#(yeah time is always something she never has enough of

[moonstruckme]

Hello Mae!! I loooovveee your fics!!

I'm feeling rather sick right now, so I wondering if you could write EMT!Marauders x Sick!Reader (vomiting, passing out, high fever etc)

If not then that's ok, thanks!

Thanks for requesting!

cw: vomit mention (past tense), reader has a high fever but isn't like super super out of it (though it's mentioned some of her memories are a bit hazy)

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

The voices start out in your dreams. Low, indistinct murmurings, in voices that you know instinctively are safe. They’re warm enough to cuddle into like extra blankets. So, you don’t feel particularly inclined to rouse until something starts rubbing your cheek. 

Your lashes peel apart like they’ve been stuck together with glue in your sleep. It’s a herculean effort. Worth it to find Remus on the other side, though. 

“Hi,” he murmurs, thumb still stroking your cheek. 

“Hi,” you whisper back. 

Remus smiles—it’s one of your favorites from him, so tender it’s almost shy, like he doesn’t want anyone to see—and ducks down to kiss the corner of your mouth. Dutifully missing your lips, as your boyfriends have been sentenced to do for the past couple of days. You blink fuzzily. The hall light is on, illuminating dimly your otherwise dark bedroom and Sirius and James peeling off their uniforms. Sirius is typing something into his phone, while James watches you out of the corner of his eye, grinning when he catches you looking. 

It’s possible you’ll never not flush when your boyfriend grins at you while stepping out of his trousers. This may be a life sentence. 

“How are you feeling?” Remus asks. 

You make a sort of humming sound. You’re sick of feeling sorry for yourself and besides that you’re running out of adjectives. First it had been not right, then not very well, then plainly bad. Now you feel distinctly in worse territory, but to voice that feels too much a plea for pitying treatment, and you won’t do it. 

Remus murmurs, “Yeah?” and tsks like he hears it anyway. He lays a hand over your forehead, frowning. 

“What time is it?” you ask. 

“Early,” James says, like an apology. “We just got in.” 

You nod like this is expected. It’s not unusual for your boyfriends to come home from a long shift in the early hours of the morning, but truthfully, you don’t remember exactly when they’d left. You were in a sort of feverish, half-asleep state for most of the evening. 

“Open,” Remus prompts softly. You do, and he nudges a thermometer into your mouth, smoothing some hairs away from your face once he’s done. He looks worried. So many sweet, tender touches. It’d be enough to make you dizzy even if you were fully conscious. 

“Is she warmer?” Sirius asks. 

“I think so,” says Remus. 

James makes a sad puppy noise and flops onto the bed, now in his underwear. “I’m sorry, lovie,” he whines, practically crawling on top of you to put his face in your stomach. “It’s shit to be poorly for so long. Have you been sick again since we left?”

You have to think about it, but shake your head. This seems to satisfy James somewhat. 

“Did you drink your fluids?” Sirius asks. You nod this time. He walks over to the water bottle on the nightstand, giving it an experimental shake. “Still feels full.” 

Remus’ lips twitch at whatever look crosses your face. The thermometer beeps, and he pulls it from your mouth. 

“I drank some,” you defend yourself. 

Sirius gives you a playful reprimanding look, but then his attention is Remus’ as Remus pulls the thermometer closer. “Thirty-nine point seven.” He sighs, bringing his hand to your head again. He pets your hair. “Sweetheart…” 

“Nothing hurts, still?” James asks you. 

“No,” you mumble, contrite. You feel like you’re disappointing them. 

Sirius crouches by the bed, leaning forward to give you a pillowy soft kiss on your forehead. He’s thrown on an old t-shirt of Remus’, worn and with holes in the soft fabric. “It’s okay, baby. It’s not your fault; you’ve always been hot, it’s only getting worse.” 

You give him a dry look. That joke got old within the first day of your fever, but the way he delivers it so solemnly now does make a smile tug at your lips. Sirius bumps his nose into your temple teasingly. 

“Might’ve helped if you drank your fluids, though.” 

“Fuck off,” you murmur. Really, you love having him so close, and Sirius seems to know this. His expression is smug as he gives you another conciliating kiss. 

Remus is looking down at the both of you like you’re his favorite annoyances. “I think it’s time to go to hospital,” he determines. 

You frown. “But you just came from there.” 

“Ugh, I know,” Sirius groans. “The things we do for you, hm?” 

“You don’t seem to be improving,” Remus says. “We need to get a better idea of what this is.” 

“Can’t it just be a stomach bug?” you sulk. 

He hums, sweeping his thumb over your forehead. It’s warm and calloused. “It’d be nice if it was,” he says, “but we ought to know for sure. And this doesn’t quite fit the parameters of a regular stomach bug, dovey.” 

“It’d be helpful to have some bloodwork done,” James agrees, sitting up a bit to prop his chin on your stomach. 

“Bloodwork?” you repeat. 

“I sure fucking hope it does,” quips Sirius. When you still look trepidatious, he laughs and smooches your cheek. “You’ll be fine, my love. We’ll take good care of you.” 

“The best care,” James seconds, sitting up on his haunches to un-pin your stomach from the bed. “C’mon, let’s get up.” 

You eye all three of your boyfriends, but begin sitting up slowly. “You just got home. You really want to go back to work at” —you glance at the clock on your nightstand— “six thirty in the morning?” 

“That’s exactly what we want to do. You’re so smart, baby.” Sirius gives your cheek a pat. You pout at him in response; your head hurts now that you’re upright. “Anyway, I texted Mary at St. Bart’s, and she said we can get in if we go now.” 

Remus kisses Sirius’ head in silent thanks as James gets up to dig through a drawer of Remus’ jumpers for you both to put on. 

“We just love work so much,” he jokes, tossing you one. Sirius catches it before it can hit you. “We can hardly stay away, you know? Plus, bring your girlfriend to work day is a great time, I hear.” 

“So fun,” you sigh, resigned. 

Sirius smiles softly at you as he pulls Remus’ jumper over your head. “That’s the spirit.”

[magicalqueennightmare]

Moving in Your Sleep Headcanon

(Also being a blanket hog)

Tony crashes hard when he finally does sleep so at first he doesn't really notice but after a while he starts coming to bed a little earlier and holy hell he sits there for the longest wondering just how you haven't managed to hurt yourself in your sleep. He ends up with about half an inch of bed left. The next morning? There's a california king being delivered. When you're both alseep and he feels a tug on the blanket? He lets it go. He knows its a losing battle and he'd rather not end up on the floor (he made that mistake once. Rhodey found out and never let him live it down)

Steve is also a restless sleeper which in itself is a hazard given he's solid muscle. Half the time you end up sleeping on top of him more than the mattress. Not that either of you mind. He was concerned however when he woke up and couldn't find you one morning. You fell off the bed, climbed under it and never woke up. As for hogging the blanket? He is simply amazed by how freaking strong you get when you're asleep and don't want to share the covers.

Clint doesn't get bothered at all. The man will be dead asleep and simply move to accommodate your movements. As for blanket hogging? He keeps about five blankets on the bed. You steal one? He moves the next one.

Sam has woke you up laughing from the way you move in your sleep. He finds it hilarious. Nights he's good and tired? He's tempted to just throw a sleeping bag on the floor next to the bed but knows you'll end up hurting both of you if you can't find him in your sleep. He buys you a body pillow with the excuse that it's good for your back when in reality he uses it as a barracade on nights you're moving around enough he's afraid he may catch an elbow to the gut. Keeps multiple blankets on hand so he can grab another one when you steal the main one.

Joaquin moves a lot in his sleep too. Both of you end up on opposite sides of the bed come morning most of the time. Sometimes you end up asleep on the foot of the bed instead of the head of it but you always find your way back to each other in your sleep. As for your blanket hog tendencies? Joaquin buys weighted blankets for you both. Helps slow down movements and makes sure you both stay covered.

Bucky had to share a bed with Steve one too many times when he was younger for your movements to bother him. You crawl across him in your sleep? He's not flinching. You curl onto your side? Ok. He enjoys when you randomly curl up on his chest like a cat. When you hog the blankets he is honestly just shocked "How the hell are you fighting my left arm?" you'll mumble something in your sleep and he just slips out of bed to grab another blanket.

John was in the army too many years for movement to bother him. He'll simply adjust his body for your movements to make sure there's no way you can hurt yourself. When you randomly end up curled up to him or on him? Yeah he loves that. When you hog the blanket? He's a little stunned. "Super serum my ass. Need to study the strength a woman gets when she don't wanna share a blanket"

[alanisstonedd]

busted | singledad!ony x teacher!reader

an: so cute! i love themmmm. i’ve had this one in the drafts for a while now yall, please enjoy! send me ya nasty asks

cw: fluff, suggestive themes, black!reader, cussing, single dad

you hear a soft knock, blinking up from your laptop a little confused. it’s 1:30 and your kids are in science, currently grading with the little free time you do have today - you certainly were not expecting any meetings.

but when you focus your eyes on the figure at the door, you don’t even know why you didn’t expect that shit. amira’s father is once again standing in your classroom doorway, shoulders broad as hell in a white tee and grey sweats, clutching a little pink jacket in one thick hand. go figure.

you squint, not only at his unplanned appearance at 1:30 on a wednesday, but more so at the jacket “it’s… 85 degrees.” you can already smell the con he came in here tryna fool you with

he shrugs, biting his lip like he don’t even care about the excuse anymore. but he locks eyes with you and steps in slowly like he hasn’t been here a million times already. “mm — yeah, she said she was cold earlier. y’know kids. gotta be on go.”

you fold your arms, smiling despite yourself. he really is relentless — this is like the fourth time he’s been in here this week and you’re only three days in. “they in the art room right now, ony.” you sing-song, standing up and rounding your desk to give him your full attention. i mean he’s already here, smelling like you wanna climb him until your legs are around his head… it would be rude to not give him at least a second of your time.

“oh, word?” he steps farther in, looking around like he’s seeing it for the first time or something. “well… I could just leave it.” he mumbles, licking his lips at you, and it feels like he just turned the heat on in here.

this is precisely why you hate him coming in here like this — because as soon as you see that big ass frame tryna bust out of that white tee, that sweet smile that also somehow says “i’ll man-handle you and wear yo ass out”, and what maybe or may not be a bulge inbetween two huge thighs that you’re unsuccessfully trying to avoid… you fold like a damn chair. your will power is never strong enough to withstand this man and his apparently unyielding desire to see you.

but he doesn’t “just leave it”, of course, the man always has another plan.

instead, he sets it on amira’s desk and plops into the nearest tiny chair. you almost bust out laughing at how ridiculous he looks — this ass big man, all thick thighs and grown-man muscle, folded into a desk built for 7-year-olds.

you lean against your own desk, raising an eyebrow. you can’t help but smile at him grinning up at you like he’s so happy with himself. but he knows you already folded.

“you good, mr. ony?”

“mhmm.” he tilts his head, eyes trailing over your frame. drinking you in. wishing you’d move a little closer so he could reach for those hips. “you look real good today miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧. real professional. definitely too fine to be up in this school single…”

you roll your eyes, biting back a grin. “you here to flirt with me or to bring your child’s unnecessary outerwear?”

“it can’t be both? you know i need my miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ time…” he says, full grin, unabashedly and very obviously undressing you in his head.

“mhm, you a piece of work ony.” you’re trying to keep it together — you really are. hut this man’s sitting there all big and broad, sweats straining against his big ass legs in that tiny chair, hand stroking his sexy ass beard while he watches you like you’re art — eyes shining like the things he’s imagining doing to you right now have no place in this classroom

“so how’s your day been, miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧?” he asks, and all the sudden you’re hot with just those simple words, his voice all low and seductive. “you eat somethin’ today? drink your water? anybody holla at you yet or i’m the first lucky man?”

you tilt your head, snickering. “is that how you talk to every teacher?”. you sass back, fronting like you don’t want his flirting but you can’t deny the fanny flutters you get when he comes in thirsty for you.

he leans forward, tryna reel you in even closer than you already are, resting his arms on the tiny desk like it’s the most natural thing in the world. little does he know, you wanna lock that damn door and show him off-the-clock you.

“nah,” he says, eyes glinting with that mischief that makes your clit throb. he knows he got you — or at least got your attention. “just the one i’m tryna take out for dinner… then dessert… and then breakfast.”

your breath catches, and he immediately sees that shit because he’s been watching you like a hawk since he came in here. watching you every move, your beautiful face and all your expressions like he wants to know every single one you have, jealous of the way your hands get to hold your juicy hips and thighs.

he stands up realllll slow, walking toward you, caging you in — close enough that the desk’s edge is flush against your booty, that the heat from his big frame is making your face hot. making all of you hot. you try to stay calm. professional. but his voice drops to that dangerous whisper.

“y’know how hard it is not to grab yo fine ass and kiss you every time I see you?”

you blink up at him, heat crawling up your neck and down into your pussy. his hands on the desk behind you, boxing you in, his hips dangerously close to your hips.

“ony, this is not—”

his hand slides up your thigh slow like he wants you to feel it, hiking your leg up just slightly against his body. he leans in slow enough to show you he’s not scared, lips barely brushing yours, eyes flicking between your mouth and your eyes like he’s starving. he wants you in his bed already. the holding-back is not for him, but if he keeps this up, he might do something regrettable in this elementary school classroom.

then, suddenly, just as you’re about to lean in and suck his tongue like yall are alone, his hands gripping you up and pressing you against him like he craves to do every damn day —

SLAM.

the classroom door swings open.

you jump against your desk. he steps back lightning fast, not ashamed but… you could loose your job right? ‘course he wants to have you, but ideally without that possibility.

amira skips in like she owns the place, completely oblivious to the little situation happening in there just moments before.

“hi miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧! miss smith said i could come get my water bottle!”

she grabs it off her desk, “oh, hi daddy…” and gives you both a sweet little wave before skipping back the way she came in…

but she pauses mid-skip and turns around…she squints at you both like she knows something, then smiles like the devil. she lets out a little “mhm..” before continuing on her way back to science class.

but not before blurting “quit kissin’ on the mouth with the door unlocked!” you hear a sneaky giggle and then she’s skipping right out the door before yall can even speak.

you and ony are still frozen in shock — then BURSTING out laughing. he collapses forward into you, head on your shoulder, muffling a full-body laugh into your shirt while you wheeze with one hand over your heart. she too smart for her age.

you shake your head, smirking. “you ain’t right, mr. ony. almost got our asses busted.”

he grins into your shoulder, like he doesn’t even care. “she really said on the mouth… we wasn’t even…”

© 2025 alanisstonedd. all rights reserved — do not steal, plagiarize, or modify my content.

hope yall liked this! likes, comments, reblogs and all the rest are much appreciated!!

xoxo, lani 💋💋💋

[ptergwen]

saw the post for ideas 👀… yknow those vlogs peter would film in homecoming? what if the only exception in strange’s spell was to let him keep a copy of those films of you and him/memories of the team. he rewatches them when he needs to feel like someone is there with him eating dinner, on holidays, a rough night of patrol, etc :(

always belong to you ❤︎‬

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w/c: 2.0k

warnings: suggestive jokes, doctor strange being a bully, angst

a/n: ugh you know i love an angst/fluff combo, i lowkey got carried away if you can't tell by the word count lmao but i think y'all will like :) p.s. i have more things brewing so stay tuned!

"ok, so, we just got on the plane. we're taking off in... i don't know, soon."

the camera pans to you half asleep on peter's shoulder. you hide your face in your boyfriend's flannel, grinning nevertheless. "y/n's tired. it's early," peter tells the camera. "but i'm excited," you mumble. he beams and hugs you to his side. "me too. we all are."

you wrap your arms around peter's bicep and rest your chin on his shoulder. "so, where are you the most excited to go? london, right?" peter looks over at you, his hand rubbing up and down your side. "mhm. what about you, venice?" you ask him.

"definitely venice. i’ve been practicing my italian," peter says. you move closer to the camera so you can talk into it. "yeah, he actually learned some italian. and french, for when we go to paris." you smile sleepily. "city of love," peter adds. you peck his lips, and he smiles against yours.

you never actually made it to paris. god, that whole trip was a disaster. it's a miracle his camera even survived it, since most of his stuff literally got blown up. your plans kept getting changed, and peter barely got to spend any time with you or his friends because he got dragged into doing spider-man stuff, spider-man stuff that put everybody in danger.

but it's not spider-man's fault that he lost you — it's peter parker's.

"you've been practicing your british accent. that's something," peter jokes. "oh yeah, true. i also learned british slang. i wanna be cultured like you, innit?" you do an over-exaggerated accent, which peter chuckles at. "c'mon, i never even leave new york. except germany that one time, and..." he lowers his voice. "space."

"what are you doing?" mj pops up behind peter. her, ned, and betty are in the row behind yours. you got stuck next to flash, who's been snapping at one of the flight attendants for something. "just making video diaries of the trip," peter explains. "ooh, aren't those for may?" ned enthusiastically asks from the aisle seat. "hi, may! everybody say hi to peter's aunt!"

"hi, peter's aunt!" betty waves. "sup, aunt milf," flash chimes in. peter clenches his jaw. "hi, may. your nephew woke me up," mj deadpans. she manages a smile. "i don't know how i’m gonna get any sleep around the lovebirds."

"i'm gonna sleep, too. i'm still kinda tired," you tell mj through a yawn, squeezing peter's bicep. "you should try to sleep, darling. there's gonna be a pretty big time difference when we land." you lay your head on peter's shoulder again with a smile that he returns even bigger.

"okay, i will. don't wanna be jet lagged," peter agrees, turning the camera to himself. "well, that's it for now, may. love you! see you when we land!"

"bye, may!" you echo, peter resting his head against yours as the video ends.

you were both so happy back then. now, you don't even remember who peter is. all he has left of you is memories, ironically enough. it's all he has left of any of his loved ones. may is gone, his only family. his best friends have no memory of him, and neither does his team.

but if peter had just thought things through before he asked doctor strange to cast that spell, he wouldn't have needed to cast a second one, and the world wouldn't have forgotten peter parker.

peter wishes he could make you remember him on nights like these, when he's missing you extra. he'd kept to himself all day in his classes — he doesn't really engage with anyone unless he's in the suit. patrol was quiet tonight, though. so as peter lays on his creaky bed at the end of the day, all by himself in his cramped apartment, he's never felt more lonely.

he thought it might make him feel better to watch some of his old videos. his camera is one of the only things he'd kept from before, and it has videos with everyone on it. he watches them sometimes so he can hear your voice, see your face.

"peter! you look so cute in your little lab coat," you say behind the camera. "babe, you can't call me cute in here," peter groans. you zoom in on him setting up some test tubes. "yeah, you think you're so tough cause you're an avenger. spider-man can't be cute, he's too big and scary," you tease.

"maybe not scary, but he's big for sure." peter smirks at the camera. "i can confirm," you smirk at him. peter's eyes widen. "woah, y/n. i meant, like, my arms. you're so unprofessional today, i think i'm gonna need a new camerawoman," peter shakes his head playfully, pouring something into a beaker.

"you can't replace me. i'm irreplaceable," you insist. "yeah. i know you are," peter says, and means it. he can make out a smile in your voice. "anyways, since you're so tough, why don't you take off the coat? and the goggles? i guess you don't need them."

"i can't! if doctor strange comes back and sees, he'll say i’m-"

"-violating safety precautions and being stupidly, dangerously irresponsible."

doctor strange lands on the linoleum floor of the lab, his cloak trailing behind him. peter has his goggles on his head, so he quickly pulls them down. you prop the camera up against a stool subtly, all three of you coming into the frame.

"we're dealing with the quantum realm, parker, something neither you nor i completely understand. let's not take our chances." strange puts on his own pair of lab goggles, giving both you and peter a stern look. you make a face at the camera. "yes, sir. i mean, stephen. i mean... yeah, stephen," peter stutters.

you take his hand to calm his nerves. he laces your fingers together with a grateful smile.

"where's banner?" doctor strange asks. "still not here yet. scott and i started setting up, though," peter answers. "you're certainly no world renowned scientists, but fine. i trust you know enough to handle glassware," strange says sarcastically.

"and what have you been doing, practicing your magic tricks?" you ask doctor strange. "they're not tricks, it's a mystic art. but yes, actually. things work differently in the quantum realm than they do here," he replies, narrowing his eyes at you.

"thanks for clearing that up. wow, you know a lot about this stuff. i can see why they made you sorcerer supreme," you say smugly. doctor strange closes his eyes, visibly irritated. "no, they chose wong. you know that," he says in a monotone. peter bites the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile.

you'd naturally met the avengers over the years you and peter were dating. everybody loved you because peter loved you, and they loved him. doctor strange was another story. peter hardly felt like strange even tolerated him, let alone his girlfriend he was constantly getting humbled by.

you figured that if he did it to peter, someone should do it to him. peter always appreciated you having his back in those moments.

you and strange had your banter, though, and he did love peter in his own way. clearly, considering that he brainwashed the whole world for him on multiple occasions.

"is there a reason you're here exactly?" doctor strange questions you. "yeah, to watch you make pym particles." you shrug. he sighs. "make– it doesn't work that way." doctor strange turns to peter. "what is she doing here?" he crosses his arms over his chest, his cloak mirroring his stance.

"y/n's always here," peter innocently replies, swinging your connected hands back and forth.

"yeah, she's one of us!"

"who said that?" doctor strange demands, looking around the lab.

"it's me, i’m tiny. hold on." scott suddenly grows from the size of an ant to his normal, human size, appearing next to the three of you. doctor strange and his cloak jump backwards.

"have you been here this whole time?" strange's voice raises in anger. "um, yeah. pay attention much?" scott scoffs. "pete already told you, we're setting up. hey, y/n/n." you and scott fist bump. "pete," he claps peter's shoulder. peter nods at him. "hey, scott. keep up the good work."

"solidarity among the bug men, isn't that sweet?" doctor strange dryly remarks. scott points a finger at him. "listen, wizard. you should be nicer to me. i’m your ticket to this whole quantum thing."

the two of them start to argue, so you and peter sneak away. you grab peter's camera again and film him as he finishes setting up for their experiment.

"i can't believe we got all that on video," peter laughs out. "yeah, that was some avengers reality tv shit," you agree. peter tightens more test tubes in place. some have pym particles in them, others empty. you suddenly take peter's chin between your fingers, prompting him to stop what he's doing and look up.

"you know what i was trying to say before? i know you're tough, and strong, but i’ll never just see you as spider-man. you're peter."

his doe eyes lock with yours behind the camera.

"and you might be spider-man to the world, but you'll always be my peter."

peter stops the video. he rewinds it to the part where you call him your peter, and then rewinds it again. tears begin to well up in his eyes. at the time, it was just something sweet you said. you could never have known how much it would mean to him now.

peter curls up on his pillow. he's gripping the camera with both hands, holding on tightly like it's you, because it's the closest thing he has to you. tears drip down his face and land on the screen as the rest of the video plays.

"thanks, baby. i'm not that strong, though. i just try to act like it because i’m scared. this all gets pretty intimidating sometimes," peter admits. "i know, but you deserve to be here. they need you here, and i think you're strong for coming," you reassure him. you flip the camera so it's showing your face and the back of peter's head.

peter kisses your cheek, then your lips lovingly. he can't tell watching it back, but he assumes he tries for more because you giggle and turn your face away.

"okay, guys! we hashed everything out!" scott calls in the background. "something of that sort," doctor strange mutters. "and y/n, since you insist on being here..." the cloak of levitation flies over to you and forms a makeshift hand, holding out a lab coat and goggles. "we have a dress code."

peter snickers at you. you put down the camera and take the lab gear, glaring at doctor strange, who smiles wickedly. strange's cloak floats behind you and taps on the camera lens, alerting his attention to it. his smile drops.

"are you two idiots recording in my lab?" doctor strange asks you and peter. "bruce's lab," scott corrects him. "yeah, it's mr. bruce's. i mean, doctor bruce's. i mean, doctor banner's-" peter cuts himself off when doctor strange comes marching over. he narrowly avoids bumping into him.

strange's cloak swipes the camera off the lab desk. you reach for it, but the cloak floats higher.

"well, until mr. doctor bruce banner shows up, i’m in charge, and this is strictly confidential," doctor strange decides.

"but we're not gonna show anyone, it's just for memories!" peter defends. "bruce always lets us record," you add. strange grabs the camera. "coat and goggles on. now," he reprimands you, scowling at the camera as he shuts it off.

peter actually finds himself laughing when the video ends. he misses you and his team so much, but watching his old videos has been comforting. he's exhausted now, both physically and emotionally, so he gets under the covers and lets himself drift off to the sounds of your voice as the next video plays.

there's a piece of you in each one, and a piece of peter parker, too. the real peter parker — yours. he'll always belong to you, even if you don't know it.

tags

@spidermans-gf @sacharinee @thollandsgirl2013 @pettypeety @girlinlovewithlove @marvelgurl @superlegend216 @angelinabelovedballerina @moniffazictress11 @superlegend216 @doubledizzy22 @mystic-writings @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @lnmp89 @starlight-starks @hollandsangel @ellebutnotwoods @tayyx @valluvsu @ronweasleysslut @winchestersgirl222  @fishingirl12 @raajali3 @niktwazny303 @thismessymasterpiece @alina02 @itsjanedeluca @idkeverythingistakennn @prancerrparkerr @urfayevorite @getwellsoontana @deanswifeyy @marvelita86 @uhhhj13iguess

[vivispost]

cw: MDNI psuedo-cest, refers to Caleb as "gege", use of "meimei, dubcon, a/b/o, degration, Caleb is a pervert and manipulative, MDNI

Big stepbrother!caleb who always has to have himself restrained during his rutt (⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄‸o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝).. he can't risk hurting his poor little sister with his huge cock :(! He'll never forget his first rutt and how he nearly ravaged you whole before gran noticed and restrained him (ll๐ ₃ ๐)! With every passing rutt Caleb gets more and more unhinged, begging for his sweet little sister to let him out as he cries your name deep into the night (っ◞‸◟c).

"Please meimei, you have to help me." he whines out, loud enough for you to hear from a few doors down. With Gran gone for the next few days, Caleb just couldn't help himself. Gran told you very clearly, you can NOT under any circumstances let your big brother out. You should listen to her right? She always knows best but his whines and cries just continue on and on for hours! You just can't bear hearing your big brother cry any longer (৹ᵒ̴̶̷᷄﹏ᵒ̴̶̷᷅৹). You had to help him. Maybe just you being there will be enough to calm him down! you won't let him out and Gran won't ever have to know ๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑.

You're heart raced as you stepped out of your room, light footsteps trailing along the dark hallway making your way to his room. His whines growing more and more pathetic as you neared the room.

"Meimei, please."

"I need you, you won't leave me here all alone right?"

"Just one look, please, help your gege out."

"I won't hurt you this time, I promise."

You stopped at his bedroom door, a sliver of light shining through the slightly ajar door catching your attention. Bringing your eyes closer to the crack your heart skips. Seeing your gege restrained with chains linking to the harness along his body, a makeshift cage stopping him from being completely let out. His racing eyes met yours through the crack, desperation and something far more primal flooded his eyes.

You pushed through the door, making the image of your brother clear. A sheen layer of sweat coated his skin completely as his chest rose and fell at a rapid pace. Your heart pounded in your chest at the scene. You felt afraid. Your clammy hands instinctively gripped onto the hem of your nightgown as you swallowed a lump in your throat.

A guttural groan errupted from Caleb's throat as his eyes scanned your figure. His chest rising and falling at a steadier pace to not scare you away. He knew his little sister, he knew that startled look in your eyes as you gazed at him. He had to calm down if he wanted to get what he needed so badly.

"y-you came." he strained through a sigh, relief etched on his face. Reaching his chained hands towards the gate separating you both. Through his desperation he managed to let an almost pained smile slip across his face. "I'm so happy you came meimei.. help me out yeah?"

You nervously fiddled with your hands as your eyes fell to the ground. Help him out how? Now that you're here your starting to feel the weight of the move you decided to pull. You knew you weren't supposed to even be in here. Gran would kill you if she found out.. but your gege just looked so pathetic, chained and restrained behind a makeshift cage, eyebrows scrunched up as he held his bottom lip in between his teeth. It's not his fault anyway, he just couldn't control himself back then. At least that's what he told you.

"Please meimei just open the gate, you won't even have to remove the chains I just.. I just need some relief." He whined as his pitiful gaze searched for yours. You quickly averted your eyes as you bit your lip in contemplation. You really shouldn't...

"Please sweetie, look at me"

Your eyes made their way back towards his own crazed ones.

"Gege needs you, I won't touch you I promise.. I'm just.. just feeling so claustrophobic 'n here.." his hand trailed up to his collar slightly tugging at it as his pained look reached your own. You let out a breath as you pursed your lips. You had no reason not to trust your gege anyway, he's always tooken care of you and helped you out of trouble. You can return the favor by helping him out this time.. gran won't know.

You finally budged from your spot at the doorway, making your way towards Caleb. His eyes slightly widening as he saw you approaching. Almost drooling at the sight of his sweet sister finally giving him what he wants.

Your trembling hands reached for the lock attached to the gate, cautiously inserting the key and listening for the final click. Before you could even process anything you were already on the ground as a heavy force practically slammed you into the wooden flooring.

Your eyes widened in fear as they searched your geges face. "G-gege-" you whimpered out as his hands begn to fondle you through your gown, his weight on top of you keeping you still.

Caleb groaned before his frenzied eyes stared into your own, a sick smile spreading across his face. "What a stupid girl." he growled out as he roughly lifted your gown towards your shoulders revealing nothing but your white panties. "Fuck- I should've known a little slut like you would sleep practically naked" his hands roughly groped your breasts as he harshly kissed and licked along your neck, his hips grinding against your heat as you whimpered. "Y-you said you wouldn't-". You winced as you felt a harsh bite on your neck.

"Did you really believe that?" he licked along the forming bruise "If I knew you were this stupid I would've done this a long time ago" he grunted as he made his way to your breast roughly latching onto the bud as his hard on continued to grind on your clothed cunt. His teeth nipping you before sucking roughly in an aching pattern before finally popping off and roughly flipping you along your stomach. Tears began to form in your eyes at your gege's rough actions and hurtful words. "P-please gege" you whimpered out through your tears.

"Look at you." he grinned as his big hands roughly lift your bottom up effectively holding you in an ideal position to fuck into you from behind. Practically drooling at the sight of your leaking cunt behind the fabric of your panties. With a groan he shoved his face behind you, sloppily licking stripes along your clothed folds before shoving them to the side. A guttural moan left his lips at the sight of your bare pussy in front of him. He's dreamt of this for as long as he can remember, wanting nothing more than his sweets sisters cunt during his worst rutts. Now it's finally his and no one can stop him.

"g-gege! w-wait!" you whined out as you felt his harsh breath along your heat, planting kisses along your folds before sucking and licking at an unbearable pace. Hot tears continued running down your face as he ignored you while all you could do was moan out at the new sensation. Your body found itself reaching for his touch as you began rutting along his tongue, the tight feeling in your lower abdomen growing more and more with every lick as your hips began moving on their own before Caleb abruptly pulled away leaving you begging for his touch.

"Fuck- can't let you cum anywhere but on my dick." he grunted before all you could hear was the sound of him hurriedly pulling his pants down finally letting his aching cock free. You couldn't even catch a look at it behind you before he drove in you with full force, leaving you no time to adjust as your Gege roughly fucked into your puffy folds leaving you a moaning mess.

"Taking it 'so good just f'me -fuck" Caleb moaned out as he continued drilling his thick cock into you with no remorse as you continued becoming a mess under him. His rough hands gripping onto your hips as you cried from the force. "Can't even get a word out can you" he hissed out. "Who would've known you'd be such a cockslut?" He said with a grin.

All you could do was take it as your gege continued slurring hurtful words at you as the lewd sounds of skin slapping on skin filled the room, your juices making it effortless for him to glide through.

His pace quickened as he continued, the view of you bent before him with your face pushed into the ground drenched in tears, your needy cunt pushing against his thrusts covering him in your slick. He couldn't hold back his moan. Fuck you were just so perfect. The way your cunt gripped his dick with every thrust, your pathetic moans resounding throught the room, your face messy with the tears that he caused. He felt like he was in a dream and before he knew it he finally let go and released, biting his lip at the raunchy image of your shared juices coating his dick as he continued sloppily grinding into you.

Your pussy aching with overstimulation left you feeling weak as his hands held their grip along your waist, keeping a steady pace before finally pulling out. You finally let your sore body fall onto the ground, the cool floor make contact with your simmering skin. Suddenly his harsh hands flipped you onto your back before hooking beneath your thighs and roughly pulling towards him once more.

Your wide eyes looked into his own as he grinned at you. "Did you really think that was it? You really are just a stupid girl aren't you."

❥𓂃𓏧 A/N: I want my gege ◔̯◔

[hearts4hughes]

OK HEAR ME OUT BUT LIKE SOMETHING WITH THIS TIKTOK BROO IT NEEDS TO BE WRITTEN and u’re rhe first author that came to mind😣🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

Link:

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSk7dosHa/

ೃ࿔:･ bsf!rafe punching jj for you

it’s not jealousy. well, that’s what you keep telling yourself. it’s not jealousy—it’s just rafe. he’s always been like this. too protective. too intense. always hovering near the edge of something darker. but he’s also the one who carries your drunk ass home, who leaves snacks in your passenger seat, who remembers every tiny thing you’ve ever said like it matters. he’s your best friend.

you say that a lot lately. mostly to convince yourself. you were on your way into tannyhill when you heard the two voices. rafe invited you over for a movie night—a tradition between you two. although, he seems to have overbooked his plans. jj’s out there; rafe too.

you pause on the last step of the porch. you stand in the shadows, observing from afar. rafe’s hair is touseled and messy, eyes dark and bloodshot with whatever drug he’s snorted. his hat is thrown on the ground—most likely from jj’s antics. jj stands across from him with a smug smirk, sunglasses on even though it’s well past dawn, and arms crossed like he owns the grounds.

“what do you mean?” jj’s voice, light but cautious.

“i mean like,” rafe huffs, running a hand through his hair. “you didn’t kiss her or anything.” rafe’s, flat. no smirk or hint of amusement.

your breath catches. they don’t know you’re here, but blood still rushes to your cheeks. jj snorts. “no.”

rafe nods fast, eyes glued to the ground. “right.”

“absolutely not, no.” jj adds. maybe to egg on rafe or maybe to convince himself he didn’t want to kiss you in the first place. you should leave. you really should. but your feet stay planted, heartbeat thudding like a dare.

“did you want it?” rafe’s voice cuts through the air. he’s staring daggers into poor jj. like no matter what answer, he’s going to react the same way.

jj doesn’t answer right away. and that pause is too long, too telling. then, he chuckles, throws his head back and says, “oh yeah. totally.”

the hit comes fast—rafe was waiting for it. crack. jj stumbles back with a strangled grunt, clutching his jaw. “dude—what the fuck?” both of them are silhouetted by the dock light. jj’s laughing through the pain like an idiot. rafe’s standing like a statue, fists still clenched, breathing uneven. “what the hell is wrong with you?” jj spits, wiping his mouth. “you asked-”

“don’t fucking talk about her like that.” rafe’s voice is thin. he doesn’t want to waste his time with this pogue, but he’s never been too good at controlling his emotions. especially when it came to you.

jj scoffs, still smiling. “jesus, man. she’s not yours.”

“she is.” he growls, lips curled and fists clenched again. he’s ready to punch every tooth out of maybank’s head when they hear a noise.

you flinch hard enough that the porch creaks. they both turn. rafe sees you first. his expression doesn’t change, not really. but something in him tightens. like he’s bracing for you to run. he’s expecting you to look at him like he’s a monster, just like everyone does.

you don’t move or yell. you just stare. “you hit him,” you say, voice barely above the breeze.

“he deserved it.”

jj groans behind him, still hunched, still bleeding. “you’re psycho, dude.”

“and you’re an opportunistic little bitch,” rafe snaps without looking at him. “you think i didn’t see the way you look at her?”

you step forward slowly, like you’re approaching a wild animal. “rafe.” he turns toward you fully. the anger’s still there, but it’s buried now under something worse—something softer, needier. “he’s not your problem,” he says, too quiet. “i handle what’s mine.”

what’s mine.

you should correct him. you should. but the truth is that you’ve always let him talk like that. part of you has always liked it. your silence says more than anything else. rafe watches the way you look at him, blood still on his knuckles, and something in his gaze flickers. it’s ownership, devotion, and something that should scare you. but doesn’t. not nearly enough because instead of tending to jj, you grad ahold of rafe’s hand.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove @dsfault @missabsey @ivysturnss @kisses4rafey

[andy-15-07]

Yo can we have more Joaquin Torres x assassin reader where shes always been compassionate and kind but got forced into the assassin life so whenever she has the chance, she would help hide her targets instead to killing them outright

Kindness in the Shadows

PAIRING: Joaquin Torres x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 1386 ✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way — I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

Joaquin had read the files. All of them.

The photos. The surveillance footage. The redacted lines and endless aliases.

You were the ghost with too many names and too few mistakes. The assassin who didn’t leave bodies, just questions. And most importantly?

You were always gone before anyone could blink.

Until now.

He crouched behind a rusted-out sedan, watching through a cracked warehouse window. You were on the second level, standing far too calmly beside a tied-up target who,according to every report,should already be dead.

Except… you were untying him.

“What the hell,” Joaquin muttered.

His earpiece crackled. “Torres, do you have eyes on her?”

“I do,” he whispered back. “She’s not doing what we thought.”

“Repeat?”

“She’s untying him. She’s letting him go.”

A pause.

“She’s not a killer,” he said softly, almost to himself.

You knew you were being watched the moment your fingers slipped the last knot loose.

Your heartbeat had been calm,steady, even,until now. Now it skipped, fluttered, tugged at the edges of your ribs like a warning.

He was here. The Falcon.

Joaquin Torres. Government-trained. Wings sharp, instincts sharper. Charming smile. Steel trap mind. He was everything they said. Everything you weren’t supposed to get close to.

And still…

You stood up slowly, raising your hands in the air, back still turned to the cracked window behind you.

“You going to shoot me?” you asked, voice soft.

A beat.

“No,” came the reply.

You turned.

He stood just inside the window now, wings tucked, eyes trained on you like he didn’t know what to make of what he was seeing. You were supposed to be dangerous, lethal, untouchable.

But your eyes were kind. And your hands were shaking.

“Hi,” you said quietly.

Joaquin blinked. “Hi.”

“Surprised?”

“A little.”

You glanced at the man you’d just untied. “He’s not what they said he is.”

“I know.”

That stopped you. “You do?”

Joaquin exhaled, lowering his stance. “I’ve been following you for two months. You’ve had six ‘confirmed kills’ in that time. Only one of those people is actually missing. The others? New identities. Witness protection. A woman in Nebraska just had a baby.”

You swallowed.

“I didn’t come to bring you in,” Joaquin said, voice gentler now. “I came to figure out why you do it.”

You looked at the floor.

“I don’t like hurting people,” you whispered. “But they made me very good at it.”

Fifteen minutes later, you sat across from him on the rooftop. The man you'd spared had slipped into the shadows, vanished into whatever second chance you’d carved out for him.

Joaquin passed you a bottle of water. “So who are they?”

You gave him a hollow laugh. “If I tell you, they’ll find me. Or worse,find them.”

“The people you’re helping?”

You nodded. “Some of them… they’re not saints, but they didn’t deserve a bullet. I’ve watched enough people die. I decided if I was going to be forced into this life, I’d rewrite the rules.”

He studied you for a moment.

“You hide them. Help them disappear.”

“I give them what I never got,” you said. “A choice.”

He was quiet for a long time.

Finally, he said, “You could’ve run. Why not disappear too?”

“I tried,” you said. “But they found me. And when they did… they reminded me what they could do to the people I care about.”

Joaquin frowned. “There’s a list?”

“There’s always a list.”

Something sharp flickered in his chest. You were too good at hiding pain. Too soft for the stories wrapped around your name like barbed wire.

“You’re not what I expected,” he admitted.

“Yeah,” you said, tired. “Most people expect a monster.”

He shook his head. “I expected someone colder. Someone who didn’t ask her targets if they were okay before untying them.”

You looked away.

“I’m not proud of what I’ve done. But I sleep at night because I don’t finish the job.”

“Even though they think you do.”

You nodded. “It’s safer if they believe that. It buys time. For everyone.”

Joaquin leaned forward. “So let me help.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “What?”

“Let me help you stay ahead of them.”

“I can’t drag you into this. They’re,”

“Dangerous?” he said. “So am I.”

You stared at him. “You’d risk that? For me?”

“You’ve risked your life to protect people you barely know,” Joaquin said. “I’m not going to let you burn alone.”

The next few weeks blurred into a rhythm neither of you expected.

He covered your tracks.

You saved people.

Sometimes, that meant escorting a cartel informant across a state line. Other times, it meant burning files and staging scenes that looked a lot bloodier than they were. Joaquin became your shadow, your air support, your backup.

And sometimes, your quiet at 3 a.m.

Like tonight.

You sat on a motel bed, patching a cut across your rib cage. Joaquin leaned against the dresser, arms folded.

“That guy nearly gutted you,” he muttered.

“He was scared. I still got him out.”

Joaquin walked over, crouched in front of you, gently pushing your hands aside. “Let me.”

You stiffened for half a second, then let him.

His fingers were warm, gentle.

“Why are you like this?” you whispered.

“Like what?”

“Kind. With me.”

He looked up at you. “You don’t think you deserve kindness?”

You didn’t answer.

He smoothed a bandage over your skin. “You’re not a weapon. You’re someone who was used like one.”

Your breath caught.

“And that’s not your fault,” Joaquin added softly.

You looked away, blinking fast. “If I stop… they’ll come after me.”

“Then we take them down first.”

You laughed shakily. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not. But it’s possible.”

You looked at him. Really looked at him. “You believe in me.”

He nodded. “Have since day one.”

Your next job went sideways.

Someone tipped them off. You barely had time to slip your target out the back before the warehouse exploded in gunfire.

Joaquin swooped in last second, knocking you out of the way, catching a graze across his shoulder in the process.

“Shit,” you breathed, dragging him behind a stack of crates. “You’re bleeding.”

He hissed. “Could’ve warned me about the welcoming party.”

“I didn’t know,They were early. They never come early.”

He reached for his comm, but you grabbed his wrist.

“They’ll trace the signal.”

Joaquin looked at you. “Then what’s the move?”

You swallowed. “We run. No trace. I know a place.”

Two days later, holed up in a safehouse in the desert, you finally spoke again.

“I think they know I’ve been sparing the targets.”

Joaquin winced as you cleaned the bandage. “Then it’s time to stop running.”

You shook your head. “They’ll go after everyone.”

“Not if we strike first.”

You froze. “What?”

“You’re not alone in this anymore,” he said. “Let me in. Let SHIELD in. We can dismantle them. With your intel.”

“I can’t promise everyone makes it out.”

“I’m not asking for a promise,” he said. “I’m asking for a chance.”

You exhaled. “Okay.”

He looked up. “Okay?”

You nodded. “Let’s burn it all down.”

The takedown was ugly.

Fast.

Clean.

Brutal.

You watched from a rooftop as the last of your handlers were led away in cuffs. Joaquin stood beside you, wings out, blood on his cheek.

“You did it,” he said.

We did it, you wanted to say. But the words tangled in your throat.

Instead, you whispered, “I don’t know what to do now.”

Joaquin looked at you. “Start over. Live.”

You gave him a watery smile. “I don’t know how.”

He stepped closer. “Then stay close. I’ll show you.”

You looked at him.

And for the first time in years, you let yourself hope.

ONE MONTH LATER

You stood on the rooftop of your new place, coffee in hand. No guns. No orders. Just sunrise.

Joaquin landed beside you.

“Still awake?”

You smiled. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He leaned on the rail. “Thinking about them?”

“No,” you said. “For once… I’m not thinking about anyone except me.”

He smiled. “And?”

“It feels terrifying.”

He chuckled. “That’s how you know you’re alive.”

You glanced at him. “You stayed. Even after everything.”

“I told you,” he said. “You’re not alone.”

You looked away, cheeks warm. “I know.”

He reached for your hand.

You let him take it.

[randomfandomswriting]

Mingi x Plus Size fem!Reader

When a secret crush on your friend leads to something more.

———

A/N: This came to me in a dream lol. I couldn’t help but think how Mingi would handle a bigger girl so I wanted to write something for us! (i am a bigger girl) So here it is! Please let me know what you think even if you’re Anon in my messages! and if you have any other one shot ideas (even fluff or angsty) im currently writing for Yunho/Mingi from Ateez and Yugyeom/Jackson/Mark from Got7… anyway i hope you enjoy!

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI. unprotected sex (do not do this IRL this is fiction). Nothing too aggressive or rough, more passionate. in case it’s not clear: this is a work of FICTION.

Saturday night’s at Mingi’s apartment became a regular occurrence. It had been for months and tonight was no different. There were always snacks, drinks, and a good movie. The two of you would sit side by side and watch a familiar favorite and sometimes when feeling bold something new. You always looked forward to spending time with him, and if you were being honest you had a big crush on him. He didn’t seem to know, even though all your friends could figure it out. You wouldn’t dare tell him. How embarrassing would that be? To be rejected would mean things could or would change between you, and for now being his friend was good enough.

“That new girl at work asked me out.” He said sometime halfway through the movie, and your attention snapped to him. Watching as he put popcorn into his mouth.

“The one you were telling me about?” You ask. It had been a week or two since she started. Mingi told you all about how she’d follow him around the office and try to talk to him during lunch. He seemed unphased when he talked about it, but now it was interesting.

“Yeah.” He shrugged, placing the popcorn on his coffee table, “Tonight actually.” You felt your stomach churn.

“Oh” You managed throat going dry, sending you reaching for your drink, needing the alcohol to burn your throat so you didn’t say anything that sounded like a hint of jealousy. “Why didn’t you go? Can you still meet up with her? I can totally leave?”

He let out a short laugh, “Y/n, Saturday’s are our nights.”

You let out a short laugh too, your head spinning, “But Min… You could’ve skipped tonight if you wanted to go out with that girl… what does she look like anyway?”

He shrugged, “She has… blonde hair?” He furrowed his brows, “Honestly I don’t know… and besides that I didn’t want to go with her.”

You tried to mask the giant smile spreading across your lips, he clearly wasn’t interested in her, you tried to push, just to see. “Is she your type? Is she tall… thin? What color eyes?”

“Woah… I need to speak to my lawyer before an interrogation.” He chuckles, his deep voice rumbling. “I don’t like her.” he said, “She’s not my type.”

A silent cheer erupts inside of you, but now you have more questions. You’d seen girls who practically threw themselves at Mingi. He was handsome and tall. He was sweet and kind. You tried to think of a time he’d gone home with a girl, what she looked like, but you couldn’t think of one.

“What is your type?” You ask, the movie long forgotten though his eyes were fixed on the screen. He shook his head, a laugh escaping his lips again, his eyes moving over to you.

“God,” He sighs, “What's with you tonight?” his voice is playful so you don’t back track.

“I just thought about how I’ve never seen you with a girl… you never talk about it if you’re with them…”

“You don’t talk about guys you see…” He retorts, and you laugh.

“I don’t see guys.” You reply, finishing your glass of soju and reaching for the bottle.

“Why not?” He asks, you shrug taking a swing from your glass and looking back at him. You look for a lie, something so you don’t have to tell him because I like you stupid boy.

“I hate guys.” You muse, which isn’t a lie. He laughs. “Okay so now you.”

“I don’t see girls because the ones that throw themselves at me aren’t my type.” You raise your brows. Beautiful women have thrown themselves at him, you’ve seen it before, watched them flip their beautiful hair and flash pearly white grins. You let out another laugh, he had to be lying, you thought.

“So then what is Song Mingi’s type?” You ponder, and he blushes, your eyes widen. “Min!” You slap him playfully, “Is there something you want to tell me?” This whole time right in front of you it was clear, Mingi didn’t have a type of woman. He clearly liked men.

“You’re my type.” The words left his mouth casually, as he reached for the rest of the soju. You let out a short laugh, because, well, you were in shock. You watched as he finished off the soju. Your cheeks flushed more red, your skin burns hot. Maybe he was joking. He had to be right?

You hadn’t moved, you couldn’t even if you wanted to. You were frozen, and he made his way back. New bottle of soju in his hand. You just looked at him, and he took a few moments before looking at you.

“What?” He asked, “I- I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not.” you say quickly, “I’m not.”

“You’re the most silent I’ve ever heard.”

“I was just trying to see if you were joking.” He rolls his eyes, before they land on you.

“Why would I joke about that?” You sighed, maybe Mingi didn’t get it.

Growing up, in a bigger body meant things like that happened. You had to deal with people joking with you about dating or down right being disgusted by the idea. As you got older it became worse, with men wanting to keep you a secret, use you for sex, or meeting you and ghosting you soon after. That’s why you didn’t like to date. It was a mental torture.

“I just… I’m surprised.” You bring a hand over your face, “You’re just… You. and I’m me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Mingi your a total babe.” You groan, “And I’m me.”

“You’re beautiful.” He snapped, “Every part of you. Including your sick little brain that tells you you’re not beautiful.” Your back to shock again, not to mention the butterflies he normally gave you felt more like giant birds. You had to pick your jaw up off the couch. “I like you. I’ve liked you for a while. And not just your looks either. Everything. You’re funny, smart, witty, kind… I just didn’t want to ruin our friendship, so since you don’t like me can we just please go back to watching the movie? We can forget I said anything, and just continue being friends.”

“And if I do like you?” The words leave your mouth faster than you can stop them, the soju giving you more courage that you would’ve had without it. He turns his head back toward you, now he’s in shock.

“Do you, really?” His brows furrow, and you hate how adorable he looks when confused. You nod, and watch as he closes the space between you, stopping to place his glass on the table, but his nose grazed yours. Your eyes flutter down and shut by the time his lips finally connect with yours, and it leaves you breathless. Still in shock it takes you a few seconds to take it in. The taste of soju on his tongue as it dips into your mouth leaves your head dizzy and your hands find his broad shoulders. Nails lightly digging into the fabric of his black t-shirt. His hands find the curves of your sides and more down to your hips, and though you usually hate it, you take comfort in the feeling of his big hands on you.

You had thought about what it would be like to kiss him for a while now, this was even better. He was good. He knew exactly how to move his lips and use his tongue, and you pulled him even closer to you, his body pressing against yours as your fingernails found the nape of his neck, gently running down his skin. He had done the same, daydreaming about kissing you, feeling your soft lips against his. He loved feeling your body, how soft you were in his hands, he loved feeling it when you even hugged him goodbye, this was heaven.

His hands moved up your curves fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt causing you to giggle, it tickled and you squirmed your lips parting from his.

“Is- Is that okay?” he asked and you nod, “We can stop if you want. Any time you want.”

“I don’t want you to stop.” You admit, blush creeping over your cheeks and he smirked, nudging you with his nose again, this time his fingers are hooking under your shirt, pulling it up over your head and you move to help him. Usually you’d feel like you needed to hide, but Mingi’s eyes on you made you want more of him. insecurity didn’t cross your mind as his lips met back with yours. He only lingered there for a few seconds, “You’re perfect.” he hums, his deep voice rolling out into your mouth making you move to kiss him. Your teeth gently nipping at his bottom lip, making him groan.

His lips only last there for a few more seconds before they’re moving down your neck and to your bare chest. His hands finding new places to grab and caress, your chest arching toward him involuntarily as he used his tongue to swipe against your warm skin. You couldn’t help but bite your bottom lip, his teeth sinking into the same spot he was kissing seconds ago. You moan as your body swells with heat. You notice the imbalance of clothes and reach to pull off his shirt, he moves to help you and clings back to your neck like two magnets snapping together. Your nails slide down his neck again, and over his shoulders and you can see the goosebumps that follow and he moans against your skin. You can feel him growing more and more hungry, his hands moving down your chest, a hand slipping under the waistband of your pants and between your thighs. You whimper your thighs parting to make room for him and his eyes find yours.

“So wet for me…” He rasps, “let me take you to my bedroom.” You nod rapidly, and he moves his hand to grab yours.

It’s a mad dash once you’re in there, your hands moving to his waistband as he moves to yours. He leans down to kiss you more, hungrier, sloppier than before. He gets your pants off and then his, before his big hands are back on you. He looks at you like a painting, and you’ve never felt more beautiful as his palms slowly move down your sides, every curve being caressed, his lips down your chest and stomach making you blush. He ends up on his knees in front of you and it makes your heart flutter to see his pretty eyes looking up at you. He looks so pretty on his knees, mouth ajar, lips swollen and pink, his tongue sweeping over them as he continues to admire every inch of you.

His fingers run up your legs and thighs and over the curves of your ass, where he gets a hand full and you giggle as his fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down. “Can I taste you?” He asks and you nod, blushing as he nods for you to sit on his bed. You sit back as he moves toward you, his lips finding your thighs, his hands hooking around and grabbing them apart, pulling you closer to his mouth. “I’ve dreamed about this.” He rasps as he begins to devour you.

One of your hands finds his hair, pushing it out of his face so you can see his pretty eyes, and he moans when your eyes meet his. His tongue laps at you, and he pushes further into you with his tongue as his fingers dig into your thighs holding you apart for him. He was good, and he was savoring the moment tasting you as he lapped at your arousal. His tongue moved up to your clit and his lips latched onto you making your moans falter into more of a cry, your head falling back onto the bed as you rolled your hips against his face. You couldn’t control yourself, and he was loving every second of being between your thick thighs. He was so vocal about it, his deep voice rumbled into you as he moaned and growled trying his best to keep you still. Your head is spinning when you feel a hand move from your thigh, and you can feel a long finger slipping into you easily, it makes you whimper and he adds another finger curling his fingers as he pumps them in and out of you.

“Mingi…” Your voice shakes as he continues to lap and suck on you, your orgasm starting to swell in the pit of your stomach, between his mouth and his fingers you weren’t able to hold it together. You were falling apart, your moans turning into squeaking whines, your voice shaking. He was hitting the right spot with his fingers and his tongue. He didn’t care to make a mess, burying his face between your legs, making sure he didn’t miss a beat in making you feel good.

“Come on, princess.” He growls, his fingers not stopping his relentless movements, “Cum in my mouth.” He rumbles and you didn’t have much of a choice, as you cried out a string of curses, your body shaking beneath him. Your vision was long gone as you squeezed your eyes shut your hands grasping for his bedsheets. He doesn’t stop his tongue, enjoying every last drop he can as you lay there your eyes closed.

“Fuck.” You breathe slowly pushing yourself up as he meets you halfway, red puffy lips still wet from you. You kiss him this time, sloppy, nasty, your tongue slipping into his mouth and when he returns his you suck on it, a hum from your throat. “My turn.” You pull away and he looks at you. Your hands reaching for the waistband of his sweatpants, you could tell he wasn’t wearing underwear, and it was confirmed as you pulled his long thick cock free. He’s hard already and you switch spots with him on the bed.

“I’ve dreamt about this…” He moans, as your hand wraps around him your eyes finding him as you lick a long wet line up his shaft, he bites his bottom lip, keeping his eyes on you. You stroke him slowly, using your saliva to keep him wet.

“Keep talking to me…” You say, “I want to hear how good I am.” You blink up at him before taking him into your mouth, just the tip at first.

“Keep those pretty eyes on me.” He rumbles, and you do as you use your tongue over his tip, swirling your saliva around him. “Take more, please.” He begs, and you oblige, stretching your mouth around him as he moans in a deep breathy voice, “So perfect.”

You start slowly, taking him as far back into your mouth as you can but making sure to pull all the way back. Your eyes still looking up at him as you take him further, into your throat, your eyes watering as you bob there, and he moans even louder. You moan too, around his length and the vibration makes him shudder. Watching his head fall back you take pride in it. You got him right where you want him and you take him until you gag but don’t pull off yet. You don’t dare as you bob your head more, and he growls a hand coming up into your hair, a tight grip on it as you suck in your cheeks pulling off him, your hands coming up to stroke him as you pull away, taking a breath his eyes finding yours.

You know you probably look rough, there’s saliva dripping from your lips, your eyeliner is definitely smudged from this or when he made you cum. But you’re watching Mingi lose control, his face red, his eyes fixated on you.

“You beautiful girl.” He rasps, and you wrap your lips around him again. His grip on your hair somehow grows tighter but he’s not pushing you, just holding you still. Then you feel his hips thrust up, his cock sliding into your throat easier now, and you moan around him. Your hands finding his bare thighs, your fingernails gently but firmly scraping into his skin as he fucks your mouth slowly. You’re expecting him to finish like this, you want him too, his brows furrowing as he lets deep moans roll from his throat. “Not like this.” He groans and you suck off him again, taking another breath he pulls you toward him, eagerly, his lips hungry.

“How do you want me?” You whimper, your lips still lingering on his. This ignited something feral in him.

“Turn around, grab that pillow… both of them…” You listen to him, following every instruction, “Under your hips, good.” You stick your ass out for him, without him asking and he growls at the sight of you, every single curve on display as you look back at him. A hand slaps your ass and you whimper and giggle moving your hips back towards him as he gets closer, lining himself up with you, and you brace yourself for him, your fingers curling into his sheets holding tight as he moves agonizingly slow into you. The stretch alone feels good, your mouth falling open as you moan. “So fucking good.” He groans, his palms gliding over your ass to your hips, grabbing tightly as he thrusts himself fully into you.

The feeling of him filling you is addicting, you need him to move but instead you grind back onto him, “Fuck.” You whimper, moving again. He lets you move, use him like a toy.

“Just like that.” He rasps, “Show me how good my cock makes you feel.” You throw it back harder, a little faster and you crave to hear him moaning more and more. His eyes admire the way your body moves, every jiggle and every bounce making him want more. You keep up a steady pace, the two of you just sounds of bodies crashing together and moans, whimpers, and growls. Your stamina starts to weaken as your stomach starts to flutter with the start of another orgasm, and you clench around him sloppily, sinking onto his cock until he takes over. His pace is relentless, energized, you don’t even move now, just trying to hold steady as he pounds into you. Your body trembles as he hits your spot and your brain gets foggy.

“fuck.” You cry, “Mingi…” you whine.

“C’mere. I want to watch you as you cum again.” He groans, and you hate the feeling of him sliding out of you, leaving you empty as you move over to face him, his hands scrambling for the pillows, “put these under your hips.” he instructs and you nod quickly moving them and he helps you into the perfect spot before slowly sinking into you, both of you letting out a shaking moan. He picks back up to the pace he was at, and you watch as his eyes fall shut, he uses his entire body to press against you as he grunts your hands reaching for his bare broad shoulders.

“Mingi—“ You cry, “I’m so close.” His hips slam into you faster, your words falling back into nonsense as one hand grips your hips, the other moving to your clit making your legs shake as both motions make your orgasm start to peak. Before you can feel him twitch inside of you, his own words become a deep growl as he releases inside of you. You followed behind, your eyes tearing as you cried out. Your body jerks away from him as your brain turns into mush, your body on fire as you continue to tremble beneath him. He stays inside of you, and you don’t want him to go yet as he leans toward you, his lips kissing yours lazily.

“Fuck.” He groans, and you nod in agreement.

“Yeah.” You breathe heavily, he slowly slides out of you, the two of you gasp in response. He doesn’t go far, immediately cuddling into your side, head nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His lips pressing against your skin, his hand coming up to turn your face toward him. “You’ve daydreamed about this?” You smirk, his nose nudging yours as he smirks nodding, suddenly sheepish.

“It was better than I’d imagined.” He grins. You laugh and shake your head before kissing him again.

“You should’ve told me…” He sighs. “We could’ve done this sooner.” You giggle again.

“Better late than never.” You shrug and he laughs now too. He sits up, and looks down at you with a smile on his lips. He looks so pretty now too, even with swollen lips and messy hair.

“Okay perfect girl, let’s get you cleaned up and get some food… and then we can do this again.” You let out a laugh as he puts his hands out to you, helping you up.

“We have all the time in the world now.” You smile, and he does too.

“I’m not wasting anymore.” He smiles before pulling you up with him.

[itoshiierae]

⋆ ˚｡ 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 . ݁₊ ✶ ˖

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

ᡣ𐭩 ft: suna rintarou x f!reader

ᡣ𐭩 summary: you’ve been tangled up in a situationship with suna rintarou for the past six months — late-night texts, secret dorm visits, and sex that feels a little too intimate for something that’s “not serious.” he never calls you his, but he touches you like he owns you.

ᡣ𐭩 cw: minors dni, situationship!suna, cliché trope ngl, college-setting, explicit sex, oral (f! & m! receiving), toxic!suna, fingering, overstimulation, dirty talk, slight lingerie kink, creampie, nipple play, aftercare, emotional tension, slight angst (wc: 2.6k words)

ᡣ𐭩 notes: my very first hq post on this blog and of course it had to be suna <33 writing this lowkey felt like time-traveling back to 2020/2021 — back when i’d stay up way too late reading suna fics on ao3 😩 anywayyy this one’s extremely filthy 🥵😵‍💫 (not proofread bc i’m just lazy like that)

it always starts with a late-night text from him, and then you’re off sneaking out of your dorm room. your roommate doesn’t even bother stopping you anymore. she knows exactly what you’ve been up to, but at this point??? she’s too tired to keep repeating advice you’ll never take, especially when it comes to him.

you’ve been “seeing” suna rintarou for the past six months now — or more accurately, tangled up in a situationship with him. how it started? kind of unexpected. but somehow, it unraveled into secret rendezvous and quiet nights in his bed. he was one of those effortlessly popular boys on campus; reserved but well-known. he’s not as loud or “chaotic” as compared to his friends, but he still stood out without even trying. you, on the other hand, were more lowkey — kept to yourself, quiet, and definitely not the kind of girl anyone would expect to get tangled up with someone like him.

but despite that, girls like you are exactly his type: the soft-spoken ones, the ones who seem innocent until they’re not. it’s the contrast that gets him every single time. you’re quiet, reserved even, but the second he gets you alone??? now that’s a whole different story.

so tonight when you walked in wearing that little red set: a sheer crimson slip with lace teasing over your skin, and a matching robe slipping off one shoulder with delicate bows untied just enough to make him twitch beneath his boxers??? yeah… safe to say he was gone the moment he saw you. he’s barely said a word since, too busy drinking you in the way the fabric clings to your body and the way you look.

“…shittt, baby you look good..”

he doesn’t give you time to respond. the words barely leave his lips before his hands are on your waist, mouth hot against your neck, dragging you into his room like he’s starved. your robe slips off with ease and then it’s just his touch all over you.

the way he’s touching you right now; it almost feels like he owns you. but not once has he ever officially called you his.

your back hits the mattress with a quiet thud. the sheets are cool, but his body is burning. he kisses you like he’s trying to memorize your taste; slow at first, then rougher when you kiss him back harder. his hands roam without hesitation, slipping beneath the fabric of your lace top, fingertips skating across your familiar skin like he’s claiming it all over again.

he pulls back just long enough to strip off his boxers, cock already straining and flushed — the second he hooks his fingers under the band of your lace panties, he yanks them aside with zero patience and then he’s inside you in one deep, ruthless thrust.

“fuckkk— you’re so warm… it’s only been a week, did you miss me that badly baby??”

he doesn’t let you answer — just buries himself deeper, hips rolling with slow, punishing thrusts that make your whole body arch.

“you wear that slutty little robe,” he breathes, voice low and ragged, “lookin’ all innocent… and then act surprised when i lose it??”

then his hand smacks your thigh, the sound echoes through the room. your moan’s barely muffled by the sheets and the way he’s grinding into you like he’s trying to ruin you from the inside out.

“fuck,” he mutters against your neck. “why do you always do this to me...”

you want to ask him what he means, but you already know. it’s the same reason you keep showing up at his door in the middle of the night; because even if it’s temporary, even if it hurts, this is the closest you’ve ever felt to being wanted. especially by someone like him.

“ahhh rin—s’too good, i can’t handle it—”

you were barely keeping it together, body arching beneath him, moans spilling out like second nature the rougher he got.

“oh?? that’s the spot, isn’t it? look at you...” he groans, already slowly falling apart from the sensation.

“… you gonna be a good girl and cum for me?? or should i keep playing with you until you cry??” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear as two fingers circle your clit in slow, taunting circles.

“you’re too deep, rinn, i can’t—” you gasp, trying to steady your breathing, but it’s useless. he’s got one hand pinning your thigh wide open, and the other??? still circling your clit, taunting and precise, like he wants you to fall apart faster.

he groans, low and guttural, leaning down to kiss your jaw. “then take it,” he growls.

his pace falters — not out of mercy, but to lean in close and whisper, ���you feel that? that’s mine.” and just when you think he’s about to break you completely, he pulls out with a slow drag of his cock, watching the way you whimper at the loss. before you can whine, his hand grabs your jaw, forcing your eyes back to him.

his thumb swipes across your bottom lip.

“mouth now, baby,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “be good and let me fuck your throat too.”

your lips part instinctively, breath hitching as he presses his thumb down on your tongue, just enough to make you look up at him through your lashes. “that’s it,” he breathes, thumb still resting on your tongue as he strokes himself slowly with the other hand. “look at you… already so obedient.” after he removed his thumb, you don’t even wait for a cue before you lean forward, tongue sliding along the underside of his cock as you take him inside your mouth — inch by inch, until your lips are flush against his base. his breath stutters.

“shittt—” he hisses, hand tangling in your hair. “you missed this, huh?” you hum around him, and the vibration makes him curse under his breath. his hips jerk forward once, then again — and that’s when he starts thrusting, slow at first, but steadily deeper.

“yeah… now that’s my good girl,” he groans. “so fucking good with your mouth… look at the mess you’re making.” your eyes water, as he rocks into your throat with more force now, hips snapping forward. the stretch, the weight, the sound of his breath unraveling—it’s all dizzying.

“… hands on the mattress,” he mutters, voice low and dangerous. “i wanna see you take it without touching me. just your mouth... nothing else.”

your fingers curl into the sheets, knuckles tightening as you brace yourself, breathing hard through your nose. he watches with that unblinking gaze as you lower your mouth onto him again like you know exactly what he wants.

“… there you go,” he breathes, voice fraying. “look at you… fuck, you’re perfect like this.”

his hips roll forward, testing your gag reflex. you choke slightly, and he grins before muttering, “… breathe through it, baby.”

he starts training your mouth with sharp, precise thrusts — using your throat like it’s his personal project, groaning every time you gag around him. spit starts to drip down your chin, pooling at the corners of your lips, but he doesn’t stop. “eyes on me,” he growls, dragging your head back just enough so he can see your face. “wanna watch how good you look when you’re falling apart.”

you blink up at him, tears streaking, mouth stuffed full, and his voice drops even lower. “ahhh— that’s it... yesss take it like a good girl. fuck— i could come just from seeing you like this.”

his abs flex with every thrust, muscles rippling from years of volleyball training — spikes, drills, sets — and now every ounce of that strength is wrecking your throat. your jaw burns. spit still dripping down your chin. but you take it, just like he told you to. “now… look at you,” he pants, hips snapping forward again. “not even touching me, and still being such a good little toy.” he groans when your throat tightens. “bet you’ve dream about this, don’t you??? being used like this.”

when he pulls out, panting, a thin string of spit still connecting him to your swollen lips. he lets out a low chuckle, eyes dark with satisfaction as he takes in the mess he made of you.

but then your voice breaks the silence — breathy, almost needy. “ …. rin,” you whine, cheeks flushed.

he raises a brow, cock twitching again at the sound of your voice.

“oh??? now you’re making requests?”

you nod, eyes wide and glistening. “please...”

he leans in, thumb brushing over your lips to smear the spit there, before slipping it into your mouth again; watching you suck on it, obedient and desperate. “… you taste me so well,” he murmurs, pulling it out with a wet pop. “but you want me to taste you now, huh??”

your thighs press together instinctively, a reflex you barely register but he does — already lowering himself between your legs; eyes low-lidded, soaked in lust — locked onto your every twitch. “spread them,” he says, voice low. you hesitate just for a second, and he’s already swatting your inner thigh. not hard, but just enough to make you gasp.

“now.”

and you do; slowly, shyly, like your body knows better than to disobey him. the second your legs fall open, he immediately sees how soaked you are.

“fuckkk… baby you’re dripping already.”

he doesn’t tease you for long. his mouth is on your cunt in seconds. he eats you out like a mad-man, almost as if this is how he plans to make you pay for making him lose control; tongue dragging slow, teasing strokes before sucking your clit just to hear you cry out. and when your fingers tug on his hair, hips rolling up against his mouth? he growls against you. “keep those legs open for me, baby. i’m not stopping till you scream.”

you’re already close — thighs trembling, breath hitching every time his tongue flicks over your clit.

he knows it, too. knows the exact way your hips twitch when you’re on the edge, how your fingers tangle tighter in his hair, how your moans start falling apart like they’re not even words anymore.

so of course he pulls back.

you whine — broken, needy. “r-rin… why’d you stop??”

he smirks, lips glistening, voice low and wrecked. “you thought i’d let you come that easy??” his fingers slide through your folds, spreading the wetness just to watch you twitch. “nah, baby… not yet.”

he leans in again, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh instead.

“rin, please… i’m soo close—”

his fingers circle your clit again, barely brushing. just enough to frustrate you. “… you’ll come when i say you can,” he mutters. “not when you think you’ve earned it.”

your eyes flutter shut. your breath stutters. you’re dripping, aching; already so desperate that it’s borderline pathetic.

and then he goes all in — tongue dragging over your clit like he’s starving, as his fingers pump slow and deep inside you, curling juuust right. your hips jerk, your back arches, and your moans spill out unfiltered, raw, like a prayer he’s pulling straight from your lungs.

“… that’s it,” he mutters against you. “look at you… so fuckin’ pretty like this.”

you’re shaking, already close to your limit but he doesn’t stop. not even when you scream because now that he’s made you fall apart, he wants to see you do it again and again.

you barely have time to catch your breath.

you’re still aching from your last orgasm, thighs slick and trembling, when he crawls back over you — pupils blown, jaw clenched, cock flushed and still so fucking hard it makes your mouth water. his hands trail up your torso, until they reach the flimsy lace of what’s left of your lingerie top.

he grabs the lace between his fingers then immediately rips it off without warning.

you gasp. “… wait rin—?! that was new—”

he just shrugs, cocky and unbothered, eyes dragging down your now-exposed chest like a feast. “oops,” he mutters with a smirk, not sounding sorry at all. “guess i’ll just buy you a new one.” he tosses the shredded fabric off the bed like it’s trash, mouth already lowering to your chest.

“maybe something even sluttier this time,” he murmurs against your skin. “… something easier to take off.”

you moan when his tongue flicks over your nipple, one hand gripping your waist as the other strokes between your thighs again — fingers slipping back inside like your body was made for him. “… damn, you’re still soo wet after all that we did??”

“rin—”

“you like when i ruin things, huh??” he grins, voice dark. “your clothes... your body… this pretty little pussy.”

when he thrusts into you again, it’s with the full force of a man who plans to ruin a lot more tonight. your legs are already jelly, body wrecked from everything he’s done to you, but rintarou still isn’t finished. not until he’s buried so deep inside you as your walls clench around him like they’re begging him to stay. his hand snakes behind your back, and with one rough pull, he lifts you up — pushes you against the headboard with your knees straddling his thighs.

“…hold on, don’t let go,” he grits, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head, fingers curling around the bars of the headboard.

“fuck—!”

he groans low in your ear, hips slamming up into you, relentless and so deep your eyes roll back. “you’re still gripping me so tight, baby… you gonna let me finish inside??”

you can barely speak. all you can do is whimper, nod — as your hips instinctively rolling to meet his.

his pace falters for a moment — then sharpens.

“say it.”

“yes, rin… fuck—inside,” you gasp. “finish inside me.”

he kisses you sloppy and desperate, hips drawing back just enough before slamming into you one last time — deeper than before, as his release hits; thick and warm, spilling deep inside you. you cling to the headboard like it’s your only anchor, moaning through the aftershocks as he groans your name into your shoulder. and when he finally pulls out, slow and spent, his cum gushes out in sticky waves, dripping down your thighs and staining the sheets below.

“shit…” he breathes. “you okay, baby??”

you nod, breathless before managing a soft little “barely.”

“good… you did well,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple as his fingers trace slow, gentle circles over your hips — right where he held you too tight just moments ago, almost as if he’s trying to soothe the ache he left behind.

“… you always do,” he adds — softer this time, almost like a quiet confession meant more for himself than for you.

and the way he says it??? low, vulnerable, and just a little too tender; it makes you ache in a way that has nothing to do with lust. because even the quietest part of you still yearns for the chance that whatever this is between you two… could one day turn into something real.

© itoshiierae 2025 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ please do not modify or repost my content onto any other platforms.

✶ p.s: found this fanart on pinterest — credits goes to the original artist! // ‘warning’ divider credits to @/cafekitsune ✶

[orellazalonia]

Slow to Forgive

Summary: Bucky reports back to the team as he copes with what has happened among her, you, and everything else that has occurred. Meanwhile, a few people gradually start visiting you, trying to reconnect in their own different ways.

Word Count: 2.7k+

Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist

The others were already gathered when Bucky returned.

He stepped through the door with that same steady walk, but something about his posture was tighter now. Like tension had settled into his spine and hadn’t left. Steve noticed it first. Natasha second. Sam leaned off the wall, catching the subtle difference in Bucky’s expression.

No one said anything at first.

Just waited.

“She’s not panicked,” Bucky said finally, his voice low as he moved to the table. “She’s calm. Like she’s already made peace with what happens next.”

Steve crossed his arms. “Did she give you anything?”

“No intel,” Bucky replied, shaking his head. “No locations, no contacts, nothing we can use right away.”

“But?” Bruce prompted, reading between the lines.

“But she believes she’s right.” Bucky leaned on the table now, both hands braced against the edge. “Every word out of her mouth was confident. She doesn’t think she betrayed us, she thinks she exposed us.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Did she admit to leaking the access codes?”

“She didn’t need to. She didn’t deny it either.” He exhaled. “She didn’t even sound angry. Just… disappointed.”

Sam muttered something under his breath and paced to the other side of the room.

Wanda looked up quietly from where she sat near the terminal. “She hurt you.”

It wasn’t a question.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to hers, and for a second the mask cracked. A flicker of something raw passed through his eyes before it disappeared again.

“She was good at pretending,” He admitted. “And maybe I was good at letting her.”

Steve’s brows drew in, thoughtful but firm. “You think she’s still playing us?”

“I think,” Bucky began carefully, “That she meant everything she said. And that’s what makes her dangerous.”

“Conviction,” Natasha murmured.

“Yeah.” Bucky straightened. “She’s not waiting to be rescued. She’s not scared of the consequences. She really believes she did the right thing.”

Clint let out a long sigh. “So… what now? We sit on our hands while she philosophizes us into another blind spot?”

“We keep her locked down,” Natasha said firmly. “And we dig. Every file, every trace, every soft point in the system she could’ve used.”

Steve nodded slowly. “We can’t take any chances.”

Wanda looked toward the far hallway, where the containment wing lay silent behind reinforced doors. “She was always so kind,” She whispered. “It’s strange how kindness can be used like a blade.”

Bucky didn’t respond. He didn’t move.

He just stared at the map projected on the center table, a faint blinking cursor where the organization’s last known base used to be.

“I don’t think she regrets it,” He said. “And that’s the part that scares me the most.”

The new room they’d put you in wasn’t a cell. But it wasn’t anything cozy either.

It had walls. A bed, a bench, and a chair. There was even a sink, a screen, and a light that never fully shut off. Just bright enough to make sleeping feel unnatural. Just soft enough to keep you awake wondering when someone would knock and say it was time for another “talk.”

You sat curled up in the corner of the narrow bed, legs tucked to your chest, back pressed against the wall. You weren’t restrained, but the silence weighed heavier than metal.

Nobody had said much since the breach. No one told you anything. And so, you didn’t ask.

You were used to being forgotten, even here, even now.

So when the door slid open, you didn’t look up right away. Not until you heard his voice.

“Hey,” Sam said softly, stepping just inside the room. “Mind some company?”

You blinked. Then nodded once.

He didn’t sit right away. Just glanced around, eyes scanning the room and then you. Not with suspicion. Just quiet concern. His expression was gentle, like someone walking into a room where grief still lingered and not wanting to stir it too hard.

“You okay?” He asked, voice low.

You shrugged. “Define okay.”

That made the corner of his mouth twitch. Something close to a smile.

“Fair.”

He finally stepped over and took the chair, spinning it once before settling in backward, with his arms resting on the back like he always had a way of making everything feel casual. Even this.

“They told me you were still here,” He said. “Didn’t feel right that no one came to check in.”

You said nothing.

“I figured… after all this, you probably didn’t want another interrogation.”

That got a small, huffed sound from you, something resembling a laugh, or the ghost of one.

He glanced around, then leaned in slightly. “So I thought I’d do something crazy.”

You tilted your head.

“Just come in here and talk to you like a person.”

A beat of silence.

Then, softer, he added, “Or sit here in case you didn’t want to talk at all. I’m good at both.”

You swallowed. The words felt stuck in your throat. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him. At the kindness in his eyes. The warmth. Not pity or duty. Simply kindness.

It undid something small in your chest.

“Why?” You asked, barely above a whisper.

Sam didn’t pretend. He sighed and leaned back a little.

“Because no one did before,” He said. “Not enough.”

You looked away.

“It’s not your job.”

“Nope,” He agreed. “Doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

Silence stretched between you. But it wasn’t sharp or cold. It settled softly.

“You didn’t have to come.”

“I know,” He replied gently. “That’s why I did.”

You blinked rapidly, jaw tightening as you tried not to feel too much. He noticed you didn’t feel like talking yet so he stood slowly, brushing his hands on his jeans.

“I’m not gonna push you,” He said. “But if you ever want to talk or sit or just complain about the food, I’m around.”

He paused at the door.

Then glanced back, his tone a little lighter.

“Oh. And I brought you something.”

From his jacket pocket, he pulled a granola bar and a pack of trail mix out, placing them both on the small ledge beside the sink.

“Not gourmet,” He said with a wink, “but better than those ration bricks.”

Then he left. No big goodbye. No expectation. Just a quiet kindness in the space where silence had taken root.

You stared at the snacks for a long time. And then, finally, you let yourself smile.

Just a little.

Even with Sam’s little visit, deep down, you really didn’t expect anyone to come back.

That was the rule, wasn’t it? People check in once, feel a little better about themselves, and then move on. Let the silence do the work. Let the person behind the glass fade back into being no one again.

But when the door opened again the next morning, you looked up; and this time, you blinked in quiet surprise.

Clint Barton stepped in, hands full of something that smelled like breakfast. His brow lifted when he saw you curled on the bed, alert.

“Morning,” He said, like this was normal. Like the awkwardness didn’t exist.

You sat up slowly, confused. “…Hi?”

He held up the bag. “Wanda said you liked blueberry muffins. I figured she wouldn’t say that unless it was true. So, uh… here.”

He crossed the room, setting the bag gently down beside you on the bed. Then, very deliberately, he stepped back. Giving you space and letting you decide what came next.

You looked at the bag. Then at him. “Why are you here?”

Clint scratched the back of his neck. “Sam told me you hadn’t really eaten. Thought maybe real food would help.” A beat. “And… to be honest, I feel like an ass.”

You blinked, surprised at the honesty.

He shrugged. “I was one of the people who got used to you always being quiet and efficient. Thought that meant you were fine. I should’ve known better.” His voice lowered. “That’s on me.”

You looked away. The muffin bag crinkled softly in your hand, “I’m not good at this.”

“Neither am I,” Clint said, half-smiling. “But we can sit in mutual awkward silence if that helps.”

You let out a soft laugh. It wasn’t much, but it cracked the shell a little.

He pulled the chair closer and sat without ceremony, resting his elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to talk about anything heavy,” He assured. “You want to tell me your least favorite cereal? We can do that.”

You studied him. Really got a good look at him. And for once, no part of his expression or demeanor was guarded. So you offered, quietly, “I think the off-brand fruit loops taste like sadness.”

He grinned. “Strong take. I respect that.”

A pause.

“Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know if I’m staying.”

He nodded, gaze soft. “That’s okay.”

You looked down at the muffin in your lap, hands curled around the warmth of the bag. “But I… don’t want to be alone.”

“You won’t be,” He said without hesitation.

And you believed him. For the first time in a long time, you really did.

The punching bag didn’t help Bucky.

He’d already changed it out twice that week, not because it tore, but because hitting it stopped giving him the quiet he needed.

Sleep hadn’t come easy either.

Not since that conversation. Not since her voice started echoing in his head again, so calm, so certain.

“You saw her breaking. You cared. But you didn’t reach out.”

He’d wanted to yell, to argue and push it away. But the worst part was… she was right.

He had seen it. The way you dimmed. The way you shrunk in rooms full of heroes and went unseen. And he'd noticed. He had meant to check in. Had meant to say something.

But he hadn’t.

Because other things always came first. Because you weren’t loud about needing help. Because he was focused on someone else.

And now? Now he kept hearing about how Clint stopped by. How Sam brought you snacks. How Bruce gave you books to read. And Wanda? Wanda just sat beside you in silence some days.

Like they all remembered you now, when it no longer counted the same.

He hadn’t visited yet. He just couldn’t bring himself to. He didn’t know what he’d say.

Because when he finally looked you in the eye, he was afraid you’d see the truth. That it wasn’t the betrayal from her that cut the deepest. It was how he had let you slip through his fingers without ever reaching out.

And he didn’t know if there was still time to fix that.

The lights in the corridor were dimmer at night.

Maybe to soften the edge of your confinement. Maybe to make the long hours feel less sterile. Either way, the hum of the overhead bulbs filled the space like static.

You didn’t look up when the door opened. You’d gotten used to the rhythm of footsteps by now. Sam’s easy presence, Wanda’s almost soundless approach, the calm echo of Bruce’s shoes.

But this was different.

It was heavier. Slower. Familiar in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Your eyes lifted to find Bucky standing in the doorway. His hands were in his jacket pockets. Shoulders tense. His eyes flicked briefly to you before settling on a spot near the floor.

Neither of you spoke at first.

He crossed the room quietly, but didn’t sit. Just stood there, a little too close to the wall, like he didn’t trust himself to come closer.

You watched him for a moment then lowered your gaze. “I thought you weren’t going to come.”

He exhaled, the sound rougher than he meant it to be. “I wasn’t.”

That surprised you.

“I didn’t know what I’d say,” He continued quietly. “Still don’t.”

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, restless. “I’ve been trying to figure out when I stopped noticing you. When I stopped saying more than hi in passing. When you became part of the backdrop.”

Your throat tightened.

His gaze looked at you then. “I think you used to smile. Maybe not often. But when you did, it was real. You looked like someone who could still hope.”

You didn’t answer.

“Then it faded,” He murmured. “And I noticed that, too. And I didn’t do anything.”

You pressed your nails lightly into your palms. Just to feel something.

“Why are you telling me this now?” You whispered.

“Because I think I liked you,” He said.

Your breath caught.

“Not like… falling-for-you liked. I mean, maybe. But mostly I saw you. And I let that mean nothing.”

Silence thickened between you.

Bucky stepped forward then, just one step, and crouched beside you.

“I thought I was good at spotting people on the edge,” He said. “After everything I’ve been through, I thought I’d know. But I missed it with you. And I’m sorry.”

You stared at him, unable to speak. There was too much in your chest. Guilt. Anger. Longing. Sadness. A million things you didn’t have the right words for.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” He added gently. “Hell, you don’t have to say anything at all. I just needed you to know that… I should’ve been better.”

You didn’t look at him right away.

You couldn’t.

Because if you did, you were afraid you’d break all over again. And you’d done enough of that in private. Battling quiet grief. Handling silent disappointments. The kinds no one noticed, the kind no one had to.

Bucky stayed crouched by the chair, close enough to feel but not close enough to lean on. He gave you space. He always did, even when it was too much.

Your hands stayed in your lap, clenched lightly, fingers curled around the fabric of your sleeves.

“I used to…” Your voice wavered. You cleared your throat. “I used to imagine what it’d be like if you saw me.”

You could feel him shift slightly, not toward you, not away. Just enough to show he was listening.

“I don’t mean in some dramatic, love at first sight way,” You said quickly, eyes still locked on the floor. “I just… wondered what it would feel like to have your attention. Even for a minute, a full genuine minute.”

Silence.

Your hands trembled but you pressed on still.

“And then I stopped imagining,” You continued softly. “Because even when I was in the room, even when I worked, helped, covered for people; I was never someone worth looking at. Not to you. Not to any of you.”

That part cracked out sharper than you meant.

You finally looked at him. He looked like he’d been punched in the gut.

“I wasn’t waiting for a confession,” You said. “I wasn’t waiting for you or them. I’m not that naive.”

He opened his mouth, but you kept going.

“I just wanted to matter.” Your voice broke on the last word. “Not because I was loud, brilliant, or charming. Just because I was me.”

He closed his mouth again.

“I tried not to care,” You said. “When you talked to her, smiled at her, looked at her like she was the only one in the room.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed.

“And one of the worst parts?” You leaned back, blinking hard. “She was looking at me. Watching me disappear and she still let me go.”

A long silence stretched between you.

“I know I’m not innocent,” You said quietly. “I made my choice. But I didn’t do it because I hated you or anyone. I did it because I didn’t think anyone would come…”

He let out a shaky breath. “I wanted to.”

“But you didn’t.”

You didn’t say it cruelly. You said it like it was the truth. Because it was.

He stood slowly, step by step, as if gravity had doubled. His eyes were full of something heavy, unreadable.

“I don’t expect forgiveness,” He reiterated.

You nodded. “Good. Because I don’t know if I have it yet.”

Then he left, solemnly.

And when the door slid shut again, you finally let the tears fall, not because you were angry.

But because you still cared.

And that might’ve been the cruelest part of all.

Taglist: @herejustforbuckybarnes @iyskgd @torntaltos @julesandgems @maesmayhem @w-h0re @pookalicious-hq @parkerslivia @whisperingwillowxox @stell404 @wingstoyourdreams @seventeen-x @mahimagi @viktor-enjoyer @vicmc624 @msbyjackal @winchestert101 @greatenthusiasttidalwave @avivarougestan @saoirses-things @itsmejen @saucysasha2035 @smokescreen1000 @poiscntree

[scary-grace]

The Yawning Grave - a Shigaraki x F!reader fic

Tomura and his friends might look like a team of paranormal investigators, but they're actually professional hoaxers -- every episode of their hit show has been faked. The episode they're filming in an abandoned town in a temperate rainforest is no different. At least at first. Rated T trending M in later chapters, found footage horror tropes, filmmaker!Tomura. Title/chapter headings based on The Yawning Grave by Lord Huron.

omens and signs

Tomura wakes up slowly, but he’d rather not be awake at all – and what he hears when the grogginess starts to fade doesn’t do much to change that impression. “I’m not pulling over again, Dabi. Take your Dramamine.”

“How am I supposed to take my Dramamine if I can’t stop hurling long enough for it to work?”

“Maybe we should pull over long enough for Dabi to take his Dramamine and then digest it,” Twice suggests. “No, that’s a bad idea. Let’s make him throw up until he’s empty and we don’t have to stop again.”

“How about we don’t do any of that,” Toga says. Her voice sounds sweet, but Tomura knows just as well as anybody what she sounds like when she’s about to cut a bitch, and it’s a little too close for comfort. “Dabi, keep your mouth closed. Spinner, don’t floor it around the curves. Jin, don’t laugh. Tomura, don’t –”

Tomura pretends he’s asleep. Toga reaches into the backseat and punches him in the arm, at which point he sits upright in a hurry. “What?”

“Tell Spinner to drive slower,” she says, smiling at him, “and tell Dabi to stop talking.”

“Stop talking,” Tomura says to Dabi. Dabi gives him both middle fingers, way, way up. “Spinner has to drive fast. We need to be there and setting up camp by nightfall.”

“Yeah. Otherwise our nighttime shaky-cam breakdowns won’t be anywhere near as scary.”

“Right.” Tomura doesn’t need to be awake for this. He can film a found-footage documentary hoax in his sleep.

Tomura used to be into debunking this stuff. Then he realized that he could make a hell of a lot more money faking it, and have a lot more fun in the bargain. Now, instead of trying to prove that reality really is as boring as it looks, Tomura and his friends have turned their professional skeptic side-hustle into a full-time business faking the stuff they used to debunk. And because Tomura’s still a skeptic at heart, he knows how to skeptic-proof his hoaxes.

First step: Pick a spot that’s no more than locally famous. Find some local legends – there are always at least a few. Case the joint, figure out what type of haunting or infestation would be the most believable, and then make it look and sound as real as possible. Sometimes that means wholesale making shit up, which is fine. Tomura and his crew have gotten called out plenty of times, but they’ve never been caught before.

“I don’t know, guys,” Twice says as Spinner takes another curve at slightly less than warp speed. “I feel weird about this one. That guy at the gas station acted like we were nuts.”

“Gas station guys always act like that.”

“Not exactly like that.” Dabi sounds like he’s speaking through clenched teeth. “He said it was a paper town. Named after that book. But I looked it up before Spinner started auditioning for fucking Formula One, and it’s been on the map since before the book was published.”

The book – ’Salem’s Lot, by Stephen King. Tomura read it, liked it, and then, when he was scanning maps looking for a place to plan the next hoax, he spotted it. A rain-drenched dot on the map, in America’s Pacific Northwest, labeled Jerusalem’s Lot. Same as the town in the book that gets overrun by vampires. “So he named the book after this place,” Tomura says, and Dabi twists around to glare at him. “Come on. Don’t tell me you’re getting spooked.”

“Twice is right. There was something weird about that guy,” Dabi says. “We spooked him, not the other way around. There’s something going on here that –”

Spinner zips around another bend in the road, and Dabi scrambles to roll the window down. “He does have a point,” Toga says, like there’s not rain and wind whipping through the car and Dabi gagging like a cat with a hairball. “There aren’t legends about this place or anything. We’ve gotten the dumb-college-kid treatment a million times –”

“Which is dumb,” Spinner puts in. “We’re not in college.”

Toga ignores him, too. “But that guy looked surprised at first. Then he looked nervous. And he said something weird.”

“Play it back,” Tomura instructs. Toga digs out the camera.

Gas station guy looks like every other gas station guy they’ve encountered, but as Toga plays it back, Tomura watches the same emotions she named cross his face. Surprise, then nerves. “Salem’s Lot is a paper town.” There’s a pause. “Ain’t nothing living up there that’s human.”

“Nice work getting that line out of him,” Tomura tells Toga, who was doing the interview. “It’ll be great for the promos.”

“Nothing living up there that’s human. He could just mean animals,” Twice pipes up. “The more rural it is, the weirder everybody talks. Remember those old guys with the accents?”

Even the films Tomura’s made in rural Japan has featured old guys with accents. They’re practically a genre staple. “It’s true. People use different syntax in rural areas than in the city,” Spinner says. “Still, though. It’s –”

Dabi pulls his head back in through the window and rolls it up. “It’s easy to hear that line as meaning that there’s something inhuman in ’Salem’s Lot.”

“Which is why it’s perfect,” Tomura says. “Don’t crack up on me. Any of you. If something had happened here, there’d be legends about it. Local myths. Something other than an old guy at a gas station talking about paper towns.”

“There’s one reason why there wouldn’t be legends,” Spinner says from the front seat. “If nobody made it out alive.”

Tomura doesn’t expect that kind of shit out of his crew, and for a split second, he wonders if there’s anything to what they’re saying. Then he spots the blinking red light of one of their pocket cameras, and a mic settled down in the hood of Toga’s jacket, and swears. “You all think you’re fucking hilarious, don’t you?”

“You should have seen your face,” Twice wheezes. “We got you so good –”

“How much of it did you just make up?” Tomura snaps. “Did you bribe that old guy while I was taking a leak?”

“No, he just said it,” Toga says. “All the stuff we said is true. And if it spooked you for a second, Tomura-kun, it’s definitely going to spook the audience.”

She’s right. Still, Tomura doesn’t like ending up on the wrong end of a hoax, and he’s pretty sure he knows whose idea this was. “Did you fake being carsick, too?”

“Did I fool you?” Dabi asks – and then Spinner whips around a corner too fast, and Dabi lunges for the window again. The carsickness is for real. Tomura wonders if he can convince Spinner to drive even faster.

They make it to Jerusalem’s Lot just past four o’clock, which leaves them enough daylight to poke around, record some B-roll, and get a few exterior shots in. The guy at the gas station was bullshitting them – there’s clearly a town up here. Houses, a main street, buildings, streetlights, all of it well on its way to being swallowed up by the rainforest. “How fast do you think stuff like this grows in?”

“These are all native plants,” Spinner says from where he’s crouched down, examining a nest of ferns. “This is their optimal environment. So if nobody was cutting them back, this could happen in – a few years, maybe. Most of these buildings are wood. If we came back fifteen years from now, there’d probably be nothing left.

Which means it can’t have been abandoned for very long – well within living memory. Tomura rolls his shoulders, limbering up. “Let’s find an establishing shot and get this done.”

Tomura calls the big shots, but everybody else fills in with smaller ones they think they might need in the editing process. Tomura puts up with two or three extra shots from everybody before they refocus. He should have written a script. What’s going to come out of his mouth is probably going to be pretty stupid.

“I’m Shigaraki Tomura. We’re the League of Villains. Today we’re investigating Jerusalem’s Lot, an American small town – which, according to the locals, doesn’t exist.”

They asked one local. They’ll go back with the camera on the way out and bother some people until they pick up enough footage to make it look like they’re trying to hide something instead of just trying to get away. This is where they’ll splice in Gas Station Guy with his creepy comment. “As you can see behind me, Jerusalem’s Lot is very real – or it was. Join us as we try to figure out what happened here, and if there’s anything alive in Jerusalem’s Lot after all.”

“Nice, boss,” Twice remarks. It’s a good thing it’s cold out. Tomura gets sweaty when he’s on camera, and he needs to air his armpits out. “The mic might have gotten fuzzy because of the wind, but we can dub over it in post, easy.”

“I like the lighting out here,” Toga says. “There are some holes in the canopy where sun will get through. If it’s ever sunny.”

“It’s supposed to be sunny tomorrow,” Spinner says, shivering. “It better be. I’ll freeze to death.”

Dabi rolls his eyes. “Sure you will.”

“I will. And then you guys will probably use my body to jazz up a shot, because you all suck –”

Tomura tunes them out and goes picking his way up what was probably the main street of ’Salem’s Lot. He’s visited a lot of small towns, even more ghost towns, but there’s something different about this place. Maybe it’s all the greenery. Ghost towns in other places fall to dust. It’s not usual to see one that’s actively being eaten alive – or dead – by the woods. People lived here. People either got up and left or they died here. The former, almost always. Tomura identifies a couple houses that look semi-structurally sound as potential filming spots for tomorrow, then makes his way back to the others.

Coming to Jerusalem’s Lot was the right choice, and as they set up camp and build a fire, the League’s mood is good. Unusually good, given the conditions they’re camping out in. “I think this one is going to be awesome,” Toga says, the firelight glinting off her teeth. “This place would be spooky even without the buildings. All the moss and lichen – and the fog –”

“We could do a haunting for this place,” Spinner suggests. “Ghosts and stuff. We haven’t done that in a while.”

“Yeah, the last time was that mansion in New Hampshire,” Twice says. Then he frowns. “We didn’t have to fake that one.”

No, they didn’t. They all saw things in that house, enough for them to scrap the episode and not come back. Tomura has a strict hoaxes-only rule these days. “Ghosts are easy to do in post-production, but for a town this size, we’d need to fake multiple ghosts,” Dabi says. “And if we have that many ghosts, we have to explain where they came from.”

“Maybe an epidemic?” Toga suggests. “We haven’t done disease in a while, either.”

“That would be tough to pull off, unless we invented something,” Tomura says. “They don’t have the Ebola virus up here.”

Nobody likes it when Tomura mentions the Ebola virus. He sees their expressions and decides to pay them back a bit for their bullshit earlier. “There’s always plague, though. Pneumonic and septicemic plague could both kill fast enough that they wouldn’t have had time to get help.”

“Then we should keep an eye out for skeletons tomorrow,” Spinner says. “And somebody’s gonna need to hold Twice’s hand so he doesn’t freak out and drop the camera. Again.”

“That was one time!”

“We can’t fake skeletons,” Dabi says. “We can fake creatures.”

Tomura rolls his eyes. “You know how hard it is to fake creatures. What would we even fake around here?”

“Vampires,” Twice offers. “Like that book.”

“That would be really hard to fake,” Toga remarks. “Isn’t there some kind of cryptid that’s native to this place? Something tall and furry?”

“Yeah, it’s like a –” Tomura thinks back on his notes. “Sasquatch. Or a Bigfoot.”

“We can’t use that,” Spinner says at once. “It sounds too goofy.”

“Yeah, the airport kiosks were selling it on t-shirts,” Twice agrees. “No vampires. No big furry guys. So that leaves – uh –”

“We could try crawlers,” Toga suggests, and Dabi starts to argue. “I know we’ve used them before, but – why can’t there be different subspecies? Crawlers in a temperate rainforest wouldn’t look anything like crawlers in the Andes mountains.”

It’s quiet for a second. “If you guys are going to make me wear the crawler suit again, I want overtime,” Spinner mutters, and Dabi grins across the campfire. “So what are we doing tomorrow, then – film documentary stuff in the morning, crawler stuff in the afternoon?”

“Works for me.” Tomura yawns. “I’m tired. Don’t forget to put the fire out.”

Inside his tent, Tomura sets up his personal camera to record. He’s not sure if everyone else does, too, but they’re supposed to – to pick up any weird things that happen during the night, any inexplicable sounds or shadows, whether they wake up to it or not. Usually it just catches him tossing and turning, and he deletes the footage in postproduction. Tomura unzips his sleeping bag, shuts off his camping lantern, and closes his eyes. This shoot is going to go well. There’s enough here for a solid hoax. Aside from Spinner in a crawler suit, they’re not going to have to make anything up.

Tomura sleeps solidly, straight through the night. He wakes up without an alarm, better rested than usual, and fumbles for his phone, which he’s pretty sure he left on the pillow next to him. The phone’s not there, but something else is, something small and cold and metal. When Tomura blinks sleep out of his eyes, lifts it to inspect it, he finds that it’s a heart-shaped locket, clinging to life on a frail chain.

Tomura’s friends are going to be on their bullshit for this entire shoot, it looks like. Still, the locket’s a nice touch, and if they fuck with the shot of Toga planting it on Tomura’s pillow, they can make it look like it appeared out of nowhere. Even if they’ve decided on crawlers, it won’t hurt to wave a red herring about ghosts.

But when he shows it to Toga, he gets a blank look and nothing else. “I didn’t put that there. I’ve never seen it before.”

Tomura’s about to tell her to cut the bullshit when he realizes that Dabi’s camera is on. No way is Toga dropping the story while she’s being filmed, and Tomura might as well play along. “Take a look at it. Maybe it’ll give us a clue about what happened here.”

“Hmm.” Toga lifts the locket out of Tomura’s hand and starts inspecting it between sips of coffee. “14-karat gold – not bad, but not over-the-top expensive. It’s on a box chain, which is interesting. They’re not as common as other varieties of chain, but they’re sturdy. See how tightly they’re interlocked? Something like this wouldn’t break easily. And the clasp’s still intact. The person who owned this took it off on purpose.”

She glances up at Tomura, eyes exaggeratedly wide. “What’s inside it?”

By this point, they’ve drawn Spinner and Twice over. They and Tomura hover over Toga’s shoulders as she pries the locket open. “There are photos,” she starts, and then her shoulders slump, her voice going small. “This was a kid’s. A little girl’s.”

Toga’s the best actor on the team. The rest of them need to take lessons. “How do you know?”

“On this side –” Toga holds it up, and Spinner digs up his phone to zoom in. “There’s a picture of two people. Based on their age, I’m guessing they’re her parents. And on the other side – that’s her dog.”

“Right. An adult would have photos of their spouse,” Dabi says from across the fire. “Or their kids. Parents and dog says kid. How do you know it’s a girl?”

“How many boys do you know who’d wear a heart-shaped locket?”

Dabi starts ribbing Toga for being sexist, and she argues back that he wouldn’t wear a locket if she paid him, and under cover of an argument that’s only half-staged, Tomura inspects the locket a little closer. It’s definitely a dog on one side of the locket, some goofy mutt-thing with bright eyes and floppy ears, and looking at it pulls Tomura’s vocal cords tight. He’d maybe have worn a locket as a kid, if his sister or somebody else had given him one. And he’d definitely have put a photo of his dog in it.

But Tomura’s got a couple screws loose. His family made that crystal clear. He snaps the locket shut, then cuts off Toga and Dabi’s stupid argument. “Hey. How old do you think this is?”

“Um –” Toga studies it. “Not an antique. More than ten years, less than thirty.”

“That’s within the time frame,” Spinner says. “How did it end up on your pillow?”

Tomura’s getting tired of this bit. He waits a second or three, then calls cut. “We have a lot to do today. Let’s get going.”

They have an evidence bin for stuff that shows up on shoots, but since the locket’s a joke his friends are playing, Tomura doesn’t feel bad about pocketing it. They left it for him, anyway. Tomura wonders what’s gotten into his friends. They’re a lot more into this shoot than they’ve been on other ones, but maybe that’s a good thing. If there’s one thing Tomura’s work has taught him, it’s that every good hoax needs a small piece of truth at the center of it. The expression Dabi’s camera probably caught on his face when he opened the locket is a good start.

taglist: @shigarakislaughter @lvtuss @deadhands69 @xeveryxstarfallx @cheeseonatower @agente707 @warxhammer @handumb @atspiss @f3r4lfr0gg3r @shikiblessed @evilcookie5 @dance-with-me-in-hell @babybehh @boogiemansbitch @baking-ghoul @minniessskii @issaortiz @aslutforfictionalmen @lacrimae-lotos @stardustdreamersisi @koohiii

[rainrot4me]

The hc on Clockwork drawing Toby makes me wonder. What IS your opinion on Toby x Clockwork/Ticciwork?

Oh, where do I begin. To me, Ticciwork is like a gunpowder x lighter situation. They’re definitely exes who keep getting back together and splitting up again, but I feel a deep love for one-another that nobody else really gets.

Nat’s calculated, hardened, with a tight grip on her emotions—but she feels deeply. She’s the kind of person who would scoff at feelings while secretly craving stability, protection, someone who sees her scars and doesn’t flinch. She works with control—mechanical precision, trauma that forced her into maturity far too fast.

On the other hand, Toby’s chaotic, impulsive, and often out of touch with his own emotional landscape. He’s rough around the edges, but there’s this raw honesty in him that Nat would notice—and might even crave. His tics, his temper, his noise—those could unsettle her at first. But over time, I think she’d see the vulnerability beneath all of it.

Howeverrrrrrr, they’re manic. Put two crazy, traumatized people together and you’ll get an explosion before you get anything kind.

They break up at least three times a year. And every time, it ends the same way: with bruised lips, sharp words, and one of them slamming the door. But they never stay away. Toby throws things. Not at her—never at her—but around her. He can’t handle the silence. Can’t handle the thought of losing her. Natalie stands like stone, arms crossed, eyes burning. “You always ruin this. Why can’t you ever just be satisfied?” But two nights later, he’s outside her window, soaked in blood and rain, shivering like a kid. And she lets him in. Always.

They’ve seen each other at their worst. Not the messy proxy shit—the real stuff. The things no one else knows. She knows about the way he cries in his sleep but never lets the tears fall. He knows she doesn’t wind her clock when she’s overwhelmed—lets the ticking stop because she can’t bear to feel the time pass. They never talk about it. But they both remember.

Most nights, he finds her in the bathroom, floor tile cold against her legs, trembling hands trying to hold herself together. He sits beside her. Doesn’t say a word. Just slides a hoodie over her shoulders and rests his head on her knee.

Now for everyone’s favorite part, the sex.

It’s angry. Gripping. Desperate. Like they’re trying to punish each other for still loving this much. She claws at his back like she’s digging through all the silence between them. He leaves bruises on her hips like he’s trying to prove something—like maybe if he marks her up enough, she won’t leave again.

Afterwards, she curls into his chest, breath hitching.

“You’re the worst fucking thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Yeah?” he rasps, lips at her neck. “Then why do you still co-come back?”

“Because no one else sees me like you do.”

He goes quiet. Pulls her closer. “Shut up.”

They date other people. Clockwork flirts to make Toby jealous. Toby fucks someone else to prove he’s “over it.” But it always feels wrong. Off. Like they’re wearing someone else’s skin.

They can be halfway across the country from each other and know when something’s wrong. She’ll wake up with a tight feeling in her chest. He’ll get that electric buzz in his bones. And eventually one of them shows up.

No matter how bad it gets, how many times they blow up, if someone else lays a hand on the other? They’re dead.

It’s toxic. But also? No one else has ever loved them like this. No one else ever will. They’re both so fucked in the head that nothing normal or soft would satisfy them. So, sure, they’re horrible and awful to be around, but no one else sees them the way the other does. That still doesn’t mean that Natalie won’t beat the absolute shit out of him. She has shot him before, she will do it again.

꩜ .ᐟ

[websterss]

A HEART THAT LONGS — RAY YOUNG

REQUEST: I'm obsessed with motorheads and I wish I was talented enough to write fanfics myself but alas. I'm longing for some motorheads fanfics. I was thinking, if you're up for it, a love triangle with reader, curtis and ray? Maybe like, the reader is good friends with curtis and they kinda like each other, but then because of their friendship and the reader being over at curtis house when they have family dinners, she knows ray a bit too. And maybe because she doesn't want to risk ruining her friendship with curtis and because she has felt a bit of a spark with ray, she gives ray a chance/hooks up with him or whatever. I'm thinking longing, a bit of angst, flirting, etc. I totally understand if you don't want to write this! I would be over the moon if you did, though. (Btw, could the characters be aged up a bit, like in their mid twenties like the actors? I mean, their age doesn't have to be mentioned, just mean that I would prefer them not being in high school. Thank you so much in advance!!!

WARNING(S): Angst, longing, um Curtis gets heartbroken.

WORD COUNT: 7,703

PAIRING: Ray Young x fem!Reader

A/N: Hope you like! Also, requests are closed for now, I'm only answering the ones that are sitting in my inbox right now.

MASTERLIST

You were elbow-deep in metal drawers, rummaging for a new bike chain. The one on yours had been slipping every ten minutes like clockwork. The garage smelled like rust and grease and old rubber, and you'd gotten so lost in thought, you didn’t notice the low rumble of a motorcycle pulling in. Didn’t register the subtle vibration that slithered up your ankles, or the soft scuff of sneakers across concrete.

You definitely didn’t hear his voice.

But you felt him, two hands ghosting around your waist, fingers teasing the sides of your ribs with a feather-light pinch.

You jolted like a startled rabbit, letting out a tiny yelp and twisting away before the laughter even reached your ears.

“Jesus!” You exhaled, heart kicking up. You spun around to find Curtis, biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing too hard, shoulders already shaking.

"Sorry." He said through his grin, hands raised in surrender. “Didn't mean to scare you."

Your glare wasn’t exactly murderous, but it was sharp enough to make him feign innocence with wide eyes and an exaggerated pout. Your face burned, not from anger, but from the sound of his laugh, the kind that always made something flutter in your chest before you could stop it. "In my defense, I did say your name like five times." He added, barely holding back another laugh.

“Oh, only five?” you muttered, giving him a shove to the chest. “Guess I lucked out on magical number six.”

He caught your wrist with ease, tugging you in closer, closer than friends maybe should be. Your steps faltered as he guided your palm to rest flat against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat thudded beneath your fingertips.

And then it skipped.

You felt it.

So did he.

His voice dropped, smile softening. “Could’ve said it ten times, you still wouldn't have heard me.”

“Maybe eight would’ve worked." You mumbled, lips twitching.

“Seven, tops.” He grinned, eyes never leaving yours. His hand lifted, thumb brushing your cheek as he tilted your face slightly toward him. Your breath hitched. For a second, the world paused. Then you turned your head, just an inch, but it was enough. Curtis follows the motion, his jaw clenching.

His hand drops.

Reluctantly.

And even then, you kept your hand on his chest. That small point of contact. That tether.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice softer now. “Thought you were busy today.”

He tried to play it casual, even though you could see the faint pink in his ears. “Just a little side project. Nothing important.”

His eyes flicked to the table behind you, where a mess of tangled bike chains lay like metallic guts.

“Chain again?” He asked.

You sighed. “Yeah... Misaligned derailleur. Thought it was stretching, but it’s just loose.”

“And your car?”

“Popped my back tire yesterday. Ray offered to fix it.”

Curtis raised an eyebrow. “For free?”

You shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Ray never does anything for free without a cost,” Curtis muttered with a tight laugh. “I could’ve helped, you know. Taken time out of my day.”

“I know,” You said honestly. “But he was already there. It just… happened.”

Curtis nodded slowly, jaw ticking.

"But let's get back to the topic… seriously, what are you doing here?"

"Came to pick you up. You and I are now-" He pulls back the cuff of his jacket, checking his watch. "Five minutes late to a barbeque."

You froze. “Shit. That’s today?”

He smirked, pushing away from the tools and motioning for you to stand with him. "You forgot, didn't you?"

You groaned, wiping your hands on a rag and hopping off the stool.

“Let me guess, you dressed for it too?” Curtis teased, eyeing your grease-smudged clothes.

“Oh, definitely. I was thinking of wearing bike grease to Saturday dinners from now on.”

He laughed again, motioning toward the door. “Come on. Go get changed. If we show up anymore late, Mom's gonna give us hell.”

You make a face, somewhere between the lines of not wanting to see Momma Young's wraith.

-

The smell of grilled meat drifted through the air as you followed Curtis around the side of the house. The backyard was already set up, quiet except for the hum of a small speaker on the porch and the low sizzle of food cooking over the grill. Evening sunset spilled over the lawn, warm and soft.

“Think we’ll find a spot to sit?”

“What do you mean? There’s just the four of you, plus me,” you smiled, brushing your hand against his arm as you walked. “You and Ray are their only children. You’re picnic table seats the four of you and one added chair for me.”

He chuckled, slowing his steps as the backyard came into view. “You know what I mean...”

“No, I really don’t, you weirdo.”

“It was a bad joke-“ He tries to explain.

“Uh-yeah!”

“You know… I like having you here. Makes the whole thing less painful.”

You glanced at him, the warmth in his tone settling somewhere deep in your chest. “You say that like I’m not the one fifth-wheeling your family barbeques.”

Curtis looked over at you then, his eyes soft. “You’re not. You never have been. You're family."

You opened your mouth, maybe to tease him back, maybe to ask what he meant, but the scent of grilled meat and the sight of the old picnic table pulled you both forward.

His dad looked up from the grill just as you stepped into the yard.

“There you two are,” his mom called. “Come on. Sit before it all gets cold. Hope you're hungry.”

Curtis gave your arm a quick, gentle nudge. “Told you."

You shove at his chest to brush by him. You smile at his mom. "Abby."

"Hi, sweetheart. Hope you brought you're appetite, plenty to go around today. Hugo's making ribs."

“Always. Yum,” You said with a laugh. You cast a wave over as he greets you with a faint grin a raise of his spatula.

Abby waved you over. “You know where everything is. Sit, sit.”

Curtis nudged your arm with his. “Right next to me. Honorary Young.”

"Ha-ha." You roll your eyes.

You slid onto the bench beside him, wood warm beneath you. He sat close, shoulders just brushing. The speaker played something low and mellow behind you as Curtis poured two glasses of lemonade from the pitcher and handed one to you.

“This might be the calmest it’s ever been.” You said.

“No complaints,” he replied, then leaned in, lowering his voice. “Then again, Ray isn't here yet..."

You were chuckling when you heard the familiar sound of a motorcycle pulling up on the other side of the house.

The sound alone made your stomach twist. You didn’t move, but every muscle in your body braced for impact like they always did when Ray was close by.

"Speaking of which." Curtis sighed, preparing for the show. You looked up in time to watch Sheriff Hugo take a sip from his beer.

The engine cut off. A pause. Then the creak of the side gate.

Ray stepped into the yard, his helmet hanging from one hand, his hair a little messy. He scanned the backyard until his eyes landed on you. He didn’t say anything right away, just looked at you with that quiet tilt of his head, the one that always made your breath catch before you could stop it.

He finally spoke.

“Hope I’m not too late.”

His mom looked up from where she was laying out the sides. A variety of mudpie cookies, tuna salad, chips in a big bowl next to the dip she always made with too much garlic. She smiled. “Never. Curtis and Y/n just got here a little while ago.”

“Hi, Mom. Dad.” Ray leaned in to kiss her cheek, his voice low and easy. He looked toward his father next, who offered him a faint nod and the tip of a beer bottle. Not warm exactly, but not cold either. It was the gentlest greeting they’d exchanged in years. A truce carved from slow, rough history. Progress you and Curtis claimed it as.

Then Ray turned his attention back to the table. Back to you.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said. The volume of his voice dropped. Like it wasn’t meant for the table. Just for you.

You looked at him for a moment, pulse ticking behind your ribs. Then you smiled and glanced at Curtis beside you. “I’m family.” You said, echoing his words from earlier. “Can’t exactly miss.”

Curtis’s mouth curved into a faint smile. "Ha-ha."

Ray’s eyes flicked toward his brother. Just for a second. Then back to you.

He slid onto the bench across from you without another word.

“Baby brother,” Ray said, leaning forward with one arm, reaching over to slap a hand on Curtis' shoulder. “How’s the new bike been treating you?”

Curtis shrugged, not thinking much of his new upgrade. “Fine. It's been better than needing a new chain every week, but nothing serious. She drives well.”

You shifted slightly in your seat, unsure who to focus on. Curtis sat to your left, easy, steady. The one you’d always known. The one who made things feel warm.

Ray was leaning in front of you, legs spread slightly, hand half-curled around a sweating glass of sweet tea like he’d been there the whole time. His gaze, as always, lingered longer than it should. His tone carried a teasing softness, but underneath it was that same flicker of something else... something unreadable and a little dangerous. “I’ll bet.”

You felt the weight of both of them.

The triangle had formed without warning. Without permission.

And now you were stuck in the middle of it, wishing you could lean one way without feeling like you were betraying the other.

Curtis passed you the bowl of salad.

Ray tilted his head, still watching you like he was remembering something you hadn’t said out loud yet.

Your fork hovered in your hand.

The night had barely started, and already it felt like something was going to break.

-

The kitchen smelled faintly like garlic bread and dish soap. You stood at the counter with a towel in hand, drying silverware while Curtis elbowed you gently from where he was camped at the sink.

“Hey.” You laughed, stepping back slightly when a little cluster of bubbles floated toward your face.

“Oops.” Curtis grinned widely, dipping his hand back in the sudsy water and flicking a few more toward you. “Slipped.”

“You’re such a menace.”

“You love it...” He said it like it was a known fact. The way he looked at you, all bright-eyed and slightly smug, made it hard to argue. Another bubble landed on your cheek, and you reached for a spoon to retaliate.

“Don’t even think about it.” He warned, but he was already bracing for it.

You swiped a handful of bubbles from the sink’s edge and smeared them on the back of his neck.

“Oh-ho!” He laughed, water dripping from his fingers as he tried to catch your wrist, but you danced just out of reach.

“You started it!”

“I started it? You’re escalating it!” He said, voice full of mock offense as he tried to flick suds back at you, missing by a mile.

You ducked behind the open cabinet and peeked out at him, trying to hide your grin. He was already smiling too, his shirt damp from the splashback, hands still half-drenched in bubbles.

The kitchen window behind you was open.

"I'm the menace, you're a menace." Curtis flicks his wet hands at you.

And neither of you knew Ray was watching.

-

Out in the backyard, Abby handed Ray another bowl and folded the picnic tablecloth over her arm. “That’s the third time you’ve looked through that window.”

Ray didn’t look up. “What window?”

“That one.” She tilted her head toward the house. “The one where Y/N’s standing. With your brother.”

Ray snorted under his breath and adjusted the bowl in his hands. “I’m not looking at anything.”

Abby gave him a long, amused look. “You’ve walked in and out of the house three times in five minutes. With one bowl at a time.”

“I’m helping.”

“You’re stalling,” she said lightly. “Or you like watching her laugh.”

Ray opened the back door, stepped inside with the bowl, and didn’t say anything. A moment later, he came back out again, this time with only the salad tongs.

Abby was waiting by the table, still holding the folded tablecloth.

“You like her.”

Ray gave a dry scoff. “Don’t start.”

“Too late, I started.”

He shook his head, lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. “You’ve got the wrong idea, Mom.”

“Oh, sure.” She passed him the last covered dish. “She’s sweet, isn’t she? Always has been.”

“She’s fine.”

Abby smiled to herself. “Your brother’s liked her for a long time.”

Ray paused, just for a second, holding the bowl in both hands. “Yeah. I know.”

“And you’ve got no intentions there?”

“Nope.”

“Right…”

Ray stepped inside again, set the bowl down on the counter, and caught sight of you and Curtis still drying dishes, still talking, still too close for him to look away. He lingered for a second, then headed back out with the tongs this time.

Abby was waiting with the tablecloth tucked under one arm.

“Sure you don’t like her?”

Ray sighed, exasperated. “You want me to say it just so you can say ‘I told you so’ later?”

“I want you to admit you feel something for a girl who’s clearly impeding your helping skills.”

“She’s not.”

Abby raised her eyebrows.

“She’s not,” he said again, less confident now. “She’s just—nice.”

“A vintage car is nice, Ray.”

He muttered something under his breath, brushed past her with the last of the dishes, and went back inside.

Through the window, you smiled at something Curtis said as you tossed him a towel. Curtis caught it easily, looking at you like he couldn’t imagine anyone else standing there.

Ray stood still for a moment longer in the kitchen doorway.

He watched Curtis lean against the counter, laughing under his breath as you reached for another dish to dry. There was something light about the scene, like it didn’t belong to the rest of the world. Just the two of you and the low sound of water still running.

Then Curtis’s phone buzzed.

He slid it from his back pocket, glanced at the screen, and his smile slipped just enough for you to notice.

“Shit." He muttered under his breath.

“What is it?”

He sighed, pressing the phone to his ear. “Hey. Yeah. I’m at home, what’s up?”

There was a muffled voice on the other end. You caught onto what sounded like Marcel, probably Zac, and something about the valve being loose again.

Curtis pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re kidding. Right now?”

Another pause. His jaw tightened.

“Okay. I’ll be there in fifteen. Just don't move it anymore.”

He ended the call and looked at you with something like disappointment tugging at the edges of his expression.

“I’m sorry. That was Marcel. And Zac. Something with the Rallye... again. I told those idiots not to move it, even Caitlyn told them."

You nodded, still holding the towel. “You’ve got to go.”

“Yeah,” he said, regret clear in his voice. “They’ve already tried fixing it twice. I told them not to take it out today. Should’ve known better.”

You gave him a small smile. “It’s okay. Duty calls.”

Curtis opened his mouth to say something more, but then noticed movement over your shoulder.

Ray stepped into the kitchen, quiet as ever, still holding the tongs. He lifted them slightly as if to say, got another dish for you.

Curtis looked at him for a second longer than he needed to. Then at you. He hesitated.

“You think—” Curtis started, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Could Ray give you a ride?”

You turned slightly to look between them, uncertain.

Ray leaned against the doorway, arms crossed now, the tongs resting against his forearm like some kind of prop. He said nothing. Just waited.

Curtis exhaled slowly, clearly torn. “It’s getting late. I don’t want you walking home. And I’d feel better if someone made sure you got there.”

You tilted your head. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve walked farther.”

“I know,” Curtis said gently. “But I’d still feel better.”

Ray finally spoke. “I can take her. Not a problem.”

Curtis looked at him, and something passed between the two of them, silent but heavy. It wasn’t quite tension. Not quite approval either.

You caught the edge of it but didn’t say anything.

Curtis finally nodded, still looking uneasy. “Just...make sure she gets home safe.”

Ray didn’t flinch. “Always.”

Curtis turned back to you, his voice softer now. “Sorry, we didn’t get to finish cleaning up.”

You smiled, even if your chest felt a little tight. “There’s always tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Tomorrow.”

He left with one last glance at Ray. Then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

Ray cleared his throat as he stepped further into the kitchen. The tongs dangled awkwardly from his hand, still smudged with barbecue and something that might’ve once been tuna salad. The silence had stretched just a beat too long.

“You want me to wash these?” He asked, holding them out toward you.

Without moving, you gave him a slow look. “I’m already drying.”

“So?”

“So…” You stepped to the side just slightly, enough to give him room to stand between the sink and counter. “If you're thinking of handing those over,” you said, finally breaking the silence, “you're gonna be disappointed.”

Ray raised a brow. “You don’t want help?”

“I want my system. Curtis washed. I dried. We had a rhythm.”

He gave a quiet scoff, stepping forward and holding the tongs out anyway. “Guess I missed sign-ups.”

You took a step closer, just enough to block him from getting near the sink.

“I already claimed the towel,” you said, gaze steady. “Which means you get dish duty. That’s how it works.”

Ray hesitated, then glanced down at his leather sleeves. “You’re serious.” He smirked, but it didn’t reach all the way to his eyes. He glanced down at the tongs, then up at the sink like it might bite.

You pointed at them. “Proper dishwashing etiquette requires rolled-up sleeves. Unless you want soap up to your elbows.”

He sighed like it was a major inconvenience, but he slipped out of his jacket anyway and tossed it over the countertop behind you two. You didn’t miss the way the cotton of his t-shirt pulled at his shoulders as he rolled each sleeve up with slow, practiced movements.

“You don’t give up easily, do you?” He muttered.

“Only when people try to take my towel.”

“Better?” He muttered, stepping beside you.

“Much,” you said lightly, handing him the tongs. “Curtis and I made a good team. I'm seeing to it that we manage well as a team, too.”

Ray raised an eyebrow. “So, naturally, you’re making me do his part.”

“Never. Curtis does a much better job." You leaned against the counter beside him, arms crossed, still holding the towel loosely. A stupid grin makes its way onto your face.

Ray cracked the faintest grin, barely a curl at the corner of his mouth. “Noted.”

The next few minutes passed in the kind of silence that didn’t feel empty. Neither of you is quite sure what to say. So you didn’t fill it right away.

Until finally, Ray spoke again. “Did you have fun tonight?”

You glanced at him, surprised. “Yeah. I did.”

“Good food. No family drama this time.”

You smirked. “No bets on who would leave first. It was quite refreshing. My money would have been on you. You always leaves first. Curtis owes me money now.”

“Curtis was glad you came.” He added.

“I could tell, though I didn't have much of a choice, he all but dragged me here.” You didn’t say more than that, and neither did he. His hand lingered under the faucet longer than it needed to. You could feel the heat of him next to you.

Ray chuckled softly, rinsing the tongs with a little more focus than necessary. “I think that’s a first.”

"What is?"

"A decent Saturday family barbecue."

“Only took, what, six years of trial and error?” You teased, bumping your elbow gently into his.

He gave you a sideways glance, the kind that lingered just long enough to warm your cheeks.

“I didn't realize you’ve been coming around that long?” He asked, quieter now.

You nodded, your smile softening. “Since high school, practically. My most memorable one, though, would have to be when Curtis dragged me into that one Fourth of July thing one year with the busted fire pit.”

Ray grunted. “Right. The one that exploded.”

“I still have the scar on my ankle,” you said, raising your brow. “Thanks to someone’s lighter fluid overkill.”

“Hey,” he said, defensive but amused. “I saved the burgers.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You charred the hell out of them.”

“I call it, giving them some flavor.”

You bit your lip to hide another smile and took the tongs out of his hands. Ray moved just slightly behind you, leaning past to grab another dish towel, his arm brushing your back.

Neither of you said anything about the contact.

But neither of you stepped away, either.

Something about the quiet made the kitchen feel smaller than it was. Like the air had thickened around you both, filled with things unsaid. It wasn’t uncomfortable, never was.

“I didn’t think you were coming tonight.” You said after a beat.

Ray dried his hands on the towel slowly. “Didn’t think you would either.”

You looked over at him.

His eyes were already on you.

But before either of you could say more, the floor creaked behind you. You both turned just as Abby appeared in the doorway, her robe tied loosely, a knowing smile soft on her face.

“Well,” Abby finally said, cutting through the tension with a gentle smile. “You two make a pretty good cleanup crew.”

Ray shifted, back straightening like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Still here, I see.” She said, already glancing between you both.

Ray leaned back on his arms placed on the sink. “Just finishing up.”

Abby's gaze lingered on the distance, or lack of it, between you two. She walked over and gently placed her hand on your arm.

“Thank you for coming tonight, sweetheart,” she said warmly. “It was good having you.”

“Of course,” you replied with a nod. “Dinner was great.”

She smiled and turned to her son. “Don’t keep her here too long, Ray.”

Ray gave a light nod. “I won’t.”

Abby paused in the doorway, looked back once more, then disappeared down the hall, her footsteps fading with the hush of the night. “Drive safe, okay?”

The room felt even smaller now.

Ray set down his towel after having gripped it. “You want to head out?”

You watched him for a moment. “Sure. If you’re still offering that ride.”

“Always.”

And for some reason, it felt heavier than it should have. Like maybe he wasn’t just talking about the ride.

You followed Ray through the kitchen and out the back door, the air cooler now, brushing against your arms with the kind of breeze that smelled faintly like cut grass and summer dust. The neighborhood was quiet, lit in amber by the streetlamps overhead. His bike sat parked at the curb, low and dark and gleaming beneath the glow.

Ray stepped ahead, lifting the back seat and pulling out a second helmet. He held it out to you without a word, waiting.

You looked at it, then at him. “Ray… I live two blocks away.”

He paused, eyes flicking to yours. “Yeah, I know.”

You didn’t take the helmet.

A faint crease formed between his brows as he let his hand drop slightly. “Just figured…” He looked away, then gave a small shrug. “You said yes to the ride.”

You smiled softly. “I did. But I didn’t know you were gonna treat me like a tourist.”

That earned the tiniest smirk, but it didn’t rise all the way. He nodded once, almost to himself, then slid the helmet back into its place and lowered the seat without another word.

He climbed onto the bike, less smug now, and waited.

You hesitated before stepping forward, swinging your leg over the seat behind him. No helmet. Just you and the warm press of your hands resting lightly on either side of his waist.

Then, over his shoulder, his voice low and casual, he said, “By the way… I swapped out your tire earlier today.”

Your brows lifted behind him. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Got around to it before dinner. It’s at the garage if you wanna grab it.”

You hesitated, blinking up at the street ahead.

“Or,” he added quickly. “I can just bring it by tomorrow if you’re beat.”

You smiled, just a little. “No, it’s fine. Let’s go.”

Ray nodded once and adjusted his grip, his movements relaxed but focused. No smugness, just a quiet satisfaction. The bike hummed a little louder as he turned the key and revved the gas by the handles, as you shifted slightly, settling in behind him.

Neither of you said anything else. Not as he kicked the stand up and rode forward.

-

The garage came into view as the bike turned down the back road, headlights brushing across the lot in long, low beams. Most of the shops in town were already closed, dark, but the wide windows of Ray’s garage still glowed with soft fluorescent light from inside.

Ray eased the bike into the side driveway, parking near the entrance. The engine cut out with a low click, and the sudden stillness made everything feel louder, the chirp of summer insects, the faint groan of cooling metal, the soft shift of your clothes as you swung your leg off the seat.

You stepped back, brushing your hands against your thighs. The ride had settled something in you, even if you weren’t sure what.

Ray stayed seated for a second longer, glancing over his shoulder. “You good?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He got off the bike and reached for his keys, walking ahead to unlock the side door. The overhead lights flickered awake, bathing the garage in neon turquoise warmth. It smelled faintly of oil and rubber, old leather and something sharp underneath.

He pushed the door open wider, motioning for you to go first. “She’s right inside.”

You stepped in, your footsteps echoing lightly against the concrete floor. And there it was, your car, looking slightly cleaner than when you’d left it, the tire freshly replaced and the front end wiped down. You smiled softly at the sight.

“It looks good.” You said, turning your head back toward him.

Ray lingered near the doorframe, one hand on the edge of it, watching you. “Should hold up better now. You’ll still need to check on the pressure, though. I didn’t trust the spare.”

You leaned against the side of your car, arms crossed, watching Ray as he moved forward into the space to rearrange a few tools on the workbench. He wasn’t doing anything in particular, just giving his hands something to do. You could tell he was aware of you.

“You didn’t have to fix it today. I could've waited.” You said softly.

Ray looked over but didn’t meet your eyes right away. “Didn’t mind.”

“Still, you could’ve told me. I would’ve said thank you sooner.”

“You don't need to thank me, Y/n. Besides, I was just gonna leave it at your place once it was done.”

You gave him a small smile. “That would’ve been kind of mysterious.”

He huffed out a faint laugh and finally looked up. “Didn’t think it'd be a big deal.”

“It is,” you said. “It was thoughtful. Thank you. Really.”

He gave a small shrug. “Like I said...”

Ray shifted where he stood. His jaw clenched like he wanted to say something else, but wasn’t sure how to word it. His fingers flexed once before uncurling back.

“You always do that.” You said, quieter now.

“Do what?” Ray looked at you, brows drawn faintly, the question soft but edged with tension.

You turned slightly toward him, leaning one hip against the car, your arms still loosely crossed. “Downplay things. Like they don’t matter when they obviously do.”

His eyes flicked to the floor, then back to you. He let out a faint breath, almost a laugh, but not quite. “I don’t know. Guess it’s easier that way.”

“Easier than what?”

He was quiet for a moment, staring down at a wrench, avoiding your gaze, like it might give him something to hide behind.

“Easier than saying what I actually mean. And maybe being wrong about it.”

You blinked, heart thudding a little harder. “Try me.”

Ray looked up. “I didn’t fix your car just to be nice,” he said slowly. “And I didn’t pass up the chance to give you a ride ‘cause it was convenient. I didn’t want the night to end just yet.”

You swallowed. The edges of your chest felt softer.

He shrugged again, but it didn’t carry the same false weight. “I know I’m not always easy to be around. Or the nicest. But… I like when you’re around. At the races. At dinner with us. Here...”

You stayed still, just breathing. Then finally said, “That’s not so hard to say out loud.”

He gave a faint, sheepish smile. “No... But it’s harder when you’re looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you might be thinking the same thing I am.”

You hesitated. Then shrugged. "And what would I be thinking?”

The silence didn’t stretch this time. It folded in. Pulled tight. And this time, when he reached out, he did touch you.

Just a hand on your waist. Gentle. Steady. Like he wasn’t sure what would happen next, but he was finally brave enough to find out.

He looked down, then back at you. “You always fidget when you’re nervous? You did it at dinner. You’re doing it now.”

You glanced down at your hands. You hadn’t realized they were picking at the hem of your shirt. When you looked back up, he was still watching.

He looked at your mouth, then your eyes. “You’re not nervous around Curtis.”

“That’s different." You said quietly.

He nodded once. Like he already knew that. “Why hasn’t Curtis ever made a move on you?” He shook his head like he knew Curtis didn't play his cards correct. Didn't take that chance with you.

You blinked. That wasn’t what you expected. "What?"

“He likes you,” Ray added. “That’s obvious. So why hasn't he?”

You glanced at your shoes for a second before looking back at him. “We’re just friends.”

He tilted his head a little. “You didn't answer the question.”

You gave a half shrug. “I don’t know. Timing? Our friendship means too much… maybe it was just easier to not risk crossing that line.”

Ray didn’t say anything at first. His hand on your waist caressing the skin where the hem of your top rose. “You ever think maybe you were waiting on him to do something more? Or maybe he likes you more than you like him?”

You looked at him, brows slightly raised. “What is this, auto-shop therapy?”

His mouth curved into a small smile. “Maybe. But you're not denying it. I just think it’s strange that someone who looks at you the way he does hasn’t done anything about it.”

You shook your head slowly. “He’s tried.”

But you'd shoot him down every time because you were scared. Is what you didn't say.

Ray raised a brow. “That doesn’t mean he hasn’t thought about it.”

“And what about you?” You asked before you could stop yourself. "Have you thought about it? About me?"

The question hung there, suspended.

Ray didn’t answer right away. His eyes dropping to the floor for a beat.

“I don’t make a habit of stepping in where I’m not wanted.”

You tilted your head to catch his gaze, the tension tighter now between you. “You think you’re not wanted?”

His eyes met yours. “You’re hard to read.”

You swallowed. “Maybe you just don’t know what to look for.”

That made him smile but it was softer this time. More real.

“I think I do,” he said quietly. “But I’m just trying not to get it wrong. Don't want to get my hopes up.”

You held his gaze. “You’re not.”

His eyes flicked down to your mouth, then back up. “You sure?”

You nodded.

And that was when he stepped forward, slow, steady, no hesitation this time. His hand came to gently brush your cheek, fingers rough but careful. The warmth of his palm grounding you. His hand at your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

“Tell me if you don’t want this.” He murmured.

You shook your head, breath catching. “I do. I want you.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn't rushed. It was sweet, slow, full of everything he hadn’t said out loud. You melted into it, one hand fisting lightly in his shirt, the other sliding up his arm. You followed as he pulled back, grabbing your hand and guiding you into his office, the shut clicking behind you as he pressed you against the door. The world outside, nonexistent.

-

The sharp clatter of a wrench echoed off the walls as Ray stood over the open hood of a half-finished rebuild, sleeves pushed up and a line painting along his forehead as he tighted a bolt. The music was turned low in the shop’s speaker. Something older, gravel-voiced, humming beneath the buzz of the lights.

Curtis pulled in a few minutes past noon, the rumble of his bike cutting through the quiet before sputtering out with a rough cough. One look at it had Ray straightening from the hood.

The front fork was bent just off-center. The left handlebar had deep scratches. Curtis swung his leg off stiffly, wincing just a little.

“You get hit by a truck?” Ray asked, eyes narrowing as he approached the bike.

Curtis cracked a weak smile, but didn’t bother explaining. His lip was split, darkening with a healing scab. His knuckles were worse. Scraped, raw.

Ray gave the bike a once-over, then glanced at him. “You want to tell me what happened, or should I guess?”

“Some guys from high school. Ran their mouth, said some things about Zac and Caitlyn's dad. Nothing we haven't heard before,” Curtis unbuckled his helmet, setting it on the seat. “Zac opened his mouth... They didn’t like it.”

Ray nodded slowly, jaw tightening. “And you went after them?”

Curtis lifted his hand gesturing to his busted up lip.

Ray crossed his arms, eyeing the busted lip. “You sure you don’t want me to have a talk with someone?”

Curtis smirked faintly. “I handled it.”

The sound of tires on gravel interrupted the exchange. Both of them turned as your car rolled up quietly in.

You stepped out, keys still in hand, and paused when you spotted Curtis.

He looked just as stunned to see you.

Your eyes went straight to his face, your voice lifting with concern. “Curtis—what the hell happened?”

His smile faltered. “It’s nothing.”

You took a step closer, eyes scanning his bruised lip, the tension in his posture, the scabbed knuckles he didn’t bother to hide.

He looked you up and down, something guarded behind his eyes, before he asked, “What are you doing here?”

Your voice came quieter than you meant it to. "Oh I just came by-"

Ray moved first, stepping in between the two of you before the moment could spiral. “Told her to swing by,” he said, glancing at you. “To check the pressure on that front tire I changed. Just making sure it holds.”

You blinked, catching on. “Right. Yeah, it was feeling off.”

Curtis’s gaze flicked between you and his brother. His shoulders dropping. "I thought it was your back tire?"

Ray gave him a steady look, then turned back to you. “Yeah... it is. My bad. Give me a second, yeah? I’ll take a look.”

He headed over to grab the pressure gauge, giving you a second with Curtis, though you could feel his eyes still on the both of you.

Ray stepped out with the air compressor, muttering something about checking the pressure on all the tires too, though you knew he was just giving you two space.

The garage door was still open, the light from the beautiful day falling in, but it still felt dimmer somehow. You leaned your weight onto your left side, arms crossed, watching Curtis as he ran a hand through his hair. He winced when his knuckles brushed his temple.

Your eyes dropped to his lip again. Then to his hands. The skin across his knuckles crusted faintly at the edges. He was pretending it didn’t hurt, but you knew better.

Curtis looked up, catching you mid-stare. His mouth curved into a soft smirk.

“I’m not gonna break,” he said quietly. “You can stop looking at me like a wounded puppy.”

You scoffed, but your arms tightened around yourself anyway. “I’m not.”

He tilted his head, like he didn’t believe you. “You are.”

“I’m just worried,” you said, voice quieter now. “That’s allowed.”

He moved a little closer, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket to keep from reaching out. “I’ve been in fights before.”

You gave him a dry look. “Yeah, but not recently. And none with your bike involved again.”

Curtis shrugged with that same boyish calm he always wore when he wanted to act like things didn’t matter. “Could’ve been worse.”

You didn’t answer right away. The silence curled at the edges, until he finally added, more seriously this time, “They had it coming.”

You nodded once, then looked back at his lip. “Still hurts though, doesn’t it.”

He licked it absently, the metal tang probably still fresh. “Only when I smile.” He smiled anyway.

You hesitated, then stepped forward and reached out, slow, brushing your fingers just beneath his chin to tilt his face toward the light.

He let you.

You didn’t say anything. You just looked at him for a second longer, a soft thumb brushing the corner of his jaw. Close enough to feel his breath.

Curtis was the first to break the moment. “You really came all the way here just to get your tire checked?”

You let your hand drop, stepping back with a small laugh. “I—uh… Yeah.”

He looked back toward Ray where he was crouched with the back tires of your car. He held his breath. When he looked back at you, something in his eyes had changed.

“He took his chance, didn’t he…”

Your breath caught. You didn’t answer right away.

Curtis gave a slow, dry nod, like he already knew. “Should’ve figured. He’s always been good at reading when the timing’s right.”

You swallowed hard. Not wanting to lie to him about it. “It wasn’t planned, Curtis. It just… happened last night.”

He didn’t look angry. Just tired. Hurt behind his eyes. “Yeah. That’s the part that hurts a little.”

You opened your mouth to say something, to explain what, you weren’t sure you fully understood, but he just shook his head gently.

“I don’t blame you,” he said. “I really don’t. Ray’s… Ray. He gets under people’s skin.”

You gave a weak smile. “So do you.”

Curtis smiled too, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just not the right way, I guess.”

The silence stretched. You hated it. Hated that this was how he was finding out. Hated that you were the one standing there, still unsure where you and he stood, but knowing that you didn’t want to hurt him.

“I didn’t mean for it,” You said softly. "To hurt you."

Curtis looked at you for a long moment. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Then he exhaled and turned back to his bike, the quiet between you no longer soft. You watched him for a second longer, heart sitting heavy in your chest, and behind you, heavy footfalls approaching.

Ray stepped closer, his eyes flicking between the two of you. He paused just long enough to know something had shifted, but not long enough to ask.

“Pressure’s good. You’re fine to head out.” He said, voice even.

You nodded, but didn’t move.

Curtis still had his back to you, hand resting against the edge of the bike seat. He didn’t turn around.

Ray looked between you and his brother. Something in his jaw tensed, then eased again. Then Curtis turned back, jaw clenched.

“How hard would you punch me if I kissed her, Ray?”

You closed your eyes, the words catching in your chest like a stalled breath. “I’m right here?!”

Curtis didn’t look at you. His eyes stayed on his brother, the bruise on his cheek more prominent from the sun coming in through the open metal door. He wasn’t joking, but he wasn’t angry either.

Ray blinked, caught somewhere between disbelief and a laugh that didn’t quite make it past his teeth.

“Do you want to kiss him?” he asked, turning toward you like he couldn’t help it. His voice was low and sharp, but not raised. Just edged deeper.

You snapped your gaze to him, eyes wide. “What kind of question is that?”

“A real one,” Curtis cut in, voice tighter now. “You’ve got both of us here. You can’t pretend you don’t feel something for me, and you sure as hell can’t act like Ray hasn’t already gotten to you.”

Ray’s jaw clenched.

“Curt.” You started, stepping forward, but he held up a hand, not to stop you, but to brace himself.

“I just wanna know where I stand in all this,” he said. “Because I’m not about to play the idiot and act like it’s not gonna kill me a little every time I'll see you with him. But I can take it. If it’s him, fine. But don’t look at me like I’m the one who's standing in between your feelings.”

The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It rang in your ears, pressed against your ribs.

Ray stepped forward then, just slightly, his hand brushing the side of your arm, a grounding touch. “You don’t owe either of us anything,” he said quietly. “But you should be honest. With yourself.”

You looked between them. Curtis, bruised but standing tall, eyes raw. Ray, calm on the surface but simmering underneath, thumb still brushing your skin like it'd keep him steady.

Your mouth parted, but no words came out.

Not yet.

You hesitated.

The air felt thick, dense with everything unspoken and everything too late.

Curtis stood still, like breathing might break whatever fragile thread you were standing on. Ray didn’t move either, his touch at your arm gone now, like he understood this wasn’t his moment to interfere.

You took a step forward.

Curtis held his breath.

Your hand found his chest first, fingers splayed over the collar of his shirt. You looked up at him, eyes searching his, and for just a second, you saw something raw flicker there, hope or dread, maybe both.

Then you rose to your toes and kissed him.

Not on the mouth.

But just to the side.

A quiet press of your lips to his cheek, warm and slow and full of all the things that had never been said. A kiss that wasn’t a beginning or an end, just a moment you owed him. A sorry, in the middle of all the unapologetic decisions made by you.

Curtis exhaled, the breath he’d been holding escaping like it hurt to let it go. His eyes shut. Just for a second.

When you stepped back, he didn’t reach for you. Didn’t ask for more. But the ache in his eyes said he felt it, all of it.

When you turned toward Ray, the silence still lingered.

His eyes were already on you.

Not hardened. Not smug. Just steady. Like he’d been bracing for your answer and had promised himself not to flinch with what you decided on.

When looked at him your heart gave a quiet tug.

Then, with a breath barely caught in your chest, you mouthed it.

You.

No sound. Just the word, small and unshakable on your lips. A tear falling down your cheek.

Ray didn’t move at first. His eyes held yours, unmoving, unreadable for a long beat. You could feel Curtis behind you, still watching. Still absorbing what hadn’t needed to be said out loud.

Then Ray’s shoulders eased, just slightly. His chest rose with a slow breath, and something in his jaw unclenched. His heart, for all its roughness, stayed steady.

He stepped forward, not in a rush, not to claim you, but like he understood the weight of that word you’d given him. The reassurance that your heart was his.

He stopped in front of you, just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him.

“Yeah?” He asked, voice low, meant only for you.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He looked at you for another second, searching for a second guess. But there weren’t any this time. So he reached out, slid his hand gently against your neck, fingers curling softly at the base of your skull. His thumb brushed your jaw, slow and grounding.

Just a touch. Steady, quiet, certain.

Behind you, Curtis stepped back. No outburst, just a shift, a quiet surrender. You didn’t have to look to know he was already turning away.

Ray kept his eyes on yours.

And for the first time since the tension began pulling all three of you in different directions, you didn’t feel like you were standing in the middle of a tug-of-war.

You just felt... sure.

[mikatogo]

randy telling benson he wants to get his ears pierced! >_<

OH EM GEE!! I've been thinking about what to write BUT here it is 🧙🌞🌀☄️✨🌻

This turned out to be 3,5k words (send me to jail) so i posted it on ao3 too 🤭

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66895933

-----

Benson and Randy have been on the road for months and months. They had temporarily settled in one or two small towns before skipping again, Benson never comfortable enough to stay for longer than a few weeks at a time.

He was worried, even if he didn't admit to it. He was worried then and he is worried now. The thing he worries about most is someone recognising Randy. The same thing is always on repeat in his mind: his bitchass mother is still looking for him, she just has to be. An angel, this sweet boy—she must be devastated that he slipped through her grasp, that Benson has his dirt hands on him now. It must drive her crazy. Benson wouldn't be surprised if she was still on TV, the fucking radio. Randy's face all over Louisiana. Milk cartons, newspaper.

Oh, yeah, he wouldn't be surprised if she still picked up every call with shaking hands, hoping it's her darlin' boy and getting the wind knocked out of her when it's not.

He is sure, though, that she would have a royal heart attack if she knew that Benson was all over her son, dirtying and corrupting him, marking him his. Wonders if the hair at the back of her neck stands up in that psychic knowledge that only parents seem to have. Wonders if her skin burns when he places a kiss on Randy's throat, when he pushes him onto his back to suck marks into his milky skin. Maybe she can hear the echo of him if he makes Randy moan loud enough. An easy task, to be honest.

"Ben—," gasps Randy. Benson hums, runs his fingertips along the bumps of the other's ribs. He bites along his shoulder before pulling back to look at the boy spread out underneath him. Randy is flushed—his face a pretty pink, a slightly darker red running from his throat to his chest. Benson wishes he could eat him alive.

"What is it, baby?"

Back to the topic of paranoia; Randy's hair wasn't short anymore—they had buzzed it a month after running. Now, it is long, just brushing along his shoulders. Messily cut, curling around his ears which drives Benson crazy. The most recent changes were the colours. Randy had suggested it, a chestnut brown at first. Benson didn't like it, loved the golden hair of his too much but he could see the logic in it. Everyone would be looking for his angel so maybe another colour would throw them off, something less out of this world. So he agreed, stole him a pack of hair dye at the next store. Randy had beamed, lighting up the dirt motel room and Benson didn't know why he felt so emotional about it. He had kissed him stupid, had kissed and undressed him, had pulled him back by his blonde hair one more time before dyeing and washing it out for him over the nasty ass shower.

Now, it is a cute orange. Not bright like a prison jumpsuit. No, it's gentle, like the setting sun over the ocean. Benson likes it, likes it almost too much. It highlights Randy's blush, frames his face perfectly and he is obsessed. If he looks at him for a moment too long, well, he can't help himself from swallowing him whole.

"I wanna get my ears pierced," breathes Randy, his hand fisted in Benson's hair. He pulls back, sits up on Randy's thighs. Hands limp against the other's sides.

"Huh?" he asks almost dumbfounded.

"My, my ears?" Randy motions to his ears with one hand, the other on Benson's thigh.

"Pierced?"

"Yeah...?"

"Like, earrings?"

"No, like a high-pitched scream." Randy rolls his eyes and Benson thinks about slapping him. "Yes, like earrings, Benson."

He blinks at him until Randy feels uncomfortable, starts squirming underneath him. His hands start pawing at him like they do when he gets desperate for an answer, or for a kiss. He leans down, kisses him until that is also too much. Benson moves down his throat, bites, hard, into the crook of his neck.

"Ouw..." says Randy quietly, like someone would do when they hit their hand on something by accident. Benson couldn't help but snort, detaching from the other. Randy's owl-eyes are already on him. "So..."

"Yeah, no fuckin' way, baby," scoffs Benson. Fuck, no.

"Why?" whines Randy. They had spent so much time together that the other didn't hide much of his disappointment anymore. He likes to whine, much to Benson's annoyance.

"'cause that shit's expensive." he grabs Randy's jaw, drives his fingertips into the hinges to force it open. He leans over him—ghosting over his lips, breathing the same air. "And I won't let anyone touch what belongs to me."

-----

Benson had hoped that Randy would forget about it. He didn't. He bothers him, every few days he would bring it up again. Randy knows that he hates when he prods and yet he wouldn't shut the fuck up about piercing his fucking ears.

"We can figure something out!" says the other, rattling his shoulders. They're in the back of their van; Benson is face down in the pillows, half asleep. Randy is sitting on top of him and making it fucking hard to breathe.

"I'm gonna figure out how hard I have to hit you to knock ya the fuck out if y'don't let me sleep." he grumbles into the pillow. Randy groans and flops down on his back, his face on Benson's shoulder blade. He would feel caged by anyone else but his body recognises Randy well, like an extension of himself.

"Please, Ben." he says sweetly, knows that works well on him. Benson turns his head to the side to fucking breathe.

"No." hands sneaking around his waist, forcing their way under his body.

"You hate me," his face lifts off his shoulder blade to overlap it with Benson's own. Hair tickles his eyeball, but he knows that his beard must be rubbing against Randy's temple as well, so it seems fair enough to not complain.

"If I'm still conscious in five minutes then yeah, I'll hate ya."

Randy huffs, settles more comfortably on top of him and finally, finally, shuts the fuck up.

-----

"Benson, please—," tears are streaming down Randy's face. Of course, he's crying. He's always fucking crying even though he is the one to start the fight.

"How many fuckin' times," Benson points at him on the motel bed. He is pacing up and down the long wall of the their room. "do I have to tell ya not to talk about that fuckin' bitch?"

"I wasn't even talking about her!" he doesn't yell but he isn't quiet either which pisses Benson off even more. "You just—imagine I'm thinking about her and make me the bad guy!"

If he has to be honest it's a dumb fucking fight. They were just talking about whatever show they were watching when it slipped out of Randy's mouth; the simple mention of his mother. That's all it took to set Benson off like this. He notices, of course, that all of it is irrational but what else was there to do in this endless limbo of driving and sleeping?

"Y'know what, here," he tramples over to the phone, takes the cable and rams it back into the wall. "Fuckin' call her. Go on, run back to mommy."

"You're being an asshole," he throws the whole thing at Randy and only slightly hurts when the other flinches. He misses, of course, it only lands on the bedding. Randy stares him down, clenched fists and teary eyes but Benson could see the anger in them, making his pupils dance from the restrained shake of it.

He storms from the motel, making sure to slam the door hard enough to make Randy's teeth rattle. He only hates himself a little more than usual.

-----

Of course, he comes crawling back to him. Quietly, he opens the door, not surprised when the big light is turned off. The TV is on and so is the little light on Benson's side of the bed. Randy is curled up in the middle of the bed.

Yeah, he's a fucking asshole. But Randy knows that. He knows and yet Benson still feels sorry, feels heavy with guilt. He takes off his shoes, his jacket. Walks over to the boy.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, the left side always his even when Randy wakes up on it in the morning. He brushes a finger over the other's forehead, tugs a wild ray of sun behind his ear.

"You mad at me?" he asks, gentle. He had only learnt how to be gentle because of Randy.

He catches Benson's wrist and he doesn't startle. Everyone else would've been knocked out cold but not Randy, never Randy. His eyes blink open, "Yes."

"Well, shit." says Benson. Randy lets his wrist go, sits up all expectantly. He scoffs but reaches to scruff him by the neck anyways. Randy lets himself be kissed and Benson still believes him to be mad—he was also greedy, they could coexist in that slant body of his.

"Lemme make it up to ya." he speaks into Randy's mouth, smiles when the other just presses into another kiss, hands tugging on his waist. He moves to get up, bent half over to keep their lips connected before kissing his cheek, his temple. "C'mon, bathroom."

"Why?" pouts Randy and he's a very specific type of cute when he doesn't get his way. He wraps his arms around Benson's neck, his back arching and setting a stab of pain into Benson's own. He lets him hang onto him, slides his hands under the black sleep shirt he was wearing.

"Surprise for you." he says and hears how out of breath he sounds. Randy tries to pull him back to bed but Benson takes the arms off his shoulders and pressed a kiss to the side of his face. "Come, 'fore I change my mind."

He pulls away, let's Randy grab his arm to hop out of bed. He tries to push past but Benson doesn't move, instead he kisses him again. He hates fighting. It used to be fun, riling the boy up and watching him explode everywhere. It's boring now, maybe he has become old, and soft. Fucking soft.

He pushes Randy to the bathroom, stays close to his back.

"Sit," he motions to the toilet lid. Randy sits like the good boy he is. "One sec,"

He places the things he brought on the sink, moves over to where Randy is sitting on the closed lid. His head is down and Benson swallows the guilt. He doesn't know how to apologize, still. He brushes back the long strands of hair with his fingers, making him look up at him. "There he is."

He ties them with the hairband that is permanently attached to his wrist. Randy touches his legs lightly.

"What is the surprise?"

"Remember when you said we'll figure somethin' out?" he asks, concentrates on getting the hair in the little ponytail. He twirls it, tugs once so Randy's head falls back further. "Well, I figured somethin' out."

His eyes widen, almost sparkling in the dingy light of the bathroom. Benson looks at him, really looks, and he feels like he can see his entire life in Randy's face. That all his reasons to keep running and living were spelt at the edge of Randy's being.

"You're piercing my ears?" asks Randy and in moments like these he sounds like a boy. Full of life and wonder, full of goodness and devoid of whatever the fuck Benson carries.

"No, I'm gonna scream real loud." he scoffs, slapping his face. Randy beams up at him, squirming in his seat. "Don't be too excited, that shit hurts. 'specially 'cause we ain't got a gun."

"Yeah, we do." Randy raises an eyebrow. Benson can't help the eyeroll, moves away to wash his hands. Opens the antiseptic and puts some on a piece of toilet paper.

"A piercing gun, ya moron." scoffs but he feels that familiar wave of fondness wash over him. Soft motherfucker. "I'mma do it with a needle. Hope ya don't get an infection or some shit."

Randy's mouth turns downwards, Benson can see the nervous edge in him now. He steps between his legs, tilts his head back to smear the paper along his earlobes. On the second ear he leans in to plant a kiss right between his eyes. "You're a big boy, ain'tcha? Ya gonna be just fine, baby."

He deflates a bit and Benson smirks. Yeah, he's a big boy, alright. Just needs a little more encouragement, Benson wonders if he has never gotten that from his mom. Maybe to keep him down, keep him scared and weak. Well, it worked but Benson is cracking him open just fine. Makes a challenge out of every day and sometimes, just sometimes, it's a bit scary how much braver he is in contrast to Benson. How it's real bravery and not that mask that Benson slides on.

He pats the back of his head, kisses his cheek when he tilts his head that way. Yeah, well, maybe Randy is changing him, too. Maybe he isn't as bloody and strong as he likes to pretend. Maybe the other sees right through him.

"Alright!" he says a bit too jolly, making the other laugh. He takes a needle out of the plastic wrap, sprays it with antiseptic and almost scoffs at himself. They used to do this a lot more dirty, back then. He couldn't risk Randy getting sick, though. Not on the road, not ever, if he could help it.

He grabs the lighter out of his back pocket, a dumbass fish with a cowboy hat as the motive. Randy raises an eyebrow.

"Do you know anything about life? Like, at all?" says Benson. Randy sours a bit before he slaps the flat of his hand against Benson's stomach. He holds the needle into the flame. "You nervous?"

"Hmm..." hums Randy. It's a funny thing he does, actually thinking about what he's feeling instead of saying the first thing that comes to mind. Used to piss Benson off, but not so much anymore. "Yeah, but it's okay since you're the one doing it."

"Okay, Romeo," he mumbles. "We doin' right first."

"Why?"

"'cause I wanna." he nudges Randy's foot, the other turning his head sideways to give him better excess. "No flinchin' or other shit. Ya might wanna hold onto me."

"Okay, Romeo." a bad imitation of his voice. "Okay, nevermind, I'm nervous."

"You don't say..." he moves his hands closer, puts the side of his right one behind Randy's ear. "Deep breath, don't bite your fuckin' tongue, I swear to god."

Randy nods, closes his eyes. His hands are fisted in Benson's shirt, pressing against his waist. He takes a breath and Benson pushes the needle to his earlobe without a countdown. Randy lets out a little whine, lips pressed together. The needle slides through after a moment of struggling, hangs in the other's ear like a thorn.

"Hold still." he tells him, stretches to grab the jewelry he bought him. Of course Randy doesn't let up and makes everything more difficult. Benson mumbles to himself, leans in close to take the needle out and slide the jewelry in. He straightens, holds Randy's jaw between his fingers. For a moment he feels dazed, like the wind got knocked out of him. "Wouldya look at that."

"Does it look bad?" asks Randy and it's so sincere that Benson feels the guilt swallow him this time. He turns Randy's head, left to right, left to right, as if to check. The other's lips start twitching upwards and it's enough.

"We doin' the other one too or do you only want one?" he asks, tries to hold back from dragging him to the horrifically uncomfortable mattress. He thumbs at his mouth instead.

"What do you like better?"

"Who gives a fuck, it's your choice." he cleans the needle to avoid looking at the boy. Christ, he wants to kiss him, wants to make him feel as beautiful as he looks. How could one look so perfect in a dirty motel room, how could one be this perfect and still want Benson? He feels sick, feels like the most lucky guy in the world.

"What if you don't like both?" he tugs at Benson's shirt. He tries to fight looking at him simply because he knows that he will feel too many things that shouldn't be felt. Especially by him.

"Both it is," he says instead. Randy lets out a shuttering breath, making Benson's eyes flicker to him. "I hurt ya?"

"No," his voice wobbled a bit and Benson couldn't suppress the smile that creeps onto his face. He was cute, fuck. "well, it hurt but it's not your fault."

"I know it's not my fault." he scoffs, holding the needle back over the flame.

"Then don't ask like it is." Benson would slap him for that if his hands weren't full. Not hard but still. Randy grins past the hands hovering in front of his face. He knows what Benson was thinking.

They do it like before. Hands to the side of his head, tilting, deep breath before sticking it into his skin. It was harder than the right one but Benson got the job done. Straightens and throws the needle to the side.

A tear rolls down Randy's face. "Ouw..." he says all small.

"Aww, look at ya," coos Benson, mockingly to rile him up, distract him from the sting. He wipes the tear away, wipes the hair off his forehead. "wanna take a look, big boy?"

Randy is up and in front of the mirror before Benson can count to three. He leans on his hands towards his twin, blinking in tandem. Benson watches him, sun-kissed skin and sunlike hair. Thinks of all the things that would be better for the boy before pushing them away. He was his, his, his.

So of course, he couldn't stop himself from walking over to him. He slides his hands around his waist, kisses the back of his neck, behind his ear before meeting his eyes in the mirror. Perfect, he looks perfect. Beaming and stupid, and he was so much better than Benson would ever deserve.

"You like 'em?" he asks. Randy's smile is close to splitting his face.

"I love it," he throws his hands up to his face before dropping them back down. Benson follows the sway of his body like a boat on sea. "thank you."

"You're welcome, baby."

He presses a kiss to his shoulder, following the line of it to the crook of his neck. Pushes his face there.

"About earlier..." he hesitates and the silence is louder after a failed apology. He couldn't spit it out, no matter how hard he tries it just wouldn't get past his lips.

"I know," says Randy. He turns, puts his hands on Benson's shoulder and they make him feel ten years younger, twenty pounds lighter, a billion times better. Even if the rot would forever slush through his veins, in moments like these he felt untouchable.

"You were right."

"I know, but you're not always an asshole." he grins. "You can make it up to me."

"Mhmm, didn't I just do that?" he leans their foreheads together, makes Randy go cross eyed.

"Yeah, well, maybe I deserve some more for that thrown telephone."

And maybe he did. Maybe he deserved everything that Benson had to offer and five times as much. He deserves everything he could possibly wish for and Benson would work to give it to him, would go to the end of the world to get him whatever he wanted.

So, because he was selfish, it wasn't hard to lean in and kiss him—to slip his tongue past his lips and make him go pliant in his hands. And if Randy pushes him onto his back and climbs into his lap, well, Benson wasn't one to complain.

Some moments, all he can think about is how perfectly the blue stones catch the light of the bedside lamp. How well they compliment the orange of his hair, the pink in his face. How priceless he looks in a $50 room, and how it seems like all he wants is Benson. Some days he could pretend that it was true. Some days it came easy—like breathing, like craving food. Some days Benson wanted nothing more than to wallow in the feeling of love and let Randy curl up in the depths of him.

And maybe some day he would allow him to do whatever he wanted. Some day he would tell him; when he is half as brave as the other, when he can hear the words and believe them.

For now, it's enough to see his own eyes glimmering back at him from their place in Randy's ears. For now, it's enough to hear his name fall from his lips in something that wasn't fear or hate. For now, it's enough to have him fall asleep next to him every night, to hear his promises about forever. And, fuck, if he didn't believe him most of the time.

[bachirasbimbo]

Meguru wasn’t someone whose spirit was easily broken down.

In-fact, there’s never been a time that you can recall where his spirit has been completely destroyed.

He’s always kept a level-head.

Energetic? Sure.

Enthusiastic? Also sure.

Crazy? Beyond that.

But you found that extremely endearing to say the VERY least.

You crushed on him from afar, obviously way too scared to actually make a move on him.

He was everything you wanted in a guy, and despite not being too bad looking yourself, he made you much too nervous.

You had never felt like this about a boy, so for you to be going insane? That’s valid.

He didn’t notice when you would wave at him, blushing profusely as he waved back.

He didn’t know that whenever he brushed by you, your heart exploded in your very chest.

He didn’t notice that whenever he flashed you a sheepish smile, your stomach would churn in a way that left you puzzled.

Meguru Bachira was something that needed to be studied in a lab, you thought to yourself.

But you had also thought Meguru never noticed you.

Which was a total and utter lie.

During his games, you were always there, cheering him on from the sidelines.

He’d catch glances of you staring at him, even if only just for a split second—but he never made it obvious he noticed you.

He liked the way he had you wrapped around his finger.

So everything he had done you thought were part of your delusions? It was intentional. Because he liked seeing you squirm.

In-fact, Bachira had spent countless of nights thinking about you.

Whether it was your face,

Your eyes,

Your lips,

Or even your body.

Your enthusiasm towards him had sparked his interest, and that was enough for him to make the move on you.

It happened when you had been bored, you had decided to go see a movie.

You were waiting for your friend to sneak some drinks near your way.

She had been gone an awfully large amount of time, which was frustrating for you.

You were pretty alone in the theatre, this movie really wasn’t well-liked but you had been dragged here against your will.

A voice echoed, the tone was playful, light.

“Anyone sitting here?”

Bachira asked, pointing to the movie seat next to you. In one hand he was holding a paper bucket of popcorn, propping a piece of the buttery delight in his mouth every few seconds.

You were stunned, you just stared up at him, eyes wide.

Was this really happening? Wait—No, why is he even here?

You cursed under your breath, your mind reeling. But if he takes that seat my friend won’t-

“Hello?” He waved in front of your face, bringing you back to reality.

“Huh? Oh, uh, no.” Screw your friend.

She was taking too long to get back anyways, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Bachira lazily hummed, falling back onto the seat as he stared towards the big screen, his hand occasionally digging into the popcorn.

The fact he was sitting right next to you excited you, your heart was twisting into knots.

Honestly, it was kind of scary how much of an effect he had on you.

All you could hear was random hums from him, or the crunch of his obnoxious chewing habit which you had grown to like.

He was carefree, and it was something you admired deeply.

You bit your lip, trying to distract yourself. Your gaze was on the movie and the movie alone, though, occasionally stealing a glance at him.

There was an abrupt silence between the two of you, as the movie proceeded.

Your friend still wasn’t back, by some miracle.

“So, do you like this type of series?” He asked, his voice still light, cutting you from your thoughts.

It was just casual conversation. You felt pathetic with how fast your thighs clenched together.

“Uhm—Yeah.” You replied, a bit too quick for your own liking

Shit. Now you just looked weird.

He replied with a click of his tongue.

“I don’t really like horror.” He said, a little too casual for your liking.

You just nodded slightly, your eyes still glued to the screen. You wanted to look at his face so badly right now. But you were scared.

The unsettling feeling of his gaze had settled in your stomach, you felt like he was staring holes into the side of your head.

Was he staring? Or are you just being delusional?

Oh, he was indeed staring. And quite shamelessly too.

He paid no mind to the movie playing upfront, and your gut clenched.

When you finally turn your head to meet his gaze, he smiles. Flashing you that grin you admired so much.

You don’t know what happened. One thing lead to another and you had somehow landed back at his place, breathless under him as he stared down at you.

Even as he met your gaze now, sandwiching you under him. His gaze was just as light as it always is.

Maybe you should be scared by his enthusiasm, or maybe his lack of shame.

But you weren’t. You were drawn to it like moths to a flame.

He leaned down, his grin widening. “Your crush was soo obvious!” He taunted, giggling more to himself than you. He probably found it entertaining humiliating you.

All you did was blush, your heart was erratic by this point. You wouldn’t be surprised if you just rolled over and died.

“I-“ you attempted to talk, to defend yourself, just for him to shove a finger to your mouth, effectively shushing you.

“Shhh!” He said, still smirking widely.

It was no surprise when things quickly escalated from that, and for some reason, he wouldn’t allow you to stop looking at him as he pounded into you, his grip on your thighs bruisingly tight—unbeknownst to him.

he destroyed you, your gut hurt so badly as you clenched around him, shaking as you came undone on his cock for the third time.

You were worn out, the use of your pretty little cunt had you unable to breathe properly.

Not how you imagined losing your virginity, but since it’s Meguru Bachira? It’s fine.

Your moans to him were like heaven, and you were a present he wanted to unravel and tear to shreds.

He urged you on, entertaining it all as he rubbed your clit, the pad of his thumb moving rhythmically on the wet bundle of nerves, like he had done this 100 times—but he hadn’t. He was a fast learner, is all.

You were an overstimulated, drooling, moaning mess.

You practically squeeled like a pig everytime he came inside of you, pulling out to watch his seed drip from your pussy only to push back in shortly after.

“Bachira- Ngh!” He had no shame, letting out noises of his own as he continued his thrusts.

The grip on your thighs was getting to be extremely painful, but your senses were too overcome with bliss to care.

“No.” He silenced, before leaning in, closing the distance between your fucked out face.

“Meguru.” He corrected, connecting your lips as he pushed his tongue into your mouth with such fervour it scared you.

Tears welled up in your eyes, you were too overstimulated to even process his words.

Your tongue wrapped around his own as he continued to fuck into you at a pace steady enough to make you yearn for more, but enough to overstimulate you.

The clawing of his back came into the picture, your nails scratching down his bare, meticulously fair skin.

The only noise shrouding the room was the plap! plap! of his skin meeting your own and faint moans.

The room smelt like pure sex and arousal, not that you cared.

You couldn’t continue on, he was a monster. His stamina was something you had never thought of whenever you fantasised about him.

But he could go for genuine. Hours.

For once, you thanked your friend for being unreliable.

And as your consciousness began to fade, your walls strangling another load out of him, spasming, you could make out a faint smile forming on his face.

“Night night.” Is the last thing you heard.

[silkieluv]

Found my old notebook from seventh grade and it has a full page dedicated to headcanons I had/have for Jay……. You know what that means!!

*First I’ll state all the headcanons, then I’ll comment about them

Deliberately did a poor job whenever it was his turn to clean to manipulate Zane into doing it instead

Isn’t the biggest fan of sea food, yet frequently pretends to like it (specifically in front of Nya)

Frequently oversleeps

Terribly afraid of spiders and giant animals

As a child was incredibly energetic and restless, often exhausting Ed and Edna

Still, nobody is aware of his adoption for the sole reason that he’s scared of having a meltdown if anyone asks ‘how do you know?’

Picked up driving faster than the others

Feels the need to make any serious situation/predicament into a joke, otherwise getting severe panic attacks

Bought a silly pajamas for 3999.99$ (aka got scammed), and isn’t allowed to shop at all (offline/online)

Has a collection of shiny stuff that Maya threw out, mistaking it for trash

Mild anger issues

Used to brush his teeth 5 times a day or -9 times

Bawled when watching Lion King. *After finishing the movie, Kai compared Jay to that crazy monkey

Star is his favorite shape

Shiny colors? Shiny colors!

Keeps handmade gifts

And now for my opinion….. if you have a different opinion of mine (like something I don’t/vise versa) and want to comment, but feel like you shouldn’t, you’re totally welcomed! Don’t listen to me, speak your mind!

Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. He doesn’t need to ‘manipulate’ Zane, and Zane is smart enough to pick up on it. And if not, Cole and Kai will pick up after maximum two days (if you have siblings you know that you always search where your sibling is, to see if they’re also doing a chore to make sure they’re (God forbid) resting while you’re working) and tell Zane and get revenge on Jay. That scheme will not last for more than three days. Bonus: Jay confesses he just doesn’t know how to do it and Zane warmly offers to teach him

Somehow even more stupid? What led me to think about this? I would’ve agreed if only we would’ve known Nya was the water ninja before Possession. I can totally see Rise of the Snakes through Legacy of the Green Ninja Jay doing this, but it makes no sense if nobody knows about Nya’s powers. So, just no. (*because it’s out of character for Possession Jay to pretend, and I really want to believe Skybound Jay isn’t this pathetic)

Gyatt dammit. Funny how I wrote that then yet today I headcanon that he ‘never fully sleeps’ and even if he does hit the deep state, it’s never for long (I won’t elaborate about why, I think I reblogged some smart post talking about this and have been obsessed since)

Love the reminder I’ve always been a Skybound fan. You know what, Sure. I’ll humor you, younger, silly me. Sons of Garmadon with that crab? Yeah. Jay had a panic attack behind a giant rock. Adam from Master of the Mountain? Jay couldn’t sleep for two days.

Totally. Great headcanon! Lightning never sleeps. Enough said, your honor!

I wouldn’t say ‘nobody’s aware’… I’d like to think Nya has a vague memory of him screaming about his adoption back at the island (I headcanon that post-turning back from losing herself and her memories, she forgot most of Skybound thanks to my wonderful moot). I’d like to think he told the team, but keeping it a secret seems cute. Surely, Ed and Edna knows, as well as Wu

Sure. Why not, honestly. He had knowledge from video games, most likely travelled using a bicycle/motorcycle he built as a kid/teen, and is a fast learner. Seriously, cool

Way to state the obvious. Are we Joppy from seventh grade or Nadakhan from that one scene, am I right you guys? Plus I think a ‘panic attack’ is a little of an exaggeration of his situation. I would like to say that in stressful situations he often has the need to crack a joke. In case the situation isn’t fit for a joke, he plays in his head self-degrading jokes

NO. JUST NO. SHUT UP. He’s a very intelligent, smart, and most importantly, TECHNOLOGICALLY ADVANCED man. He would NEVER IN A BAJILLION YEARS fall for a scam. He probably programmed that scam if anything!

Uh…. Sure? I’d like to think of Jay as a hoarder (he literally grew up in a junkyard), and one day he was like “So pretty…” and started collecting. Probably stuff from their adventures! (Like stolen a little something in Legacy of the Green ninja, the last episode (I think) WHATEVER THE BEQUEATH EPISODE, got himself a golden tooth from Misfortune’s Keep, stole Morro’s remains— there’s a lot of possibilities!)

Again. Canon. Get original dammit.

Makes no sense, not sure what I meant by that. I probably meant that he either brushes his teeth 48 times a week (double than the required/normal/advised amount), or he brushes his teeth nine times a whole month. Uh…. No….? The ninja probably have a routine of doing things like that together (probably as a competition to start the day with a punch), and as a kid I believe his ma always reminded him of self-care (based on her screaming for water in Hands of Time)

I never watched the Lion King. Idk why I felt the need to headcanon this, but now I headcanon the whole team secretly hate that movie and agreed to never see it. something about it being ‘overrated’ (Kai secretly watched it) (he was ignored for a day) (Zane and Pixal secretly watched it together) (their crime is still unfound)

Superstar Rocking Jay based. Love.

Okay that I have no idea. I think I meant neon colors or something, but I think I was referring to something about Superstar Rocking Jay?? I don’t know what to say since I have no idea wtf does it mean

Cute. I’d like to think he has a special drawer/place to put everything he got as a gift that was handmade (it’s mostly full with things from his ma)