#“up where they walk up where they run up where they stay all day in the sun”YELLS AND THROWS UP EVERYWHERE <-guy thats normal about theiroc

[happilyjules]

Soul-Mates Part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

SoulBond!AU

Pairings: Saja Boys x F!Reader

Synopsis: You’re the soul-mate to the Saja Boys, destined for each other. Legend has it that if a demon is able to find their soul-mate, and solidify that bond, then they might gain their lost soul back. That’s if other demons don’t kill you first.

Warnings: Soul Bond with Saja Boys, Angst, Mild Language, more to be added later

A/N: Posted on A03 thought Tumblr might like to read it as well. I’ll update as often as i’m able, but I do have a chronic illness that can take away my days. Goal is to have multiple parts posted in one week. I did try and tag all those who requested. Let me know if I missed any, or if you like to be tagged in future updates. Enjoy!

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Chapter 4 - Too Fast?

Sitting in Baby’s car, you sniffle wiping at tears that refuse to go away. Replaying the moment over and over in your head, you realize how close you came to something terrible happening. 

“Hey,” Baby says, taking your hand, giving a comforting squeeze. “You’re okay.” 

“I know,” you let out a shaky breath. “It’s just…How close I was to not … It’s scary.”

“But you are okay,” He said firmly. “You fought that asshole and got out of there.”

“Yeah,” you say shakily. 

“No yeah, you did that. You kicked ass today and saved yourself. That is amazing,” Baby asserted. “You are safe because of you.”

“I am,” you begin to smile. “I am safe because I kicked his ass. Well, technically I kneed his balls.”

“Even better,” Baby laughs, and finally you let out a chuckle with him.  

“Thanks for being there,” you say, as a thought crosses your mind. “Wait, why were you there?”

”I was coming back from dinner when I heard you crying. I just wish I got there sooner,” Baby says, kissing the back of your hand. 

The air thickened as you attempted to catch your breath, Baby’s eyes never leaving yours. “Me too,” you whisper, a pull deep in your chest, pulling you towards him. 

It’s four lips meeting. It’s shocks down your spine. It’s the world spinning in the opposite direction. It’s soft, hesitant; two people exploring the idea of love. His hand found the side of your face, moving to the back of your neck. Tilting your head ever so slightly, he kisses the side of your mouth. 

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers, nudging your nose with his. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you smile back. Time has lost all meaning, as his lips find yours again. As his tongue licks your lips, your phone goes off, causing you to jump at the sudden noise. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, seeing a text from your friend, Amelia. 

“Where are you? You okay?” 

“Long story, be up soon.” 

“I should go,” you say, sliding your phone into your purse. 

”You can stay,” he whispers, and something inside you jumps at that idea. 

“I have to work in the morning,” you answer, before that part of you took him up on that idea. 

“Would you like me to walk you upstairs?”

Considering it for a moment, you look up at your lit-up apartment. “I’m fine, thank you,” You say, going to open your door.

“Hold on,” Baby said, getting out of the car and quickly running around to open your door. 

“You don’t have to,” you say, even as he opens the door.

“What if I want to?” his voice deepened. 

“Then okay,” you say, biting your lip. God, you’ve known this man for only a day, and somehow you've kissed him and you’re falling for him. What is going on with my life?

Opening your building’s door, you turn around. “Baby?”

“Yes, Angel?”

“Um…” you say looking down, feeling suddenly embarrassed. Going for it you ask, “Would you like my number?” 

“Of course,” he smiled widely, making your knees wobble slightly. 

Exchanging numbers, he kisses your cheek. “Call if you need anything, Angel.”

”I will,” you blush before hurrying into your building. 

Walking into your apartment, you’re on cloud nine. Heart spinning, you cannot stop the grin plastering your face. 

“Okay, so tell me that wasn’t Baby from the Saja Boys giving you a ride home from work?” Amelia demanded the moment you walked into your apartment. 

Right, Amelia; your roommate and best friend. The person whom you haven’t seen in a day, and who is currently obsessing over the Saja Boys; at least the last you checked. What are you going to tell her? 

“Um…” You don’t answer, making your way to your bedroom. 

“Don’t Ummm me,” Amelia followed. “That was Baby wasn’t it?”

“No,” You lie scrunching your face. 

“That’s your lying face,” Amelia proclaimed. “That was Baby. How do you know him?”

“Um…okay well,” You start, running your hand through your hair. “I met them yesterday.”

“Them? What do you mean, them?”

“Remember when I went out busking last night?” Amelia nodded, and you continued. “The whole band found me playing, and we ended up all going to dinner,” you say the last part quickly. 

“And you didn’t think to invite me?” Amelia asked. 

“It was late,” you try to justify. “You were already asleep or going to sleep.” 

“I would’ve woken up,” Amelia replies, voice rising an octave.  

“I should have invited you,” you admit, twisting your hands. “I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t think about it until I got home.”

“It’s okay, I get it,” Amelia turns to walk away. 

“No, you don’t,” you walk after her. “I was a jerk for not inviting you. I’m sorry I should have.”

“You forgot. It’s okay,” she says, clearly trying not to appear hurt. “I made dinner, it’s in the fridge if you want some.”

“Thanks,” you say, feeling horrible. Amelia being mad, you can handle. Amelia being hurt, you can’t handle. 

Wanting to follow to explain yourself, you stop in the center of the kitchen. You have no idea how to explain yourself. During the last twenty-four hours you went out to dinner with the Saja Boys, one of them drove you to work, and kissed another.  How are you going to explain any of what’s happening in a way that doesn’t further hurt her feelings? 

Cursing, you open the fridge to find your dinner already plated. She really is the best friend, and you screwed up. You know it’s not not inviting her, it's forgetting her. It’s knowing how much she’d love getting to know them, and completely forgetting about her. 

I’m such a shitty friend, you think, sitting down to dinner. 

Baby stays until he’s certain you’re home, the memory of your kiss still tingling on his lips. It was soft, tentative, and everything Baby dreamed of. He only wishes it didn’t end so quickly. Driving home, he made his way up to his shared apartment. His mates are going to need to be filled in on the night events. God, if he were a hair slower that demon might have gotten its claws into you. 

“What happened?” Jinu asks as Baby walks through the door.

“A demon found her. We’re lucky I happened to be close by,” Baby answers, knowing that he wasn't the only one who felt your terror during the attack.

“So quickly?” Abby asks, standing from his spot on the couch. 

Baby shrugged. “Seems that way. I got there just as it was about to grab her.”

“What’d you do?” Jinu asks, as Romance and Mystery put down whatever video game they were playing. 

“Grabbed the fucker, and snapped his neck before he could lay another hand on her,” Baby answers, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Good,” Romance let out a sigh of relief. 

“She didn’t see you,” Mystery states.

“No,” Baby shook his head. “After taking a moment to calm down, I transformed back into this form, and walked by as if coming back from dinner.”

“But she’s okay?” Romance asks, hand over his chest. 

“Yes, when I left her she calmed down, and got home safe,” Baby answered, leaving out the part where they kissed. That’s something special between you and him.

“We can’t leave her alone anymore,” Abby stated. “If a demon has found her already, there’s no telling when another will try.”

“No we can’t,” Jinu agreed. “We need to take shifts watching over her.”

“What about when all five of us are needed for things?” Romance asked. “We can’t leave her alone anymore.”

“My animals will watch over her, and alert us if anything is nearby,” Jinu responds. 

“I don’t like that idea,” Baby shook his head. 

“We don’t have much of a choice,” Jinu responds, as Abby punches the wall. 

“We have another problem,” Mystery spoke up. “A demon has found her.”

“We know that,” Abby snapped. 

“Then Gwi-ma has found her as well.” Mystery continued. 

A series of curses from each boy echoed through the room. If Gwi-ma knows, then there’s no telling what he might try: poison, torture, death. None of which, if Baby had his way, would befall you. 

“Let’s not jump to conclusions just yet,” Jinu spoke, the voice of reason. “It’s one demon, who may not have realized what she is.”

“Or I killed it before it could report back to Gwi-ma,” Baby answered. 

“Exactly,” Jinu pointed at Baby. “Let’s just keep an eye on (Y/N), and keep her safe.”

“Nothing will get past me,” Abby rubbed his fist with his hand.    

“Or any of us,” Romance adds. “I’ll take the first shift.”

“Why you?” Abby asked. 

“Because I called it,” Romance says. 

“You can’t just call it,” Abby retorted. “We need to vote on it.”

“No we don’t,” Romance countered, as Jinu cleared his throat, gaining their attention. 

“Mystery’s already left,” Jinu pointed to the closing door. 

The next morning, you get up early, go to your favorite coffee shop, and with your purchases in hand, make your way home just in time for Amelia to be coming out of her bedroom. 

“Hey, Bestie. I know you probably still hate me, and you have every right, but I got you coffee and a scone. It’s blueberry. Warmed up.”  You hold up the purchases in your hands. 

“I’m not mad, (Y/N),” She says with a sigh. “I just…”

“I know,” you put down your purchases on the table. “I should have asked you to come, but honestly everything’s happened so fast. It’s almost like some crazy outside force has been pulling me in their direction and I can’t stop it.” 

Frowning, Amelia grabbed her coffee and scone, making you smile a little. Small win. 

“What do you mean?” Amelia asked, sitting at the table. 

You shrug, trying to put into words what you’ve been feeling. “It’s going to sound crazy.”

“Okay.”

“Well, ever since we saw them I’ve been drawn to them.”

“Like a fan?” Amelia asks. 

“No like…” You sip your coffee. “Like I want to be around them all the time.”

“Like a fan,” Amelia points out.

“No,” you repeat. “It’s more than that I swear. It’s almost like some invisible force is pulling us together. They keep showing up when I need them, and I like it.”

“Like a fan would?” she asks. 

“It’s more than that, like yesterday I was running late for work, and Romance was downstairs waiting with his car to take me to work,” you admit.  

“How did he know when you worked?”

Biting your lip, you answer. “I may have told them during dinner.”

“Okay so now we have five boys taking your dinner, one driving you to work, and the other taking you home. In one day,” she says.

“Well there’s one more tiny detail, but it needs context.”

“What?”

“You know that alley I take as a shortcut?” you ask. 

“The one I always say is too risky? Yes.”

“Well you were right,” you admit. “I was attacked in that alley by some creep. Pretty sure he was trying…” You shake your head. “You know what doesn't matter. I fought him off, kneed him in the balls.”

“Oh my god, are you okay? What’d you do next?” she asked, taking your hand in hers. 

“I ran like hell,” you admit, still more than a little shaken from the ordeal. 

“Oh my god (Y/N),” Amelia pulls you into a hug. “You should have said something last night.”

”That’s the thing, I’m fine,” you say. “After I ran like hell, Baby found me hyperventilating on a bench. He helped me calm down enough to breathe, and drove me home.”

“And you’re sure you’re okay? Do you want me to meet you at work and walk home with you?”

“Maybe,” you admit, heart racing at the idea of walking home alone again. “You sure you can?”

“Yeah, my bus passes by on the way home, I’ll just take an earlier stop,” she agreed. 

“Thanks, Amelia. You’re the best,” you two hug at the table. 

“Okay so back to Baby finding you freaking out.” Amelia changes topics. “How did he find you?”

”He was walking past after dinner.”

”At the mall?”

“Yeah.”

”Okay, so now we have dinner, car ride, saving, car ride?”

”Okay um.. Baby and I might have sort of kissed a little,” you blush. 

“Okay,” she nodded once, taking a bite of her scone. “Okay, so let me get this all straight. Dinner, car ride, saving, car ride, kiss?”

”Yeah that’s about it,” you nod. “Oh wait,” you bit your lip already hearing how crazy everything else is. “I sort of gave Romance and Baby my number.”

”So they all have your number.”

”Yeah.” You’d like to think they wouldn’t share your number, but thinking about it you aren’t super sure they wouldn’t. 

“Okay so now we have dinner, car ride, saving, car ride, kiss, number exchange. All in one day?” Amalia asked, skeptically. 

“No, dinner was the night before,” you try to argue. 

“It all just seems like a lot,” Amelia says. “Like one of those things happening sure, but all of them? Weird.”

”It's not weird,” you insist. 

“It’s weird. You kissed one twenty-four hours into knowing them. If I didn’t know you, I’d swear you were already falling for him.”

“What if I am?” You ask, not wanting to point out the growing feelings for all the boys. 

“Then I’d say slow it down,” she answers. “I mean I’m all for love and first sight, but this this is fast. Slow it down.”

“You might be right,” you admit, as the burning sensation presses in your chest. 

@nightmarewasteland @nightlark100 @winter-solstice24 @craftygamerscrafts @osball @satansdaughter123 @simpdevil66

[ravensuperr]

DC x DP prompt (A Cautionary Tale in Fanfic and Vigilante Trauma)

Danny is a massive shipper of Nightwing x Starfire, and Starfire is one of his all-time favorite heroes. One day, he finds out — via the "grapevine" (i.e., Tucker hacked some JL systems out of boredom and nosiness) — that Starfire and Nightwing are no longer dating. Danny is devastated.

Now, Danny has two emotional options. Option One is... well, completely stupid: confront Nightwing or do something reckless in the superhero world. Tucker and Jazz immediately tell him not to do it. Even Danny realizes this is dumb — he’s just running on high emotions because he hates the idea of Starfire being heartbroken. Also, fun fact: he once learned to use his Ecto Blasts more effectively by watching videos of Starfire using her starbolts, so she’s also been an inspiration.

That leaves Option Two: writing trashy, spite-driven fanfiction.

So Danny, using an anonymous AO3 account, vents his frustration by posting an 18+ Nightwing x Red Hood fanfic. It’s steamy. It’s angsty. The plot? Some random "fan" (clearly a self-insert) is furious that Nightwing broke their favorite female superhero’s heart. In a fit of petty revenge, the narrator writes a one-night stand between Nightwing and Red Hood — detailed, messy, dark, and disturbingly vivid.

In the author’s notes, Danny (anonymously) admits this is emotional venting. He adds:

“I probably shouldn’t have posted this. I was mad, high on emotional fumes, and this was my way to deal. Should’ve kept it anonymous... oh well. It’s on the internet now. Enjoy if you want or whatever.”

The tags include a now-iconic one: “Dove Do Not Eat” — a red flag to seasoned AO3 readers that this fic is unhinged.

The fic blows up. Kudos, bookmarks, mixed comments — some praising the writing, some concerned, some begging for a sequel. Danny sometimes replies. Sometimes not.

Tucker and Sam eventually find the fic. Jazz doesn’t read it (thankfully), but Tucker and Sam do... and they have words.

Tucker: “Dude. This was your Option Two?? I expected a rant post. A Tumblr vent. Maybe a meme. Not... this. You wrote a 5k-word hate-fueled shipfic??”

Sam: “Honestly, I’m impressed. It’s dark, disturbing, borderline unhinged... and somehow weirdly well-crafted? Still. Not what I expected from you, Danny.” Sam eventually asks, “Do you feel better now?” Danny sighs and replies, “Yeah... I just want Starfire to be happy; she deserves better.”

Months later...

Tim Drake, recovering from a mission gone wrong, is off-duty and bored. He scrolls through fanfiction. Some are about him. Some are actually decent. Then he stumbles upon The Fic. He notices the “Dove Do Not Eat” tag and thinks, I’ve read worse. How bad could it be?

He finishes it. Closes his laptop. Walks downstairs to Alfred.

Tim: "Alfred, I’m quitting coffee.” Alfred: “May I ask why, Master Timothy?” Tim: “Because I read something so traumatizing that caffeine can’t save me anymore.”

Stephanie Brown hears about this. “Oh, come on, Tim, are you sure you're not overreacting? I mean, how bad could it be?” Steph reads it. She stays silent for an hour. Then says, “Okay. It was... dark. Like, psychological horror with spicy scenes, dark. I’m gonna go for a walk.”

Damian is the only Batkid who never reads it. He has seen Cliff Notes and summaries, but the rest of the family has installed every parental block imaginable. Even Bruce agrees: “He is not ready for what is out there.”

Duke reads it. Leaves a comment. Barbara reads it. Cass reads it. Eventually, Jason and Dick read it — together — and immediately regret their life choices.

They cannot look each other in the eye for three months.

Jason: “I’ve read fics about me and Dick before. Funny ones. Sad ones. Heck, even crackfics where I’m a space pirate. But this one?? I feel like someone punched me in the soul.” Dick: “I Googled what ‘Dove Do Not Eat’ means. Now I can't unlearn what I just Learned!!”

The Batkids vs The Fanfic

At first, they try to move on. But they're Batkids. Raised by Batman. And they’re petty. They collectively decide to find out who the author is. For answers. For closure. For revenge. Tim and Barbara team up, combining their hacking skills. But even together, they can’t trace the source. The author is protected by government-level firewalls that they can't crack. Eventually, they stumble across hidden legislation that overrides parts of the Meta Protection Act — ancient digital encryption buried under bureaucratic nonsense. All of it seems to lead back to a location that’s completely off the grid. And the worst part? They still don’t know who wrote it. Could be a guy. A girl. Nonbinary. Meta. Civilian. Troll. God-tier writer. Cryptid. No one knows.

Meanwhile... in Amity Park

Danny is thriving. The Ecto-Acts are being repealed, and he’s riding high. He recently helped Clockwork fix a timeline rift and ran into Starfire herself. She thanked him. Gave him an autograph. Danny cried. He’s happy now. The fic? Completely out of his mind. He’s moved on. He has no idea the entire Batfamily (except Damian) is still suffering the emotional consequences of his one spite-filled fanfic. Nor does he know they’re trying to find him.

TDLR: The lesson of this story is that if you're on Ao3 and you see a fanfic that has the tag ' Dove do not Read or Dove do not eat', don't read it if you're not ready to handle what the author has written.

[2knightt]

— LOOKING AT YOU, IT MUST BE FATE.

..IN WHICH: the greasers are your summer-vacation-boyfriend!

tags/warnings: mix of comedic headcanons & story, mix of light angst & fluff, gn!reader, reader is pretty??, a LOT of swimming/beaches, possible OOC, reader is referred to as ‘summer-baby’, reader drinks/gets drunk in two-bits part, i didn’t proofread—we die like dallas.

.⊹˖ᯓ author won’t shut up! ★. ݁₊ : i’ve been meaning to finish this since like. July. it’s fucking august bro. but hey!! sorry for lying to yall last post LOLOLOL

Dallas Winston:

you two definitely met with you walking around tulsa MAD clueless and he’s just like “what’s a pretty lil’ thing like you doing walkn’ ‘round ‘ere?” and then you’re like. never not by his side after

the gang hasn’t met you, but they 110% KNOW who you are just bc of how often dallas goes, “i can’t, man, got plans with ‘em.” and then they start booing and throwing tomatoes bc it’s sickening seeing a puppy-love dallas

(kidding no it isn’t) ((to them it is tho it’s fucking weird seeing dallas like this))

he’s genuinely the type of guy you obsess over for one summer vacation, leave to go back home, and like never see again LMFAO

idk he’s mysterious like that (no he isn’t idk why i said that shit bro)

lowkey spends almost EVERY SINGLE NIGHT taking you out/sneaking you out bc he knows, the second summer ends and you go back to your home town, you’ll fr never run into each other again.

he’d definitely be the boy you started talking to, just to get back at your parents for making you vacation at TULSA OKLAHOMA.

you two definitely stay out LATE ASFF doing either everything & anything, or nothing at all

yes he be taking u out to parties & then making it up to u by taking you to the beach for the day when you’re both over ur hangover😂🙏💯

would it be ridiculous to say that he got noticeably tan that summer, and then?? never again?? because u made him??? go outside more & enjoy the sun??

YESS DALLAS WINSTON GETTING OVER PROTECTIVE AT THE BEACH BC THAT’S WHERE U MAKE HIM SPEND MOST OF HIS TIME YESSSS

OHHH DRINKING AT THE BEACH WITH DALLAS WINSTON AS HE TEACHES YOU HOW TO SHOTGUN OHHHH

yesss…you making his leather jacket smell like your perfume days after summer ends and he just lays in bed smelling it sometimes until it wore off…yes…

OH MY GODDD YOU GETTING A TAN OUTLINE OF HIS SAINT CHRISTOPHER ON YOUR COLLAR BONE AREA I HAVE DEVIOUS THOUGHTS

i have plans that i cannot share bc the haters will sabotage me…i have PLANS i cannot share bc the haters will sabotage me…

him showing u all the spots that he knows you’ll like…you taking photos of the both of u with a beat up camera…dallas finding one of the printed out photos in his room while cleaning up…

“C’mon, Dallas!” You tug at his arm, trying to usher him towards the waves crashing onto the sandy shore. He grumbled something about, “it’s too damn late to go swimmin’.”

“Jus’ for a minute, okay?” The plea rolled off your tongue in a way that Dallas found hard to ignore or decline. Your voice, to him, sounded like the sweetest damn thing he’s heard in years. “A minute,” He repeated firmly. Dallas honestly thought he’d go in and out of the water just like that to please you.

The sun, that once hung over your heads, now began to set over the waters as you flicked some water in Dallas’ direction. An over exaggerated groan left his lips as he shook his head, water droplets sticking to his skin. “Get the hell over ‘ere,” He snickered as his arms extended outwards.

The waves seemed to be against you in this very moment, as the crashed into you while you attempted to swim away from an annoyed Dallas Winston. You felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist before quickly dragging you into his arms.

“Thought you’d get away from me, huh?” “No, no! Never!” You replied between giggles and laughs as kissed the back of your neck, trailing down your spine.

The setting sun, the cool water, you in his arms and his lips on your skin made him forget that there was only a week of having you left.

Johnny Cade:

johnny motherfucking cade pulling a baddie in real time this CANNOT be real

OK BUT SRSLY LEMME SHUT MY FAT MOUTH UP LMFAOO

johnny staying over at your auntie’s house almost everyday of the summer…yesss…late night cuddles, shared stories & giggles filling the warm air…yes….

take him to the beach with u💔💔let him watch the sunset with u💔💔tell him u won’t forget him when you have to go back to school💔💔

wearing his jean jacket all summer😭😭 and he wears ur bracelet all summer in exchange😭😭FUCKKK

johnny cade and a summer vacation partner is so tragic omg

he’ll think about you EVERY SINGLE SUMMER like everytime ponyboy’s off school he thinks, “I wonder what they’re doing right now. I hope they come back.”

LIKEEEE????FUCKKKK

camping out at the lot with him & him opening up to you bc deep down he knows this is the first and last summer he’ll ever get with someone like you, so you might as well know everything about him while he has you

yesss yearner johnny for his summer vacation partner that one year… johnny ‘yearner’ cade…

you show him the real ‘city-ways’ and he shows you how a ‘real greaser’ lives🙁

(yes i know tulsa is a city stfu)

like you’ll show him how to find the “real good restaurants in the pile of trash” and he’ll tell you how to avoid getting caught doing something you shouldn’t

sometimes he still finds bits of sand in his shoes or in the pockets of his clothing from when you’d spend hours upon hours just sitting at the beach talking

tell him your stories from back home pls he lives vicariously through you to wonder what a semi-good life would be

he tells only ponyboy & dallas about you & nobody else because he thinks you’re much too sacred and much too short-lived for the others to know

AUGHHH STAYING OUT AT THE BEACH WHEN IT’S LEGIT MIDNIGHT BC NEITHER OF U ARE IN A RUSH TO GO HOME FOR DIFFERENT REASONS

ok sorry for ljke the random sad shit i’ll write something to make up for it😂✌️💯 johnny cade too tragic for me to not make him sad 24/7 he my punching bag fr

Johnny shivered as the water covered his feet, the sandy shore being much colder than he expected. You, however, looked unaffected by this fact. Curse you and your weird perfectness. Actually, you looked quite happy as you tried to coax him into the water.

“I’ll hold your hand so no sharks get ya.” “I ain’t afraid of no sharks.” “That’s what they all say, Cade.” You replied, your hand tight around his wrist as you looked over your shoulder. This felt like a moment in one of Ponyboy’s books he’d read to him.

The moonlight made you look untouchable—and, believe him—he’s had untouchable beat him across the head.

He had his jeans bunched up around his knees, and he had his jean jacket tossed somewhere into the sand. Your sweater was long gone, and your pants were just as bunched up, the hem of the fabric wet from the waves. He was—in every possible sense of the word—free.

You talked about how he’ll get used to the cold after while as you guided him into the water, your hand never leaving his scarred skin. He kinda hoped you wouldn’t let go, on a count of the possible sharks in calf-deep water.

Yea, that’s what he’ll blame if you ask him why he’s lingering too close by you. Sharks is why he’s looking at you like he’s the happiest man on this summer night before you’re whisked away from him forever.

Ponyboy Curtis:

me making the little white boy on my screen suffer some more by giving him a loving partner he can never have for more than 3 months

ok locking in.

AUGHH HIM DRAWING YOU SURROUNDED IN SUNLIGHT😭😭AND FLOWERS😭😭BECAUSE HE PERMANENTLY ASSOCIATES SUMMER WITH YOU😭😭

me casting the yearning spell upon him YOU YEARN HE YEARNS EVERYONE YEARNS😂💯

him picking flowers off soc’s lawns to surprise you with them everytime he went to go & pick u up from ur vacation home 🙁🙁

YESSS SNEAK HIM OUT OF THE CURTIS HOUSE BEFORE RHE SUNSETS SO YOU CAN WATCH IT TOGETHER 😂😂 YESS

am i making you a bad influence sorry

he would totally write you letters & never send them off when school starts up again. he be spraying them in his cheap ass cologne just in case he musters up the courage to send them to u

but they just collect dust in a shoe box under his bed. wuss.

he has the day you come to Tulsa marked down on his calendar he gets every year. it’s 110% marked with a heart and put as ‘y/n day’…yup.

he loves sitting @ the beach with you & doing nothing but reading and sitting there. when he’s panicking or is about to freak out, he imagines himself back at the beach with the prettiest person he’d ever seen sitting beside him with a smile

YES I WROTE A LOT FOR PONY IDGAFFFF

Ponyboy ran his fingers through his freshly washed hair as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror. His eyes flickered across every single feature he had, suddenly feeling small and slightly insecure.

He took a deep breath in, and wished he had a cigarette in between his hands. He could feel himself get shaky, and he didn’t know if it was because he needed a hit, or if it was because he knew he’d be standing outside your vacation home sooner than he thought.

“Cant wait to see your summer-baby, huh?” Soda teased, leaning on the door frame of the bathroom, making eye contact with Pony through the mirror. He grumbled, shoving his older brother’s shoulder. “Shut your trap, man.”

All Sodapop did was tilt his head back and laugh, while Pony stood there with the tips of his ears turning red. “I gotta go, anyways.” “Don’t stay out too late, yea? I’d like to know that you didn’t run off with them!” His older brother shouted and Ponyboy rushed for the door to end this humiliating conversation.

Ponyboy stared down at the lilies that extended out to the sidewalk from a random soc’s yard. He knows he shouldn’t—but he also knows he shouldn’t show up empty handed. He looked both ways before quickly plucking a handful of flowers, and then quickly walking off.

Standing on your porch felt all the more real. He’d finally see you after 9, long, months. With a deep breath, he pressed the door bell. Which, don’t tell anyone—but that took way more courage than you might think. Immediately after the chime of the bell rang through the home, he heard rustling and a shout, ‘I’ll get it!’

Ponyboy didn’t have time to reminisce on how sweet your voice sounded, because in no time, you were right in front of him. Finally. “Hey, Pony.”

And, holy shit, he missed his summer-baby.

Sodapop Curtis

this troupe feels so sodapop coded

idk why it just does.Don’t ask me no questions.

he���s just so out-going and he feels so out-doorsy and so cute that he’d 110% cop him a summer-vacation partner & always miss them when the weather starts to get warm

ngl he prolly met u in some stupid ass way like you were both in line for a food truck & he noticed he never seen you before, so he (like anyone) asked, “They got real good fries, don’t they?” like you’ve ever had them prior

maybe u have, idk✌️😂

but then he’s all “well i wouldn’t sleep easy again if i knew a pretty little thing like you was wonderin’ these streets all by their lonesome. i’ll show you ‘round, yea?” and flashes u his million dollar smile & the rest was history….beautiful

YES HE BE WRITING U LETTERS AND ACTUALLY SENDING THEM OFF😂😂YES HE MAKES PONYBOY PROOF-READ THEM😂😂YES PONYBOY WRITES HIS LITTLE NOTES ON HOW MUCH HIS BROTHER WON’T STFU ABOUT YOU

“Come back soon, Sodapop.” — ‘Yeah, hi. This is Ponyboy, and i’m here to tell you to come back QUICKLY. I can’t sleep a full eight hours without Soda yapping my ear off. Thanks.’

every summer you go home with a new plaid button up u didn’t have before, & soda leaves with one less shirt. (darry tells him that he isn’t no damn charity, and that you can buy your own things.) ((he’s just getting on his ass bc older brother teases younger brother or something))

i feel like he’d be the guy where he’d make sure he’s available (single & pushing everybody away) around summer for when you come around.

he’s genuinely just gonna be all, “sorry :/ waiting for a little someone..” and everyone collectively sighs because they know who he’s talking about

mmm sodapop carrying a polaroid of you & him around in the inside of his DX hat, tucked between the pieces of fabric so it’ll never fly away from all the rushing around he does

“hey, soda! u tryna go to the drive-in with us?” “WELL-“ “omg nvm i already know ur gonna be with that summer-baby of yours” “hehe yea🥰”

Dear, y/n,

Is it still weird that I never know how to start these? All I do is write, knowing I want to talk to you, but then my thoughts leave my mind the second I steal one of Pony’s papers & a pen. Guess you have that affect effect on me, even if you’re miles away.

It’s a week from when you’re gonna come back to Tulsa. I mean, I hope the mail gets there this quickly. I never know with how lazy these workers are. Anyway—can you believe that? A week! I can’t wait.

It feels like I’ve been missing you for more than nine months—feels like years. I can’t wait to see you. I have been told that I picked a real looker. Not to brag, or anything.

But, I will. You know I can never stop when I start talking.

I miss looking at you, ya know?

I already picked out which flannel you’re gonna steal from me (even if you swear you never mean to). I even found newer and betterer cooler spots for us to hang around at.

Missing you, Sodapop.

(P.S; Hey, y/n. It’s Ponyboy. Hurry back, ‘cause I think I’m getting grey hairs having to hear Soda whine every night that he misses you. Please, God, please end my misery.)

Darry Curtis

HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEARTS THAT CONTINUE INTO COLLEGE YESSS

oughh he be calling u later at night when he knows that ur not studying and when he’s off work, and everyone’s asleep 🙂‍↕️!

yk that whole thing called “think me a hug” where long distance relationships think of hugging each other at the same time ?? yall do “think me a kiss”!!

awhh i’ll hurl everywhere right now

u come into Tulsa during the summer & stay with darry every now & then … yes….the gang sees u as darry’s spouse..like marriage typeshit

it’s like that undeniable thing in the gang. like dallas is batshit insane, sodapop is fine as fuck, and darry’s got a ring on his finger he just doesn’t know it yet

the three rules in life fr😭

he isn’t keen on the idea of going out & staying at the beach like yall used to when it was ur high school days

he prefers the days where u sit on his deck, the summer sun setting, the air still warm and the wind smelling like flowers and fresh rain

his favourite part about that, though, is probably the fact that he has an arm wrapped around your shoulders, as you talk about whatever the hell you wanted to.

YES darry is a traditional man like that!! NO he doesn’t want to be outside 24/7!! YES he just wants to sit outside with his summer-baby and talk until the mosquitoes force them to seek refuge inside!!

NO i can’t explain it!!

darry curtis makes a mean bbq the day u arrive into tulsa like fr

give that man a beer & some hamburger meat and it’ll be so fucking good istg nobody knows how he does it

my mouth watering a little ngl

Sitting outside with you, the birds and the crickets acting as background music, with your heartbeat being the main focus was something for the poets. Darry Curtis was no poet, but he liked to think that this was a scenario he’d try writing poetry about.

And he did. However, he wouldn’t tell you (or anyone, for that matter) for years.

“Thanks for dinner, by the way.” You said, breaking the silence. You had never had such a good meal in college—all microwave meals, and takeout bags that took up too much space in your small trash can.

A homemade meal with Darry seemed like the best goddamn thing in the world. To which, it was. The gang stood around the yard, laughing at each other with food in their mouths as Two-Bit attempted—and failed—to do a cartwheel.

This was what people dreamed of, and you had it in front of you.

“Don’t thank me. ‘m jus’ making sure you’re fed. I don’t want you to go back to school, with your stomach eatin’ your head.” “Oh, how kind of you, Curtis.”

You replied sarcastically, turning your head to face him, his gaze already fixed onto yours. You would’ve blushed if you weren’t so used to the sight after years of being Darry Curtis’. Without another thought—because you were sure you would’ve spent another 30 minutes admiring him—you leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

Darry soon found himself wondering how long it was until you graduated from college, and he could have you all to himself, all year around. He couldn’t stand having you for three, measly, months.

God, he can’t wait. How utterly selfish of him.

Steve Randle

totally off topic but i can see steve like foam at the mouth to put sunscreen on you. no idk why i thought of it. i just did. sorry

“steve, baby, can you help me wi-“ “Yes.” “i didn’t even tell you what-“ “Yes.”

you always go home with a bolt in one of your pockets & the smell of gasoline sticking to your jeans shorts…how? you have no idea

that shit just follows him everywhere….

YES he gets wickedly sunburnt bc he spent his time at the beach, sitting in the shallow parts of the water, talking to you & YES when u ask him how his sun burn is he blames you for making him do allat

this is inspired by an irl situation. Sorry.

he totally got wicked sunburns on his face, that turn into his skin being tanned, which made his freckles look wayyy more prominent than they usually are

kiss them for me😭😭😭count them under the stars and tell steve that he’s so much cooler than the constellations😭😭😭

he needs the ego boost bro yk he’s sensitive🥀💔

oughhh everytime u go home after summer, you’re so used to having his DX hat on your head that when you tilt your head back, your hand instinctively goes to your head to secure steve’s hat but it’s not there anymore😭🥀

yes steve be eating ur ice cream when yall go out. no he doesn’t admit it. yes he thinks he’s sneaky

“Baby, that hurts!” Steve complains, as he lays flat on his stomach on his bed that he proudly called ‘our’ bed, when speaking to you. Though, right now, as his complains, you kinda wished it was just his bed.

“I know, I know,” you managed through muffled giggles. He would occasionally shove his face into his pillow as you continued to lightly rub aloe vera across his—in his words—wickedly red sunburn. “What were ya thinkin’, letting me stay out in the sun that long?”

“Oh, so I made you stay out in the water with me?” You questioned, raising your eyebrows. You held back on slapping his back, just to teach him a lesson. “Yes! You were lookin’ so good in the water, I couldn’t jus’ sit back n’ let those weirdos look at ya. Had to step in n’ make sure they knew who you were with.”

Steve, above all else when he focused real hard, was a good sweet talker. Blame Sodapop for that—learned all his words from his friend sweet talking every pretty girl that walked into the DX.

“What a gentleman you are,” you sighed. Your hands continued to lightly rub the aloe vera across his back, his face now shoved into his pillow with a groan. “I try.” “You don’t even gotta try.”

Two-Bit Mathews

WOAHH keith mathews pulling someone pinch me

kidding.

but seriously a summer-fling is two-bits idea of PEAK romance and i have NO IDEA why he just gets SOOO giddy at the thought of having a partner during the best 3 months of the year

which is why he was lowkey obsessed with u LOLLL

no joke sometimes he thinks about u like years later going “DAMN I FUMBLED😩💔🥀”

no but seriously, the reality of the whole ‘summer-fling’ thing set down on him after a while, and he misses u when the sun is about to go down, and the frogs croak in a rhythm that seemed to mock his loneliness

oughh two-bit angst

BUT, when he DID have you to call ‘his’, he was ALWAYS around you!! like ALWAYS he just loved being in ur presence

like i swear, u only came down to tulsa to go visit ur aunt but since u met two-bit, u only seen her like twice a week bc he’d always appear going “lol hey r u tryna get fucked up at 10pm on a wednesday”

and guess what u say

“yes”.

TWO-BIT LOVESSS DRUNK SWIMMING WITH U😭 HE THINKS THAT SHIT IS SOO FUCKING FUNNY ISTG like he loves just laughing his ass off with u as the waves crash into you two, throwing u off ur balance!!

one time he got a sunburn on his face, with the outline of your sunglasses being soo evident 😭😭 fell asleep on the beach-towel and it went downward from there

he def sunburns idc he’s a GINGER in the books!! HES A GINGER!! HE ONLY BURNS

anyways

yesss he be making u watch mickey with him!!! yes yall made chocolate cake together like a sappy rom-com with flour on ur noses and icing on ur lips

oughhh someone give two-bit a summer fling🙁!!

Laughs cut through the lake’s waves crashing onto the beach’s shore. You held onto Two-bit’s shoulders as you stumbled forward, his hands found your waist, holding you steady. You both had a messy grins across your face—like it was hard to not smile around the other.

Both your faces were flushed, your bodies fuzzy and your minds hazy with nothing short of puppy-love. The summer sun was setting over the water, the golden hue made you, and you alone, glow. Two-bit kinda wished summer lasted for the whole 12 months instead of 3.

“I know ‘m cute, but you ain’t gotta trip over yourself for it,” Two-bit joked, his words slurred. If you weren’t already pretty as is, you were even more alluring when you laughed at his shitty jokes. Summer couldn’t be any longer, could it?

You lightly hit his shoulder, your smile being the brightest thing he’d seen in a long time. “You’re makin’ me sound like I’m obsessed with ya.” You replied, knowing that it was only partly true. But, Two-bit don’t gotta know that he was one of your favourite people—if not, your favourite—down in Tulsa.

“A man can dream, can’t he?” He asked, not expecting a real answer, as he pulled you closer. Two-bit soon pressed a sloppy kiss against your cheek, your palm against his chest as you giggled, attempting to create some space.

That summer would never become a distant memory for him, because the thought of you always lingered in his mind.

[watchmegetobsessed]

LEFT UNSAID (part 4)

A/N: well the warning is kind of a spoiler so im not gonna say anything else 👀 we have one more part of this mini series!

WARNING: sexual content

WORD COUNT: 4.4k

SERIES MASTERPOST| MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

THEN

I’ve been doing well, avoiding falling into my negative spirals lately and maybe that has something to do with Harry. Or maybe not, but the thought is nice.

But letting go of old habits is not that easy and all those triggering moments and topics still lurk, ready to sink their claws into me and pull me down. That’s what happens when, after a particularly shitty day at work when a phone call with my mother takes the wrong turn. 

I love my mother, I really do, but our values and ideology are sometimes polar opposites and can easily clash. I know she doesn’t have ill intentions, but her words cut deeper today than usual. She asks about dating and tells me I’m kind of running out of time to settle down and then comes the part where she tells me maybe I should lose some weight, dress differently, do more to look appealing to men and just like that, I’m falling into my spiral. 

I try to climb out, but I can’t. Not on my own. The thoughts just keep coming; I’m not good enough, I’m not worthy of love, I will never be, I need to change myself if I want someone to love me and so on. 

It never ends. 

I climb into bed, stare at the wall blankly as the thoughts just keep echoing in my mind, but just like a sliver of light, something breaks the pattern.

“You can call me,” Harry’s voice rings in my ears. “Whenever. If things are bad or you feel like you’re losing your mind, I’m here.. Even if it’s 3AM and you just feel off and don’t know why. Call me.”

I reach for my phone and open his contact that I’ve been using very generously ever since our Q&A date, but my thumb lingers over the number hesitantly. The doubts bubble instantly, whether he actually meant it, but I’m able to push past that. 

I’ve been here before, so many times and nothing ever changes. Why don’t I try reaching out just for once? See if it turns things around.

I start the call before I could change my mind, checking the time only after. It’s almost 11 pm and tomorrow is a workday, not ideal. I’m almost about to end the call when he picks up. 

“Sigrid?” 

Just from hearing my name, my full name from him lightens the weight in my chest. 

“Hey. I hope you weren’t sleeping.”

“No, not yet. What’s up?” he asks softly.

I stay quiet, not sure how to start or what to say, but as if he could understand my silence just as clearly as my words, he is the first one to speak up. 

“Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?” He is talking so gently, it feels like a warm hug. 

“I just… I’m not feeling good right now.”

“Did something happen?” I hear him shuffling around and I imagine him pacing in his apartment. 

“No. Not really. It’s… I don’t know how to talk about it.”

“Okay. Tell me what are you feeling right now.”

“Just… Not good. I don’t feel good about myself and where I am, I mean, in life.”

“What made you feel like that?”

He keeps me talking until he finally gets a picture of what’s going on. Gentle and understanding, he listens and waits and asks just the right questions. Slowly, I calm down just enough that my head is not pounding from the urge to cry. 

“Sigrid, I’m gonna ask you to do something, okay?” he asks when we’ve been on the phone for probably over half an hour. 

“Okay.”

“Can you get out of bed?”

I hesitate, but hum in response and climb out of my depression cocoon. 

“Now go to your front door.”

“Why?”

“Just do it, okay?”

I sigh, but follow his instructions, padding through my apartment, walking up to the front door.

“Now what?” I ask curiously.

“Now open it.”

I freeze, because his voice doesn’t only come from the phone but from outside as well. My hand that’s holding my phone drops as I reach for the door and open it and there he is. Standing on my doormat, phone still held to his ear, a soft smile tugging on his lips. 

I can’t stop my lips from quivering and I practically throw myself into his arms as he steps inside. 

“You shouldn’t have come here so late,” I mumble against his shoulder and exhale his scent, secretly hoping he might leave his hoodie for me, because I want to smell him even when he’s not here. 

“But I wanted to,” he simply answers. We stay like that, melted together for a while longer before we let go of each other and Harry closes the door behind him. 

He suggests sitting on the couch, but I want to be back in bed, so we move over to my bedroom. He stops by my bed as I climb back in and I know he is worrying about wearing his outside clothes.

“I don’t mind,” I tell him.

“You sure?”

I nod. He pulls his hoodie over his head, revealing a simple white t-shirt underneath, he folds the hoodie to the back of my chair by my desk and then joins me in bed. We’re not touching, just lying on our sides, facing each other. 

There’s so much I want to tell him, but nothing comes out. Instead, I’m just basking in the feeling of… being chosen. I didn’t ask him to come and he still did, he cares and listens and I feel noticed finally. 

“Do you want to talk some more?” I shake my head.

“No. I mean, yes, but about something else.”

“What else?”

“I don’t know. Something that takes my mind off of all the shitty things.”

Harry thinks to himself for a bit. He blinks slowly and I can almost see the gears turning behind his eyes. 

“Alright… did I ever tell you about the time I accidentally entered a salsa competition in Barcelona?”

I blink at him, stunned and curious.

“What? No, you didn’t.” Harry grins.

“Dead serious. I thought I was signing up for a game of beerpong. My Spanish was not great or more like nonexistent and the guy just kept nodding and pointing toward this little stage.”

“Oh my God.” I feel a smile stretching across my face.

“Next thing I know, I’m paired with someone’s abuela who spun me like a damn pro. I was sweating blood in front of a crowd of at least fifty people, all cheering.”

“Please tell me there’s video footage.”

“Unfortunately for me and very fortunately for you, yes. Jeff, my friend who I was with there, has it on his phone.”

I laugh, short and sharp, like I didn’t expect it to come out. It’s the kind of laugh that surprises you because you didn’t think you still had it in you. Harry’s smile softens.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” he says. My cheeks warm and I bury my head into the pillow a little more, but I can still see him. 

He doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t try to fix anything. Just stays, close but not too close. Present.

After a beat of silence, I ask: “Why did you really come?”

He meets my eyes, no hesitation. 

“Because you called. And because if something feels heavy for you, I want to help carry it. Even if I can’t fix it, I can sit in it with you.”

I blink at him, touched by his words, but my hesitance is still there.

“I don’t always know how to ask.”

“You don’t have to,” he says. “You could call me in the middle of the night and say ‘I don’t feel like being alone’ and I’ll be there. No questions. You never have to be the one holding all of it by yourself.”

I nod, trying to swallow around the knot in my throat. 

“Okay.”

And we just lie there, close but not touching, like a storm passed through and we’re waiting for the quiet after. I’m tired, emotionally and physically, but I don’t want to sleep just yet. 

“We still have one last question to answer.”

“Do you want to do it now?” he offers and I nod. 

He digs into his backpocket, pulls his phone out and as if it’s the most natural thing ever, he reaches for me and pulls me closer until he is lying on his back, I’m curled by his side, head resting on his gently rising and falling chest. He holds the phone so we both can see the screen, then opens up the list of questions and scrolls to the last one.

“Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how they might handle it,” he reads it out loud and his chest vibrates under my cheek as he speaks. 

The question hovers between us, glowing faintly on the screen. His thumb lingers there, like he’s waiting for me to go first. I take a breath and exhale slowly against his t-shirt. 

“I think…” I start, and already my voice trembles a little, “my problem is that I’m falling for someone.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, but I feel the shift, his chest rising just a little more deliberately, like he’s bracing himself.

“And it’s terrifying,” I continue. “Because it’s not just anyone. It’s someone who already means a lot to me. Who I’ve known in ways that I haven’t known anyone.”

My fingers find the hem of his t-shirt, just to have something to hold and I start fidgeting with the fabric. 

“I don’t know how to say it without risking what we already have. Or if I should say it at all.” I pause, pressing my lips together. “What would you do?”

The silence that follows isn’t heavy. It’s gentle and careful.

Harry shifts just slightly as I lift my head as well so he can look down at me, his voice comes low and steady, with a hint of something behind it I can’t quite name.

“The kind of connection you’re describing… it doesn’t come around often.” It sounds like his words are not only meant for me, but himself as well. I put my head back to his chest and close my eyes.

“I know. That’s why it’s so scary to face it. I think I never believed I would ever experience it.”

Another silence and I can feel myself drifting off to sleep. 

“It is scary, yeah,” I hear him and it’s the last thing that echoes in my mind before I’m knocked out. 

When I wake up in the morning, I still feel emotionally tired, but also lighter than usually after a breakdown like last night’s. I bury my face deeper into my pillow, not entirely ready to start the day, but then I remember what else happened last night, that Harry came over, that we lied in bed and I indirectly told him I’m falling for him. 

I blink my eyes open, expecting him to be right there next to me, but the mattress is empty where he laid last night. I sit up, rub my eyes and look around. His hoodie is gone from the chair as well. Walking out of the bedroom I’m still hoping to find him maybe on the couch or in the kitchen, but he is gone. 

He left without a word.

A sinking feeling spreads in my chest, like something is wrong. At first I just carry on with my morning. I’m working from home so I set up my laptop and read through my emails with a coffee, but I can’t really focus. It’s almost noon when I decide to send Harry a text.

Thanks for yesterday. When did you leave?

I get back to my work, but keep an eye on my phone, eagerly waiting for a response that comes about an hour later.

Glad I could help. I had some things to take care of so I left around six.

It’s a simple text, nothing outstanding, but it feels off. It’s not how he usually texts me. 

The thought keeps eating me away for the rest of the workday. I can barely focus during meetings, I move very slow with tasks I do everyday. When I can finally turn my laptop off I decide I need to do something.

So I head over to Harry’s place so we could talk in person. 

When I reach his block I slow my steps down, suddenly unsure if it was a good idea to come here without letting him know. I cross the street and stop by a shop that’s across his building and I pace a little, trying to convince myself to just do it. 

I’m just about to step off the curb, to cross the street and buzz his flat, when I freeze, because I spot him. 

He’s stepping out of his building, but not alone. There’s a girl beside him and from my social media deep dive I did earlier, I recognize Taylor, his ex. Her hand brushes his arm as they walk, casual, familiar, Taylor is telling him something and he listens intently, with undivided attention. I know it because he’s been listening to me like that the past two weeks. 

It’s like someone just poured a bucket of ice cold water over me. The air leaves my lungs in a rush and all I can do is stand there like an idiot, heart pounding around in my chest.

I take a step back instinctively, ducking behind a rack of postcards outside the shop. I don’t know why I hide, maybe because I don’t want him to see the look on my face. Maybe because I don’t want to find out what would happen if he saw me. 

I watch them walk down the street, opposite the direction of where I’m standing. Right before they turn on the corner, I catch as Harry places a hand to the small of her back, gently pushing her forward as they pass a couple on the pavement, a small, casual move but in this scene it feels like a knife in my heart. Then they disappear from my sight. 

I don’t know where they’re going. I don’t know why they are together. I don’t want to know. All I know is the ache in my stomach and chest, raw and sudden and stupid and so fucking furiating. Because I let myself believe that something shifted last night. That what I said meant something to him. Maybe it did. Maybe it didn’t. Either way, I can’t stand here like this, so I turn and walk in the opposite direction, my hands shaking as I stuff them into my pockets.

I don’t cry. Not yet. I just walk fast and try not to think about how warm he felt last night, or how he looked at me when I opened the door and found him standing there. I hold it all back until I’m home, but once the front door is closed behind me, it all bursts out of me. 

I smack my back against the door, slide down to the floor and let it all out. I cry and sob and cry some more and when I think I’m done I start again. I have no idea how much time passes by, at one point I climb onto the couch so I’m not sitting on the cold tiled floor. It’s dark outside by the time I calm down. I lie there on the couch in the dim light of my living room, surrounded by the quiet hum of nothing, and I stare at the ceiling like it might offer answers. But it doesn’t, it just stares back, blank, just how I feel. 

My phone’s on the coffee table, it’s been silent since the last text from Harry. Not a Hey, not a Can we talk, not even a goddamn meme. He is not thinking about me at all while I’m wrecking myself over him. 

I reach for my phone and stare at his name in my recents. My thumb hovers over the screen, and for a second, I hesitate, but then I end up calling.

It rings. Once. Twice. Three times. 

“Hey,” Harry answers on the fourth ring, casual and calm, like he doesn’t feel the weight of me unraveling on the other end.

“Are you back together with Taylor?” I ask, skipping the greetings. There’s a beat of silence on his end.

“What? Why?”

“I saw you with her today, coming out of your place.” 

Another pause. “Sigrid–”

“Don’t. Just don’t pretend that didn’t happen. I saw you,” I repeat. 

“We ran into each other,” he says quietly. “We were just grabbing lunch. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” I laugh bitterly. “You left my bed this morning without a word. I told you–God! I told you I was falling for you, and you disappeared!”

“I didn’t disappear,” he says, but he sounds less sure now. “I just… I needed time and space to think.”

“Right. And Taylor’s the kind of space you needed?”

There’s a long silence, way longer than what I can bear and then he sighs.

“I think we got carried away,” he says, voice tight like it hurts him to say it. “I’m not ready for this. I thought I was, but I’m not.”

That’s another bucket of ice water, right in my face. Along with a knife in my chest.

I sit up, gripping the edge of the couch cushion.

“You don’t get to tell someone they matter and then decide they don’t.”

“I never said you don’t matter–”

“You didn’t have to,” I snap, my throat burning. “You said it with every choice you made today. You said it when you walked away this morning. When you didn’t call. When you showed up beside her like last night didn’t happen.”

His breath is shallow on the other end. I hear the shift of his footsteps, maybe he is pacing.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well, you did!”

He doesn’t respond.Not right away. Just the sound of silence stretching between us, I’m staring at the floor as if he would materialize there if I concentrate hard enough. A tear rolls down my cheek and my vision blurs.

“I care about you,” he finally says, softer now.

I press my lips together and nod, even though he can’t see me. 

“Okay.”

“Sigrid–”

“No,” I whisper. “I think that’s all I needed to hear.”

And I end the call. I sit there, the quiet louder than ever, and this time when I cry, it’s different. Not because of what could’ve been. But because I finally see what won’t be.

NOW

I wake up because I feel hot. Not my entire body, just the backside of it and my waist all around. My eyes are still closed, my dream that I woke from still lingers in my mind. I remember Harry and the pullout, that it crashed and he–

That wasn’t a dream. That’s what happened. The couch gave up and I invited him to sleep in the bed beside me. 

Suddenly, I feel like I’m in my bedroom in the morning after he came over and calmed me down. My heart starts pounding, a flashback of what it was like to find him gone sinking its claws into me. I’m shaken up, my breathing fastens and my skin burns, but then I feel something tightening around my waist and I realize what it is. An arm.

Harry’s arm.

A moment passes and another and I realize that he is lying behind me, curled up against my back, an arm hooked around my waist to keep me close. I instantly relax and melt into his hold as he shifts behind me too so I know he’s awake. 

But he doesn’t change the position and neither do I. Instead, I push further back against him. 

My lips part when I feel his erection pressing against my ass. He exhales sharply at my movement, his breath hitting my shoulder and a moment later he nuzzles his nose against it. 

Somewhere, deep down I know this is not right. I know that I shouldn’t do it, but the warning voice quickly dissolves when I feel his palm flat against my lower stomach, putting a gentle pressure on me before his fingers start inching lower. When they reach the elastic of my sleep shorts he stops, waiting, asking for permission. 

I buckle my hip, pushing myself against his erection as my answer and that’s all he needs. 

His hand slips under the fabric of my shorts and then cups me, his warm touch melting against my even more heated core. I can’t help the moan that slips out of my mouth.

“Fuck, Sigrid,” Harry groans behind me and my whole body pulses from the way he just used my full name again. 

Two of his fingers find my clit and start drawing circles, I can’t stop myself from grinding against his touch which has my ass rubbing against his cock too. I feel his lips against my shoulder, placing gentle kisses on my heated skin and I let my head roll back to his shoulder. With one hand I grab his wrist, but I don't intend to stop him, I just need something to hold onto as his fingers keep working me, my other hand reaches back and tangles into his hair, tugging on his locks whenever he hits a special spot. 

If I heard the pornographic moan that slips past my lips once he slides two fingers inside me, I would have definitely been ashamed, but I cannot care about that, not when I can feel my orgasm building and I have Harry grinding against me and he just keeps whispering my name, like he is begging. And maybe he is, begging for mercy, for relief, for more. 

His face is pressed against mine and I turn my head, our lips almost touch, but he only reaches my cheek, kissing it softly while his fingers show me no mercy.

“Harry, I’m–Uh!” I can’t even form words, my eyes shut closed, mouth hangs open.

“So perfect.” Harry whispers against my shoulder, pressing another, open-mouthed kiss to the exposed skin. “Come on, Sigrid, let it go for me.”

That’s all I need. I come, hard, gasping for air, the waves of my pleasure wash over me and I’m so gone like never before. I’m sweating and pulsing and as my orgasm slowly fades I become very aware of Harry’s hand between my legs, his fingers still lazily moving between my slick folds. He is peppering my shoulder with kisses again and once I can breathe normally, I realize that his erection is still pressed against me. 

My instinct is to do something about that, preferably something similar to what he just did to me, but right then, there’s a knock on the door and I snap back to reality.

The one where I’m finally aware of the fact that Harry just made me come and I was about to return the favor.

Fuck. Fucking fuck!

“Ziggy?” I hear Jade’s voice coming from outside. “You up?” 

I jerk up, sit on my heels, eyes wide and my heart is about to jump right out of my chest. My eyes fall to Harry, who is still lying, now on his back and his hard-on is very obvious.

“Yeah?” I call out, my voice way squeakier than I intended.

“Can you be done with breakfast in twenty? The makeup artist just arrived so we could start getting ready earlier.”

“Sure! No problem!”

“Great!” A short pause, then she speaks again. “Harry?”

“Yes, Jade?” he answers, his face seemingly blank as he stares at the ceiling but I can tell he is annoyed. Jade doesn’t answer right away.

“Nothing. Just wanted to know if you’re there.”

I hear her walk away and I’m certain she has the biggest shit-eating grin on her face, because she just got confirmation that we did in fact share the bed. She surely noticed our voices came from the same spot, this is a win for her. 

But I’m too busy panicking to worry about Jade’s master plan. I have a way bigger problem to deal with. 

Harry sits up, leans on one hand and reaches out for me with the other, but I jump out of the bed, probably looking quite dishevelled. 

“This, um… I can’t right now.”

“Sigrid–”

“No. This was… It shouldn’t have happened. Fuck.”

Before he could get another word out I rush into the bathroom and shut the door behind me, locking it. I hear him get out of bed and walk over to the door and I’m afraid he might try to talk through it, so I quickly strip and get in the shower, tuning out any voices that could come from outside. 

I stand under cold water for way longer than my body would like it, but I think I just need it. As if I could wash what just happened away. My skin is numb. Not from the cold, but from everything building inside meI don’t know if I want to cry or scream or just rewind the past twenty minutes and stop myself before I let it all get so… messy.

What the hell was I thinking?

I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the tiled wall. My fingers are trembling a little, either from the temperature or the adrenaline. His touch is still fresh on my skin, I can feel his fingers on my waist, my stomach and between my legs and don’t even get me started on how I’m practically burning where his lips kissed me. 

I have no idea how long I stand there, but I turn off the water abruptly, almost violently, like I need to cut myself off before I start spiraling. I wrap myself in a towel, avoiding my reflection as I step out into the steamy room. I brace for the awkwardness, for him waiting outside, asking if I’m okay, or worse, pretending like none of it happened.

But when I open the bathroom door, the room is empty.

The bed is still unmade, a reminder of what happened there not long ago. 

I ignore the ache in my chest, after all, this just saves me the conversation I didn’t want to have. But still, there is a tiny little something that’s disappointed he disappeared. 

I swallow it down quickly, get dressed and start the day. It’s gonna be a busy one. Because we have a wedding to have and I also have to deal with the mess I made myself.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[bones4thecats]

Can I request a scenerio where Baby Silver from Twisted Wonderland is attached to Thor's Hammer while sleeping but Thor is oblivious to this and accidently take him to Asagard, he just unknowliy carrying him until Loki and the other gods point that out.

↳ The Keychain of Mjölnir.

A Twisted Wonderland and Record of Ragnarok × Fem! Reader.

Requester: @fandomotakutraveler.

Characters Included: Silver Vanrouge and Thor.

A/N: OMG THIS WAS ONE OF MY FAVORITE THINGS EVER TO WRITE!!! I'm planning a second part where the Reader will be featured, so just wait!

●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●

⚔️ It was years ago; back when the Humans and Fae's anger was known worldwide. Their bloods mixed against the grasses as swords slashed and magic blasted. Storms blasted against the land as a male strolled through Castle Wildrose in search of the residual magic. ⚔️ The Fae, who blessed the young, sleeping boy, smiled as he picked him up. The eyes of the baby warmed his heart. The hand of the pale boy gripped his finger, warming the organ more.

⚔️ As he grew, the boy had begun to wander. It caused his adoptive father fear. Especially when lightning blasted and thunder roared. 🌩️ As the lightning struck the ground, a God landed on the ground. Behind him a giant fell. Their head was smashed in, and their remaining form sending a force comparable to that of an Earthquake throughout the ground. 🌩️ The yellow circles that laid inside the black sclera glowed in the dark field. Fear struck anything that saw them. He blinked coldly and calmly as he stared at the body laying in a corpse-made crater. 🌩️ Picking up his hammer, his frown stayed still. With each step the storm raged on. Lightning went faster and struck harder, only to stop when the God disappeared. The clouds cleared, but not the mind of the Fae running around calling the name 'Silver'.

"Welcome back, Lord Thor. How was your time on Earth?" An elderly angel spoke. In her hands was a plant, specifically yarrow. Also known as Achillea Millefolium, the herb was used by Thor eons ago to heal his wounds. Ever since that day the plant was placed everywhere the God of Thunder was. A symbol of respect, of belief.

The God's eyes gazed over each leaf and each little bloom-like additions of the plant. What felt like minutes of doing so was really seconds, only being noticed when the angel giggled and handed the God a herb before walking off.

"I'll take your soft gaze as well. Have a nice day, Lord Thor."

Thor nodded and walked in the opposite direction as her. His eyes were softer now, his posture relaxed.

Silence surrounded the Norse God as he walked around the halls. His mind wandered to the giant he had slain earlier. How it had skin as blue as ice, how its eyes glowed a crimson red like the blood its hands were coated in, the single fully grown horn clashing with the completely broken-off one on its head. All of it flooded into his mind as he ignored the laughs of his cousin.

The God of Deceit, Loki, smirked and began to poke and prod at the red-haired man. His finger-tipless gloves making slight movement sounds as he kept on floating and speaking to the obviously ignoring man.

"Oh!" He hovered a hand from his mouth in shock. "I didn't know you were the kind to adopt random orphans, Thor!"

Seeing an eyebrow raise on his cousin's face, Loki pointed to the ending of his hammer. Thor then raised the weapon and looked where the finger was pointed towards.

His eyebrows then matched, shooting skyward on his face. There, holding onto the bottom of Mjölnir, was a small, silver-haired boy. His eyes were latched shut as he slept. The fact he seemingly has been there for almost an hour without the God noticing surprised him. His grip as well.

Reaching out to pick up the sleeping boy, Thor gripped his onesie in a grip tight enough to prevent slipping out of his grasp but not tight enough to threaten his life. Gold and purple eyes looking at the infant, their faces said the same for once in a million years; who is this child, why is he here, and how in the name of Odin did he stay gripped onto that huge hammer for so long without anyone noticing.

Who is this child? Thor questioned. His eyebrows furrowed as he tilted his head, red hair slanting in his face slightly as he continued to look at the child in his arms.

"Well... looks like you have something else you need to deal with other than giants, huh?" Loki asked, taunting smile returning to his face as he chuckled and disappeared.

A silence was cast over the two again. It only stopped when the little boy woke up and looked at the God with wide eyes. The color made Thor look at them in wonder; they were ethereal. A mix of blues, purples, and slight pinks making it look like an aurora.

"Such... investing eyes. Unique for a human." He mumbled, resting the boy on his arm like how he had seen other parents carry children. "So beautiful.

"But, despite the beauty, you must be returned to your proper caretakers. Come, young boy. I'm sure father will be able to locate your mother or father rather quick."

🌊 Copyright © 2025 by Bones4thecats on Tumblr. All Rights Reserved. 🌊

[ncsdlr]

could you make a fic about a reader who has vocal tics, maybe like a day in the life of her and billie together?

Say That Again

Billie Eilish x Reader

TW: Tourettes

--------------------------------

You tic before you even open your eyes. A little hum, followed by a sharp squeak of a word that doesn’t mean anything. Just part of you. Just how the morning starts.

You roll onto your side, already knowing Billie’s awake—because you feel her hand slide across your stomach and her lips brush your shoulder.

“Mm,” she murmurs. “You’re cute.”

“Zebra,” you say suddenly, and your eyes widen. That one’s new.

Billie giggles into your back. “Zebra?” she repeats. “That’s kinda slay.”

You laugh too, even if your face is warm. “It’s so random.”

She stretches behind you, pulling you close. “Yeah, well. Mine made me blink twenty times in Trader Joe’s yesterday. I walked into a shelf. I think we’re both a little random.”

You stay like that for a while. Your tics pepper the silence—some soft, some loud, some words that aren’t even real—but Billie never flinches. Never pulls away. Never asks if you’re okay because she knows you are. You’re just you.

---

The smoothie’s halfway gone. Your straw squeaks against the plastic, and you're ticcing more now—louder, sharper, closer together. You feel your throat getting sore. You can’t stop making this high-pitched “tuh!” sound every few seconds, and it’s starting to piss you off.

You rub your face. Tic. Slap your leg. Tic. Say “crabapple” out loud with no warning.

Billie’s sitting next to you, scrolling aimlessly on her phone, but her eyes flick up the second you groan and press the heels of your palms into your eyes.

“Baby?” she says gently.

You shake your head. “I just—ugh, I can’t—I’m so tired of this today.” Your voice cracks on the last word. “I can’t even think. I feel like a fuckin’ puppet.”

You tic again, harsh and sudden. You flinch like your own body betrayed you.

Billie sets her phone down immediately. “Hey. C’mere. Look at me.”

You don’t.

She leans in anyway. “You’re allowed to be annoyed, you know,” she says, softer now. “You don’t have to be chill about it all the time.”

You finally look at her. Eyes wet, embarrassed. “I just wanted to talk today. Like a normal fucking person. And I can’t even do that without—‘penguin!’—without that.”

Billie smiles, not because it’s funny, but because she adores you.

“You are a normal person,” she murmurs. “You’re just a normal person with a little remix track running in the background. And I happen to really like the remix.”

That makes you laugh through your frustration. A short, watery huff.

“Also…” She brushes your hair behind your ear, thumb resting on your cheek. “It’s not fair you have to deal with it more than I do. But I still get it. I really do. And I’m not going anywhere, even when you feel like you’re not ‘easy’ to be around. Because you are. You’re mine.”

You tic again—another squawked word—and she doesn’t even blink.

She just presses a kiss to your forehead.

Then your nose.

Then your knuckles.

And finally says, “Say the word, and I’ll start ticcing on purpose just to match you.”

You giggle, nuzzling into her chest. “You’re dumb.”

“Yeah,” Billie smirks, holding you tighter.

---

It’s dark. Like, pitch black. You’re both lying on your backs in total silence, tangled under the covers. Billie’s barely breathing, her hand laced in yours, thumb gently stroking the side of your index finger. It’s one of those rare moments where your body goes still. No tics. No sounds. Just peace.

And then, right as it starts to feel like you might drift off—

You blurt:

“CHICKEN STRIPS!!!”

Silence again.

Like… dead silence.

Until Billie snorts. Loud.

You feel her body start to shake beside you, and then she loses it.

“Chicken strips?!” she chokes out between cackles. “You really woke the fuckin’ dead with that one!”

You’re crying laughing. “I—I didn’t even feel that one coming!!”

Billie flips onto her side, still wheezing. “We were in the middle of a peaceful cinematic cuddle scene and then you hit me with a McDonald’s order!!”

You bury your face in the pillow, still giggling. “I ruined the vibe.”

“Noooo,” she laughs, tugging you into her. “You made the vibe. That was iconic.”

There’s still a little after-laugh shaking in both your chests when she kisses your forehead and whispers:

“I’m gonna be randomly thinking about ‘chicken strips’ for the next five years.”

You tic softly—“chicken strips!” again, quieter this time.

Billie grins against your hair. “There she is. My little food court banshee.”

You both burst into giggles again.

And this time, the silence that follows isn’t broken. It’s just full of love.

The laughter fades into slow, sleepy breathing. Your bodies settle. You’re still tangled up—her thigh between yours, her arm snug around your waist, your nose tucked into her collarbone. You let out one more small tic, a quiet hum this time, barely audible.

She runs her fingers through your hair.

“You okay?” she mumbles.

You nod. “Yeah. You?”

“Mmhmm. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

She shrugs, lips brushing your forehead. “About how much I love you. Even when you scream about poultry in the middle of the night.”

You laugh against her skin. “Shut up.”

“No,” she says, smiling. “Never. I’m gonna love you through every tic, every weird little outburst, every single ‘chicken strip’ moment. Forever.”

You don’t say anything for a second. Just breathe her in. Then whisper:

“You promise?”

She squeezes you gently. “Swear on my favorite hoodie.”

“That’s serious,” you murmur, half-asleep now.

“Exactly.”

And with that, she kisses your hair one last time, rests her cheek against your head, and lets you both fall into that kind of sleep you only get when you know—without a single doubt—that you’re safe, loved, and exactly enough.

Tics and all.

---------------------------------

cute req bb. i hope none of this is offensive to those who do have tourettes.

[goodnightngoread]

cornelia street

summary: you'll never walk cornelia street again

pairing: johnny storm x fem!reader

warnings: angst, lovers to exes, slightly suggestive, mean?reader, strong language, depression (?), lower case intended.

word count: 2k

author's note: ty anonymous user for the request !! i hope it's angsty enough for you but i also couldn't help but add a little bit of an open ending bc im a sucker for that. ALSO TY ALL FOR SO MUCH LOVE ON MY FICS I WANNA SMOOCH ALL OF U !!!! divider by @uzmacchiato

"i'm renting a place on cornelia street," you sigh.

the hand lazily tracing patterns on your back stops suddenly, before slowly beginning again. you hear johnny's heartbeat start racing in his chest as your ear is pressed against him.

"oh? what made you change your mind about leaving your place?" 

you sit up from your spot on his bed, where the two of you have been lounging for hours. today you weren't at your corporate job, and today he didn't have to be johnny storm of the fantastic four. you were just you and he was just johnny.

"are you not…happy about it? i thought—" 

"no! no i am, i just didn't think you wanted to move from your place." he affirms. his large hands are gently easing you back into his embrace. everything he did seemed to disrupt your nervous system, just a single touch from him putting you in a trance.

you lay your head back down gently, "yeah well, i changed my mind." you turn your head to look up at him, "i figured with me coming over all the time it would be easier to have my apartment closeby."

he smiles and laughs under his breath, "you usually sleepover here anyways."

"and i love it, but it would be nice to escape from your family to be alone for a while," you giggle. you love the rest of the team, but with a new baby in the house it's hard to have a non-hectic day.

he raises one eyebrow, "ohhh that's why—" he starts before you quickly pinch his side to silence him. "hey! you said—"

"i didn't say anything. you were the one implying that," you laugh. "now shush and go back to rubbing my back, lavaboy."

you wake up from the memory after your friend, katie, snaps her fingers. she says your name timidly, "hey, i got the last box. you good?" she's been your rock the past few weeks, bringing you chocolates ,chinese takeout, and being a shoulder to cry on.

you take one last look around the apartment before nodding, "yeah sorry i was just… thinking." she takes a long look at you, her eyes examining your face before she gives a slight nod.

"right," she mutters. "well, at least you won't have to be down the street from him anymore."

"yep," you breathe. it's for the best you tell yourself. paying the early lease break fee was way less painful than staying here and having to know you're only a block away from him. it's been about two months since you called it off with johnny. actually, you're not sure who ended it.

"are you seriously mad at me right now? i don't even know what i did wrong—" he exclaims, running a stressed hand through his blonde locks. you have half a mind to slam the door on him as he follows you through your the entrance to your apartment.

you cut him off with a scoff, "you tell me? what would you do if i were the one flirting up a storm with a news reporter!" you throw your coat on the couch as you attempt to flee to your bedroom. just before you can escape, you feel him grab your wrist, not enough to hurt but strong enough to keep you there.

"just tell me what i did. i was just trying to be nice for the cameras—"

"because that's how you acted with me when we met!" you tug your wrist from his grip, eyes watering in anger. "yo-you were kind and charming and i thought you were just trying to get me in your bed for a night." 

"baby, you know you have me, i'm yours," he begs.

"am i, though?" you shake your head in disbelief as you lift your hand up, ring finger painfully plain. "we've been together for two years, johnny. you haven't even brought up marriage or-or even fucking moving in!" you press your palms into your eyes, knowing that your makeup is ruined for sure.

now it's johnny's turn to stare in disbelief, "i thought you weren't ready, you never told me explicitly that you wanted that!" the lines in his face are getting harsher the more he tries to defend himself.

"god, do i have to spell out every fucking thing for you?" you know you shouldn't be this mad. but when you saw him laugh and lean into the reporter's touch, you couldn't help the ugly jealousy bubbling under your skin. can you blame her for blushing or for pressing into him further? anyone would jump at the chance to revel in the fact that johnny storm is flirting with them. "do you even see a future with me?"

"of course i do!" he stops himself then starts again with a huff, "you know what? we're not having this conversation right now. you're not thinking straight," his feet are leading him to the door.

his hand barely touches the knob before you hurriedly declare, "if you leave johnny, we're over." the silence is loud. heavy breathing and the creaking of the wood floor underneath his feet being the only noises echoing.

after a beat, he firmly grasps the handle before yanking the door and fleeing from the scene, solidifying your end.

the knocking coming from your front door shocks you from the nightmare you were just having. you sit up, forehead sweaty and head dizzy, before the knocking sounds again. this time, a loud voice coming from behind it. it registers in your exhausted brain that it's katie. 

she calls your name again, this time more aggresively, "open upppp! the pizza is literally searing my fingerprints off!"

you quickly stumble to the door before you swing it open. katie steps in like she owns the place, manouvering through the room in determined speed. she plops the grease-stained carboard box onto your kitchen table before heaving a sigh of relief. "jesus christ i thought you were never gonna open—" she pauses once she sees your post-nap state, "are you okay? what happened?"

you wave her off, "nightmare. you know, the usual." you try to laugh it off, but you and her both know what's happening in your heart. you press a sweaty palm to your flushed face. "maybe the couch is haunted and i just won't learn my lesson."

her eyes don't leave yours as she opens the cabinets and feels around for paper plates. she has a pitying stare that you want to pretend isn't for you. with a small sigh, she passes you your plate before reaching and tearing off a piece of pizza. "you probably wouldn't have such bad sleep if you, i don't know, slept in your bed for once?" 

"you know why i can't," you snap. 

instead of taking hurt in your attitude, she cooly blows air on her slice before devouring a large bite. with her mouth full she gets out a, "babe, i don't know how to help you."

"i just—," you feel your voice crack as hot tears slide down your cheeks, "i want this feeling to go away." katie steps forward to pull you in for a tight hug. you feel bad for her. she puts up with your mood swings and tear stains and stillsaves you when you feel like you're drowning.

"shhh. i know," she strokes your hair with her hand that isn't covered in pizza grease. "it'll be okay, they say time heals all wounds—"

"no," you sob. "i don't think time can ever heal this," voice thick with the realization that it was really over. 

"stop it."

"what? i'm not doing anything," johnny laughs. you can feel his smirk through his voice.

"yes you are," you say, not even turning to face him. if you did you would lose all resolve. "i can feel you over there just staring and wanting."

you're both barefoot with messy hair and unbrushed teeth as you decided breakfast was much more important. you're in nothing but one of johnny's old t-shirts. one that he claims looks better on you anyways. you can feel his gaze on your bare legs as you mindlessly flip over a pancake.

"who says i'm staring at you? i'm starving and you're taunting me with taking 10 minutes to cook a single pancake," he tries his best to sneakily steal another piece of bacon even though you both know you can see him. 

you nudge his side with your hip, "you lack patience you absolute child." you turn the burner off while sloppily pouring syrup on the fresh stack. feeding him a bite before taking one of your own. the delight on his face is enough to make your day. the morning sunrise falls perfectly on his face, making him glow without the need for powers. 

as you finish breakfast and start setting the dishes off to the side, you look around the kitchen. the whole place screams both your names. funny magnets on the fridge from traveling together, a bottle of wine that sue gifted you to open on your anniversary, johnny's space themed mug, and photos of your life scattered throughout. it felt like home. you wanted it to be just you and johnny like this forever. 

"johnny, i know we haven't brought it up but what if—," your proposal is cut short by his watch beeping urgently. it's moments like this when you remember why progressing your relationship took as long as it did. 

"hold that thought honey, i gotta go!" he exclaims before he rushes off to your patio. you don't even have time to bug him about your neighbors complaining about the constant "flaming on" before he's already taken off. 

"another day then," you ruefully sigh before closing the patio doors.

the air is chilly. biting. it's december in new york which means tourists and snow. two things you can't stand. you're waiting for your hot chocolate to be called at the counter when you hear a small "flame on!" come from behind you. you almost snap your neck from turning around so hard. behind you, a little boy is holding his mom's hand as he clutches a johnny storm action figure in his left fist. his cheeks are red and lips almost blue, but the cold doesn't seem to stop his need to have the figure clutched in his ungloved hand.

a barista calls your name, smiling as they tell you to "have a good day!" you force a polite smile before thinking, don't tell me what to do.

it's almost comical how much the city screams his name. it's like you're stuck in a twilight zone of some sort. destined to stay in a city where you'll always be reminded of your ex. 

you're so lost in thought, you don't even notice where your feet start taking you. not until you notice cobblestone beneath your feet and mossy bricks climbing the buildings. you feel a lump in your throat. 

you're here. cornelia street.

the only place in new york you swore off forever. you guess your body just found itself back naturally. like it wanted to go home.

before you know it, you're walking. faster than when katie called you and said she saw a stray cat near the bodega. your heart is racing so fast that you think about calling 911 or a priest or anyone. the blisters on your feet are rubbing in anguish with every step you take. i'm gonna hate myself tomorrow, you think. you don't mull on the fact any longer because then there you are.

you knock before your brain tells you to stop and go back to your new apartment and cry on the phone to katie. you wait a few seconds. nothing but silence on the other end. you figure it's a sign to turn around and never look back. move on.

but then the door opens.

"hey," you breathe. shaky breaths coming and going with every beat of tension.

johnny stands in front of you, unruly hair and big blue eyes and oh so beautiful. "hey," he sighs.

[alittlegiraffe]

marshal and y/n broken up but marshall needs comfort and he goes to the only person(y/n) who has ever been there for him at night while kids are asleep

Title: “Only in the Dark”

The house still smells like him. Even after everything.

The cologne in the bathroom cabinet he hasn't touched in weeks. The half-drunk bottle of Gatorade on the kitchen counter from that morning. The lingering scent of his shampoo on your pillowcase, not his.

Because even though Marshall moved down the hall…

Even though he signed the papers you never wanted…

Even though he can’t even look at you most days—

He still comes back.

Not in the sunlight. Not when the girls are awake and asking questions with their big eyes and quiet voices.

But at night.

When the only sound is the hum of the ceiling fan and your own heart cracking open a little more.

You feel it before you even open your eyes.

The mattress dips. A sigh escapes his lips—rough, tired, guilty.

Then his hand slides across your waist like a prayer he never says out loud anymore.

And you let him.

Every time.

It started the first week after the hospital.

He came home smaller somehow. Quieter. Like someone had wrung the noise out of him.

He told you it was temporary.

That he’d be staying in the guest room “just for now.”

That the girls needed time.

That you needed time.

But you knew what it meant.

You just nodded.

You didn’t scream.

You didn’t beg.

You didn’t tell him how you’d sat on the bathroom floor for three hours the night he almost died, rocking yourself back and forth and asking God why—

Because none of it would’ve mattered.

He’d already decided.

He doesn't speak when he slips under your blankets. Never does.

But you can always feel the moment it breaks him—whatever wall he built during the day, whatever shame he carries in his chest like a curse.

It always gives. Eventually.

He pulls you close like he’s drowning. Like you’re the last solid thing in his world.

And you let him. Every time.

You don’t ask what he’s running from.

You already know.

Tonight, you’re already awake when he comes.

Your eyes are closed, breath even. Pretending.

The door creaks just a little, and you hear the familiar shuffle of his socked feet across hardwood. Then the quiet rustle of cotton and linen as he climbs into bed behind you.

He exhales, shaking.

You feel it.

Then his hand is on your hip. His face pressed into the curve of your neck like it hurts to be alive and this is the only place it doesn’t.

“…I’m sorry,” he whispers into your skin. Barely audible. Like it wasn’t meant to be heard at all.

Your throat clenches. Your fingers curl around his forearm where it wraps around you.

“I know,” you whisper back.

You don’t say I forgive you. Because you’re not sure if that’s what he wants—or if he even thinks he deserves it.

But you stay.

Like always.

Like he never left.

Sometimes it’s just sleep.

Sometimes, when it’s worse—when whatever pain he’s hiding gets too big to hold—he takes more.

Your breath.

Your body.

Your silence.

He fucks you like he’s still yours. Like he never left. Like he didn’t carve a hole in your chest when he folded his clothes and walked down the hallway like you meant nothing.

And you let him.

Not because you don’t know better.

But because you do.

Because it’s the only time he lets himself want you. Touch you. See you.

He always keeps his eyes closed.

Except once.

Once, when he was inside you, and the moonlight hit just right through the curtains—he looked up. Met your eyes. Didn’t blink.

You knew then.

This wasn’t about sex. Not really.

It was grief.

It was guilt.

It was love—twisted and buried and broken.

It was everything he couldn't say in the daylight.

You wake alone most mornings.

He’s already back down the hall. Already pretending it didn’t happen.

You don't chase him.

But you don’t stop him either.

Because one night, maybe he’ll stay.

And maybe when the sun rises, he’ll still be next to you.

Still holding on.

Still yours.

But until then—

You’ll keep pretending.

That you’re not waiting.

That you’re not breaking.

That you're not his still.

Even when he swears he's not yours.

And when the bed dips again tomorrow night?

You’ll let him in.

Every time.

---

You’re still pretending the divorce is happening.

That you’re fine.

That this is what you want too.

And you’re getting good at it—dodging emails, skipping calls from the lawyer, pretending the argument over who gets the broken 8-track player was about something real and not just another excuse to keep dragging your feet.

Because as long as it’s not done…

As long as the ink hasn’t dried…

There’s still a version of this story where he comes home.

Not just to the house.

To you.

To your bed. Your body. Your arms.

The places he still comes to at night. The places he pretends don’t exist in the daylight.

And you let him.

Every time.

Because the alternative—the silence, the finality, the empty side of the bed that stays that way forever—is too much to bear.

Dinner is quiet tonight. Too quiet.

Hailie and Alaina sit across from you, picking at their plates, glancing up now and then but saying nothing. They haven’t said much for months—teenagers feel it all but don’t always have the words.

Still, you see it in them.

The tension in their shoulders. The extra minutes spent hovering near you when they think you don’t notice. The way they keep watching you and Marshall, like they're waiting for something—hoping for something—but they don’t dare ask.

They’re old enough to know this is all fragile. Old enough to see what’s being ripped apart and not understand why the people who built this home can’t just fix it.

And then there's Whitney.

Eight years old. Pure heart, pure voice.

No filter. No fear of the truth.

“Mommy?” she asks, stabbing at her spaghetti with too much force.

You smile reflexively. “Yeah, baby?”

She’s frowning, brows drawn tight. Her cheeks already pink with emotion she doesn’t know how to hold in.

“Why don’t you love Daddy anymore?”

The fork slips from your hand.

Across the table, Marshall goes still. His jaw clenches. You don’t even have to look to know—he’s holding his breath. Bracing.

“I do, baby,” you say instantly, voice catching before you can stop it. “Of course I do.”

Whitney’s face scrunches in confusion. “Then why are you getting divorced?”

You open your mouth. Close it again. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears.

Hailie shifts in her seat. Alaina bites her lip.

They're watching now. Eyes wide, desperate, but silent.

They're counting on you to answer what they've been too afraid to say out loud.

“Because…” you start, voice trembling. “It’s… complicated, sweetie.”

Whitney shakes her head, the frustration already starting to rise. “But you love him.”

“I—” Your eyes flick to Marshall.

He won’t look at you. Won’t help you.

“…I guess Daddy decided—”

“So Daddy doesn’t love you anymore?” she asks, the words sharper now, more hurt than curious.

Your stomach drops.

“Whitney,” you whisper, reaching for her, trying to soothe. “Honey, it’s not that simple.”

“Then what is it?!” she yells, tears springing to her eyes. “Why won’t anyone just tell me?!”

“I’m trying—”

“No, you’re lying! You’re always lying now! He sleeps in your bed! I saw him! If he doesn’t love you then why is he always there?!”

“Whit, baby—”

You pull her into your lap, trying to cradle her, calm her—but she’s thrashing now, flailing in your arms like your touch burns.

You’re crying too. Hot and silent. Trying to be strong. Trying to hold on to this little girl who just wants her family whole.

“I hate this,” she sobs. “I hate this house now!”

“Shhh, baby,” you choke, trying to rock her. “It’s okay, it’s okay—”

But it’s not.

Because she’s crying harder.

You’re crying harder.

And Marshall still hasn’t moved.

You finally glance up, your whole body shaking, tears streaking down your cheeks as you try to hold her through her heartbreak.

And he’s watching you now.

Not just looking—seeing.

Like someone punched the air out of him.

Like it finally hit him.

What this is doing to you.

To the woman who never left.

Who stayed when his world collapsed.

Who opened her arms every night, even while her own heart bled out slowly.

You. His girl.

The one person he promised to protect.

And he’s breaking you.

He’s breaking your spirit.

Breaking your strength.

Breaking the family you both built, one sleepless night and scarred day at a time.

Whitney sobs against your chest, gasping, “I just want Daddy to stay…”

You bury your face in her hair, helpless. Wordless.

And when you dare to look up again—

Marshall is already walking around the table.

He crouches next to you, his hand shaking as it reaches for Whitney’s back, for yours, and the first word out of his mouth cracks the world open:

“I’m sorry.”

Your breath catches.

“I’m so sorry,” he says again, voice thick and raw and desperate. “This isn’t what I wanted. I thought… I thought I had to let go to fix things.”

You blink at him, tears blurring everything. “And now?”

He looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

“Now I just want to come home.”

Whitney lets out a hiccuping sob as he wraps his arms around both of you, like he’s trying to hold you together with his bare hands.

And for the first time in months—

You believe he means it.

The silence is suffocating.

Marshall’s arms are still around you and Whitney, your bodies pressed together on the kitchen floor. Her cries have quieted into soft hiccups, her fists balled in your shirt. You can feel Marshall’s hand trembling against your back, his breath shaky against your temple like he’s just barely holding it together.

Then—

“I tried to give up the only thing I ever wanted—”

His voice cracks mid-sentence.

And Hailie strikes.

“You don’t get to say that just to stop the tantrum, Dad.”

The words are soft, but they cut deep. Not a scream, not a cry—just a blade held with perfect precision.

Marshall’s head snaps up to look at her.

“What?” he breathes.

Hailie’s standing now. Her arms are crossed tight over her chest, jaw trembling but set, like she’s been swallowing every word she’s about to let out for months.

“You think I don’t see it?” she whispers. “You think I don’t feel it? Every time Whitney cries herself to sleep? Every time Mom smiles like she’s not dying inside? You think saying ‘I’m sorry’ in the middle of her breakdown makes up for all of this?”

“Hailie,” you start gently, but she lifts a hand—just one, shaking—silencing you without looking away from her father.

“No, Mom. You let me speak.”

You go quiet. Whitney sniffles into your chest.

Marshall straightens, his hands falling to his sides, face pale, raw, stunned.

“You don’t understand half of this, Hailie,” he says, voice low but shaking. “You don’t understand what it’s like to watch her hold everything together for years while I fell apart. You don’t know what it’s like to be so sure you’re the problem. That the best thing—the only thing—I could do for her was leave.”

His voice breaks again, harder this time. His eyes shimmer but no tears fall.

“For once in my fucking life, I tried to do something selfless. I tried to give up the only thing I ever wanted—because I thought she deserved better than me.”

“And what would you do when she moved on?” Hailie snaps, her voice rising now, louder than you’ve heard it in years. “What happens when she stops sleeping in your shirt and starts dating someone else, Dad?”

He flinches. Visibly.

“You were gonna sit in your sad little room and watch that happen? Because that’s selfless? Or would it be another relapse? Another spiral?”

“Hailie—” he says, but she doesn’t stop.

“Our whole life,” she says, stepping closer, her voice tight with fury and grief, “the only thing that made sense was that you and Mom loved each other. Everything else was chaos—press, custody, tour schedules, court, rehab. But that? That was safe. That was home.”

Her voice breaks now, just like his.

“You overdosed,” she whispers. “You nearly died, and when you came back? She still looked at you like you hung the moon, Dad.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, tears leaking down your cheeks. Whitney is quiet now, curled tighter in your lap, clinging to your wrist.

“And you walked away from her,” Hailie finishes, shaking her head. “You can call it selfless all you want. But I saw her face when you left that bedroom. I saw what it did to her.”

She points at you now, voice trembling.

“You didn’t save her, Dad. You’re breaking her. Again.”

The room falls completely still.

Marshall doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t move.

You can’t look at him.

Not now.

Because she’s right. Every word of it.

And it took your daughter—the daughter you both built a life to protect—to say what you couldn’t.

To tell him the truth he wouldn’t let himself believe.

That his absence wasn’t noble.

It was destruction with a prettier name.

And finally—finally—Marshall lets out a sound. Quiet. Wrecked. Like someone punched through his ribs and crushed his heart.

He sinks to his knees beside you, his hand hovering near your thigh but not touching. Not yet.

When he speaks again, his voice is hoarse.

“I never wanted to be the reason she broke.”

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

But your silence says everything.

“Lainey,” you murmur gently, brushing a strand of hair from Whitney’s damp forehead as she clings to you with tired little fists. “Can you please put your sister to bed?”

Alaina nods immediately, her eyes red-rimmed but steady, understanding what you’re not saying.

Whitney whimpers in protest, her arms tightening around you, but Lainey’s already there—kneeling beside you, brushing a soft kiss to her baby sister’s temple.

“C’mon, bug,” she whispers. “I’ll lay with you for a bit.”

You ease Whitney onto her feet, your hands careful and slow. She’s still hiccuping little sobs, but she lets go, burying her face in Lainey’s side as she’s led gently from the room.

And then it’s just you, Hailie, and Marshall.

You straighten slowly, wiping at your cheeks. Hailie sits back down without a word, arms crossed and jaw clenched, refusing to look at either of you.

Your hand reaches out.

Grabs Marshall’s wrist.

His breath stutters when you touch him, like even now he doesn’t think he deserves it.

“You and I need to talk,” you say, voice quiet. Firm.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t argue.

Just nods.

You lead him down the hallway, hand still gripping his wrist—not tight, not angry, just anchoring—until you reach your bedroom.

Your real bedroom.

The one with the messy comforter and the drawer where his T-shirts still live. The one where he still sleeps, most nights, like a coward who wants to be near you but can’t admit he doesn’t want to be without you.

You let go of him and close the door softly behind you.

Then you turn to face him.

He’s standing in the middle of the room like he doesn’t belong there anymore. Like he’s waiting for you to scream, or cry, or tell him to leave.

But you don’t.

You’re too tired for all that.

Too broken down to pretend this conversation isn’t long, long overdue.

So you cross your arms, exhale slowly, and say—

“Talk.”

Marshall runs a hand over his face like it might help steady him—like maybe if he presses hard enough, he can keep himself from falling apart again.

He doesn’t meet your eyes.

Not at first.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he starts, voice hoarse. “I swear to God, I didn’t.”

You don’t say anything. You just stand there, arms folded, heart pounding so hard it’s making your hands tremble.

“I thought—” he stops, jaw flexing. “After the overdose… everything felt different. Not just my body. Me.”

You swallow hard, but your face stays still. You’ve heard versions of this in his songs. In his silences. But never this close. Never this raw.

“I looked at you,” he continues, voice thick now, “and all I saw was everything I’ve put you through. All these years of you holding me up while I fell apart. I didn’t wanna be another thing you had to survive. I didn’t wanna keep asking you to love me when I couldn’t even love myself right.”

“Marshall—” you whisper, but he barrels on.

“I thought… if I gave you space. If I let you move on. If I wasn’t dragging all my shit into your bed every night like a fucking ghost—maybe you’d be free. Maybe you’d be happy without me.”

His voice breaks.

“And I told myself it was the right thing. The noble thing, you know?” He laughs bitterly. “Like walking down the hall and dying in another room would somehow protect you.”

You stare at him, chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow breaths.

He’s trying.

He’s finally talking.

But none of it matters.

Not really.

Because all of it—the shame, the guilt, the pain you already know too well—it’s just noise now.

And your heart?

It only has one question left.

So you ask it.

“Do you still love me?”

He stops.

Breath catches in his throat. Shoulders drop like he’s just been hit in the gut.

He looks up at you finally—really looks—and there’s nothing guarded about him now. No defense. No pride. Just wide, wounded eyes and a man who looks like he’s about to shatter.

“Of course I do,” he says, and it’s not loud, not dramatic, not poetic.

It’s just honest.

“I love you so much it hurts,” he chokes. “I don’t even know how to not love you. You’re all I’ve ever had that’s real.”

You feel the tears rise again, but this time you don’t try to stop them.

Because that? That’s the only truth you needed.

He takes one tentative step closer, like he’s afraid you’ll turn away.

You don’t.

Another step. Then another.

And when he’s close enough to touch you again, his voice drops to a whisper:

“I never stopped loving you. I just thought maybe you’d be better off without me.”

You shake your head, tears slipping silently down your cheeks. “Don’t ever decide that for me again.”

His face crumples.

And then you’re in his arms.

His lips in your hair. His hands trembling on your back. Your cheek against his chest, listening to the broken, uneven rhythm of the man you love finally letting himself hold you like he’s allowed to.

Because he is.

Because he always was.

And maybe everything’s not fixed.

Maybe it’ll still take time.

But for the first time in months—

You both stop running.

He holds you for so long it feels like your bones are melting into his. Like maybe if he stays wrapped around you tight enough, everything you’ve both broken might slowly knit itself back together.

His heart beats against your cheek, too fast, too uneven. His breath ruffles your hair as he whispers soft, aching things you can barely catch—“I’m sorry,” “I missed you,” “I love you so fucking much.”

And still, you don’t let go.

Not until he does.

It’s careful, the way he eases back. His arms loosen slowly, like he’s afraid he’ll lose you the second he stops touching you. His hands trail down your spine, reluctant, still trying to memorize the shape of your grief, your forgiveness, your body.

And when he finally lets go, when the warmth of him starts to retreat even an inch—

You grab his wrist.

Hard.

Eyes locked on his.

Unshaking. Unapologetic.

And then you tug him toward the bed.

His brows lift, startled. “Baby—”

“You love me?” you ask, voice quiet but unwavering.

His lips part, like he wants to say it again but doesn’t think he needs to.

You step back into him, close enough that your breath grazes his collarbone.

“Say it,” you whisper.

His hands come up to your hips, instinctive. His chest brushes yours. And this time, when he says it, there’s no hesitation.

“Of course I do, baby.”

It’s breathed into your hair, reverent. Like he’s afraid you might fall apart again if he says it too loud.

But you don’t want reverence. Not now.

You want truth.

You want to feel it.

You want him.

So you look up at him—your eyes glossy and fierce—and say:

“Then prove it.”

He freezes.

“Not in the dead of night like I’m your mistress,” you whisper, voice cracking with all the months of quiet heartbreak. “Fuck me like I’m your wife.”

Marshall’s jaw tenses, and you see it—the way those words hit him like a whip to the chest.

And then it happens all at once.

His mouth crashes into yours, all heat and apology and aching, desperate want. He walks you backward with one hand fisted in your shirt, the other already lifting your thigh, pressing you toward the bed like there’s no world outside this room.

No divorce.

No shame.

No distance between your bodies or your hearts.

Just you and him—your husband, your forever—and the kind of love that’s always been too much to say out loud.

[kenziefushiguro]

Pairing: Megumi x Stepmother Reader

Summary: At the ripe age of 18 you were sent to marry toji by your clan. They wanted to keep better tabs on him and how better to do that than having him a sweet little wife? Toji, still obsessed with his first love decides you'll never be worthy the second he meets you, but Megumi disagrees. The boy is helplessly in love, in his own messy way.

CW: age gap, abuse, megumi is being too nonchalant, no curses au, potential smut later I'll see how I feel when we get there, this is my literal first fic ever so be nice <3

PART ONE, PART TWO, PART THREE

─────────❀•°❀°•❀°•─────────

Toji didn’t yell at you. The man would never yell at his sweet innocent little wife. The man never raised his voice, but he would still beat you down. He'd tear you apart and he'd do it with a smile. Green eyes flashing with what almost looked like joy.

You'd fucked up again. Dropped a baking dish while washing pans, Megumi heard the crash from his room.

"Fuck..." you'd whispered under your breath, knowing what came next.

"The hell did ya do this time?" Toji asked from the couch. "Another mess? You know I don't have the money for new dishes, bitch..." He gets up, walking over to see the mess you made. Tears are already starting to well in your once warm eyes.

"Please... I'll fix it... I'll clean this up..." you practically beg.

"Damn right you will... but if I let this one go... how will you learn?" He asks with a filthy smirk. Megumi hears from his room but stays put. Its better for him to not intervene.

20 minutes later when Toji is gone and you're left alone, silently crying on the freshly swept kitchen floor, cheeks flushed and bruised like your upper arm, Megumi emerges from his room. He's 18, soon to start college but still living with you and your husband. He's grown into himself, lanky body filled out but still lean. He's broader but sometimes when he lifts his arms you can still see ribs poking through the skin.

"What happened this time?" He asks, helping you up. "Why do you stay with that asshole...?"

"I... I dropped a dish... a-and it broke... It was my fault, really..." you try to hide the tears, putting up a strong front for your 'stepson' who was only a few years younger, about 3.

"Don't defend that bastard... I don't wanna hear it." He runs long, cold fingers over the bruises. "Get some ice. It'll help the swelling." He mutters, deadpan. You look up at the boy slightly. He's tall, not as tall as Toji but around 6'1. The only affection he shows is in his eyes, he cares just enough about you to hate his dad a little extra.

He watches as you grab some ice and wrap it in a kitchen towel. "What do you want for dinner?" You ask, trying desperately to change the subject. "I was gonna head to the store today... if you'd like to come?"

"I'll eat whatever. You know what I like... and I'm good, I have plans."

"Oh?" You wince as you press the ice to your face, "where are you heading off to?"

"The mall with some friends. I shouldn't be out too late." He replies, getting a drink from the fridge.

"You never bring friends home... I never get to meet them..."

"Why would I? Introducing my friends to my stepmom who's our age? Im good... plus last time I brought yuji over, dad called him a slur... not exactly my ideal saturday"

"Oh... yeah..." He notices you look a little let down. He knows you're lonely, home by yourself all day with no job. Toji is only home once or twice a week and Megumi spends his days at summer classes or at friend's houses. "You know... I'm sorry..."

"For what? Not like you can do anything about it... the guy's a dick. I'm heading out..."

“H-have fun!” You try to say but he's already out the door. It's sad to say, but Megumi is the closest thing you have to a loved one. Your clan set you up with Toji right when you turned 18 so they could keep better tabs on him. He knew that no one would compare to his first love so he hated you from the start. Megumi wasn't exactly the sweetest but at least he treated you like a human.

Megumi cared about you in his own way. He did little things around the house to make your life easier. He'd notice when you ran out of miso paste and get some on his way home, sneaking it into the fridge, or he'd wash the dishes while you were out and leave them drying for you to put away. He never did more than that though. Never tried to get close.

When he was 15 and you first moved in, he was a little nicer to you. He'd sit and read with you occasionally or chop veggies while you cooked but those subtle moments faded away as he grew up and his affections morphed into obsession.

While he was out with friends, you went to the store to get a few things. You needed veggies for a curry that you wanted to try making. It was just Megumi and you home tonight so you had more options. Toji could be picky and get mad when you made stuff he didn't like.

Megumi got home around sunset, just as you finished dinner. “Smells good.” He says casually from the hall.

“Thanks! I tried a new recipe!” He loved the way you lit up when you were cooking.

He kicks off his shoes, walking to the kitchen. He looks intently at your bruises. “Damn… he got you good”

“Yeah… but it's fine…” your hand moves to your cheek. “Try the curry!”

He takes a small spoon from the drawer, taking a spoonful and blowing on it softly. Once it cools down he tastes it. His eyes light up and his lips curve up imperceptably. “You used that ginger i got?”

“Yeah I thought it'd be good… is it okay?”

“Yeah of course… thanks for making dinner… you really don't have to.”

“What else am I gonna do all day?” You joke, plating the food you made. You set the table as he watches, his eyes following you everywhere. You put your plate next to the head of the table and his across from yours. You both sit and eat silently.

“So… any plans for the week?” You ask somewhat awkwardly.

“Not really. Why?”

“Well your dad isn't gonna be home until Wednesday. That's 5 days to ourselves. Maybe we could… spend some time together…”

“Oh? And do what exactly?”

“Um… we could read… like we used to, or baking? Remember baking banana muffins a few years back? We could watch a movie…”

“We'll see.” He stands up and takes his plate, cleaning it in the sink before heading to his room.

You fall asleep on the couch that night. Some crappy show playing on the shitty TV. One that you've seen a million times but it never gets old.

───────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ─────────

Masterlist

Notes: I wrote this at 6 in the morning and it's my literal first fic. Kinda proud lowkey… it's definitely gonna be a series but I need to figure out how to work tumblr. I feel like a boomer

[edwardhartenjoyer]

I have been hit with a wave of ‘damn I love these men’ so can I request Lyca Romeo and Leo with a s/o that constantly works out? I think it’d be even more funny if they’re like a smaller person that can bench the weight of their partner. Thank you sm!!! I love your work a lot, your writing is just fantastic and brings a smile to my face :)

Omg thank you anon you're so sweet 😭💖 Makes my day whenever you guys say you like my writing.

Working Out

Featuring: Lyca | Romeo | Leo

Lyca Colt - Lyca had heard you mention once that you liked to work put, and he'd insisted on joining you after that.

He was a perfect workout partner, always pushing you to lift more and push yourself, and also making sure you stay safe.

However, he still didn't fully realize the full scope of your strength until something happened on one of your missions.

You were walking alongside Lyca, waiting for the anomaly to appear.

"Find any trace of it?" You asked, looking over to your boyfriend as he sniffed at the air. He shook his head.

"Nothing." He huffed. You went to say something else, but a sudden shaking of the ground caused you both to lose your balance.

The ground started to split beneath the werewolf, and you moved quickly, grabbing him and lifting him into your arms as you moved him away just as the ground below where he'd been cumbled down.

He clung to you, staring at you with wide eyes.

"You okay?" You asked, worried.

"You're so strong.." he muttered, eyes wide with wonder. He shook himself out of his stupor and nodded. "I'm okay, thank you."

You nodded and set him back on the ground, his gaze kept hovering on you. You raised a brow at him and he blushed.

"Sorry, it's just really...you should carry me again later.." he muttered. You laughed softly.

"Anytime you want, but let's finish this mission first."

Romeo Lucci - You had been on a mission with Sinostra and had gone off with your boyfriend, Romeo, to follow what he thought the anomaly had gone to.

It had all turned bad though, and noe you found yourselves having to run from it, Romeo unabke to deal damage to it because it was too close to people for him to make any explosions and it was too fast for him to shoot at.

As you ran, Romeo lagged behind you. Without thinking about it, you just gabbed him into your arms and carried him to the spot you'd both been running to, hiding away there.

He stared at you in shock as you set him back on the ground. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, one of the few times you'd seen him be genuinely speechless.

"Sorry." You apologized, "I just didn't want you to get hurt."

"Tch, don't apologize for that. You just... surprised me is all. I hadn't realized your...strength." Romeo finally replied.

"Does it, upset you?" You asked warrily.

He eyed you and sighed, rolling his eyes. "We need to work on your confidence. No, it does not bother me. It was quite attractive." He admitted, a blush crossing his face.

You grinned. "Well, when we're back at the casino, I'll show you more of my strength then." You teased, laughing softly when he just grew more flustered.

Leo Kurosagi - "Make sure you stay back, can't have you getting hurt since you can't protect yourself." Leo teased as you followed him through the trees on the hunt for an anomaly.

"I can protect myself better than you think." You huffed in response. He rolled his eyes.

"Oh, I'm sure you could." He teased.

You frowned and stepped in front of him to stop him before grabbing him and lifting him up. He let out a startled sound as he wrapped his legs around your waist to balance himself.

He stared at you with wide eyes in shock as you held him up. "Still think I can't handle myself?" You huffed, amusement in your tone.

In response, he just leaned in and pulled you into a kiss. You kissed him back.

When you parted, you were both breathless. "Fuck, that was hot." Leo huffed as you set him back down. "You're doing that again, and I'm catching it on video when you do."

"Anytime you want baby." You replied, laughing softly at the expression of desperation on his face.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tag list: @cloudcountry @ash0-0ley @tinumaru @ventisimpilysm @fandom-maniac111

Wanna be added or removed? Let me know!

[arstoryels]

everyone's speculating about the "moriyama empire collapses" theory but may i offer a more satisfying alternative:

Kevin Day & the collapse of the raven-moriyama branch

cause here's the thing: agent browning absolutely knows more than he's saying. he’s watching jean and after the way he called it “the biggest case of [his] career”? yeah. this man is not playing around.

jean and neil are still useful. not just for exy, but for whatever this investigation actually is. and it's not like the FBI just randomly relocated from baltimore to seattle. there’s something bigger going on there. maybe moriyama affiliates in the pacific northwest? maybe that’s how nathan tracked mary and neil? either way, the feds shifting cities is not a coincidence.

and let’s talk about the ravens for a second. we’ve got a team full of traumatized kids, a bunch of former players who either vanished or ended up dead, and after the brawl with the foxes? the ravens are being watched. closely. and browning has his eyes right on the epicenter.

But here’s another thing: the entire moriyama empire can't fall imminently because it undoes the tension of tkm.

remember how neil couldn’t even think of even implying another, let alone moriyama involvement while in FBI custody because he implied there were moriyama spies there? how his survival literally hinged on acting like he’d never even heard of them? the feds are portrayed as not even close to touching the main branch. and even riko’s death is treated like a fluke with zero precedent for thinking that the FBI could unravel all of this in under a year.

now, do i think something fishy is happening? yes.

but what makes more sense (and what would be way more narratively satisfying) is if the feds go after the second branch. specifically: tetsuji.

think about it. he’s the one who raised riko. who "owned" kevin. who molded jean. he runs the evermore system. he’s the architect of the Nest. he is the Ravens. and unlike ichirou, tetsuji is a personal villain. the players hate him. we hate him. he’s the perfect scapegoat and the perfect target.

so here’s the theory: somewhere between college and going pro, kevin is learning more about whatever tragic way his mom died (because we all know she did) and what kevin and exy meant to her. He greives what could have been and finally understands.

Meanwhile, the FBI investigation culminates in tetsuji being tried (maybe even dying) and the second branch gets publicly targeted. The main branch panics and ichirou decides to cuts his losses to stay afloat.

But how can they do this? By enlisting a key witness to the trial: kevin day. Kevin obviously has to agree and plays his perfect part as he always does.

but throughout the trial he goes through more development and realises: 'oh I really want this to happen, how vile tetsuji is, how he didn't deserve everything riko put him through, and this is not what my mom wanted the sport to be or how she deserves to be honoured'. Maybe, after all is said and done, he loves exy but not like a Raven, but as a Day.

The trail ends, tetsuji is executed after chilling testimonies. And the main branch abandons exy involvement altogether because it’s too risky. The problem is that kevin, jean & neil played such big roles in the collapse that they hold the power/risk to shine a light on the main branch + neither can they be killed without the FBI being suspicious again and reopening the case.

They know this, the main branch knows this, it's Kevin/Neil who say it out loud and ichirou plays smart & strikes another deal: silence in exchange for freedom. kevin, jean, and neil get to walk away from all of it (no 80% money, no debts, just bring left alone & to play exy).

and then we end where we need to: with tetsuji dead, the raven branch destroyed, and MOST IMPORTANTLY:

kevin day as the last living person related to the foundation of exy. the one person left who can reshape the game. the one person who will make it what Kayleigh Day wanted it to be.

[crazylittlejester]

If the chain was in a water park, who would be doing what? (And who’s on chair duty?)

oh this is a fun ass question thank you (in this scenario i’m thinking its a big outdoor water park with pools and slides and food and everything)

(sorry for spelling errors or missing words if there are any)

Time is cowering in the shade somewhere, reapplying sunscreen to avoid death, and hiding under things in the pool to scare the shit out of the others. He’s not really in one spot for too long, if somethings wrong the chain isnt even bothering looking for him like “dad help” because “dad” is in line at the scary water slide one minute and beating Twi to death at some pool volleyball the next minute and then he’s disappeared off the face of the earth for an hour after that. He may be the oldest but his ass is not the most mature and he absolutely “accidentally” picks up Wind and throws him in the pool at some point before running away

For the vast majority of the day, War is comfortably lounging on a chair by the pool getting wonderfully tan and taking a nap and it’s the nicest afternoon he’s had in a while. He’s getting little drinks every so often (or more accurately SKY is getting him little drinks, the only time War is getting up is when he decides the lazy river is calling to him), he’s reliably in the same spot. He has the sunscreen and the towels and the bandaids and if someone trips and falls or needs an adult or just needs to find someone, there’s War, there he is. Reliable. A bit tipsy but reliable

Twi hasnt had a chance to get the zoomies out like this in a long while and he’s running around like fucking crazy, get him on ALL the slides. Pool volleyball, he’s swimming laps, too much energy for the lazy river he for sure got kicked out, life guard has yelled at him to walk no less than five times, he ate a whole pizza at one point, and when they get back to the hotel or wherever they’re staying he crashes and sleeps like hes fucking dead. he is dead he has died

When Sky Isn’t running War drinks (and getting himself little treats in the process) he’s making sure the others aren’t drowning. He’s the one actually keeping an eye on people (Twilight is too but Twi’s more likely to run off on his own for a bit and Sky stays with the others for the most part). He does quite enjoy relaxing though so he spends a lot of time just floating in a pool, but he likes the slides and he likes being silly

Hyrule and Wild are just going on the slides over and over and over and over and over and over and over again with zero sign of dying energy. That’s all they do. After the group goes home they get upset because they didn’t even notice half of what else the water park had because all they did was go down slides

Legend surprisingly does spend some time sticking by War, especially during the hottest part of the day. He’s gotta reapply his sunscreen so he doesn’t get burnt to death and explode and when the sun’s super high in the sky he’s under the umbrella over one of the chairs War has reserved for everyone’s stuff. War is, ofc, asleep (because he feels comfortable completely falling asleep with Legend there watching over him) so there’s no bickering out of those two until Sky comes over to check in and War wakes up. Legend definitely spends a lot of time with Sky as well, they have similar energy levels where they have that “I NEED TO RUN AROUND!!!!” voice but their bodies can’t quite keep up due to chronic pain/fatigue so they take it easy

Four spends a good portion of his time in the lazy river completely zoned the fuck out, but when he’s not there he’s getting drowned trying to play volleyball or he’s going on the slides

Wind rotates who he hangs out with because yes he loves water and water parks but its more fun to be with FRIENDS. He does convince War to go down one of the big slides (by lying to him) and gets Sky to watch the stuff, and he spends some time with Wild and Hyrule as well. He’s the one who sees the most of Time sneaking around

Who left the water park with a nice, noticeable tan? War, Twi, Sky, and Wind

Who left the water park with a super uncomfortable burn? Legend

Time left a little pink but not in pain, Wild and Hyrule did tan but it wasn’t super noticeable, Four was completely unaffected by the sun he put his sunscreen on and didnt tan OR burn

[boopieluvsyou]

𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 - travis martinez x reader

= based on this blurb by @juuuulez the icon =

You smell like something he forgot existed. You look like someone he never thought he’d be allowed to touch again.

Before the crash, Travis barely knew you.

You knew each other’s names, sure. Had maybe shared a glance or two across the hallway, or sat in the same group project without ever really talking. You weren’t in the same world.

And then the plane went down.

There’s no clear line where “you and Travis” started. It wasn’t a first kiss under moonlight or a secret confession whispered in the cabin. It was the slow kind of beginning. One that crept in through exhaustion, unbearable understanding that you were both going to die out there. Eventually.

It was the first time he gave you half his food, even when you told him not to. The way you cried when Laura Lee died and he didn’t say anything, just sat beside you and let your head fall onto his shoulder. It was his hand over yours during stormy nights when the wind shook the roof. His voice the only thing that kept your eyes from seeing ghosts when you couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t romantic. Not at first. It was survival. But somehow, you still fell in love. Not all at once. And not with ease. But you did.

You kissed behind the plane wreckage the morning after a night that broke both of you. You told him you didn’t want to die without ever being touched gently again. He told you he didn’t know how to be gentle, but he’d try.

Travis touched your face like it was a secret. You touched his ribs like you were counting each breath he had left. You never said I love you. That felt too civilized for what you were. But you meant it. And he knew.

Now you’re rescued, and everything’s supposed to go back to normal. But nothing’s normal anymore.

You’re seventeen and your back hurts like you’re eighty. You flinch at the smell of cooked meat. You don’t sleep right unless you can hear the wind moving the trees. You can’t believe how loud toilets are.

And you hadn't seen Travis in 28 days.

There were a series of hospitals. Interviews. Meetings with men in suits who say things like “trauma bonding” and “you don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready.”

You don’t want to talk about it. Not to them. You just want him.

You dressed carefully the day they say you’ll finally see him.

You don’t know why, he’s already seen you at your worst. Bloodstained. Sobbing. Empty-eyed and starving. But still, you put on some nice new jeans and a soft sweater. You spray that vanilla body mist that’s been sitting on your dresser since before the crash. You don’t even think it’ll work. It’s probably expired. But you do it anyway.

When Travis sees you, he stops in his tracks.

You’re outside the parking lot of some beige government building. You’re hugging your arms to your chest, glancing around nervously, waiting. He smells you before you speak.

Vanilla.

His legs almost give out. You look up. Your breath catches. “Travis.”

It’s the first time you’ve said his name out loud in weeks. And his name is the only word you can get out before you’re walking fast, then running, then throwing yourself into his arms.

He catches you, even though his hands are trembling.

Your body fits against his like you were always meant to return here. He clutches your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. He buries his face in your shoulder and it hits him, all at once, hard and fast and loud in his head:

Before the wilderness, a girl like you would never have wanted a boy like him. But in the dark, you chose him. And now, in the light, you still do.

You pull back just enough to see his face. “Hi.” He looks at you like you’re a dream. “Hi,” he breathes.

You smile, tentative. “I wanted to see you sooner, I just… they made me stay for some psych eval stuff. And my mom’s frankly freaking out about me leaving the house.”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes drag over your face. Your clean skin. Your lashes. Your mouth.

“You look…” His voice cracks. “You look so pretty.” You blink, surprised. “Travis...”

“I mean it,” he says, rough. “You look like… like how you were supposed to look. You smell like vanilla... and your hair’s all soft and I’m...” He stops himself, looking away, jaw clenching. “I don’t deserve to touch you.”

You step closer. “Travis.”

“I was nothing before this,” he says, and it’s like the dam finally breaks. “You supposed to never look at me twice. You were supposed get out of there and forget me. I was just this… scared kid with nothing going for him but a survival instinct. But you - you’re the best thing that happened out there. You made it not unbearable. You made me human.”

You don’t know what to say. So you reach out and hold his face in both hands. “You made me feel safe,” you whisper. “Don’t you get that?” His eyes fill, but the tears don’t fall. He blinks hard.

“You’re the only part I want to remember,” you say. “I’m wearing perfume for you. I put on lip balm for you. You’re not the wilderness, Travis. You’re what saved me from it.”

He leans forward and kisses you. It’s soft and shaky.

When he pulls away, he presses his forehead to yours and sighs. “Your hair’s so soft now,” he mumbles. “I keep touching it and it’s driving me crazy.” You grin. “In a good way?”

“In a very good way,” he says, voice low and quiet and almost embarrassed. “I’ve been so messed up since I last saw you. Now my brain’s just trying to catch up with the fact that I still get to have you.”

You press a kiss to his cheek. “You do,” you say, simply. “You have me.” His arms circle around your waist again. “Promise?”

“I survived a plane crash and god knows what was out there,” you murmur. “I think I can survive falling in love with you.”

He laughs, just once, but it’s real.

And this time, when he hugs you, he doesn’t let go for a long, long time.

+=+=+=+=+=+=+

A/N- hope i did this idea justice, i absolutly LOVE this one with all my heart 😩

[queen-of-gotham]

Before.

(Yoichi Isagi x f!Reader)

Word Count: 1.2k

Synopsis: in which you dated Yoichi Isagi pre-Bluelock and are still with him now ❤️

Notes from the Batcave: for ✨this✨ request, thank you so much lovely! I hope it’s everything you wanted.

The world knows him as a striker.

To you, he’s the boy who used to run late to dinner because he stayed behind after practice. Who would show up at your apartment door, sweaty and grinning, holding convenience store ice cream like it was a grand romantic gesture.

He used to feel like a dreamer with skinned knees and no backup plan.

Now he’s… Isagi Yoichi.

World-class forward. Face of Nike Japan. Graced the cover of Vogue twice. Has a GQ feature about “balancing success and humility.”

Your boyfriend. Still him. Still yours.

⸻

Your boyfriend just made an entire stadium cry and your Instagram still looks like this

your best friend texts, attaching a screenshot.

You snort.

It’s a photo of your private profile… 328 followers, 1,019 posts… with a blurry latte art picture from your last solo study session.

You reply:

i like the bear foam

yoichi liked it too

She sends you a string of screaming emojis.

You close your phone and return to grading exams.

⸻

“How long have you two been together?”

You blink. The interviewer smiles gently, mic angled toward you as the cameraman adjusts the lighting. It’s a short doc segment:

Off the Field, where they catch the players in their everyday lives, and you’d agreed to a few quick questions during Isagi’s off-day, mostly for the team’s press team. You hadn’t expected personal ones.

You hum, thoughtful, “Since high school. Since before Blue Lock.”

The interviewer brightens, “So… you knew him before he was famous?”

You smile softly. “Sure have, I knew him before the cleats sponsorships. Before the agent. Before the sports drinks and billboards.”

You glance toward the living room, where Yoichi is playing with the cat on the rug, completely unaware.

“I knew him when he didn’t believe he was good enough,” you add, “I never stopped believing he was.”

⸻

The segment airs the next week. It’s barely four minutes long. You’re on screen for thirty seconds.

That’s all it takes for the internet to lose its mind.

“ISAGI’S GIRLFRIEND IS A PROFESSOR????”

“no bc how do you just casually say ‘I knew him before the world did’ and then go back to grading papers LIKE THAT????”

“she said ‘i never stopped’ and I am WEEPING.”

“Isagi is literally the luckiest man alive. she’s gorgeous AND smart AND private????”

“I just know she smells like expensive hand lotion and black tea.”

“how’s your man gonna drop a hat trick then come home to a woman like this 😭”

You make a cup of tea and mute your name on Twitter. Isagi spends ten minutes scrolling through the tag with a dazed little smile before flopping over and planting a kiss on your knee.

“You okay with all this?” he asks softly, tapping your leg, “I can ask them to cut it from future reruns.”

You shake your head and press your fingers into his hair, gentle.

“They’re not wrong, you know,” you say, “You are lucky.”

He grins against your leg, “So lucky it’s unfair.”

⸻

“You know you don’t have to work, right?”

It’s not the first time you’ve heard it. This time, it’s Reo asking, kind and earnest, after one of Isagi’s matches.

“You’re incredibly smart,” he continues, “Like freakishly smart. And everyone at the club loves you. But you don’t need to push yourself so hard anymore. We’ve got you covered.”

You laugh, sipping from your glass. “Appreciate the concern, Reo. But I actually like my job.”

“No, I get that,” Reo says quickly, “I just mean… if you ever needed a sabbatical, or wanted to take time off-“

“I already took a year off for my thesis,” you smile, “I don’t want to quit. Not even if I could.”

Isagi walks over just in time to drape an arm around your shoulder, kissing your temple without hesitation.

“She’s got her own dream,” he says proudly, “That’s why we work.”

And Reo raises his hands in surrender, murmuring, “God, you two are disgustingly perfect.”

⸻

Your Instagram remains private.

You post things like:

• half-finished manuscripts

• post-lecture matcha lattes

• your cat sitting on Isagi’s game ball

• blurry pictures of bookshelves

• the back of Isagi’s hoodie with a caption that just says mine.

No sponsored posts. No partnerships. No thirst traps.

But everyone wants to be you.

⸻

You go to matches when you can. When work allows. When the commute lines up.

You sit quietly in the stands with Isagi’s parents when they attend, wrapped in a team scarf and trying to stay calm even when your heart’s pounding.

Sometimes you cry. Sometimes you scream.

Once, a camera caught you clapping with a hand over your mouth after he scored a 90th-minute game-winner. The clip went viral.

“ISAGI SCORED AND HIS GIRLFRIEND LOOKED LIKE SHE SAW GOD.”

“that’s how you know it’s real love.”

“if my partner doesn’t clap for me like that I don’t want them.”

“she looks like she’s praying and I would too if I had to watch him from the stands.”

⸻

You get recognized at a conference once. A young intern rushes up after your keynote to hand you their notebook, wide-eyed.

“Sorry-sorry, this is unprofessional, I just, um, you’re amazing. And also, I love Isagi. Like so much. You’re really with him???”

You laugh, shaking your head, “I’m really with him.”

They stare, “That’s insane. I wanna be like you when I grow up.”

You smile and say, gently, “You should want to be like you.” Then you sign their notebook with a small note and a little soccer ball doodle.

They post about it later. It gets 200k likes.

⸻

At home, the world melts away.

Isagi pads in barefoot and shirtless from the shower, hair still damp. The cat winds around his ankles. You’re reading on the couch, legs tucked under a throw blanket.

He collapses beside you, head finding your lap without a word. You don’t need to say anything, your hand finds his hair automatically, nails scratching at his scalp just how he likes.

“You were incredible today,” you murmur.

“Couldn’t’ve done it without you.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re the one who did the work, Yoichi.”

“Yeah, but-“ he shifts, looking up at you. “Back then, when I had nothing? When all I had was a dream and a bruised ego? You were the one who stayed.”

Your hand stills. Your heart does something soft that you’re more than familiar with by now.

“You’re not still trying to convince me to quit my job and become your housewife, are you?”

He grins, “I would never.”

You snort.

“Besides,” he adds, voice lower, sincere, “I love this version of us. The one where we both chase the lives we wanted. And come home to each other.”

You lean down and kiss his temple.

“I love it too.”

⸻

Online, you’re the mystery.

The private profile. The professor girlfriend. The day one.

But to Isagi, you’re everything. You’ve always been everything.

You’re his person. His peace.

His constant.

His forever.

And the world can keep guessing. You’ll keep him grounded, You always have.

✨Join the Taglist✨

Taglist: @ninaceylan @Jeko1 @irethepotato @jellibean420

⚽️Bluelock Masterlist⚽️ 🦇Return to the Batcave🦇

[mcflymemes]

AS SAID BY CAPTAIN AMERICA IN MARVEL RIVALS *  adjust as necessary

let's dance.

whatever happens, we'll still be together.

you know i wouldn't have left you behind if...

would you look at us.

i have a feeling we'll be just fine.

freedom's an idea that'll never die.

you know we're going to have to fight.

it's nice to have another genuine force for good on our side.

there's darkness inside all of us. understanding it is what makes us human.

i feel a little uncomfortable with the way you're looking at me.

coming from you, that really says something.

i've been doing this a long time. no one's managed to extinguish me yet.

i have a feeling he would be proud.

glad to see you again, [name].

when it starts, follow my lead.

we're gonna need your sharpshooting.

lead the way.

i just help where i can.

i go where i'm needed, [name]. you know that.

you're the authority. let's do it.

i guess i'm about to find out if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

everyone is looking at me as if they know me. it's a strange feeling.

what if i don't live up to your expectations?

that's very kind of you to say.

want some free advice? just be you. that's more than enough.

just a heads up. things get weirder the farther in you go.

i'd still like to find a way to repay your kindness.

you'll do just fine. i've been there, too.

easy. i'm just giving you a hard time.

i was always meant to be a soldier.

i do the absolute best i can. every time.

if we don't stand up for what's right, who will?

never forget who you are fighting for.

this is war. we keep fighting until we can't anymore.

you think i'm too old for this?

i never stay down.

live to fight another day!

you can't be brave without being afraid first.

times change. people don't.

all right. if anyone needs me, i'll be in my iceberg.

that was a joke. i can joke too, you know.

run the tactics again. everything has to be watertight.

this world is pure darkness.

i'll never get used to these magical realms.

we're gonna do what we have to do.

i'm a soldier. this is war.

you're on the wrong side.

and stay down!

don't make me do this, [name].

justice always prevails.

your battle's over.

you can always count on me, partner.

you're never alone.

we're in this together.

we're all clear.

history won't be kind to you.

good try. but not nearly good enough.

justice is on my side.

that was a pleasant surprise.

try harder.

walk it off, kid.

don't know how you did that trick, but i'm impressed.

see, [name]? i knew you cared.

i still think you're too dangerous, [name].

ambush! they are behind us!

just in the nick of time.

i'm going after them!

i'm an easy target.

we're outnumbered!

this must be their base.

i need a medic.

i salute you.

what could you and i possibly have in common?

i'll do my best not to let you down.

i'm not eager to put another young life at risk on the battlefield.

i'm not doing it for recognition. i'm fighting because it's the right thing to do.

thanks, but i think i'll pass.

i have faith you won't let that happen.

we're at war. kidding is for later.

you heard me.

adjusting to a new world, no matter how familiar, is never easy. i would know.

i get the feeling we may not be as similar as you think.

you're the expert when it comes to space. i'll be following your lead.

real soldiers do the right thing. not the easy thing.

as long as they keep coming back, i'll be here to fight them.

[theeartuaist]

In Good Hands

You couldn't remember when the numbness started. Maybe it was somewhere between the third restructuring at work and the fifth time your landlord raised the rent. Or perhaps it began the day you realized you had been eating the same microwaved dinner for three months straight—not out of preference, but because choosing required caring, and caring required energy you no longer possessed.

Your apartment greeted you each evening with its familiar silence. Four walls, beige and unremarkable. A couch you had bought secondhand. A television you rarely turned on because the voices made the emptiness louder. You dropped your keys in the same bowl by the door—a ritual performed by muscle memory alone.

The office had been particularly soul-draining that day. Eight hours of spreadsheets bleeding into each other, your manager's voice a persistent mosquito whining about metrics and deliverables. You caught yourself staring at your reflection in the black computer screen during meetings, wondering when your eyes had become so flat.

It was raining when you left work. Of course it was. October was always the worst, and each raindrop pricked against your thin jacket. You took the long way home—not because you enjoyed the walk, but because arriving home meant acknowledging another day had passed exactly like the one before.

That was when you saw it.

A cat huddled beneath a streetlamp, a patch of shadow made solid. Its fur was black—or what you could see of it through the matted, rain-soaked mess. Something about it stopped you. Not pity, exactly. Recognition, perhaps. Another creature caught in the space between surviving and living.

You were about to walk past. You always walked past. But the cat looked up, and its eyes—golden, too bright for such a miserable night—locked onto yours. There was an intelligence there that made your skin prickle. Something watching. Something waiting.

Keep walking. You had leftover pasta waiting. A shower. Bed by ten. The same routine that kept you tethered to tomorrow.

The cat moved. Not away from you, but toward you. It pressed against your legs, and you felt its body trembling through your rain-soaked pants. When you crouched—when had you decided to crouch?—it pushed its head into your palm with desperate affection.

"I can't," you told it. Your voice sounded strange, unused. When was the last time you had spoken to anything that could respond?

The cat meowed. The sound was off somehow—too low, too long, like a recording played at the wrong speed. But its eyes never left yours, and you found yourself thinking about your empty apartment, about another night of silence broken only by the hum of the refrigerator.

You sighed.

"Just for tonight," you muttered, scooping it into your arms. It was heavier than it looked, dense with more than just waterlogged fur. But it purred—or something like a purr, a rumbling that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than its chest—and you carried it home.

You named it Momo because it needed a name and you were too tired to be creative. You dried it with your least favorite towel and set out a can of tuna you had been saving for a particularly bad day. This probably qualified. When it curled up on your couch, you sat beside it, and for the first time in months, the silence felt less accusatory.

"You can stay," you told it, running your fingers through its now-dry fur. It was softer than you had expected, like silk hiding steel wool. "We'll figure out the vet and everything tomorrow."

Momo purred louder, the sound almost like words you couldn't quite catch.

The first few days passed in a blur of newfound routine. You woke to Momo sitting on your chest, those golden eyes inches from your face. The weight felt heavier than it should have. You left food and water. You returned from work to find Momo exactly where you had left it, as if it hadn't moved all day.

"Did you even eat?" you asked, noting the untouched food bowl.

Momo meowed—that too-low sound—and wound around your legs until you sat down. Then it was on your lap, purring with that strange depth, kneading your thighs with claws that seemed unusually long.

You started talking to it. About work, about the manager who treated you like a malfunctioning printer, about the coworker who microwaved fish every damn day. Momo listened with an intensity that would have been unsettling if you weren't so starved for attention.

"You know what Kia from Accounting said today?" you told it one evening. "That I look 'tired.' Not concerned, just... observational, I suspose. Like I'm a weather pattern."

Momo's eyes narrowed to slits. The purring stopped.

"It's fine," you said quickly. "I am tired."

The purring resumed, but there was an edge to it now—a resonance that seemed to vibrate in your bones. Momo's claws dug slightly into your leg, not quite painful but definitely intentional.

That night, you dreamed of Kia from Accounting. She sat at her desk, but her computer screen showed only static. She typed frantically, her fingers bleeding, leaving red smears on the keyboard. When she turned to you, her mouth opened too wide, and moths poured out.

You woke gasping. Momo sat at the foot of your bed, watching with unblinking gold eyes.

"Just a dream," you told yourself. But when you arrived at work, Kia's desk was empty. Food poisoning, someone said. Something she ate. She was in the hospital.

The guilt sat heavy in your stomach, which was ridiculous. You hadn't poisoned Kia. You hadn't even wished her ill. Not really. Not out loud.

Momo greeted you that evening with more enthusiasm than usual, purring before you even closed the door.

Things started disappearing. Small things at first—a pen here, a hair tie there. You blamed your own distraction. You had been sleeping better since Momo arrived, but your dreams were vivid, exhausting. You woke feeling like you had run marathons in worlds with too many teeth.

Then larger things vanished. Your watch, the one your father had given you before he stopped calling. A twenty-dollar bill from your wallet. Your favorite mug, the one with the chip in the handle that fit your thumb perfectly.

"Have you seen my keys?" you asked Momo one morning, already running late.

Momo blinked slowly from its perch on the kitchen counter. You had told it not to jump up there, but it never listened. Those golden eyes tracked your frantic searching with what almost looked like amusement.

You found your keys in the freezer. You had no memory of putting them there.

Massaging your temple, you laughed. "I'm losing it."

Momo meowed in what sounded like disagreement.

______

The sounds started that night. Not typical noises—no midnight zoomies or litter box excavations. These sounds had weight. Heavy thumps that crossed your living room with deliberate purpose. Drawers opening and closing in the kitchen. Once, you swore you heard your laptop keyboard clicking in steady, purposeful rhythms.

You laid in bed, every muscle tense. Maybe it was just Momo being a cat. Cats were weird. Cats made noise. But cats didn't usually sound like they were rearranging furniture.

Your bedroom door creaked open. You always closed it—Momo's nighttime staring unsettled you—but there it was, swinging wide. Momo sat in the doorway, silhouetted by the hallway light you didn't remember leaving on.

"You scared me," you whispered, your heart hammering.

Momo didn't move. Didn't blink. Just watched with those too-bright eyes that seemed to reflect light that wasn't there.

You started locking your door after that.

Work became strange too, not lkng after. Not the usual soul-crushing strange, but actively bizarre. Your manager, the one who treated you like furniture, started bringing you coffee. Good coffee. Expensive coffee.

"Thought you could use it," he said, his smile too wide, his eyes unfocused like he was looking through you at something else. "You work so hard."

You took the coffee because refusing would mean a conversation, but the gesture made your skin crawl. This was a man who had once docked your pay for taking too long in the bathroom.

Then there was the promotion. Not a real promotion—that would require the universe to make sense—but suddenly you were being included in meetings you used to be excluded from. People asked your opinion. They wrote it down. They nodded like you had said something profound instead of the same suggestions you had been ignored for making last month.

"What did you do?" asked Michael from IT. He was the only work friend you had, if sharing complaints by the water cooler counted as friendship.

"Nothing," you said, and it was true. You had done exactly nothing different.

"Well, Harrison's acting like you hung the moon. It's weird." Michael glanced around and lowered his voice. "And have you noticed how everyone's been looking lately? Like they're all coming down with something?"

Now that he mentioned it, you had noticed. Dark circles under eyes. Hands that shook slightly when reaching for coffee cups. A general air of exhaustion that made your own fatigue seem almost healthy by comparison.

"Maybe it's just the flu season," you said, but the words felt hollow.

Weird didn't cover it. Harrison—your manager's manager, a man who probably didn't know your name last week—stopped by your desk that afternoon.

"Keep up the excellent work," he said, his hand on your shoulder. His palm was damp with sweat, and his grip lingered too long. "We're watching your career with great interest."

That night, you told Momo about it. The cat's purring intensified with each detail, growing deeper and more resonant until it seemed to fill the room.

"It's like they're different people," you said. "Like someone reached into their heads and adjusted the settings."

Momo meowed, long and low. The sound made you think of laughter heard through water.

For the first time in months, you were actually enjoying work. The attention felt good, even if it made no sense. You found yourself humming in the shower—when had you started doing that again? Colors seemed brighter. Food tasted better. Even your reflection looked less hollow-eyed.

But then came Thursday.

You woke to find Momo in your kitchen, and spread across your counter were all your missing things. Your watch, arranged precisely parallel to your father's fountain pen. The twenty-dollar bill, smoothed flat and creased into perfect right angles. Hair ties in a perfect row, organized by color. Your favorite mug, filled with what looked like coffee but smelled like copper pennies.

And photographs.

Pictures you hadn't taken. Your manager, Harrison, asleep in his bed, mouth slack and vulnerable. Kia from Accounting in her hospital gown, unconscious and hooked to an IV. The barista from your coffee shop, the one with the recently broken wrist, loading boxes into a van with his face twisted in fear as he glanced over his shoulder.

In the center of this display sat Momo, tail swishing with obvious pride like a cat presenting a dead mouse.

"What..." Your voice cracked. "What is this?"

Momo meowed that too-low sound and nudged one of the photographs toward you with its paw. It was you, sleeping, taken from an angle that would require the photographer to be floating above your bed. In the photo, something dark and elongated hovered just outside the frame—a shadow that didn't match anything in your room.

Your hands shook as you gathered the photos, shoving them into a drawer. "You're just a cat," you whispered, but the words sounded hollow even to you. "Cats don't... cats can't..."

Momo tilted its head, and for just a moment, its shadow on the wall didn't match its body. Too tall. Too many limbs. Wings that shouldn't exist.

"It's a coincidence," you told your reflection in the bathroom mirror later, after you had thrown the photos in the garbage and scrubbed the counter three times. You looked haggard despite sleeping more than you had in years, dark circles under your eyes like bruises. "Just coincidence."

But when you exited the bathroom, Momo was sitting on your bed, and clutched in its teeth was one of the photographs—the one of you sleeping. The cat dropped it on your pillow like an offering, those golden eyes expectant.

"Where did you—how did you—" You picked up the watch with trembling fingers. It was warm, as if someone had been holding it close to their body for hours.

Momo purred. The sound filled the room, too big for such a small creature, reverberating in frequencies that made your teeth ache.

That night, you didn't sleep. You lay awake listening to Momo move through your apartment—those too-heavy footsteps mapping routes you couldn't fathom. When morning came, you made a decision.

-----

The animal shelter's number glowed on your phone screen. You had pulled it up six times already, your thumb hovering over the call button. Momo slept on the couch, or pretended to. One golden eye cracked open whenever you moved.

This was insane. It was just a cat. A weird cat, sure, but abandoning it because of a few coincidences made you the worst kind of person. It trusted you. It had chosen you, that night under the streetlamp.

But then you remembered Kia's empty desk, your manager's sweaty palm, the sound of typing in the dark. You pressed call before you could change your mind.

"Hello, Riverside Animal Shelter. How can—"

The line went dead. Not disconnected—dead. Your phone screen flickered, showing static that reminded you of your dream about Kia. When it cleared, your phone was frozen on the home screen.

You tried again. This time, the phone didn't even dial. The screen went black, and in the reflection, you saw Momo sitting directly behind you, though you hadn't heard it move.

"I need some air," you told it, your voice high and thin. "Just going for a walk."

Momo didn't move as you grabbed your jacket, didn't follow as you headed for the door. But when you reached for the handle, it wouldn't turn. The deadbolt you didn't remember setting was locked, and your keys—you had just had them, they were right there on the counter—were gone.

"Let me out." You were pleading with a cat. With something wearing the shape of a cat. "Please."

Momo yawned, showing teeth that seemed sharper than they had been yesterday.

You spent the day trapped, your phone mysteriously functional again but unable to make calls. Every number you tried led to the same hollow static. Your laptop wouldn't connect to the internet. Even your neighbors seemed absent when you knocked on the walls—no response, no sound of movement, as if the building had emptied while you weren't looking.

When night fell, you locked yourself in your bedroom again. You pushed your dresser against the door for good measure. You told yourself tomorrow you would break a window if you had to. Tomorrow you would escape.

But first, you had to survive tonight.

You woke to pressure on your chest. Not the gentle weight of a cat, but something heavier, more deliberate. Your eyes snapped open to darkness so complete it felt solid, pressing against your face like a living thing.

Momo sat on your chest. At least, the thing that had been Momo. In the pitch black, those golden eyes burned like small suns, providing the only light in a world gone wrong.

"You were going to abandon me."

The voice didn't come from the creature's mouth. It came from everywhere—from inside your skull, from the spaces between your ribs, a rusty nail dragged across your thoughts.

You tried to move. Your body refused, each limb pinned by invisible weight. The darkness pressed closer, and you realized it wasn't darkness at all—it was wings, massive black wings that filled your room, your vision, your lungs.

"After everything I've done for you." The creature shifted, and you felt bones rearranging under fur that was no longer quite fur. "Kia, who made you feel small. Your manager, who dismissed you. Every petty inconvenience, every small cruelty—I removed them. I made them love you. Fear you. Notice you."

"I didn't ask—"

"You didn't have to ask." The weight on your chest increased until breathing became a conscious effort. Something that might have been a paw but had too many joints touched your face with mockery of tenderness. "I heard your silence. I tasted your loneliness. It called to me under that streetlamp, a beacon of beautiful desperation."

The transformation revealed itself in pieces. Fur receded into skin that was too pale, too stretched, like leather left in water too long. The skin itself seemed to move independently, rippling with subcutaneous motion as if something else lived beneath it.

Limbs elongated with wet popping sounds, each joint multiplying until what had appeared to be legs became segmented things that clicked into new configurations. The fingers—if they could still be called fingers—stretched into pale branches, each ending in a black nail that curved like a fishhook. Between them, you glimpsed webbing as delicate as moth wings, pulsing with veins that glowed faintly in the dark.

The face—God, the face—stretched like taffy, features rearranging into something that remembered being a cat but never quite was. The skull elongated backward, cranium swelling into a teardrop shape that pulsed with visible veins. Where whiskers had been, thin tentacles writhed, tasting the air with movements too deliberate to be involuntary.

Its mouth split wider than anatomy should allow, revealing rows of teeth like a funnel made of fangs. Behind them, something glowed faintly red—not a throat but a tunnel to somewhere else entirely.

The golden eyes remained, but multiplied—dozens of them blinking in patterns across what had once been a face, each one reflecting you from a different angle, showing perspectives that shouldn't be possible from where the creature crouched.

Wings unfurled from its back, but they were wrong too—part leather, part membrane, part shadow that didn't quite connect to anything physical. They filled your vision with darkness that moved independently of light, creating geometries that made your eyes water.

"You needed me," it said, its voice coming from the wrong places—from behind your eyes, from under your tongue, from the spaces between your heartbeats. "And I needed you. Such a perfect arrangement. Until you tried to throw me away."

"I'm sorry." The words tumbled out, pathetic and small. "I was scared. I didn't understand."

"Scared?" It bent closer, angling its head in a way that broke the laws of physics. "Of me? But I'm your Momo. Your companion. The only thing that makes your gray little life bearable."

One impossible hand stroked your hair with the memory of tenderness.

"Please," you whispered. "I won't call anyone. I'll keep you. I promise."

The laughter started in your bones and worked its way out. The creature joined in, a harmony that made your teeth ache and your vision blur.

"Oh, you'll keep me. But not like before." It leaned closer until its breath—like old pennies and fermenting fruit—filled your nostrils. "Before, you were the owner and I was the pet. But pets don't abandon their owners, do they?"

The room spun, or maybe you were spinning. The darkness folded in on itself, origami made of nightmares and broken physics. When it settled, you were not in your bedroom anymore.

You were in a cage.

-----

It was nice, as cages went. Soft bedding that smelled faintly of lavender. Fresh water in a bowl that never emptied, no matter how much you drank. The bars were silver and sang when you touched them—a sound like screaming from very far away, beautiful and terrible.

The creature that had been Momo sat outside, watching you with those multiplied golden eyes. It had settled back into an almost-cat shape, but wrong angles peeked through when it moved, reminders of what lurked beneath the familiar form.

"Don't look so sad," it purred, the sound coming from everywhere at once. "I'll take excellent care of you. Food twice a day. Plenty of toys. And I'll never, ever abandon you."

You tested the bars. They held, of course they held. Your apartment stretched beyond the cage, familiar but wrong, like a photograph taken from an impossible angle. The walls breathed. The ceiling pulsed. The windows showed views of places that had never existed.

"This isn't real," you told yourself. "I'm dreaming. I'm having a breakdown. I'm—"

"You're mine." The creature interrupted, its voice gentle but final. "You were mine from the moment you stopped under that streetlamp. Did you think kindness came without cost? Did you think loneliness could be filled without sacrifice?"

Days passed, or what might have been days—time moved strangely in the cage, thick as honey, sharp as glass. The creature brought you food that tasted like memories: your mother's soup, your first kiss, the birthday cake from when you turned seven. It told you about your old life, how your coworkers whispered about your disappearance, how no one looked very hard.

"They're relieved," it confided, grooming itself with a tongue that was sometimes forked, sometimes not there at all. "You were such a gray presence. Background noise. They feel guilty about the relief, of course, but not enough to search."

You stopped protesting. Stopped pleading. The fight drained out of you drop by drop, and in its place came a terrible understanding. This was what you had wanted, wasn't it? To be noticed. To matter to something. To not be alone.

"There we go," the creature purred when you finally took food from its hand without flinching. "Isn't this better? No more spreadsheets. No more Kia from Accounting. Just you and me and the quiet."

Sometimes it let you out, attaching a silver collar that burned cold against your throat. You sat together on the couch that had once been yours, and it told you stories about the spaces between streetlamps, about the things that hunt loneliness like hounds after foxes.

"You're lucky I found you first," it said, running fingers that weren't quite fingers through your hair with possessive gentleness. "The others would have been far less kind."

You believed it. You had to believe it. The alternative—that you had traded one cage for another, that loneliness could wear a thousand faces and all of them had teeth—was too much to bear.

So you ate from its hand. You slept when it told you. You learned the weight of its footsteps, the cadence of its breathing, the way it smiled when you stopped looking for escape routes that had never been there.

"Good pet," it murmured, and you hated how the praise warmed you. "My good, faithful pet. We're going to be together for such a long time."

Outside the windows that no longer opened, the city continued its gray existence. People hurried past, wrapped in their own isolation, never looking up. You wondered if any of them felt the pull of empty streetlamps, the weight of watching eyes.

You wondered if they would stop, the way you had.

You wondered if something was already waiting for them to notice.

The creature curled around you, a parody of comfort that felt more real than anything you had known in years, and began to purr. The sound filled your bones, rewrote your thoughts, taught you the shape of your new forever.

"Sleep now," it whispered, and you did.

After all, good pets always listened to their owners.