and everyone at once. Only one thing cut through it: his voice. Raphael was screaming. Perhaps you were too, but it was his voice you heard. You weren’t the only one who was struggling with newfound divinity.

You tried to move across the floor while your brain was flickering between the now and everything else. You felt around for him. His screams were hurting your heart as much as they were hurting your ears.

‘Were you both dying?’ you asked yourself. ‘Could this be it?’

The taunting, knowing voice of your new powers whispered: No…not yet.

Finally, you felt something between your hands: his doublet. You grabbed onto it. The second you touched him, he grabbed your arm and clung onto it, his claws digging into your flesh.

You know you screamed when you touched him.

You went through at least three millennia in seconds as him. It was a buffet of disgusting feelings: fear, misery, loneliness, greed, ambition, empty pleasures, hatred…oh so much hatred…

His very first touch was that of his dying mothers hand, his last touch would be…well…best not to think about that now.

The pride of acquiring the first soul for his father, the disappointment and emptiness from the lack of reaction he got from doing so, the anger of when he was eventually sent to Avernus as an outcast. It was all right there in front of your eyes.

So much darkness and so little light.

You were looking for the light. You were starving for it.

The only thing you found light in was soiled in greed and the prospect of more power. A thousand things went past your vision, until you saw…home. Your home, where you lived with Melesmer in Halruaa. Your heart warmed and tears stained your cheeks when you saw Melesmer, despite the feeling of frustration Raphael felt in the memory. You had forgotten his face centuries ago, but there it was, clear as day.

And there you were. Still so young and so blissfully unaware what fate would throw at you. You were meeting Raphael for the very first time. There was light in that memory. A small flicker. It lit up when Melesmer revealed who you were. Still, it broke you when you felt that too was soiled with his greed for power.

Was there really no feeling of something pure in this man’s life?

You were in a memory that was stronger than the rest. He had just been exiled from Cania and fled to Avernus, like all outcasts were eventually forced to do, as no other layers accepted them. You found it odd, because you had already seen this memory once. It was full of misery and emptiness. Why were you seeing it again?

He snapped his fingers, and you saw you. You saw yourself turn around and roll your eyes at his presence. This must have been in the early days, you thought to yourself.

“Piss off, would you?” you said in the memory. “Do you have any idea of the trouble you got me into last time?”

“You do know how to hold a grudge, don’t you, my dear?” he answered. “One of your less endearing qualities…”

“Why are you here?” you asked in an exasperated voice.

He hesitated with his answer for just a few moments too long. You noticed it back then and you noticed it now. Now you knew why. You brushed it off back then as odd, but now you felt through him what the real answer was: ‘I don’t know. Because I don’t know where else to go, and something led me to you.’

“I wanted to show you something,” he finally said and schooled a smile onto his features.

He snapped his fingers, and you were suddenly somewhere entirely else. You complained when he did so, but then you looked up into the night sky. You remembered it vividly. You had never quite seen such a beautiful night sky in all your years.

Raphael had gone on with a boring explanation of why the stars were more visible in that specific area, and then he started talking about business. It was some morbid speech about a lord in Calimsham that he wanted you to help him take care of. You had often speculated that he used his business talk as an excuse to be near you, but now you had proof.

This was prime bullying material…

If he was still alive in the now…

The thought made you flicker back to reality for only a second, and you heard his and yours combined screams of pain. You clawed your way back to the beautiful memory you were just in.

You watched the scene of the two of you, sitting on a conjured bench, drinking wine while you talked. You drank a lot of wine that evening, you remembered and cringed slightly. The two of you were laughing together about something. It was perhaps the first time you ever did so.

Your shoulder brushed against his when you moved to grab the wine bottle, and he flinched back at it. You saw yourself looking at him with an amused expression.

“I’m not venomous, you know?” you said to him while slurring slightly.

“Mm, I think you mean ‘poisonous’,” he corrected in that smug tone of his and moved an inch away from you. “I have no fear of you biting me. Though, of course, you never know with your sort.”

“Oh, shut up…” you mumbled. “Fine. I’m not poisonous either. You’re scared I’ll take a peek, aren’t you?”

“I am not scared of your little tricks…but I do prefer to keep some things private,” he said and looked at you with a smile. “No doubt most people do. What you do is terribly invasive, even though it’s a very useful power to have.”

“It takes focus, you know?” you explained. “It’s a conscious effort. I don’t just bump into people and suddenly know everything about their future. You can usually spot when I do it.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” you said and almost spilled some of the wine in your cup with your slightly drunken movements. “I usually close my eyes. Do you know why?”

Raphael looked at you with an amused smile and shook his head. You knew what came next and you cringed even more.

“I go slightly cross-eyed when I don’t focus my eyes, and I have to do so to see what I need to see,” you said and held out your hand. “Here. I’ll just look for where we will see each other next, nothing invasive. I promise. I’ll keep my eyes open when I do it, and you’ll see.”

Raphael looked at your hand. You felt his reluctance in the memory, but he put his hand in yours regardless. You didn’t think of it as a big gesture back then, but it was huge for him to show any level of trust in anyone.

As expected, your eyes went each way when you relaxed them, and you looked ridiculous. Raphael chuckled at you, and you focused your eyes on him again with a smile.

“You see?” you asked. “So, you know when I do it. We will meet in Calimsham next time by the way…Guess you got your way….”

“How charming …” he said with a grin.

You sighed and looked up into the sky. You only noticed now that you did not let go of his hand when you did so. You must have been too drunk to notice back then, and it made you cringe even harder. Raphael, however, was not too drunk to notice. You saw how he looked down at it in slight puzzlement, but he did not let go immediately.

There it was. That flicker of something that was not colored by greed or power. It disgusted him more than any of the horrors of the Hells ever could. You swear that you almost felt him gag at that soft feeling. It made him feel weak and angry too, but he did not let go before you did, and when you did, he made a comment to brush it off.

You could still feel the heat of your own hand in his when he did. It lingered. You could almost feel his hand in yours too even though this had been centuries ago…

Finally, you came back to the surface. Back to the now. You coughed at how strained your vocal chords felt. Your head was in Raphael’s lap, and he was holding your hand. He closed his eyes and let out a quiet sigh of relief when he saw you return to yourself.

You were shaking all over. The feeling of your father’s divinity running through your veins was still too much, but at least you weren’t drowning in it anymore. You tried to push air through your vocal chords to form words, but it took considerable effort, and the words came out strained and quiet.

“You screamed…” you whispered to him. “The Crown...?”

There was a small smile on his face.

“Works as intended, though it will take some time to get used to,” he answered in an even tone. “Still, I can take it off, unlike you...” His tone turned almost angry at his next words: “Why did you have to break the scepter, you greedy little girl? You should have gotten used to its powers before you decided to use yourself as conduit.”

You smiled tiredly at his slight tone of worry.

“It has a tendency to run off,” you answered in a hoarse voice. “Wasn’t going to take any chances.”

He was still holding your hand tightly in his. He looked at it and ran his fingers over your knuckles

“I’m not dead yet, dear,” You said, quoting him in the same annoying teasing tone that he himself had said it to you with once. “Oh how very tragic it would be to leave my new future Archdevil husband widowed so soon.”

His nose wrinkled in annoyance but the little smile on his lips betrayed him.

“Your ability to hold a grudge—”

“—Is one of my less endearing qualities,” you finished his sentence and smiled. “I know.”

Raphael let out a chuckle. Gods, the two of you knew each other so well. Especially now that you had seen all he had been through. There were so many things you wanted to ask him about now, but you knew him well enough that he would simply shut down if you did so.

Raphael helped you up from the floor.

“Come,” he said. “There is so much to do.”

Conquering Avernus was a cakewalk. Between the power of the Crown of Karsus and your own newfound divinity, Zariel did not stand a chance. Thousands died in the conquest. It was a bloody road to success, but when Raphael took Zariel’s seat in the fortress, everything came together. You finally had your moment of realization that you both had made it.

It was what came after that was absolutely terrifying.

Eight flashes of fire across the throne room. All the other layers had sent delegates to oversee Raphael being made an Archdevil, except Cania. Mephistopheles came there to oversee it himself. He was terrifying to see in the flesh instead of the so many memories of those who had been unfortunate enough to cross paths with him.

He was a nine feet tall beast of a man. The way he held himself was so distinctly Raphael, and so were his facial features, except for those dead white eyes that stared back at you. His curled ram horns and sharp toothy smile were the stuff of nightmares, but still there was a hint of that same disarming charm that his son had inherited. Even just looking at him made you feel as if you were in danger.

The avatar that Asmodeus sent seemed tame in comparison, but then again, you supposed that it was hardly necessary to have a frightening appearance when the mere utterance of your name spread a deeper fear that anything could. Raphael’s hands were shaking when he walked near him.

Asmodeus and Raphael talked briefly. Avernus was his. He was recognized as the ruler of the First with you as his chosen consort.

After Asmodeus disappeared, Raphael held a speech about his coming rule. You barely listened. Everyone was looking at him, except one: Mephistopheles.

In the moment of his son’s triumph, Mephistopheles only had eye for one: you. He was studying you with an obsessive interest in his eyes. You swallowed hard and focused on Raphael, but you could not help but feel his pale eyes boring into you.

You reminded yourself that with the power you now had, someone like him should not scare you any longer. You were a god. Mephistopheles was not.

When Raphael’s speech was over, you looked back at Mephistopheles and forced yourself to meet his eyes. A big toothy grin washed over his features as you did.

As the event came to its end, the delegates shook hands with Raphael, and he urged them to meet his consort too. You took the hint and made sure to peek as much as you could when they kissed your hand one after another.

Mephistopheles looked like he was about to crush his son’s hand when he shook it. He gave Raphael some false words about how proud he was, but he seemed eager to move onto you. He moved in front of you, and you held out your hand to him like you had done with the others. Raphael was watching as you did. If you needed information on anyone, it was his father.

You forced a polite smile even though your hand was shaking. Mephistopheles smiled back and looked down at your hand with a knowing look. For a moment you really believed that he would not take it.

“The daughter of Savras, hm?” he said in a low tone. “The daughter of me too now, I suppose. No need for such formalities between family, no? You are one of us now.”

He took the hand that was stretched out to him in his large hands, and then he took the other one too, giving you more than plenty of opportunity to touch him, but nothing came. No vision, no memories, nothing. Just cold emptiness. Your brow furrowed despite trying to hide your puzzlement. Mephistopheles smiled wider. He knew.

He bowed his head down and gave you a kiss on each cheek. The human part of you told you to run at the gesture, but you stood still. He whispered in your ear:

“I feel you clawing and prodding in there, but you will have to try harder with me, little one.”

It sent a shiver through you, and you swallowed hard. He smiled widely at your expression and gave you a quick pat on the cheek, like one would with a child.

The second that you and Raphael were alone, he started pointedly questioning you. He leaned up against a grand stone table in the middle of the room.

“What did you see?” he asked again.

“Nothing. Like I said,” you replied and paced around the throne room. “I don’t understand it either.”

Raphael groaned in frustration and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was exhausted. It was no wonder with what you had just been through. That meeting had been tense. Raphael swore quietly in Infernal.

“Let us hope that once your power is allowed to grow, this won’t happen again,” he said. “Asmodeus is not our biggest threat at the moment. I have been an insignificant speck to him until now, but my father…he knows me, and that in itself is a threat. Do not let him slip through your fingers again.”

“Excuse me?” you said with an incredulous laugh. “You are worried about you? Did you see how he watched me during your speech? That was a threat.”

Raphael did not answer. He brushed away your comment with a hand gesture. You walked over to him.

“Don’t you go all devil on me because you have smelled power,” you said pointedly. “We are still in this together. You promised that I would be safe here. You can’t just focus on yourself. I am not just some replaceable tool for you to grab at power with and then discard.”

“Aren’t you?” he snapped in a cold tone. “Do not assume what you are to me.”

Your eyes hardened and magic started crackling around your fingertips in rage. It was a much more volatile magic than usual and you could feel it. You had to rein it in before you exploded.

 You took the deepest breath of your life.

“I don’t assume. I know,” you spat at him. “You are just terrified, and you are letting it out on me.”

You saw him wrinkling his nose in anger and opening his mouth to let out a scathing retort, but you held up your hand to stop him.

“Don’t,” you said in a quiet but firm tone. “You are not wearing the Crown right now and I don’t know how to control my powers, so it’s best we don’t tempt fate with what will happen if I lose my temper.”

He was just about to say something anyway, but his eyes got caught on your hand and a worried expression flashed over his features. His eyes flicked from your hand to your face. You looked too and saw something around the palm and back of your hand.

Your mouth fell open, and you felt your heart sinking so fast that it felt like you might sink through the floor yourself. Raphael reached out for your hand, but you quickly hid it, as if that could make you both unsee it.

“Let me see it,” he said in a firm tone.

You swallowed hard and shook your head. There were tears welling up in your eyes. You didn’t want to see.

“Sibylla,” he pressed you. “Let me see your hand.”

You look down at the floor and a whimper escaped your lips. You put your hand in his without looking. He was quiet for a long moment.

“So quickly…?” he said mostly to himself. “I never intended for this.”

He seemed almost angry at what he was seeing. If he was angry at himself or some outside force, you weren’t sure. You dared to look, and you started to sob. A scream was threatening to escape your throat.

There was a large spot that stretched from your wrist to your pinky. The skin had turned scaly and grey. Your pinky finger where the spot touched had grown a claw.

Mephistopheles’s word felt like a cruel prophecy in your head: “You are one of us now.”

[parkcivconfess]

Buzz buzz ! Got some potions HCs this time (This could apply to both PKCiv and PVP Civ but i'm using PVP Civ as my frame of reference since its the one i know more about, also brainworms) Potions in PVP Civilization are very customizable and some iron and diamond swords brew ones to take the edge off. Because lets be honest, they would absolutely use potions recreationally down in the lower layers. PVP is very stressful to not only the body, but the brain! Specific recreational ones i have written down: Nausea - VERY powerful in the wrong hands, often diluted for recreational usage and its effects are similar to alcohol. Also has the simple recipe of Awkward Potion > Wheat. When undiluted can be used to knock someone clean out cold, especially if they don't have a tolerance (Cough cough Evbo) Swiftness - Gets you extremely wired. Also needs to be diluted if you just want it for the adderall-esque effects it grants. Slow Fall - Calms you down, you literally feel light as a feather. Still does what it does in vanilla but also goes to your head. Very good for those that are anxious. Non recreational bonuses: Resistance - Its ibuprofen! Higher the potency the better it does for pain. Usually requested by those that have chronic pain from past injuries. Add a golden apple to your potion of healing to get this one. Withering - Extremely corrosive substance. Evil potion made by evil users and also, extremely complicated and its ingredients are rare (Where the hell does one get wither roses in this place? Someone found out..) Instant Health - Heals superficial damage very efficiently but struggles to heal below the skin, usually used for very light injuries like small cuts or bruises. Higher the potency the better it performs as always, but cannot heal long term damage done by Withering. Regeneration - A slower alternative to Instant Health that can heal more for the user such as broken bones or muscular damage. Higher the potency the quicker it heals injuries. Struggles to heal damage done by Withering, but it CAN be done. Might take more than a few potions though.. Slowness and Weakness - They do as they are described, and both make moving your arms and legs very hard and very painful depending on the potency. When paired together, they're great for incapacitation without knocking someone fully out! Alot of potion ingredients are found around the layers, most of them are foragable and some can be purchased at the iron and diamond layers respectively. Prev ask i sent: LOVE your warden evbo hc btw it sounds very cool. Would love a fic with that premise fr Till I send an ask again! - 🐝

TYYYY i love my version of evbo even if it's not the majority . that fat boy is MINE

MY PKCIV LORE BELOW!!!

lore 𓄧 building

herbalism and alchemy was most common on the fighter level, and practice's died out when the fighter layer was closed off due to the parkour villain and all his evil shenanigans. see'watt keeps those practices alive, also has many journal's and books detailing all kinds of things from the fighter level because he didn't want anyone to forget where he came from.

when he died, evbo was the one who inherited said book's / journal's because see'watt had no family left to pass it on, and nobody wanted to touch anything that was his but him.

there had to be over 100 book's, thoughtfully handcrafted with so much love and care, even having drawings of flowers he didn't know existed, music, custom's, marriage practices, everything you could think of was in there.

he revived see'watt shortly after when he found an unfinished book that detailed see'watts family recipes, one of which see'watt had actually fed him when he was getting the disc's. he didn't want him to starve to death and not get all of the disc's. it was the best thing he ever ate. yeah he cried about it. yes see'watt had to comfort him.

POTIONS

withering

* sucks the life out of the user / victim, usually connected to a specific location said person's life force is going to for a higher power or ulterior motive. uses the crushed up bones of wither skeletons and wither flowers, given its name.

can be used to cleanse one of poison's if done correctly, similar to charcoal or a parasite cleanse. often used as a medicinal remedy in the 5th layer — (chain boots) for extracting venom and ridding one's body of disease. it's very risky, though, and only experienced herbalists should try it!! (like see'watt but i digress).

haste

* gives user speed and strength (much like swiftness or resistance potions), but at the cost of their body deteriorating overtime. see'watt often used these to get ahead in parkour battles while still trying to earn the evil champions trust because he's quite weak himself and needed an upper hand to win. he's still recovering from that.

makes user physically unable to sleep until effects wear off. how do you think see'watt made all of those book's? he was bored and wanted to preserve his culture and couldn't go to bed.

MEDICINE

care / remedies

* seaweed was used as bandage's or to soothe burns, like aloe vera. it was also used as a form of twine when dried, often used to reinforce the outside of cast's.

glowberries we're used to treat stomach bugs due to the properties that make glowberries, well, glow, also have lot's of antibodies in them! often used in skincare for dry skin or as natural decoration. sometimes put inside lantern's or made into oil for oil lamps.

spore blossom petals we're used to make saturation potions last longer, and a traditional form of plant tallow (← made from beef / chicken fat, herbs are added for taste / smell, used in cooking and as soap).

[perilegs]

my sweet little baby man is no longer with us

[swagging-back-to]

not sorry. i extend very little sympathy and patience towards tras who are underage, and the only ones who do get said sympathy are TIFs. but again. it's MICROSCOPIC levels of sympathy.

[facts-i-just-made-up]

Not A Joke, Not Unreality:

A company called Quantum Fiber (under Century Link) recently set up my home town for fiber optic internet. I got them a month ago and aside from a few outages it was decent.

Last week, it went out. They sent me a super specific time it would be back-

They failed to make it and sent another, minutes later.

And another when that failed.

And over the week, more and more.

I called and they just read me the same email out loud. They offered no escalation or resources. Every time, they fail. I have not had internet for my house in a week, and this morning I got this one-

I looked into other people having the same problem and found this-

Edit forgot link

That's not something called a "766" line, that's them fucking up my city 766 times. This company is fucking shit, and I'm sick of this. I've filed an FCC complaint but those take a month to even get a reply.

So I'm hoping my 173,365 followers can help make this show of their ineptitude and callousness go viral. Please.

They are in a time of massive expansion into many new states and cities. I am asking anyone so inclined with a few minutes to spare to find your town or state's government information technology office or liaison, or just a local government representative of any kind, and write them a quick note stating that this company destroys town utilities and offers absolute frustrating failures of service in return.

If you have Quantum Fiber and have been similarly failed by them, please file an FCC complaint. You might at least get a free month out of it.

If you work with a news source or popular blog, please boost this however you can.

If you are on any app on which they are present, please feel free to write or tag them and let them know they have failed their customers and cities they work with.

Please do not engage in threats or harassment of any form. Keep this legal, civil, and proper so that it can create a legal basis and record of good citizen interaction on the part of this company's victims. I am asking for help in a grassroots campaign, not a violent or prank-filled heap that just gets people in trouble. AND DO NOT FOR ANY REASON EVER PESTER THE WORKERS, PHONE REPS AND TECHNICIANS THEY HAVE OUT THERE. This is the corporation's fault, not the poor folks they employ who they likely try to make take the backlash.

If you have any other ideas on how to hold a mega-corp responsible for the shit they put their customers through, please comment and recommend. I am sick of this shit. I know there are worse things happening and even worse companies doing horrid things right now. But maybe this one is new/small enough that a viral campaign can kick them where it hurts and get them to act more responsibly to their customers and safely to the places they work.

Please help if you have time. Please spread this in the hopes they see it and get off their butts and fix their horrible shit. Any random reblog or post on any platform might be the one their investors hear of.

Thank you anyone for anything you can do.

-Ari

[dredshirtroberts]

listen. I know my family is bad at communication and acknowledgement of receipt of Thing but when the one thing that consistently happens semi-annually is that I get fussed at for not confirming I received something, it irks me a smidge.

Like if I'm expected to always confirm "Hey I got your [communication/gift]" then why aren't they doing it back? Especially considering the communication in this instance has really actually very important information they will want to know if they want to stay in contact with me.

Like????

Even if I'd just gotten a "K" in response, like. at least it would have let me know they got the damn thing. I sent this email TWO WEEKS AGO and only one person responded - and it was practically immediate too. Like... i know folks are busy, i know shit's going on. I get it. But it would help me feel so much less like I'm suddenly a pariah in the family out of nowhere if like one of the people I'd sent this to had just responded in some way shape or form.

I'd have answered a phone call - i wouldn't have liked it, but i'd have done it. A letter in the mail to my current address even. a message in a bottle probably wouldn't get to me because i'm pretty far from the beaches of the great lakes, and also they're even farther, but like. something right?

my sister at least confirmed she got it and just forgot to respond. i imagine that's what happened with everyone else because we have the same mental illnesses and look. i do it too. but also? also?? i was hounded to respond quickly to things, i was told off every time i wasn't responding within a half hour of any communication. I was asked instantly the next time they saw me if I'd gotten it, even if i hadn't had a chance to see the thing yet.

So forgive me, family, if I'm a little peeved off that all y'all are allowed to "forget to respond" for two whole fucking weeks and then a few extra days (because it's been 2 weeks, 3 days exactly) when i can't let something sit in the mailbox for 2 days because i couldn't get to my mailbox easily while living on my own without getting a phone call or text or email that there should be something waiting in there for me.

*enraged screeching*

[lovieku]

MOTHERFUCKIN’ TRAIN WRECK! ⋆ 정국

𐙚 if you were my boyfriend… and you were my girlfriend…

when renowned fuckboy jeon jeongguk catches feelings, he loses his mind. only when it comes to you, though.

based on this ask

from the grande series ୨ৎ

pairing: fuckboy!jk x fem!reader

genre: fwb au

warnings: small smutty moments (cunnilingus, fingering, tiny boob play), angst, fluffi maybe idk, whipped and jelly koo, ft. namjoon!!!, oblivious oc, deep down she feels it too but jk is simply too much of a simp so it doesn’t look like it at first, he’s also so petty and sassy, jokes about ending it if oc doesn’t give him a chance </3, he’s just a little shit, peep the lyrics from boyfriend hehe, oh btw happy ending!!!

word count: 18k

a/n: wowww i’m so sorry for this pile of nonsense, it’s so bad i vomited a little in my mouth. i hate every single thing about it but i didn’t wanna leave you guys starved. i love u sm and thank u for the support, but u’re allowed to leave hate asks for what u’re about to read rn ❤️ also i’m SO SORRY for being unable to write a jungkook who isn’t a simp

🏷️ perm taglist: @ceellliiinee @jaytheatiny @dolligguk @luvismenu @theyloveyams @stillwjk-channie-lixie @bookstoread199 @girlygguk @vieviela @myngiii @angelxkoo @nnybtitts08 @mpbrinkss @https-mei @lyywst @mhdelu @apobangpogirlyyy @khadeeeeej @awrkive

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Jeongguk was only supposed to clean you up. That’s what he calls it when his angelic face finds its place between your spread legs, sinful eyes locking with yours, paired with a smirk you can hardly ever survive.

After all, he’s a man of simple devices. Why bother fetching a towel when he can use his own mouth? When he can let his tongue lap at your juices, slurp every last trace, have an excuse to taste you again, and again, and again?

It’s barely even effective as a way to clean you up, of drying the slick mess that sticks to your inner thighs from cumming three times under his merciless doings— you both know that. Then, how does he expect you not to break a fourth when he runs his wet muscle so torturously along your slit, getting ever more soaked?

Jeongguk is not really trying to end the night. He’s drawing it out. He already had you unraveling in phases— first on his fingers, then all over his cupid lips, ending with you convulsating just another time around his thick length.

It was rough, left purplish marks of his harsh hold digging into your sides, a faint trace of a forbidden hickey just under your collarbones, where you can easily hide it.

In all fairness, he couldn’t help it.

It was you who provoked him. You always do, getting under his skin, teasing him about his skills, downgrading them with playful indifference and nothing more than a meh, as Jeongguk rasps in your ear, clearly affected by your session of foreplay when asking, “Does this make you feel good?”

You’ll be sent straight to hell for lying like that, with seemingly no remorse, but you’re unable to resist the dangerous game and the familiar thrill that comes from it. Nothing compares to the dark wave that takes over his hooded eyes, his motions ever more intentional, almost overwhelming.

He moves to prove something to you, to show you there’s no one quite like him, even with all the guys in your phone, on your lips, inside your sheets.

Jeongguk is your fuckbuddy, and your friend on top of the rest. So, when he first laid his lips on yours, the bottom line plumper than his cupid’s bow, it had taken a great amount of alcohol to flow through both of your veins and blur the lines, let instinct take over.

From there, it was like you couldn’t help yourselves; the physical attraction was undeniable, it’s what brought you here in between the mess of his bed. If you ignore the silly crush you had on him during the first year of college, this was perfect.

Your fuckbuddy contract (Jeongguk hates calling you that, he prefers my friend who makes me cum a lot) includes a heavy emphasis on a no-strings-attached relationship, that can be interrupted whenever one of the two feels uncomfortable, and that should not come before your friendship. On top of all, you both are not exclusive. No commitment, no jealousy. You’re perfectly free of meeting other people, fucking other people. Unless you’re going to date one of those, of course. Then, bye-bye friend who makes me cum a lot.

These rules were established almost a year ago, after your hands couldn’t help themselves from roaming hastily all over his body, pulling him impossibly closer. It was the second time you allowed yourself to feel him, following the night when he initiated things under the clouded lights of a club.

You couldn’t help it. You had been thinking of that moment for weeks now, and when you were left alone with him in his dorm room, pulse racing, it’s all your thoughts were reduced to. Kiss him, kiss him, fuck him.

You felt guilty. A friend shouldn’t be thinking of another friend like you were about Jeongguk. Especially after you promised yourself you wouldn’t let your buried crush resurface and ruin what you had built— even if the memory of that infatuation is honestly just laughable now (you would never think of dating him, pft).

But Jeongguk, ever the gentlest when it comes to you, assured you it was okay to feel as you did, because he felt it too. And was dying to touch you again. His words, not yours.

It’s only sexual. A casual, sexual relationship. Two friends who happen to find each other irresistible.

So when he reacts with a flash of competitiveness at the mere suggestion he might not be the best you’ve ever had, it’s… weird, the feeling that overcomes you. You acknowledge it for a split second, as if you’re searching to name that something inside you stirring, but before you can, it seems to make you fall apart immediately, your grip tighter, back arched, moans high-pitched.

He basks in his silent victory, in the factual demonstration that he in fact can’t be compared to all your other guys.

Except, there’s actually no other guys.

Back when this friends-with-benefits arrangement first started, you were occasionally fooling around with an older guy from campus named Mingyu. Jeongguk knew him, given that they’re in the same photography class. He was also aware of your casual fling with him. And yet, Jeongguk still kissed you. Actually, did so much more than just that.

Either way, the line has always been clear: he has no right to question who you spend time with and what you engage in, Jeongguk isn’t a saint either.

You love him, you truly do. With time, he has become one of your closest friends, and you honestly can’t see yourself getting through college without him.

But there’s no denying the fuckboy allegations, the ones that are constantly thrown at him all around campus. He is a fuckboy. It must be his easy charm, flirting as natural as breathing, tripping out his tongue with seemingly not much thought. At some point, the majority of the girls in your campus got to have their moment with Jeongguk, either because of mindless teasing or one night stands, occasionally turning into casual arrangements.

You have accepted it as part of who he is. You know his fuckboy habits haven’t magically changed when you two started fucking. He doesn’t really spend much time talking about it with you, occasionally mentioning his doings every now and then, but you don’t need to know; his friends and the people whispering in hallways and lecture halls fill in the blanks.

That is exactly why you’ve let Jeongguk believe that your sexual life is equally as busy, floods of boys from your inbox to your sheets, as if you aren’t too much of a hopeless romantic to even think of anything that isn’t exclusively monogamous.

But this isn’t the case. Jeongguk isn’t yours, you aren’t his. It’s just about sex, and you’ve accepted that. You don’t want anything more from him. You tell yourself the only reason you’re not seeing anyone else is that the idea of it makes you uneasy. That you’re more than satisfied with Jeongguk being your friend-turned-into-fuckbuddy, and you don’t need other ones.

Jeongguk is more than enough. Oh, he is.

“Fuck, Gguk. You’re gonna make me cum— Ah, shit— again.”

Your head is thrown back in his pillow, legs weakly tightening around his head nestled so close to your core, and it’s clear his goal has completely shifted from getting you clean and neat when the tip of his tongue moves to flicker on your sensitive nub, relentlessly abusing it with casual kissing and sucking.

He opens his mouth to take more of you, his wet muscle tracing your slit and teasing your entrance for— sadly —the shortest second, and the way he hums approvingly against you brings you even closer to the breaking point.

You’re a fragile mess, overstimulated from the previous orgasms but desperate to chase yet another climax, his hands roaming up to find your breast only spurring you further.

Jeongguk knows you by now, and is aware of all the subtle gestures that make you come undone under him. He knows just what to do to push you over the edge, and when to do it exactly.

You’re a sucker for dirty talk and praise, and occasionally, when the ideal situation comes, you love being degraded. It’s a side of you that only ever arises during sex, mind hazed and irrational, the delirious need for release clouding all your usually composed senses.

At first, he teased you for it. Not because he’s not as much of a fan as you are of talking during sex, but because he never pictured you to be the loud type. And you truly are.

Jeongguk pinches your nipples in hopes of you getting the message and lowering your volume, but it only makes you whine higher, your moans surely not going unnoticed by the other students in the dorm.

It can only be worse when he decides to speak against you, his voice a low, almost unintelligible growl, “Pussy’s so fuckin’ good. All mine, fuck. Want to taste your cum once again, c’mon babe. Give it to me.”

And you, always obliging and well-behaved, let go for a fourth time, hips furiously rutting against his face, his words making your surroundings spin, the way his nose would brush your sensitive nub having your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Your gasp is strained when he retreats with one last wet stripe between your puffy lips, sealing the orgasm with a kiss on your clit, and when he finds your face again there’s a cockish grin spreading across his, chin coated with your juices.

He immediately meets your mouth then, sharing your own taste, and you both moan shamelessly at the action.

Jeongguk collapses next to you, his body warm and relaxed, pulling you closer by your waist and almost making you straddle him with the force of his hold. He sighs into your hair, kissing the root of it, “You did amazing for me, pretty girl.”

A pleasant shiver runs down your spine at the praise and the pet name rolling off his tongue with ease. It’s ridiculous.

With your cheek pressed against his chest, you glance up at him through your lashes and a lazy smile threatens to take over your face, but your playful pout is more prominent, almost convincing, “I’m never letting you do that trick on me again. Next time, I’m just going to take a shower like a normal person.”

The laugh he lets out is rich and unguarded, his chest rumbling under your ear, and it makes you pull away with a mock glare, brows knitted together as you swat at his toned stomach, “Don’t laugh. I hated that.”

His dark eyes soften as they dance with amusement, the corners crinkling, and he hums, going along with your blatant lie from the way your lips struggle to contain a grin, “Oh, absolutely. You were screaming in horror, couldn’t stand it.”

“Whatever,” you mutter incoherently, standing up to escape from the inevitable loss. The slick between your thighs reminds you of why you need that shower in the first place, causing you to awkwardly wobble your way to his bathroom.

Jeongguk watches you with a lopsided smirk, stretched out on the bed, his brown hair a messy halo on the pillow, and it completes the concept he goes perfectly with, the one of a devil dressed up as an angel, even more when his voice drips with faux desperation, “Hey, come back. I need my cuddles.”

“You’ll live,” you toss back before pulling the door shut behind you and stepping into the warm embrace of the shower. The hot water stings at first, then soothes you, sliding down your skin.

Jeongguk already knows the outcome of what he’s about to do isn’t going to turn in his favor, but he tries his luck regardless, standing up hastily and limply making his way to his bathroom door.

He only knocks twice, then puts on his best begging voice, talking loud enough to be heard over the shower, “Toots?”

“No!”

A scoff filters through the steamy air, followed by the unmistakable creak of the door handle as he steps inside. He’s relentless, voices his thoughts with the kind of logic only he would find convincing, “C’mon, we’ll save water!”

You stand with your back to him, his body wash traveling down your skin in soap bubbles, the scent filling the air, and you let your shoulders shrug. You don’t turn around. Number one, because you’ll give in. Number two, because you can hear the pout on his lips, and that’s the reason for number one.

You try your best to sound annoyed, “Jeongguk, just leave. You don’t even pay for it.”

“Our poor earth pays for it,” he quips, stepping further into the cramped space, body still bare, and that’s maybe a number three for you, “Because you wanna be so unfair to your best friend and leave him out in the cold.”

“You’re not my best friend.”

His gasp is dramatic, you even hear it echo through the tiny room, and you fight hard to contain the giggle locked inside you, but it escapes in the shape of a snort, which you quickly try to conceal by clearing your throat. You even further go with the lie, “You heard me.”

“Unbelievable. I’m kicking you out the second you’re done here,” he tries his best menacing tone, the threat barely harsh and effective, closing the door behind his back with an exaggerated thump, followed by unintelligible grumbling.

You take your sweet time in his now steamy bathroom. You shampoo twice, deliberately squeezing out a generous amount of his own fancy product in your palm, making sure the squeak of the bottle is heard through the door so he knows you’re helping yourself. His high-quality hair dryer blasts warm air over your damp hair until it’s only mildly wet. And you even rummage around his cabinet, indulging in his collection of expensive skincare creams. These little luxuries are exactly why you never pass a single occasion to shower over at his dorm room.

And the second you’re done in there, he doesn’t kick you out like he threatened. It takes a moment for him to move his attention from his phone to your figure, wrapped around in his fluffy robe, and he doesn’t even try to keep up the menacing act. Still spread on his ruined bed, his furrowed brows relax, and his lips break into a grin. He scans your face, then giggles, “You’ve got a massive pimple on your forehead.”

“Fuck you. I’m taking one of your hoodies.”

“It’s called borrowing,” even in the midst of checking out your freshly-washed naked body, now being stripped from his bathrobe, he’s still committed to the game of banter you two always play.

“It’s not if I’m not giving it back,” you counter, voice muffled by the fabric of one of his many black sweatshirts you’re already pulling over your head, quickly shuffling into your jeans, helping them up with some small hops that make him grin.

He doesn’t seem bothered by your comeback, too used to losing his own clothes to your closet; rather, he watches you move with what seems like hurry around his dimly lit room. He shifts higher, letting the sheets slip to reveal his still bare, and slightly sweaty torso, “Wanna hang out together at the party tomorrow?”

”Hmm, I’ll just see you there,” you don’t pay him much attention, using your phone camera as a mirror to wipe away any smudged mascara under your eyes. “I’ve already got a partner, actually.”

Jeongguk fully sits up now, vision a little blurry from the hasty and sudden movement, phone forgotten, “A partner?”

The way you casually let a smile tug at your lips while talking about a man is new, “Yeah. A guy from my English class asked me to go with him. He’s pretty cute.”

You’re too busy shoving your belongings in your bag and mentally cataloging every single item to notice the expression your best friend is currently sporting, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. Tank top, makeup, laptop… where the fuck is— oh, here. Lip balm. What else?

Jeongguk thinks you’re forgetting something deathly important. A fucking explanation, maybe? He’s known you to occasionally fool around with random guys, but he thought it was just that. Occasional and random. When did it get to having a partner? That sounds silly. Or maybe a little too formal, a little too real. What the fuck does having a partner even entail?

You’re blissfully unaware of the stubborn storm taking over Jeongguk’s thoughts, especially because you’re not exactly sparing him a second glance, moving with single-minded focus, hurrying to leave. Because apparently it’s so bad to want to spend the night with your best friend. Share a bed, watch a movie, talk gossip (it’s been so long since you’ve updated him the way only you can about the latest campus stories, ugh). Amazing, yes, that’s totally fine with Jeongguk.

And he does manage to sound unbothered, “What’s his name?”

“Namjoon.”

Jeongguk focuses on your slim fingers slipping your lip balm into the front pocket of your bag, syllabes leaving his lips in a slow mumble, “Ah, Namjoon. I know him. I guess.”

Fucking Kim Namjoon. Of course he knows him. 6 feet tall, polite, model student Kim Namjoon. Shit. Great choice. No, really, he’s the perfect catch.

“Hm? Well, I think he’s very nice. And hot as fuck.”

He grimaces, “Gross.”

“You’re one to talk,” pulling the hood over your head, you finally meet his eyes. You’re completely oblivious to the thoughts gnawing at him, so you think his disappointment is only caused by your next words, “I should get going now.”

“What? You’re not staying over for dinner?” The way he looks up at you with doe, puppy-dog eyes almost makes you trip on your own resolution, but you only ruffle his hair from your stance next to his bed, hoping the small action is enough to satisfy your hunger. Not for dinner.

“Nah, sorry Gguk. Gotta get up early for English class.”

He scoffs, moving stubbornly from your soothing touch, “Sure. English class with Joohyuk.”

“…Namjoon.”

“Right, that’s what I said. Namsun.”

You raise an eyebrow, half-laughing, “No, it’s Namjoon.”

“Namgi.”

“Namjoon.”

“Whatever, don’t care.” The words have barely any space to roll out through his pout, and along with his petty little slip-ups it’s the most childish act you’ve seen him pull so far. To be completely honest, he seems to break a new record every other day.

You fight the urge to roll your gaze at the ceiling, finding it impossible to deal with pouty, hungry and cuddle-starved Jeongguk. You sigh, muttering, “Insufferable.”

“Give me a kiss, brat.”

The teasing comes so naturally that for a second you don’t ponder on the demand being something a normal friend wouldn’t exactly ask. But it isn’t one you’ll deny.

You bend down to meet him as easily as he let the request out, muttering a playful Oh, I’m the brat now? before brushing his pushed lips with yours in a sweet, short kiss, enough to draw a soft sigh from both of you. You hum against it, voice warm with something that contradicts your words entirely, “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Sure,” rolling your eyes, you grant his cocky figure that little win, too tired to put up a fight, even if you almost rethink it when he confidently leans back against the pillows, smirking up at you. You decide to cut it short, it’s for the best, throwing your bag over your shoulder as well as one last look at him, before readying yourself for the walk of shame through his frat.

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Namjoon is, by all standards, the perfect guy. He’s genuine, smiles sweetly with his dimples showing and his eyes crinkling into crescents that make him seem both wise and youthful.

Careful, even protective over you, making sure you’re comfortable. With your drink, with your seat, with your conversation.

Almost too attentive, which should calm your nerves, but instead you feel yourself unable to fully let go. Open up to him like he’s doing with you, like you think you want to do.

You’re not sure. You can’t feel that mysterious spark everybody talks about. That spark Jeongguk admitted he’s never felt with anyone so far, no matter the number of girls he’s been with. The one he’s confessed he’s desperate to feel. The one you hope he can find.

Wait, why are you thinking about Jeongguk?

Said boy has yet to acknowledge you, standing across from you in the crowded living room of your mutual friend’s house. Each weekend, the same ritual brings you back here, whenever Taehyung’s parents head off for one of their rich-people, luxurious trips. The space is familiar, a backdrop to countless parties, all too often ending in someone’s drunken confessions and stolen kisses that’d become the talk of campus until the next party came around.

As tradition would want, with the clock ticking its way past midnight, you’d be drunk out of your mind already. Tonight, however, you’re not even sure you want to be here.

Namjoon is keeping close tabs on your drinks, monitoring each glass you reach for, and you know he means well; ordinarily, you’d find it sweet, endearing even. But it only seems to heighten your anxiety now. It just reminds you of how out of place this whole thing feels. You want to drown your awkwardness in a wave of liquid courage, and the irony isn’t lost on you: the very reason why you’re nervous is keeping you from numbing it.

Namjoon makes you way too aware of yourself. You wish your first proper hang out wasn’t at a filthy frat party, the blasting music causing you both to lean into each other to make conversation. The proximity makes your palms disgustingly clammy, and you hope he doesn’t reach for your hand.

You also think this isn’t the type of scenario that best suits Namjoon. You would have loved to be with him somewhere softer, with less noise and more light, talking over coffee instead of loud techno, his poetic speech lulling you into infatuation. Maybe then, this would have gone like you had imagined it might. Like you wanted it to go, just to prove something to yourself. You’re still not sure what exactly.

But this house — this party — is a natural habitat for people like Jeongguk. It’s a playground he navigates with ease, his charisma amplified by the darkened rooms and faint cigarette smoke that seems to follow him, just like everyone around him. They exist solely to orbit his mood.

It’s as he saunters back inside after yet another smoke break that you spot him again, his focus entirely on whatever girl is currently at his side. With Namjoon leaving to grab a drink for the two of you to share, you take the short moment to be a shameless creep and study your friend’s movements from the other side of the room.

You can’t help but feel a sting of irritation. Jeongguk is fully aware you’re here. You’d texted him earlier, just something casual to say you’d arrived, maybe even expecting him to meet you or give you a quick wave. Instead, there’d been no reply.

Just like the TikToks you’d sent last night, after you told him you wouldn’t be staying over at his, that also went ignored. You didn’t think too much of it, figured it was probably one of his petty acts. You aren’t any better: it’s not like you’ll go up to him to say hi, not after he ignored you. Those videos were funny, too. He’s the one missing out.

But now, your eyes squinted to try and get the best possible view on each detail of the scene in front of you, what you notice is nothing about him and everything about who he’s currently spending the time he could have used to acknowledge you with.

It’s not just whatever girl. It’s Haeun.

You haven’t seen them hanging out together in what feels like months, and frankly, you’re thrown. Maybe that’s also the reason why he suddenly had no time for you. You scoff.

You’re just confused, really. Jeongguk didn’t mention a thing about her, and it’s not like he’s ever kept his hookups or flings a secret. But Haeun was never just that. She was the one he seemed almost ready to get in his first serious relationship with, the one girl you thought could make him forget all about his usual habits.

When Jeongguk had first started hanging out with Haeun, he’d seemed uncharacteristically interested. You naturally found yourself rooting for him, hoping he’d take a leap and start something real after many failed attempts.

At that point, your casual arrangement with him had been going on for a while, but you knew it wasn’t built to last. You’d expected it to end sooner rather than later, and you were okay with that. You just wanted him to be happy with himself and his choices.

But on the night he was supposed to take Haeun out on a date, the one that could have changed everything, it’s like a magic vacuum turned on and sucked all his progress away. He’d shown up in front of your door instead. No explanations, no details about what had happened; he didn’t want to talk. He only wanted to be near you and sink into silence.

That night you laid next to him, his head on you, hair sprawled out on your stomach, and said absolutely nothing.

Since then, he hadn’t mentioned Haeun at all, and you’d assumed it was over. The right side of your brain was irrationally glad for that, greedily geeking at the prospect of still getting to keep Jeongguk close in ways that go over a simple friendship. In ways that have you thanking God for not taking your friend’s sex skills away from you; in ways that have your nose scrunching whenever he leaves small, delicate pecks on the side of your neck as you watch a movie cuddled in his embrace. If he had decided to go on that date, you would be denied all of this luxury.

The left side of your brain is a little less greedy, a little more rational. The half of your mind responsible for keeping some logic instilled in you even thought it could have been a good thing for Jeongguk to experience a different side of relationships.

You’ve always sensed there to be deeper reasons beneath Jeongguk’s carefree front. You’ve watched him jump from girl to girl, dip in and out of flings with seemingly no thought, as if he’s not trying to bury issues he should find a different answer for, to avoid whatever insecurities he’s run too far away from to face.

He’s never had to spell it out for you. You never pressed him on the topic either. And you think he’s grateful for it, for your silence that offers him the stability he won’t admit he needs, for simply staying and understanding. For allowing him to be vulnerable.

You wish you could give him more than that quiet comfort. Wonder if you should try your luck and push him to see that he does deserve something real— more than the distractions he uses to keep his fears at bay.

Jeongguk would make an incredible boyfriend. He always spots the small details, the slight changes in your mood, and he picks them up before you can even notice yourself, caring in a silent way that doesn't go unnoticed. Not by you.

It’s easy to imagine him being the kind of partner who’d cater to his girl’s needs effortlessly, even in quiet, even if hidden. You know he could be that person if he could just let anyone in beyond sex. When he’ll find the one, it’ll be clear it’s all he was made for.

Right now though, if anyone were to ask you that, you’d advise them to just go and look for another one, because he’s a little, lying piece of shit. You’re just a tad bit upset about it, if your crossed arms and furrowed brows are anything to go by.

You don’t understand why he’s now there, standing next to the girl he himself stood up, the one he looked ready to fix everything for, and then wasn’t. Leaning in close as if nothing had ever happened.

Why couldn’t he tell you, at least give you a heads-up if he was reconnecting with her? You know it shouldn’t bother you as much as it does, but the fact that he’s hiding it stings. Are you overthinking this?

When he lifts his head from her ear and scans the room, his eyes landing right on yours for a brief second just to look away, you don’t think you are. His attention shifts back to Haeun as if he hadn’t seen you at all. What the fuck?

You question what’s the point of having eyes to see when you are now forced to witness Jeongguk leaving the room with Haeun hanging her draggy weight on his arm, his smile cockish as he helps her up by her waist, fingers digging dangerously close to the curve of her perfectly shaped peach.

Their chemistry is undeniable, hands finding skin with unpracticed ease. It must be the way Jeongguk can effortlessly work his charm with any girl he deems attractive enough to fuck, his smirk and the way he lets his nose scrunch almost timidly, as if you can’t see right through him, making women potty in his sculpted hands.

The prospect of your best friend getting laid by the girl he was almost ready to change it all for should make you happy. Smile, at least.

Instead, you frown, mindlessly taking long sips from the straw in your glass and letting it stir your too watered-down cocktail that lacks any real flavor. You don’t even try to find answers as to how another drink landed right on the counter you rest your back on, but you’re glad for it.

You’re more upset at the fact that he decided not to tell you anything. You would have helped him through it, supported him, advised him on what to do, how to move in such a situation. But even if he didn’t need any of this, you would have appreciated just knowing. From him.

The ways in which the two of you are intertwined right at this moment don’t exactly allow him to completely leave you unaware of his actions. It’s not fair.

But then, are you even supposed to feel like this in the first place? Is only sex supposed to have this impact on you? Is even the smallest cell in his brain producing a thought that might take him back to you, and could it compare to a third of what you think and feel?

Does he not get that tingly sensation with you, ‘cause he’s used to it? ‘Cause you’re nothing too different nor special from all the choice he has laid at his feet, nothing out of the usual routine?

A gentle hand on your arm jolts you out of your thoughts. The touch is delicate, but the way it pulls you from your spiral is rough, making you stumble on the already wobbly stool you’re sitting on. When you look to your side, Namjoon meets you with a warm smile.

You hadn’t even noticed him being back next to you, and you figure that’s probably how that drink found its way in your hands. You’re a deer caught in headlights as you look at him, then down at the almost empty glass, then back at the boy. Your eyes widen impossibly more, and you struggle with finding a louder volume to your voice, almost fading with the music, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to finish this all by myself.”

You remember him saying he’d get a drink for the two of you to share before leaving you with your haunting thoughts. He just laughs in a way that should soothe your nerves, but it doesn’t, “It’s okay. You look like you needed it. I’m getting another one for me and catching up with some of my friends over there. I’ll be back in a bit, alright?”

“Yeah, totally. No problem,” your words roll out your tongue in a slurred hurry, face already turning to the opposite side of the room, and you’re not even sure what you’re agreeing on. You just feel Namjoon slip away from the seat next to yours again.

The brief interaction was enough for Jeongguk to have time to completely disappear from your strict observing, and just like the boy who should have had your undivided attention tonight, he equally slips away. From your vision, from the party. And from you. He’s with Haeun now, after all. And you’re alone.

Being truthful, Jeongguk is once again slipping away from his problems only. He doesn’t know how he ended up with Haeun by his side, but when he found your big, confused eyes in the midst of what should have been his escape for the night, he thinks he could name a few reasons.

It’s suffocating, the grip you have on him. He can almost feel one of your slim, delicate hands around his throat. He’s a dirty little sadist, of course he enjoys the pain. But he shouldn’t, so he runs from it until his back hits the wall, and the hold only gets tighter.

There’s nothing to do but face the truth. And you’re in front of him, eyes lost and inviting him to tell you. What should be easy for him to say, what he owes you. But the words get stuck in his throat, right where you’re pressing, and he feels like he might stop breathing.

He could die like this, with your narrowed orbs pitying him, and he badly wishes you would call him a coward. The hold is just enough to hurt him, not to make him lose his senses; if anything, it only makes his head spin around the one thought he wants to avoid. You.

With the quickest distraction he could get his hands on, he keeps adding to it: Haeun clinging to his side, he steps out the packed room to light the nth cigarette, the smoke clouding his vision and making the image of you fade from behind his eyelids. You release your hand from him and disappear. He almost whines. He misses you already. But the faint ache is a reminder.

Instead, in front of him is the only girl he should have truly avoided. Haeun is another reminder. Not because she looks similar to you, you’re way prettier. You’re beautiful.

No, it’s just because he remembers Haeun being his first victim, using her to bury something stronger growing inside him. But it didn’t work then, and it doesn’t work now.

She’s the only girl he tried his luck with to avoid his now unavoidable feelings for you. Then, he physically couldn’t touch another woman beside you. So he started flirting with more cigarettes and alcohol. Maybe some joints then and there.

Jeongguk would love to know why he prefers destroying himself rather than just be the confident man he lets everyone else think he is, go up to you and be honest, like you make it so easy for him to be. The fact that it almost slipped out of him more than a couple times scares him.

It shouldn’t. He wants to fall into that soothing caress, but could he even handle the possibility of you simply, and rightfully if you deemed it the correct choice, rejecting him?

The answer is no. He can’t afford losing your touch on him, your lashes fluttering when you look up at him, your fingers tracing secret maps on his back. He wonders if you’re outlining the safest ways for him to escape from the maze he himself created, of which he forgot the exit to.

With Haeun pressing herself to his side, he thinks he’d rather stay trapped there at this point. A maze built by lies, letting you believe he’s fucking other girls on the side when he feels sickened just by the thought of it, his hand now coming up to push the girl back to a safe distance. Built by insecurities, preferring having you think that you’re simply one of the many he has when he firmly believes you’re the only one that the universe has especially assigned him to.

It’s making him lose his mind, while you live unaware, free from the truth. He’s sure in the stretch that went from yesterday, when you told him about your fucking partner, and tonight, seeing you so close to said partner’s face, your dress custom-made by the hands of every angel populating heaven, Jeongguk developed some kind of clinical illness. The flame of jealousy in his toned tummy has eaten him whole.

And he feels slightly ashamed of himself knowing this is how he found himself circling back to his first poor attempt at running away from you, in the form of a short girl, her eyes now questioning him just like yours had done earlier. Haeun furrows her brows, “Are you seriously doing this again?”

Jeongguk sighs, glancing away to take a long drag from his cigarette that fills his lungs and almost aches. He avoids the eye contact that would be needed for a conversation like the one he’s forced to have — one that wouldn’t have occured in the first place if he could just be a normal person — instead he looks back to the room through the glass doors, “I’m sorry, Hae. I— I can’t do this—“

“Yo, Gguk. You need to come with me now. ___ is throwing up in the bathroom.”

It’s Taehyung sliding the glass door open with more force than what he usually puts, and right now nobody would tell he’s the same one always advising his friends to be delicate with it. The look on his face is panicked and it quickly reflects in Jeongguk’s eyes, flickering between his friend and Haeun.

Next, his reflexes are quicker. He steps inside the house, skipping past Taehyung and the flood of college students dancing their Friday away to Usher and seemingly not caring about the urgency written all over his expression.

He makes it to the bathroom where people have started to crowd around as if lining up to an unmissable show, and he doesn’t care if his pushes are too rough as he makes his way through.

You’re quite literally hugging the toilet, your face one with the lid as a few girls try and help you with your hair. The moment they see Jeongguk, it’s like they know he’s the one that you need, that he’s finally here and you’re in good hands. He shoots them a quick nod as they step aside and then, he’s immediately crouching next to you, gently gathering your long locks into his fist.

He moves some stray strands behind your ears while you keep letting it all out, and as much as his broad back is enough to hide you from watchful eyes, he can still hear murmurs from onlookers.

It’s as Jeongguk is debating whether he should cuss them out or keep his attention on you that Taehyung comes to promptly clear the crowd, closing the bathroom door behind him only after making sure his friend doesn’t need any more help.

Jeongguk appreciates the gesture, knowing how overwhelmed you can get in these scenarios with too many people around. Although, no matter how calm he appears for your sake, his heart races even as you seem to settle and sit on the tiled floor, your back resting against the cool wall.

You gulp down a few times, squeezing your eyes to try and ground yourself, the way you can feel Jeongguk’s hand hold the side of your leg, his thumb delicately brushing the inside of your thigh, definitely helping.

“Toots,” he whispers, face close to your own, “Hey, doll. You’re okay now, hm? What happened?” His voice is low, slow, almost scared of flowing past his lips.

When you open your eyes he’s directly in front of you, squatting down to stay on your level, and his brows are drawn high in worry.

You sniff, your voice still rough from the scratching on your throat, “Fucking— Jimin. I met him in the kitchen and we mixed too much shit together—“

“Weren’t you with Kim Namjoon?” Jeongguk interrupts you, both his tone and the way his eyebrows now dip inquisitive.

You shrug, looking down at your fingers fidgeting, “Dunno. Why the fuck am I still not sober,” the way you tone the question doesn’t make it sound like one, and you end up giggling at yourself, hiccuping in the process.

Jeongguk sighs, unconsciously tightening his hold around your leg, his fingers digging and making you whimper subtly. He notices, soothing the skin only to take both his hands to scoop you up by your armpits, lifting both your bodies on your feet.

You yelp, throwing your weight on him with another one of your senseless chuckles, looking up at his bothered face through your lashes. He straightens your posture with wide palms on your waist, throwing one of your arms around his shoulders and causing you to step out of the small room on your tiptoes. He grumbles, “I’m taking you back to the dorm now. And we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“Talk about what?”

“Namjoon.”

You stay quiet as the both of you, your body snug against his, walk through the party and out the house to reach Jeongguk’s car. Your thoughts are sluggish, failing to grasp why he’d even want to talk about Namjoon. Isn’t he just a nice guy? You’re more concerned with Jeongguk’s seemingly irked tone and the distressed way his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

A soft, involuntary whine escapes you when you think you might be the reason for that, shuffling yourself closer into his warmth, but the contact is brief as he gently settles you into the passenger seat and clicks the belt, then he closes your door and circles the car to the driver’s side.

Awkward. The only sound that can be heard is the soft hum of the engine, beside the fuzzy buzz in your ears. You feel laughter bubbling up in your chest but you hold it there, turning to study Jeongguk’s side profile. Inhaling, you start, “Can you— can I put on—”

“No.”

Your smile falters, “What? C’mon, give me the aux.”

“The last thing I want right now is to listen to those songs.”

Any previous tipsy instinct that made you want to laugh at the situation fade with his words and the way his grip on the steering wheel says more than what he’s letting on. You’re hazy, but his clenched jaw and laser focus on the road make you sit up straighter, adjusting your slouched posture and the skirt of your dress with it, pulling it further down your thighs.

The tension coming off him feels so heavy that it leads to irrational, childish tears pricking your eyes, and you sound defeated when you whisper, “Are you mad at me?”

He brakes a little too hard at the red light, and you both lurch slightly forward. Jeongguk seems to realize just now that he’s unfairly taking his anger out on you, and the way you let out the question in the smallest voice makes his heart speed up, turning to you with apprehension, “No, toots. No, why would I be? I’m mad at that fucker.”

“He was just talking with some of his—”

“He left you alone. He was supposed to take care of you. Not let you get fucking wasted.”

Jeongguk sounds final, his tone allowing no more condoning nor excuses for the tall guy now left behind you, back at the party. But you don’t seem to focus too much on the meaning of his words, rather you bask in the consequences of them. He’s not upset with you!

That spurs you to contradict him further, this time on the accusation he threw at you, but it’s less than credible when you say it through a sheepish smile that unconsciously made its way on your lips at the protective edge to his tone, “I’m not fucking wasted.”

Jeongguk only sighs, but you can see him visibly relax, shoulders going down and leaning against the back of his seat, right hand coming to pat your bare knee with a small smile on his pierced lips.

You share a look that fully sobers you up only to get you high all over again off his doe eyes, the artificial lights dotting a universe of their own in those orbs, undiscovered galaxies and planets inviting you to move there, even with no water, no oxygen, no way of surviving.

When the soft hue of the red light reflecting on the side of your face morphs to green, he moves his attention back on the road, taking his hand with it to shift gears. Then, he concedes, “Put on the playlist.”

You blink, a little taken aback by his sudden shift in mood, but just as quickly you recover. Your brain seems to be able to focus on one thing at a time either way, so you don’t ponder on your insides collectively moving at the way he looked at you and instead reach for the aux cord, fingers tapping on your phone screen absentmindedly, with a conscience of their own.

Music interrupts the quiet, and you can’t help but join, “The night we met I knew I, needed you so. And if I had the chance I’d, never let you go. Sing with me!”

Jeongguk breaks into a grin, no matter how much he fights it, “You’re so fucking wasted.”

“So won’t you say you love me? I’ll make you so proud of me. We’ll make ‘em turn their heads every place we go, so won’t you please,” Be My Baby by The Ronettes fills the previous silent tension, which you seemingly already forgot everything about, using Jeongguk’s free hand as your own personal microphone, folding it in a fist between your palms.

Jeongguk would never say it out loud, especially now, after he only pretended he had to be begged to put it on, that he’s actually grown attached to this playlist. Started as a little mishap and turned into something that got under his skin, much like you have.

Its creation came about from a comically embarrassing moment that gave you ammunition to tease him for weeks. Although, he’s glad for it when he reflects deep enough: the whole episode helped shape the bond between you two, adding to its foundation.

He still doesn’t know how you managed to slip so sneakily into his dorm that evening, but what’s sure is that he wasn’t expecting you, taking the time of his life in his bathroom, fresh out of the shower. Simply following his usual routine, one that you wouldn’t have exactly considered usual since you only ever knew him as an avid Drake listener, he hummed along to Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling in Love flowing softly from his phone speaker.

It wasn’t just that, of course, because then he started styling his wet hair in an exaggerated pompadour and fully got into character, strutting dramatic poses in front of the mirror and even practicing Elvis’s iconic curl of the lip. If his soul was by any chance watching over the scene, you’d hoped he’d agree with you that Jeongguk was truly giving Austin Butler a run for his money.

The private show sadly ended when he caught sight of you in the foggy glass, your lips sealed shut to try and hold your delighted laughter, but it got ripped out of you in the form of an obnoxious snort the moment his eyes went wide in horror and his face crimson in shame.

It was hell for a few weeks after that. You didn’t let him off so easily, teasing him for being a secret softie with a love for old-school romance under all the layers of his tough fuckboy image that only ever seemed to handle trappy beats.

When you jokingly suggested he might as well get fully into the act and start calling you toots or something, he didn’t back down from the tease, scoffing at you with narrowed eyes. Somewhere along the way, the dry, sardonic tone with which he first used that pet name on you stuck, and it became less of a joke, more of an endearing way to refer to you, and only you.

Before either of you could second-guess it, the playlist was born. You two crafted it together in fits of laughter and late-night texts, with Jeongguk suggesting songs from his secret stash and you contributing the ones you grew up on.

It quickly became the soundtrack to many of your aimless car rides, something that neither of you acknowledged outright but silently cherished. Sometimes, you’d get so carried away and slip into the roles of a ‘60s couple, playfully reciting cheesy lines back and forth.

No matter how much Jeongguk pretends he hates it to save what’s left of his bad boy reputation, he really doesn’t. Not even a little bit. Even the way he rolls his eyes and groans isn’t enough to hide the spark in his eyes when you sing along.

He feels worse than a pubescent teenager when he lets his guard slip to hear you hum words he can only imagine are just for him, meant in the way he wants. You swing side by side and smile up at him with dimples digging long slits into your cheeks, and he has to act as if it makes him feel completely normal and not like he’s going to crash his car any second.

Each lyric that spills from your mouth feels like it’s tying him down, even with your sweet voice a little unsteady, thanks to whatever is still left from the night’s drinks. You’re so not aware of what it does to him.

Your eyes are on the road, but Jeongguk’s linger on you, his fingers unconsciously tapping the steering wheel to the tune.

“I’d save every day like a treasure, and then, again, I would spend them with you.”

Jeongguk purposefully veers off onto streets he doesn’t need to take, buying himself a few extra minutes with you, but you don’t notice and he pretends to not know either. Would never admit it’s because he wants to hear you sing a little more, and that this ongoing joke between the two of you might be his favorite thing in the whole world.

“But there never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do once you find them. Hold on, this one’s a little lower. I’ll find my note, wait,” you’re mostly talking to yourself, cheek pressed to the cool glass of the window, but you glance at Jeongguk as if seeking for approval, clearing your throat, “I’ve looked around enough to know that you’re the one I want to go through time with.”

Just as Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce fades out, Jeongguk pulls into the campus parking lot, turning the engine off and cutting the music with it. None of you move right away, accepting the stillness in the car.

You don’t accept the silence, though, letting your mind speak a thought that has been nagging at you, “Can you fuck me here? Right now?”

The way you voice the request would make anybody who didn’t understand English think you’d just asked for something as mundane as a glass of water, your eyes unfaltering, a small smile on your waiting lips, voice barely slicing through the quiet. It’s almost as if you don’t know it’s the kind of thing that could derail Jeongguk’s entire thought process.

Jeongguk lightly chokes on his own breath, giving a few coughs before turning to you, his tattooed hand messing his hair further, “Jesus Christ, ___. You know I can’t.”

You tilt your head, considering him, as if this is a serious debate rather than drunken rambling, “Why not?”

Jeongguk can only sigh. He takes in your disheveled state and notices the way your exposed skin prickles with the cold, reaching for the leather jacket he carelessly threw on the backseats before heading to the party, having had no idea you’d be the one wearing it by the end of the night.

He wraps it gently around your shoulders, moving sticky, stray strands of hair from your face, “You’re so drunk. Look at you.”

“I told you I’m not,” you protest weakly, but your confidence falters when his fingers ghost over your face.

“There’s vomit in your hair,” he shuts you bluntly, tone softer than the honest words.

“Oh,” your stubbornness doesn’t work this time, and you’re mortified as you glance down at your lap, where his fingers fall to mindlessly play with the zip of his bomber jacket, brushing your tummy in the process. Your voice doesn’t sound so sure now, especially when each subtle graze sends small shocks through you, “That’s disgusting.”

The soft chuckle he lets out has you stealing a look upward, and when you catch his expression your slowed down brain can only come to the conclusion that maybe he doesn’t find you all that disgusting: he sports a rare, wide curve of his bunny smile, eyes crinkling when that same fondness finds its way onto your lips. You can’t help what they do next, a mind of their own as you rest them on his own mouth, the tip of his nose tickling your cheek.

It’s the faintest of kisses, and it’s delicate, fleeting, over far too soon, but you’re the one to pull back first no matter how much longer you need it to be, “That was probably disgusting too.”

As you rest your back on the seat again, his eyes are still closed, and they flutter open as slowly as a smile stretches on his mouth when he meets you. You’re giving him a look he doesn’t deserve, one he shouldn’t lean into.

His voice is a whisper, and it fans over your face, still close to his, “Not at all.”

Gleaming eyes scan every angle of you, as if trying to find anything that’ll hold him back from what he really wants to do. But, of course, his need only grows when he lets his gaze wander down, then up again.

He glances to the side with a gulp, moving his body back to reach for the car door handle, “You think you can walk or should I carry you?”

“Carry me, please,” you mumble, not even pondering on the first option, and the moment the sound leaves your lips he’s out and reaching for your side, opening your door and scooping you up like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The walk to his dorm is a blur, with you dozing off in his warmth and being lulled by the hums escaping him and reverberating through his chest, melodies of the earlier songs playing against your ear.

You regain awareness when a splash of warm water cascades over your now naked body, the sensation startling enough to make your lashes flutter against your damp cheeks. The water runs over your face, washing away the remnants of the night, the drowsy yet oddly light sensation taking over you causing a giggle to echo against the walls.

You’re still too disoriented to process the tenderness with which Jeongguk’s hand moves, brushing through your soaked strands of hair and moving them from where they flattened on your face, combing through the sticky locks.

With half-open eyes, you’re met with the sight of him in front of you, standing close enough without needing to step into the small space with you, his brows furrowed as he works the shampoo through your hair. It’s a soothing, slow motion, the one he massages your scalp with, and it only melts you further into sweet slumber.

If it weren’t for one of his hands resting tightly on your hip, grounding you as the scent of the shampoo mingles with the steam curling around you, you would have gladly swayed into his palm, letting your weak body fall into his strong one.

You sniff, leaning into his care, voice small and oddly sincere, “I’m sorry for,” hiccup, “taking you away from Haeun. You two seem close again.”

Jeongguk stills for a moment, his fingers pausing in your hair before resuming their soft motions. He pretends he didn’t hear, and you pretend you never talked in the first place when he guides you to steady yourself as your knees wobble, “Hey, stand still. You’ll get shampoo in your eyes. Close them.”

You obey, letting your eyelids drop shut as you feel his hand gently tilt your head under the spray, his touch as tender as the words he isn’t saying.

If you weren’t a victim of both sleepiness and alcohol at this very moment, your thoughts would be racing each other like eager contenders in the Overthinker Marathon, each one fighting tooth and nail for the gold medal. They’d be dissecting every little detail of the night— the way Jeongguk had ignored you, his lingering hand on Haeun’s waist, only to be there the second you needed him, the girl from earlier not even worth mentioning.

Instead, your every thinking cell has taken a rare vacation, lounging together on an imaginary green field, clinking glasses filled with leftover cocktails from earlier, lazily watching clouds drift by.

Although there’s one cell in particular, too tipsy to sit still. It hops around gleefully, urging your lips to move before the Thinking Cell General can intervene. The way it jumps up and down, up and down, makes you giggle as you blurt out, “I don’t know if it’s the water, but I’m very wet.”

The silence that follows is thick, punctuated only by the sound of water cascading down your back. Jeongguk freezes as if the words have physically reached out and yanked him into stunned stillness. He can only let his throat bob in a visible swallow and look away, warning you in a strained mutter, “___. This is your last warning. Stop teasing me.”

You whine, pathetically wiggling your weak and pliant body in his hold to seek for some kind of reaction, but he doesn’t budge. He’s uncharacteristically focused on his tasks, ensuring every trace of shampoo rinses from your hair, rather than your hardened nipples bouncing with your stubborn movements.

But you recognise the way his jaw clenches so tight it must hurt, how he refuses to let his gaze wander lower where the steam of water outlines your form. His restraint is razor-thin, yet he holds it tightly, breathing only slightly uneven.

You’re not deterred by his warning; you never are. It’s the tiny tracks in his resolve that keep you pressing forward, voice laced with a vulnerability that makes his hand twitch against your scalp, “Just… I just need your fingers. Please.”

Jeongguk exhales sharply through his nose, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he angles the spray to wash the last suds away, hyper-focused on the practical task as though it’s a lifeline to his dwindling self-control.

But you’re persistent. You reach behind you, fingers messily finding the knob to twist the water off, and with the spray halting you’re left only with the hum of the bathroom fan and the faint drip of water.

Your other hand finds his, guiding his wide palm to rest on your lower stomach, just above where your want is written in every inch of your body. You whisper, plead clear in your tone, ”You know I want this. Won’t ever regret it. I’m conscious enough to be sure of that.”

Jeongguk huffs, his chest rising and falling as he stares down at you, fingers flexing slightly against your skin. He closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply as if accepting defeat. He can’t win this battle.

The brown-haired boy steps into the shower, the small space shrinking even further with the addition of his broader frame, forcing you to back up against the wall. Fully dressed, water clings to his fabric, and the contrast of his damp clothes against your bare, exposed skin makes you irrationally wetter.

Jeongguk keeps silent, and at this point you don’t care how desperate you look, pushing yourself against him and getting his clothes wetter in the process. It pushes him to initiate a torturous path along your skin, using his middle finger to trace a journey from your chest, savoring the way your breath hitches, down to your warm core.

The droplets of water he collects on the way are used to spread your puffy lips and press right on your sensitive nub, making you gasp. You’re a trembling mess from the simple motion, and he has to use his free hand to steady you against the wall.

Your breasts aren’t left without being taken care of, because the moment he begins circling motions on your clit that have you seeing stars, he lowers his head to envelop one of your tits in his ravenous mouth, teeth teasing it punitively, all while looking up at you with sliced, sinful eyes.

He’s greedy, and you can’t believe he managed to hide it so well until now. But his resolve crumbles the more he revels in the way you fall apart for him, and he loses control on your chest. The sensation is sharp, delicious, and the contrast between the harshness of his bite and the softness of his tongue has you whimpering.

You’re ashamedly aware of how close you already are, his digits picking a fast speed that urges you to let go and coat him in your juices. He knows, simply from the way you let your mouth fall agape and release loud moans in the steamy air, pushing your nipples further in his swollen lips.

When he inserts one finger in your warm hole, you jolt in his secure hold, eyebrows shot upwards in the shock of your sudden orgasm, one that hits you all too harshly. It drags on deliciously, Jeongguk never wanting it to end, the slurping sound of his sucking on your tits making your surrounding spin, along with his thumb accompanying the way his single digits thrusts into you.

He only stops when you unconsciously run from his doings, slim hand wrapping weakly around his wrist, and he retreats with one last wet stripe along the curve of your boob, promptly collecting your taste from his fingers, and he thoroughly hums around them, eyes closed and cheeks hollowed.

You think you could come again from the sight alone. Panting, you smile through your ragged breaths, “Fuck. Thanks.”

Five minutes later, no one would bet you’re the same girl that begged him for his fingers and came in record time around them. Now, you sit serenely on the toilet lid, wrapped up in Jeongguk’s warmest hoodie. The oversized fabric swallows your frame, knees tucked under it as you hug them close to your chest. You look as innocent as ever.

Jeongguk stands in front of you, meticulously brushing through your damp hair with practiced gentleness, each stroke of the comb a soothing lullaby. You rest your chin lazily on your folded arms, eyes closed, the edges of sleep blurring your thoughts.

You let out a contented sigh before murmuring, words unfiltered, “You’d make the perfect boyfriend. You always take care of me. And kiss me when I need it.”

The motions of the brush stop for a fraction of a second before resuming, and what you hear next is Jeongguk’s throat clearing, his voice low and almost shaky, “That sounds so very wrong, toots.”

“What do you mean?” You don’t open your eyes as you ask the question, the warmth of his presence and the excuse of the last traces of alcohol still flowing in your tired body making you bolder than usual.

“You want me to be your boyfriend?”

“In another life, maybe. Yes,” you don’t waste time replying, words carrying a dreamy quality, “I mean, would be cool.”

“Cool?” He chuckles, but it’s the kind that’s half-exasperation and half-something else entirely, voice strained with an edge of desperation too, “God, I don’t even know why I’m still putting up with you.”

You only nuzzle closer into the borrowed hoodie, giving voice to your next thought, your thinking cells now hosting a 60s themed party, “Be my, be my baby. My one and only baby.”

The sound of your singing fades under the whirring roar of the hairdryer, and Jeongguk is quietly thankful for the way it drowns your sweet hums completely, fearing if he hears another one of those tipsy love confessions leaving your lips he might drop to his knees, undone by something he knows he can’t claim.

You rest your head against his stomach, full weight leaning on his standing figure, his long digits pulling through your strands. If you’d look up at your best friend for even one fleeting second, you’d probably laugh at the concentration on his expression, his only goal drying your hair enough to not have you waking up with a headache the following day.

You sniffle and snuggle impossibly closer to him, the heat radiating from his tummy and the white noise lulling you further into drowsiness, every careful motion of his hand coaxing you closer to sleep.

When your phone pings from the bathroom counter, the sudden buzz makes you jolt slightly. You lift your head sluggishly and gesture toward the phone, mouthing up to Jeongguk, “Pass it.”

He hands it to you without turning off the hairdryer, keeping an eye on your sleepy movements. You blink at the bright light for a moment before your expression shifts, eyes widening.

You’re completely jolted awake at the only notification on your home screen: it's Namjoon.

You tap Jeongguk’s stomach with the heel of your hand— softly at first, then with increasing urgency. The repeated motion forces him to stop the device and place it on the counter as he looks down at you, trying to peek at the screen, “What?”

You hiccup and sniff before blurting out, “Namjoon. He texted me”

The boy that was just now carefully drying your hair scoffs, arms crossed over his chest, “What does that asshole want?”

The response to the rhetorical question doesn’t come, either because you decide to ignore it purposefully or unconsciously: you look totally engulfed by the words on your otherwise empty chat with Namjoon, and Jeongguk can’t help but subtly lean his body lower to read the same texts you’re going through.

Kim Namjoon [4:26 a.m.]: Hey. Sorry for texting late, I heard from someone you threw up back at the party. I’m so sorry. I completely lost sight of you in that mess. Are you feeling any better? Very sorry again.

Kim Namjoon [4:27 a.m.]: It’s totally okay if you don’t want to hear from me again. But I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to make it up to you.

Kim Namjoon [4:27 a.m.]: I’d really like to take you out on a date. Would you let me?

Jeongguk kisses his teeth irkedly, “Why the fuck does he text like Prince William? Fucking English major,” and he truly tried his best to sound unaffected, but the words leave his mouth before he even knows he’s thinking of them.

Luckily, you don’t seem to notice, reading the message aloud like you can’t quite believe it yourself, “He said he’d like to go on a date with me. Like, he asked me on a date. And said he would like it. To go on a date—”

“Yes, we got it.”

“He doesn’t hate me, Gguk!” Once again, his petty comments go unnoticed as your face lights up, eyes crinkling with joy as you practically beam up at him.

Jeongguk wants to be annoyed, but he simply can’t when he’s met with all the stars in the universe right in your glossy, tired eyes. He swallows hard and forces a soft chuckle, “No, he doesn’t, toots. Anyone would be crazy to hate you.”

The grin on your lips only widens, nose scrunching adorably as you let your cheek sheepishly brush against your shoulder, “Oh my god, Gguk. I’m going on a date with him! Heh.”

“That’s nice,” he says, picking up the hairdryer again before your words can settle too heavily in the space between you. “I’m not finished with your hair, though. Stay still.”

The device roars to life once more, its noise filling the room and covering your excited giggles. Jeongguk keeps brushing through your hair with steady motions, his face impassive, but he feels something tighten, heavy and unyielding in his chest.

He tells himself the noise is a blessing, a shield from the silence he wouldn’t know how else to fill—or from the sound of his own voice, betraying him in ways he can’t afford.

────୨ৎ────

“I’ll miss the sex when Namjoon will ask me to be his girlfriend.”

In the quiet of the library, your sudden whisper startles Jeongguk. The chair screeches under him and it gains the both of you a few annoyed looks. He nods in apology at their way, moving closer to the table again, and he has to blink a few times before he can even meet your eyes. The scattered pens all over the white surface looked more interesting either way.

“When he— his— what?” He feels pathetic for being unable to even form a senseful sentence, but there’s no absolute way he blames his brain for that. It’s his heart, stuttering along with the barely intelligible question.

It cracks at the middle the more your grin splits your face in half, nose scrunching adorably, and he may be a horrible friend but he can’t bring himself to return your irony, nor the masked excitement under it.

If he were handed pen and paper and asked to write about how he feels right at this moment, he wouldn’t put down a single thing. Not because there isn’t anything to say. He fears your innocent teasing has done something catastrophic, snapping that one damned string that connected his brain to his heart, and the two aren’t communicating. Jeongguk is in the middle of two angered parents, fighting and on the brink of divorce. That’s what he gets for being a total pussy.

You shrug, frowning slightly when all you’re faced with is his blank expression, eyes unresponsive and detachedly looking elsewhere, but you keep yours on him, studying even the small movements, “I mean, he’s a nice guy. I think he’s serious about getting to know me.”

The word serious causes an involuntary twitch of his head, tilting almost imperceptibly to the side, and he sounds way too defensive, “And are you?”

Furrowing your eyebrows at his unexpected reaction, you return to your previous mindless doodling, keeping your voice low, “Well, he’s cute. Let’s see where this thing goes.”

“What about me?”

The question catches the both of you off guard. Your pencil halts as you glance at him through the corner of your eye, and even if you can’t see him clearly, the way his dark orbs widen is almost comical that you would laugh in any other situation. But now, the air is oddly tense and it makes your nose scrunch in awkwardness.

He breaks it with a chuckle, a subtle tremor in it that luckily goes unnoticed by you but that will probably keep him up at night for the next five years, and he lightly shoves your shoulder in an effort at feigning ease, “You really wanna pass on this dick?”

“God, you’re gross,” the annoyed roll of your eyes has Jeongguk releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding; it’s odd, but that’s just who he is.

The second you return to weightless banter, he’s back in his element. He can smirk, tease and deflect— these are tools he’s mastered over the months. But the thought of stripping naked for your eyes to see, and not in the sexual way you two engage in almost every night, terrifies him.

The waters are safe for what seems a fraction of a second before you pull him down in the deep, dark seas again, this dynamic between you foreign. While it is a simple, innocent question, your deceptive tone triggers unfamiliarity within him, “Besides, how’s it going with you and Haeun?”

“Huh? Oh. Haeun, yes,” his attempt at buying himself extra time is laughable, especially when Mr. Brain is now yelling at Ms. Heart for always wanting to get in the way of things he can handle alone, “Wonderfully. We— She— Huh, kissed me.”

Ms. Heart is furious. She has no other choice but to reach in her purse and slap the divorce papers on the dinner table, the glasses clinking against the plates, and Jeongguk flinches. Brain is speechless, clueless on how to react.

You only seem slightly taken aback, eyebrows raising in mild surprise, “Really? That’s nice.”

Jeongguk is equally clueless, subtly squeezing his eyes shut as if hoping to wake up somewhere else entirely, maybe in an ideal world where Kim Namjoon doesn’t exist and Mr. Brain and Ms. Heart are happily married.

Instead, he’s still in the library, and you’re still sitting next to him, scribbling on your English textbook. He frowns, getting pitiably lost in the view of your side profile, “Yeah, nice. Huh, when’s your date?”

When you glance up at him, you seem to be realizing just how odd it is for the two of you to spend this much time talking about your respective hook ups, and you cringe slightly at the unusual formality, wishing Jeongguk would just tease you like he usually does when you tell him about your untruthful and made up sexual adventures.

You purse your lips in thought, “Tomorrow, actually.”

“Oh. He’s going fast.”

“I like that.”

“I know you do.”

No matter the effort you put into trying to hide your amusement, a snort escapes you, and you quickly look away to recover from the childish grin spreading on your lips. You shake your head, closing the book in front of you, “You’re fucking disgusting.”

Jeongguk only smirks in an oddly proud way, nodding at your flustered state when he realizes he successfully managed yet again to shift the conversation from topics he doesn’t want to hear or talk about. He shrugs, “You just said that.”

“And I’ll say it again.”

“Whatever,” a small chuckle follows the dismissal, his hand coming to brush through his fluffy hair, getting too long for his liking, “I really wanted to see you tomorrow.”

Once again, Jeongguk is way too honest, way too easily. Ms. Heart is marching hastily with Mr. Brain walking close behind, trying to make sense of the situation and pushing her to reconsider her actions, but it’s no use: she’s tired, and sick of being walked over, again and again.

He doesn’t like the underlying meaning behind that, and wishes Mr. Brain would grow a pair and just swoon her back into love again. Jeongguk doesn’t like the genuine surprise etched across your face either, or, well, he doesn’t like the effect it has on him: it’s almost unbearable to accept that the blush dusting your cheeks, the one you’re probably unaware of, is caused by his unfiltered honesty. Because sincere bluntness isn’t exactly something he tries to show. Then, why does it spill out of him uncontrollably? Why— why do you look so beautiful like this?

“Hm,” your smile is small, but your dimple betrays it, Jeongguk’s whole resolve cracking with the way you sound dangerously decisive, “Too bad. You’re late.”

Jeongguk shouldn’t overthink this. You’re simply engaging in the usual dynamic, teasing him like always, no reason for his palms to sweat. He shouldn’t panic over the way nothing about what you said feels simple, nor usual, and your tone carries more than what you both want the words to mean.

He doesn’t know if it’s a warning or a test—or worse, the truth. Maybe he’s imagining it. Maybe Brain just misinterpreted the comment, too distracted by its constant squabble with Heart, both of them ignoring Jeongguk, who is still sitting at the cluttered kitchen table with his plate half-full, surrounded by a mess of inky emotions he doesn’t have the courage to clean up.

The sound of forks clinking against plates grates against his ears, drowning out the hurried excuses spilling from your mouth, the ones you’re babbling and making up along the way of gathering your things and standing up from the round table, shouldering your bag in the same hurry you left his room with before the next time he saw you was nose to nose with Namjoon.

You huff, giving a small, tight lipped smile that should be meaningless, but to Jeongguk it isn’t, “I’ll go now. See you around?”

“Huh, sure. Let me know how it goes with Namsun.”

You roll your eyes at the playful attempt, his grin just as empty, “Right. Bye Gguk.”

You’re off the hallway before he can add anything else. Not that he would have been able to. Your bag swings with your big steps, slim hands coming to absently tug your plaid skirt lower, and Jeongguk thinks and thinks.

He realizes he really doesn’t want to know how your little date goes. Would rather shoot himself rather than hearing you talk about another guy taking you out to dinner, stealing you from him and sealing the end to whatever the two of you have.

His options are narrowed. He either commits in front of you and forever changes the trajectory of your life or does something about Namjoon. But why does the option of ending his life sound much easier than stepping up to big, buff Namjoon, infatuated with the same girl he likes?

Oh.

The admission jolts him. It’s a physical reaction that causes his chair to shriek again under his movements, but this time he’s not polite enough to apologize for it. He must look crazy, wide eyes burning holes into his hands planted steadily on the table in front of him.

The girl he likes. You’re the girl he likes.

And every signal is there. The spark he sought for now lights a nervous feeling in his stomach, its fireworks interrupting Brain and Heart’s incessant arguing.

Does he look stupid not doing anything for the girl he likes? Not fighting for the girl he’s been falling for all this time?

────୨ৎ────

It should be easy. It is easy.

Jeongguk can’t let the sleepless night spent reciting lines to his ceiling go to waste. He’s sure not even theater kids could match his determination. And as he marches across campus toward the gym, where the squeak of sneakers and the echo of grunts will lead him to the person needed to put the plan into action, he reviews step by step what he’s told himself to do. It’s a well-rehearsed script, each word, every calculated expression—he’s gone over it a hundred times, accounting for every reaction.

Step one, be casual. Friendly, even. Approach Namjoon like there’s nothing calculated about this interaction—no ulterior motives, no scheme brewing beneath the surface. Just a casual catch-up between two guys.

“What’s up, Kim,” when Jeongguk spots the slightly taller boy exercising at a steady walking pace on the treadmill, he immediately hops onto the free one beside him.

Namjoon startles slightly, then smiles with those stupid, charming dimples of his, and it’s one that Jeongguk would probably only give if forced, “Hey, Jeongguk. Long time no see.”

The brown-haired boy nods, setting the speed and quickly catching up to Namjoon. He keeps his tone deliberately cool, even borderline disinterested, “You been good?”

On his left, your almost-boyfriend shrugs, jogging along, “Yeah, just studying, man. What about you?”

“Pretty much the same,” he hasn’t cracked open a book in weeks, and that study session from yesterday was just an excuse to be with you. But he can’t afford to let his thoughts linger on you too long or he’ll lose focus. He needs focus. “You catch that last game?”

Step two, pretend to care about what Namjoon is saying and then proceed with the acting skills only to suddenly remember something totally random he wanted to mention.

“Fuck, don’t remind me. I was so sure we would win,” the sweating man sounds way too affected by the recent football match, and Jeongguk fears if he asks one more question for the sake of pretending he’ll never get to the actual point.

So, he goes straight to it, “Yeah, it was rough. Oh, by the way. You know ___, right?”

The simple mention of your name causes a small stutter in Namjoon’s step, but he recovers with the stupid smile from earlier, only this time it’s wider, “Of course I know her. Why do you ask?”

Step three, just be honest. He just has to lay it all out. Be straightforward. Tell him the truth about how he’s felt for so long and what this whole thing with you is doing to him. It’s not a confrontation—it’s a conversation. Jeongguk will politely explain that he’s liked you for a while now, that he’s been in your life long before Namjoon, and, as a courtesy, he’d appreciate it if he would step back from pursuing you.

Civil. Calm. Totally chill. There’s absolutely nothing to get worked up over.

"You really don't know? Have no idea?" Jeongguk asks, his voice dropping, tone more pointed than he intended.

Namjoon slows his treadmill slightly, glancing over with furrowed brows and a faintly amused smile. “No, man. Enlighten me.”

“She’s my fucking girlfriend.”

What. The. Fuck.

That wasn’t the plan. Not even close to the plan.

────୨ৎ────

You feel stupid.

Wrapped around in your warmest coat, you still shiver. It could be the way your legs are exposed under your wool dress, high black boots reaching just beneath your knees. But there’s something else to the chill, making you shake in fading jitters. The excitement of the evening you told yourself you were looking forward to morphs into anxiety, and the passing looks of people mean more than they should as minutes tick and tick; they seem to glance at you for too long, their looks heavy with what you can only imagine is judgment.

A young girl swaddled in small but striking details from head to toe — delicate earrings that catch the light, a scarf knotted perfectly at the neck, polished nails clutching the strap of an expensive-looking bag, hair done up in a neat slicked bun — glancing nervously at her surroundings can only mean one thing: she’s been stood up.

Namjoon was supposed to meet you in front of the cozy cafè just outside the campus, its warm tones and surely even warmer ambience so very inviting. Maybe you’d go in, order a steaming hot chocolate for yourself, and chalk this up as a lesson learned. But instead, you chose to wait outside, shifting on your tiptoes every so often, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of the first man to ask you out in what felt like ages.

You feel as though you’ll be forever destined to wait more when thirty minutes go by and Namjoon is nowhere to be seen.

You frown, swaying on your heels. What you feel is not disappointment— not at first. But that only causes you to feel worse about yourself when you realize you’re almost relieved the tall man hasn’t shown up, and he’s not here to turn fears into even scarier realities. The date would have given a concrete meaning to your actions, and the thought stirs something not exactly pleasant within you.

The scratch at the back of your mind grows harder to ignore, and no matter how much you try to shake it off, your subconscious finds ways back to it when your hand instinctively dives into the depths of the expensive purse you had specially chosen for this occasion. A purse meant to complement your carefully selected dark ensemble— an effort that now feels entirely wasted. You spent so much time getting ready for something you’re not ready for at all.

Pulling out your phone, your thumb scrolls to Jeongguk’s number with a natural automatism, typing before you even register why he’s the first person you feel the need to tell.

You [9:39 p.m.]: hi

You [9:39 p.m.]: namjoon stood me up lol

The typing bubbles appear faster than you anticipated, and as you watch them dance across the screen, you burrow deeper into the fragile warmth of your jacket, the tip of your nose numb from the cold.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:40 p.m.]: Whattttttt????

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:40 p.m.]: He’s such an asshooooooole

Your first instinct is to snort at his reaction, a childish grin tugging at your lips, but it turns into a scowl when the more you reread the text, the more it sounds weird. He usually never texts like a six-year-old using his mom’s iPad.

You [9:40 p.m.]: yes he is

You [9:40 p.m.]: why are u textin so weird btw lol

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:41 p.m.]: Wym weirddd

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:41 p.m.]: I’m totally normal

You [9:41 p.m.]: wtv

You [9:42 p.m.]: u still wanna hang out?

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Yes please

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Want me to pick u up

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Where are u rn

The head tilt is unconscious, but you feel it click in place. You’ve mentioned how Jeongguk is caring, how he can read your needs like no one else and caters to them quietly, but he’s never this pliant, this malleable. You like him because it’s hard to get him to bend (and you’d rather die than let Jeongguk know about this).

You [9:43 p.m.]: is ok

You [9:43 p.m.]: i’ll just walk

You [9:43 p.m.]: be there in 10

The walk usually takes you less than 10 minutes, but before meeting him, you decide to head back to your dorm and change out of these stupid fancy clothes you picked out for the date.

You keep your head low as you walk through the hallways, the full glam you put on impossible to miss as it sparkles under the fluorescent lights, just as your boots' heels echo through the corridors.

Taking off the dress and heels feels like peeling away the embarrassment of rejection, the weight of disappointment settling in as you realize you couldn’t prove to yourself that you could do it, that you can do it, take the leap and let something serious into your life.

You question whether you're even cut out for it when the guy who seemed perfect ended up proving the opposite.

Now, back in more comfortable clothes — Jeongguk's black hoodie from the other day and baggy sweatpants — you feel a little more like yourself. Scared of emotions, scared of commitment, no matter how many hours of your day are spent daydreaming about it.

The second you click the door of your room open, it’s like you can smell a weird shift in the air. And you do, literally sniff, scanning your surroundings for any hint of something burning or out of place.

But it’s not about the dorm in its physical state, no— it’s the odd silence that you’re met with, the people you’re used to sharing the space with now uncharacteristically careful with their volume.

“Oh my god, ___,” that is probably why you’re visibly startled by the sudden voice coming from your side, Iseul looking like containing excitement is the hardest task she’s ever been asked to deal with, just like the few other girls behind her, all practically vibrating, “You’re finally here.”

You furrow your brows, chuckling confusedly at the unusuality of it all— well, it’s not like you don’t get along with these people. It’s just that you’ve never gone over meaningless jokes and talks about the state of the dorm, plus you’ve never exactly been the center of attention like this. It feels off, and it reflects in your uncertain tone, “I am?”

“I’m so happy for you,” Binna chimes in next, grabbing your shoulders with way more enthusiasm than the level of your relationship with her would normally allow, and the way all of their heads nod along that it feels like a coordinated performance is starting to scare you.

“You’re… happy for—”

“I’ve always known you and Jeongguk were perfect for each other,” the affection dripping from Binna’s voice sickens you, maybe even more than the words she’s speaking.

Huh?

You swear you feel your heart skip a long beat before you mask it with an obnoxious, nervous laugh, only growing more when none of them crack a smile or react, “Me and— okay, is this a fucking joke?”

“C’mon, ___,” Iseul says, her sweet voice doing nothing to calm your tension, and if anything it only heightens it, “You don’t need to hide anymore, Jeongguk told Namjoon that you’re his girlfriend.”

Oh. So this must be a fucking joke.

And you can’t stand it.

You barely manage to shake off their relentless curiosity, the entire dorm suddenly buzzing with an interest in you after years of peaceful and civil indifference, and it only overwhelms you to the brim.

Fury boils in your chest as you step out of the building, the cold air failing to cool the anger that flares up within you. With every step, your frustration grows, and you hastily type on your phone as you make your way toward the one person that’s responsible for your temper.

You [10:07 p.m.]: what the actual fuck jeongguk

The response comes so quickly, almost as if he were waiting for you to type it, and you scoff in disbelief. In that moment, you feel a twisted sense of understanding with serial killers. It makes you question how much control you actually have over yourself.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:07 p.m.]: What’s up?

You [10:07 p.m.]: why’s the whole dorm asking me how's it like to be your gf?

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:08 p.m.]: Eeehhhh???

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:08 p.m.]: That’s so weird

You’re actually gonna fuck this man up.

You [10:09 p.m.]: jeon jeongguk.

You [10:09 p.m.]: they’re saying you told namjoon i’m your girlfriend.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:09 p.m.]: Don’t use my full name and the period please 🥺

You [10:10 p.m.]: i’ll fucking kill you.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:10 p.m.]: You’re so hot when you’re like this

You [10:10 p.m.]: shut the hell up.

The banging on his door comes shortly after, and Jeongguk doesn’t even flinch. He knows it’s you, and frankly he was even expecting your arrival to be louder, hit him a little harder than it does. And when he lets you in, you storm in his space with no room for oxygen, door closing behind you but unable to contain the volume of your rage private.

“Can you explain why the whole campus thinks we’re dating? ‘Cause you’re not my boyfriend, and I’m not your girlfriend, and this is not fucking funny.”

But Jeongguk evidently does find it funny, chuckling under his hand coming to cover his mouth while the other one lifts to show you the bright screen of his cracked phone, “Really? The uni Instagram page is shipping us.”

“Shipping us?” You snatch the device from his hands, eyes widening as you scroll through the amount of stories posted in the last hour, everyone and their mother feeling entitled to weigh in on your nonexistent relationship. You whine, a hand resting at your forehead in disbelief, “Oh my god, this is ridiculous.”

“What, are you ashamed of me?” Jeongguk asks casually, walking back and sitting on the bed with a soft thud, his whole demeanor relaxed with a nonchalance that makes your left eye twitch.

You scoff, unwilling to grasp how this is even an actual thing happening to you, tossing the phone back at him, “A little bit, yeah. You think this is a fucking joke, huh? I’m now apparently dating the uni’s most popular fuckboy.”

The damned boy in front of you leans on his forearms, pouting just for show, “Hey, that’s mean. I’m no fuckboy.”

Bag thrown to the ground with a violence that it does not deserve, you start pacing back and forth in his room, letting out a borderline insane laugh, not knowing whether to scream or cry, “Yes, you are. You went through every single girl in this building.”

“Do you really think of me like that?”

The sudden sincerity that you think you spot in his tone makes you halt your steps, body turning to him as he sits straight again, his head tilting slightly.

You sigh, frustration mounting, and you throw your head back at the ceiling for any signal from the universe that this is indeed a joke, a bad, huge joke on you, “Jeongguk. Please.”

Silence fills the room next, but it doesn’t make it any easier to think nor does it quite register in your brain, mind racing with jumbled and chaotic thoughts, barely coming through as coherent words, getting intertwined with one another.

But the more you walk from one side of the room to the other, the more you’re almost able to untangle the mess, just enough to start processing what’s happening.

Then, a nuclear bomb wipes it all out, Jeongguk’s words the missile, his quiet tone the explosion, “I don’t want you to see nobody else.”

“What the fuck?”

The aftermath of the destruction is not only loud, ears ringing with a shrieking alarm going off, your figure stiff with shock, but you feel its heat burning your whole body in consuming flames that threaten to swallow you whole if you don’t let them take over, rise, flood every nerve until all you can feel is the rage boiling in your veins when you practically scream at him, ”What the hell does that even mean? You're being selfish!”

“Am I?” Jeongguk asks calm, calculated, gaze locked on yours as if daring you to challenge him further. His tone is maddeningly measured even as he pushes himself off the bed and closes the distance between you.

It’s like he’s planned this— attack after attack designed to destabilize you completely. Not only did he thrust you into the spotlight without warning, claiming you for the whole campus to see as if you’re worth nothing more than a stupid prank and a few laughs.

But now he talks with a grace that belies the chaos he’s stirred, as if his words are just another fact, something as simple as the weather, “I haven’t been seeing anybody since this summer. Since we started using no condom.”

Your pupils tremble with something far more complex than just anger, though you refuse to give it a name. He’s practically towering over you, his stance purposeful, making you feel small; as if the intensity of his gaze is not enough that it makes you falter, as if the humiliation he’s putting you through isn’t either. Head shaking, your voice does too, “That’s— not true. You’re a fucking liar. You— What about Haeun?

“Nothing even happened with her.”

The speed of his denial sets you off, an incredulous scoff breaking free as you roll your tongue against the inside of your cheek—a habit you’d picked up from witnessing his easy tempers, “Then why did you tell me you kissed?”

“Because—” Jeongguk hesitates, and the pause is so out of character that it almost gives you whiplash. The boy who always has something to say suddenly seems unsure. His hand flexes at his side, a nervous tick you hadn’t noticed before, and he exhales as if the words are fighting their way out of him, “‘Cause— I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” Your voice cracks on the word, a laugh bubbling out of you that’s sharp and fractured, borderline unhinged. It cuts through the room like broken glass, and his expression tightens, jaw clenching. But he doesn’t interrupt.

“Jealous,” you repeat, louder this time, your incredulous tone thick with rage. “You’re telling me you made up that bullshit because you were jealous?”

He doesn’t respond, and it pushes you closer to your limit, on the verge of exploding. You don’t know how you find it within you, but with a long exhale and a quick prayer up at the ceiling, you meet his gaze in an almost patronizing manner, “Jeongguk, we are not exclusive. I thought that was well implied. You don’t get to act like this. You don’t get to be jealous.”

Nodding along to your words, Jeongguk’s brows draw together, his expression somewhere between anxious and defensive. There’s something in his eyes, something close to fear, but fear of what, you can’t quite place.

When he speaks, his voice is softer than yours, as though he’s trying to keep it from breaking, “I know. We both agreed to that, yes. We’re both allowed to see other people.”

The words feel rehearsed, like he’s repeated them to himself a hundred times. But with the silence stretching, it’s clear he’s struggling to say more. His lips press together briefly, and his gaze flicks to yours, searching. It’s as though he’s waiting — no, hoping — you’ll interject, offer something to fill the space.

You don’t. You hold firm, tilting your head slightly, your confusion evident. Your wide, questioning eyes, so big, so honest, pull the truth from him in a way you don’t intend, and he exhales like it’s been forced out of him.

“But I don’t want you to.”

The sheer audacity of his words hits you like a slap, the kind that stings more because of its unexpectedness. You snort, although there’s nothing particularly amusing about your heart cracking at the middle, but you manage to keep it from resounding in your words, "That’s so fucking mean. Do you even hear yourself? You get to fuck whoever you want, and I’m kept hostage? And now—now everybody thinks we’re dating!"

"That’s good," he says, simple, unflinching.

You blink, disbelief coursing through you as your lips part in a strangled gasp. "What?" The word is half a whisper, half a shout, and it escapes before you can temper it, "You’re so selfish. I fucking hate you.”

The emotion is foreign from what you’re used to showing him, softness in quiet ways, affection in silent gestures. But now, it’s all loud rage, the opposite of love spilling out of you in volatile waves. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, itching for release, something, anything to make him feel the way you’re being forced to feel, to cut through the weight of his seemingly impassive expression showing only the barest twitch in his brows, a crack too small to satisfy your anger.

It isn’t enough. You need more.

Your palms find his chest, shoving him with the force of every burning feeling inside you. “You’re stupid,” you spit, watching him take the push without exactly budging, like he’s made of stone. It only stokes your frustration further, your hands pushing again, harder this time. “And dumb.”

Jeongguk doesn’t step back, doesn’t fight you. He stands there, his chest steady, absorbing your hits without a word. His lack of resistance only makes the storm inside you rage harder, and the tears you’ve been holding back threaten to spill over.

You scramble for more, anything to turn the reality of what you truly feel into the illusion of anger, “And— and— Why the fuck are you silent! Say something!” You aim another punch at his chest, but it’s impossibly weaker, the exhaustion showing in your useless attempts at getting at him.

You sniff, and you know you lost against his indifference, your voice wavering feeling like a confession you didn’t mean to make. “Asshole. You’re being so mean. You’re making me cry.”

That’s what finally breaks him. Only the tears slipping rapidly from your eyes get his resolve to crumble. His hands are on you instantly, gripping your shoulders gently but firmly, refusing to let you squirm away. You slap at them weakly, but his touch is steady, his fingers brushing strands of hair from your face, cupping your chin to tilt it up toward him.

“Toots, no. Hey, hey,” he whispers, his tone soft in a way that disarms you completely. His thumb swipes at a stray tear, but your face turns away, evading him like it’s your only line of defense. He doesn’t back down, “Stop crying. Hey, look at me. Will you?”

“Stop calling me that!” You finally snap, jerking your face away again. The tears are spilling faster now, no matter how much you want to fight them, no matter how much you want to cling to the fury. “I hate you. You’re fucking all the girls in this college, and I’m only fucking you, because— because—”

“God,” Jeongguk groans, exasperation dripping from his tone. You’re about to hurl another half-formed insult or maybe even take a swing at him again, aiming low, but his next words stop you cold.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” His tone is quieter now, more deliberate, the vulnerability in it cutting sharper than anything else he’s said. “I like you. I broke the rule.”

You’re sure your heart will fail you today. It misses at least four beats, and it steals the oxygen from your lungs, along with the color from your face.

You stammer, eyes widening as your pulse picks up again and pounds in your ears. “Don’t—don’t say shit like that. I swear to God, I’ll actually fuck you up. Stop—lying to me.”

“What the fuck, ___? I’m not lying to you,” Jeongguk’s voice attempts to be steady but it can’t hide the desperation, as if he’s holding on by a thread. “Why would I?”

The question is simple.

Why would Jeongguk lie to you? Does he have a reason to fake this?

The world seems to tilt, the ground beneath you shifting in some irreparable way.

You should feel scared. You should feel repulsed at the thought of commitment, the weight of his words pressing against you like a cage. But you don’t.

Instead, your eyes dart between his, searching for cracks in his sincerity, like a frantic spectator watching a tennis match, every glance like a volley in the game of something bigger than either of you. The matchpoint sends a thrill through your chest, something overwhelming and terrifying but not unwelcome.

Jeongguk watches you closely, feeling the weight of the silence between you stretch on longer than he can handle. He knows he’s the one that should break it, knows the truth he’s holding inside has to be spoken now.

It’s now or never. He can’t keep pretending—this isn’t just some casual thing to him, and he’s not ready to let it slip away without a fight. You’ve become everything he didn’t know he needed, and yet here he is, paralyzed by the fear of rejection, of being vulnerable, of watching the one thing he wants most slip right through his fingers.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? If he doesn’t speak up now, he’ll lose everything. His fear has no place in this moment anymore.

It’s a long exhale before his voice drops in soft honey, shaking with the weight of the truth, “Look. I know it’s hard to trust me. You’ve seen me fuck up multiple times over this stuff. But I want to stop this cycle. I want to allow myself something good,” his eyes search for any signal that he should stop talking, but in yours he finds every reason for him not to, “And you’re everything good that life will ever concede me. I can't… I can't let you go. I can't lose you.”

"Jeongguk…" His name slips from your lips like a prayer you've been too afraid to speak aloud until now. But you see it— he’s ready to find every solution, even if it means confronting the fear that has held him back for so long.

“I like you so much it’s killing me,” he admits, voice low and raw, every syllable cracking with vulnerability.

It’s a slow realization, like a tide that comes in quietly, softly. You’ve felt its caress for so long, and now that it embraces you wholly, you feel your heart expand, filling with the same warmth, the same longing.

The words you wish you could say are caught in your throat. You look up at him, eyes wide, trying to comprehend, to take in what he’s offering. You’re almost afraid to ask, as if the answer will shatter something you’ve worked so hard to protect, “You like me?”

“I lose my fucking mind when it comes to you.” His confession is a rush of honesty that sweeps through you, his eyes not leaving yours, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks.

The world feels like it’s slowing down. There’s so much you’ve been holding back, but you don’t know how to make the words fit, how to make them sound right.

Jeongguk takes a small step back, his voice quieter but still heavy with emotion. “It’s okay if you wanna end it here,” he murmurs, his words barely above a whisper, like he’s bracing for the worst. “At least it wasn’t because you got with some other stupid guy.”

You shake your head, the thought of losing him too painful to bear. “Stop—” You let out a frustrated sigh, hands curling into fists at your sides. “God, you’re so dumb. This could have been so much easier if you’d told me sooner.”

He looks at you, confusion flickering across his face. “What do you mean?”

You feel your chest tighten, the truth slipping out before you can stop it. “I like you too,” you admit, the words finally leaving your lips hastly, like they were just waiting for the right moment. “I agreed to the date because I thought you were still… fucking around.”

His face softens, and there’s a flash of relief in his eyes. “I wasn’t. Haven’t been in so long.”

“...No Haeun?”

“Hell no. I don’t want no kiss if it isn’t from you.”

You laugh, a low sound that fills the air between you. “Cheesy fucker,” you tease, but there’s a warmth in your chest now, a feeling you can’t ignore. “Well, if you want to know, I wasn’t seeing anybody either. Namjoon asked me out randomly, but I haven’t been with anyone else since… this started.”

His eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, everything is quiet. He looks at you like he’s just heard something he never expected to hear. “Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah.”

Jeongguk steps closer to you, his hands reaching for you, voice thick, “I’m so sorry, baby. I never meant to make you cry. It’s breaking my heart.” His thumb brushes across your cheek, gently wiping away the remnants of the tears you hadn’t even realized had fallen. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head, your heart swelling with both regret and tenderness. “It’s okay,” you say softly. “I’m sorry for yelling all that stuff at you. I don’t hate you. I…”

Before you can finish, his lips crash against yours, and all the confusion, all the fears, prove themselves to be worth this moment.

They dissolve into something real, the kiss trying to make up for lost time, for all the things left unsaid.

When you pull away, your foreheads resting together, Jeongguk’s voice is quiet but determined. “Come here, baby. You’re mine.”

“Prove it.”

[zephyrchama]

Can't stop thinking about the brothers calling MC "master" since that new teaser trailer came out. The game is called "One Master to Rule Them All." It's always been called that. This massive potential has been right in front of our eyes the whole time.

Lucifer, who only uses it in private when he's feeling particularly devilish. He wraps his arms around you, looks you right in the eye, and asks, "how does my master feel today, hmm?"

Mammon, who has an empty wallet and the urge to gamble: "Maaaster! Can I borrow some cash? I can, right? I'm your first, after all. I'll just take it from your wallet."

Leviathan, who wants to go to an anime collab cafe but is too anxious to go alone, so he begs you: "Please! Master! It's only open this week and I just have to collect all 24 limited edition cafe coasters! It'll be easier if we go together!"

Satan, who catches you when you stumble and jokingly asks, "are you okay, master?" He likes seeing the little sparks of wrath in your eyes that mirror his own.

Asmodeus, who thinks the word is hot and enjoys your reaction when he comes to steal you away from other people by saying "hey! I need to speak with my master. I'll be borrowing them for a while. I'm sure you don't mind."

Beelzebub, who hungrily stares at the food in the fridge with your name on it. He knows he needs to butter you up to have any chance of success: "Hey master, are you gonna eat that?"

Belphegor, who uses it at the most unexpected times. He texts the group chat, "does anyone know where our master is? I can't find them." It sets off a long chain of messages. "Master's not in their bedroom?" "Master? Haven't seen 'em." "Did you try yelling 'master!' and seeing if they respond?" "I saw master getting something to drink about an hour ago." "Master, are you reading our messages? I know you are." "I can't believe master is ignoring us." Several crying emoji are sent in quick succession.

Solomon and Barbatos, who witness the brothers doing this on occasion. Solomon turns to the latter and says, "You never call me your master. Want to give it a try?"

Barbatos looks at him with barely repressed revulsion. "I only have one master, and that is the Young Master. If you ever make such a joke again I will have you tried in court for lese-majeste."

[daydreamer-in-reverie]

Started rereading the Hunger Games series and I feel like it’s so overlooked how in 74th and 75th Hunger Games, we don’t know every Tribute’s names, with Katniss only referring to them by their District numbers but in TBOSAS, we knew every single Tribute by name. We associated them with the clothes they wore on the Reaping Day and Suzanne even goes so far as to describe how they looked, however briefly. We see these Tributes and we’re familiarized with them by the little tidbits provided to the mentors and to Snow and Lucy Gray. But we never get this in the original trilogy.

In two generations, President Snow alienated the Districts from each other so much that Katniss didn’t even care to know all the names of the Tributes sent into the Arena with her, with the exception being those who posed great risk against her safety and those she felt great compassion for (e.g. Cato, Thresh, Rue, Mags, Betee, Wiress etc.). Katniss even went so far as to call the D6 Tributes in the 75th Hunger Games morphlings, for their affinity to imbibe in the drugs that help them forget their own traumas (an incredibly hurtful description, in my own opinion, to be known by the qualities you hate the most about yourself). We never know the real name of the 74th D5 girl, with Katniss only referring to her as Foxface and we don’t even know Marvel’s name until we get to the second book and he was Katniss’ first personal kill. Katniss even kills the D4 girl in the books with the same tracker jacker venom that killed Glimmer and yet still, we don’t know her name. We are so removed from the identity of the other Tributes that we don’t even know what some of them looked like beyond brief descriptions of mangled bodies and dead Tributes in the bloodbath at the Cornucopia.

And, the thing is, Suzanne established the importance of names in the series. Even in real life, we recognize the importance of being named. It is a fundamental aspect of being human. If you’re ever in a perilous situation where a person might be placing your life in danger, we’re told to remind the person that you’re human. “Keep saying your name, how old you are, where you came from. Remind them you are a human being just like them.” Before any propaganda can work against a group of people, refusing to recognize a person’s name is the first step to dehumanization. And just like the people of the Districts, we don’t care enough about the other Tributes to even want to know their names. Their propaganda worked on us, the readers.

In two generations, President Snow completely wiped out any sense of familiarity and camaraderie the Districts may have shared with the other. In two generations, Snow sowed the seeds of distrust and division into the Districts so deeply that even we, the readers, were affected by the effects of Capitol propaganda. In two generations, the Districts ceased to genuinely care about the others beyond the vague sense of injustice they feel for their shared plight. It’s why Career Districts don’t seem to care about killing the other Tributes. How can you care, to show your compassion and humanity, when you can barely see them as people? Yes, they may have been in the Arena with you. Yes, they may have been starved and beaten and forced into labor like you were. Yes, they might be children just like you. Yes, they might be subjected to the same deplorable system that turned you into virtual slaves. But they are not your friends. They are not your allies. They are strange, with different customs and traditions that you have. You do not share the same values. They do not care about you. At the first chance they get, they will kill you with your bare hands and they will do it with alacrity if it meant their survival. There can only be one Victor and it can’t be them. It has to be you.