#looking forward to seeing it if you make it /gen

[lpmurphy]

Begin Again

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Summary: It had been thirty years since his truck tires rolled out of her drive for the last time. Even longer since the day his locker door slammed shut beside hers and marked the beginning of Jack Abbot. Beth had never expected it to end. Never expected to live a lifetime with only the ghost of the boy who promised her one together. She never expected to see him again. Until that curtain flung open, and there he was. And just like that, Jack Abbot began again.

Notes: jack abbot/single mom!ofc, reunited high school sweethearts, second chance romance, slow (emphasis on the SLOW) burn, seriously it's slow, ofc’s daughter is a teenage gen z menace and we love her for it, angst/longing/yearning to the max, hurt/comfort, author is just an english teacher with no medical background, eventual smut, jack and ofc are emotionally constipated idiots, therapy but make it kinda mean, tough love therapy, if you catch the song reference you're cool and i love you

Warnings: mentions of childhood abuse, mentions of alcoholism, death of a parent, other just generally bummer stuff

Word Count: 7,909

Read on AO3 (Up to Chapter 15!)

Chapter Eleven: The Sad Kid on Balch Street

“So, let me make sure I have this all straight.”

Jack leaned forward on the stiff couch and rested his elbows on his knees, shifting uncomfortably. Ten years of ass-in-seat, and it still had the charm of a concrete slab. He was starting to think Grier kept it that way on purpose. But he figured it probably had little to do with the couch.

Grier leaned back in the chair across from him, let out a long exhale, and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. Yeah, you and fucking me both, buddy, Jack thought. He watched the pen drop to the notepad, watched Grier cross his arms and level that gaze at him again. From day one, Jack never thought the guy looked much like a therapist. Looked more like every damn CO who ever barked his name across a base.

Square-jawed, with silver hair buzzed so close he looked nearly bald, and a stare that made Jack sit up straighter, Grier had almost made him think he’d walked into the wrong damn room that first day. Commendations, shadow-boxed medals, and challenge coins lined the walls of the Desert Storm vet’s office; Jack hadn’t expected it to look like a damn recruiting center, but he preferred it over whatever soft-lit room he could have ended up in. Fifteen minutes into that first session, though, he understood exactly why Rach had made the appointment and been so damn insistent he go when Jack pushed back. Grier didn’t just get it. He lived it. He understood the ghosts that came back with him and took up residence in his head—and the son of a bitch didn’t sugarcoat a goddamn thing.

Grier removed his glasses and let them rest on the pad as well. Jack’s jaw tightened. He knew what it meant when Grier stopped taking notes and started looking at him like that. He pretended not to notice, absently rubbing his palms together while he watched rain trail down the window glass outside. August collapsed into September in the week since he’d been at Beth’s, bringing with it grey skies and showers. He didn’t mind. Didn’t have to care much about it now that he was back on nights. But when Wednesday came and went and the rain continued, he caught himself thinking, midway through treating an MVA patient, that Abby must’ve been bummed it rained on her first day of school. And that Beth, hopefully, wasn’t taking the slick freeway like the Indy 500.

Jack pulled his gaze from the window when Grier started to speak, hands half-raised, then stalled with a soft “huh,” like the words had caught somewhere behind his teeth. He clasped his hands together, thinking. Jack cracked his knuckles. Stumping his therapist wasn’t exactly the most reassuring feeling after the story he’d spent the first twenty minutes vomiting out. He then started twisting his ring without realizing it. It had become a nervous habit, one that used to drive Rach up the wall.

Grier opened his mouth again, gesturing to Jack with his joined fingers. “So let me get this straight. You and this girl—Beth—high school sweethearts. Madly in love. Full-blown small-town fairytale. You two make plans: you’ll head to boot camp, she’ll go off to college, you get married, she follows you, finishes her degree wherever you’re stationed.

She thinks she’s got a few more days with you, and what do you do? You give her one last good night like a dog you’re about to put down. Tell her you love her, promise to write, kiss her on the porch like you’re gonna see her again. The works. Yeah?”

Jack swallowed. “Yeah.”

“And then you leave the next morning without a word.”

Jack dropped his gaze when Grier leveled him with a look. The kind Jack was used to getting from men in uniform. He rubbed his thumb into the center of his palm, focusing instead on the pressure and rain slapping against the panes. But of course Grier noticed. The jackass always noticed. Fuck, why did he have to be good at his job? 

Grier didn’t let up.

“You don’t call, you don’t write. Just thirty years of radio silence.” His voice was calm, but the rhythm of it sharpened. “And then two weeks ago, she shows up in your ED out of the blue with her daughter, who is…?” He raised a single eyebrow, the implication heavy.

Jack’s head snapped up and he shook it quickly. “No. Not mine. She’s seventeen.”

“Mm.” Grier nodded once, slow and deliberate. “Right. Not yours.” He paused, drawing out the quiet like he was flipping through a case file in his head, then scribbled something on his pad before looking back up. “And now, just so I’m crystal clear, this same woman—this high school sweetheart you ‘ghosted’, as my grandson would put it—works at your hospital. Do I have that all right?”

Jack gave a dry exhale. “That about sums it up.”

Grier leaned back, dragged a hand down his face, and let out a long sigh. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “This sounds like some shit my husband would watch.” He slid his glasses back on with a snap and gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. “And why, Jack, is this the first I’m hearing about it?”

“It didn’t seem important,” Jack muttered.

Grier barked out a dry, incredulous laugh. “Bullshit.”

He leaned forward, eyes flashing. “I’ve been your therapist for a decade, Abbot. A decade. I’ve heard about the alcoholic father. The IED. The PTSD episodes. Losing both your mom and your wife to the same goddamn cancer. Hell, I’ve even heard about the cat you ran over when you were twenty.”

Jack flinched slightly at that, jaw tightening.

“Not important ? These are the chapters we’ve been missing from the whole fucking story, Abbot. The missing piece. The silence between the verses. Don’t sit there and tell me it’s not important when you broke your life in half and decided this part didn’t make the cut.”

Jack stared at the floor, hands flexing uselessly in his lap. He knew. Of course he knew. He was the one who’d ripped those fucking pages out; torn them free and shoved them in some dark, forgotten drawer, convinced he’d never have to see them again. Until he walked into that room. Until it all came back like a sucker punch to the chest, slamming him down right back into the middle of the rest of the story.

Grier picked up his pen again, casually now, almost disarmingly. “So,” he said, clicking it once before leaning back, “do you want to start from the beginning? Or jump right to the now?”

Jack exhaled slowly. “Dealer’s choice.”

Grier nodded, already scribbling something down. “Then let’s start from the top.” He didn’t even look up when he asked, “You left. Why?”

Jack sank back into the familiar scratch of the couch, the coarse fabric dragging at his shirt the same way it had every week for the last ten years. It had never been comfortable, but today, it felt earned. Like penance. Like maybe he should squirm a little. He’d sat here and unraveled himself more times than he could count, laid bare the worst parts—war, grief, rage, regret—and somehow found the words for all of it, even when they scraped their way out like broken glass. But this? Her?

That was the part he’d buried too deep to touch. The part he let die quietly, years ago, before it could take him down with it. He’d locked it up so tightly it stopped feeling real. Never spoke her name. Never let it surface. Fuck, he hadn’t even told Rachel about her.

And now, it was clawing its way back up, uninvited. Sharp-edged. Blinding. Hopeful, in a way that felt sickening. Dizzying almost. Like it might split him open just to look at it too long.

It had hit him the second she said his name. A soft, stunned whisper under a pulse he thought had flatlined years ago. Like a thread tugging loose something he didn’t realize was still holding together. He pressed his nail into the flesh of his palm.

“I guess—”

“I don’t want to hear what you guess, ” Grier cut in, sharper now. “Your insurance pays me to guess. You tell me what you know. You loved this girl. She loved you. Then you left and didn’t turn back. Why? ”

Jack exhaled slowly, jaw flexing. His eyes fixed on a crack in the floorboard near the couch, like if he stared hard enough, it might swallow him whole.

Why. Wasn’t that the question of the last thirty years?

He’d explained it to himself over and over; first to the eighteen-year-old who stood on her porch that night, aching to stay. Who couldn’t pull himself away from her when she held his face in her hands and whispered against his lips that she loved him. Then to the same kid, sitting awake in the barracks at midnight, her letters in his lap, trying to convince himself he couldn’t go back. That he shouldn’t. That kid fought like hell, pushed back with everything he had against the voice in his head that said she’d be better off. That this was better. This was kinder.

Eventually, that voice stopped shouting and started whispering.

After her last letter came that January, the voice went hoarse. It only spoke in the dead of night, when that final envelope sat in front of him again, like maybe this time the words would be different. Like maybe the tear stains wouldn’t be there distorting her handwriting. Like maybe it would say “ Hey handsome ” again instead of just—“ Jack. ”

He didn’t speak right away. Didn’t look at Grier. Didn’t look at the window, either, because all he’d see there was that porch light from thirty years ago, and the way she’d looked at him with all that damn hope in her eyes that he had put there.

“I thought I’d ruin her,” he said finally, voice low. “So I left before I could.”

“And who told you that? That loving her would ruin her?”

Grier continued to watch him with that hard stare. Waiting. Challenging him to say something. Jack inhaled. Explaining it was inevitable; might as well rehearse with someone else first. He’d said so many ugly truths in this room over the years, what was one more?

“I saw what war did to my dad,” Jack said finally, his voice low. Controlled, but only just. He rubbed at his palm again, like he was trying to scrub something out of his skin. “I don’t remember him before Vietnam. Just the man who came back mean. Quiet in all the wrong places. Explosive in all the others. He used to hit my mom so hard the walls would shake. And when she died, it was my turn. It didn’t take much. Breathing too loud. Looking too long. Existing in his line of sight. Every time I thought maybe he was softening, that maybe it would be different, he’d come home drunk and pissed just to prove me wrong.”

Grier let the silence stretch.

“And then, first day of high school, I close my locker and there she is. Fighting with the damn combination like it owed her money. She looked up at me, and I swear the hallway went quiet.”

Jack let out a laugh that didn’t sound anything like amusement.

“Beth. God, she was everything . She was brilliant. Cheer captain. Class president. Valedictorian. Straight A’s like it was nothing. She got into Penn on early admission. Her folks were so damn proud. I was proud, too. Stupid proud. Told just about anyone who listened that my girl got into the Ivy League; that she was going to get the hell out of that town and be someone. I used to sit in the bleachers and watch her win debate competitions and lead pep rallies and wonder how the hell I got a girl like that to even look at me in the first place. And she still had time to help people; tutored freshmen during her lunch hour, volunteered at the hospital her mom worked at. She noticed people. And somehow, out of every kid in that school… she picked me .”

He shifted on the couch, the old frame creaking under him. 

“And then there I was. Stopping her.” His voice dropped lower. “She couldn’t go chase all that if she was stuck following the sad kid from the shitty blue house on Balch Street. Couldn’t become what she was meant to be if she was wasting time being held back because of someone like me .”

Grier nodded, pen scratching against paper, and tilted his head, tone calm but deliberate. “Is that how she saw you?”

Jack didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. It felt less uncomfortable than speaking the truth he had known just as resolutely then as he did now. 

Grier let the silence settle before pressing, quiet and razor-sharp. “As the sad kid on Balch Street?”

Jack’s mouth opened, then closed again. He blinked a few times, his jaw working silently before he finally answered.

“…No.”

It came out like it hurt. He cleared his throat and scrubbed his hand across his jaw. 

“No,” he said again, more certain this time. He shook his head. “She never made me feel like that.”

Jack shifted again, the couch frame groaning beneath him. He rubbed at the inside of his wrist, eyes fixed somewhere Grier couldn’t follow.

Fuck, he hated this. Hated the way it pulled things loose. Hated the way her memory did that—how it always had. He didn’t want to recall the way she looked at him then. Or now. Like she was seeing every part of him he tried to hide, cracking him open until he was gaping and raw only to touch him with careful fingers and gentle words.

“She never treated me like I was broken,” he said, finally. “Never looked at me like I needed fixing. She didn’t talk over the silence, didn’t try to make it go away. She just… sat with it. With me. And somehow it never felt like pity. She just… knew. Somehow just knew exactly what I needed before I did.”

He paused, rubbing his hands together like they might warm something cold inside him.

“The day my mom died, she passed early in the morning—sun wasn’t even up yet. I was in the room with her when she went. She’d been sick a long time, and I guess… I knew it was coming. But when it finally happened, I didn’t—” He faltered for a second. His hands stilled. “It was quiet. Peaceful, I guess. But after, I didn’t know what to do with myself. It’s not like people think, where you’re suddenly overwhelmed or sobbing or whatever. I just felt… hollow. Like the inside of me had gone missing. I didn’t know what you’re supposed to do in that moment. You stand up? You sit back down? You say something or stay quiet? I just felt… empty. Like I didn’t have any weight in my body anymore. Nothing holding me in place. I remember just staring at her for a while after the nurses left. Then, I walked out of the room. Just left. Like maybe that would help.”

His jaw clenched, teeth pressing together until the muscle ticked. “And Beth was there. Sitting in the waiting room. I don’t know how fast her mom must’ve called her, but she beat me out of the ICU. She was still in pajamas. No coat. No shoes. Just sitting there, arms wrapped around herself like she forgot how cold November is, her feet angry red from the salt and snow.”

Jack’s throat worked as he swallowed. Beth had never been much of a morning person then; he couldn’t count how many times she’d trudged down her drive with sleep in her eyes, half-awake and grumpy as hell on the mornings he’d pick her up before school. But that dark morning, too quiet as the world slept and continued on while his fell apart before dawn even purpled the horizon, she stood in front of him in one of her old cheer shirts from middle school with wild hair tied up without so much as a yawn. Just his sweet, beautiful girl, like the sun in that waiting room.

“She didn’t say anything. Just stood up when she saw me. Waited.”

Jack blinked slowly, the silence folding around him like a blanket he wasn’t sure how to sit under.

“I walked over and sat down in one of the waiting room chairs. And she sat beside me. Reached over, held my hand.” He swallowed. “Didn’t let go. We sat like that for hours. Four, I think. Maybe more. People came and went. Nurses. Orderlies. Didn’t matter. She never moved. Never let go. Just sat there with me and held my hand like the world hadn’t just fallen out from under my feet. And then at some point… I broke. Quiet. Ugly. Just kind of folded in on myself.”

“And she still didn’t say anything. Just pulled me to her and held me.” He looked up at Grier now, meeting his stare. “She loved me like it was easy. Made it feel like it was as simple as breathing.”

Grier’s pen was still. He didn’t write this time. Just watched Jack with that same calm, clinical stillness that somehow never felt cold.

“So,” he said carefully, “why didn’t you believe her?”

Jack’s eyes didn’t move. He stayed where he was, staring down at the floor again like it might offer him an answer. Grier’s voice was even softer the second time. “Her loving you like that. Why didn’t you believe it?”

“Because it didn’t make sense,” he said after a long moment. “Not to me. Not back then.”

Hell, it still didn’t make sense to him now. She had no business loving him like that. She met that boy with a love that always felt older than the two of them; like they skipped the teenaged starry-eyed bullshit and fell straight into something more grown. His mom, in the short year she knew Beth, would always roll her eyes and smile when she’d catch Beth fussing over him like they’d been married for thirty years instead of dating for just ten months. “That girl loves you like a wife already,” she’d tease, always with a smile. She liked Beth. Liked that she saw Jack clearly and stayed anyway.

Really, Jack was certain that she just liked that Beth was a Baker. They’re good people. You stick with them, she’d whisper to him after she’d closed the door behind Sheriff Baker on the nights he was called to the house; always called his mom ma’am, asked about her treatments, spoke to her like he was dropping by to shoot the shit about their kids and let her leave those nights with whatever bit of dignity she had left still intact. His thumb dragged slowly across the edge of his knee, like he was tracing some memory into the fabric.

“She had this way of seeing the world that made it feel… possible. Like it could still be good. Like I could still be good. And me? I was already carrying things I didn’t know how to name. Already angry. Already tired. I’d watch her walk into a room and light it up and think—what the hell is she doing with me? She looked at me like I was good. Not just okay; but good. Like I had something in me worth saving. And I wanted to be that version of myself so bad it ached. But wanting it didn’t make it real.”

He paused, jaw tight, eyes flicking toward the window where the rain had begun to smear the world into soft-edged shadows. It was coming down harder now, grey light thinning as the skies grew darker. Jack watched it bead along the window, little rivers chasing each other down the glass. 

She’d be off soon. Maybe he’d sneak a look at her tires before he went in for handoff. She was always shit about that; Rachel had been too. Burned through brake pads, ignored oil changes, let their tires go bald until they were driving on wires. He used to give them both hell for it. They’d just laugh and roll their eyes and tell him he worried too much.

It made his chest twist, that thought. That weird, quiet ache of care. He didn’t even know if Beth would let him do that now. Or if she’d even want him to.

“I’d be with her and start to forget. Start to think maybe she was right,” he said, still watching water bead against the pan. “And then I’d go home. Or hear my dad’s truck pull in. Or I’d catch her talking about college, or med school, and it’d hit me all over again—I didn’t belong in that part of her story.”

He looked down at his hands, rubbing a palm across the other like he was trying to erase something etched there.

“She didn’t know how broken it was in me. And I was scared that if she ever did—really did—she’d leave. I kept waiting for her to wake up one morning and see me the way I saw myself.”

He let out a breath, almost bitter. “Figured I’d save her the trouble.”

Grier sat back slightly, expression unreadable. He tapped his pen against the pad, watching Jack long enough to pull his attention from the window.

“But she didn’t,” Grier said—not a question, just fact. Somehow, that made it worse.

Jack shook his head, slow. “No. She never did.”

“Even when you were falling apart?”

He huffed out something close to a laugh. “Especially then.”

Grier nodded once, letting the quiet stretch long enough that Jack’s skin itched. “Then why didn’t you trust her to make her own choice?”

Jack’s eyes flicked up, surprised. Caught. The words hit like a punch he hadn’t braced for. He opened his mouth, stalled, then shut it again.

“Because that’s what I keep coming back to, Jack. You didn’t just leave,” Grier shook his head and leaned forward. “You made that choice for her. You didn’t just change your story when you left her on that porch. You changed hers, too.”

Jack shifted on the couch, spine stiff, throat dry. What could he say? It wasn’t like that? That wasn’t my intention? I thought I was saving her? That he’d sit at the stop sign at the end of her road every time he dropped her off at home that last week fighting tears until it made him sick, telling himself that he was doing what was best for the both of them, that this was sacrifice. That this was strength. This was mercy. That walking away was the best way he could love her. But time had stripped the shine off that lie. All that was left now was the echo of tires on gravel and the girl on the porch who never got a choice.

There wasn’t anything he could say that didn’t sound like an excuse. So he said nothing.

Grier pressed on, calm but firm. “You ever stop to think about what that did to her? What kind of grief she had to carry around after you disappeared like that? You want to talk about trauma—we’ve spent ten years unpacking yours—but what about hers?”

He sat back, eyes narrowing. “Because let me tell you, I’d love to swap notes with her therapist.”

Jack flinched. The words caught him in the chest like a blow. His jaw tensed, but he didn’t look up.

“You didn’t just disappear from her life. You detonated it. You left her alone to pick up the pieces of a future she thought she was building with someone who loved her. Someone who said goodbye like he meant it… and then never showed up again.”

Jack’s vision blurred for a second. He blinked fast, but the sting didn’t go. He hadn’t meant to do it like that. He hadn’t planned it to be cruel. But that didn’t matter , did it? Grier gave it a second, then added, quieter now, but no less cutting:

“I struggle with that; not only as a therapist, but as a father of two girls. They dated in high school, sure, but nothing like you just described. Didn’t make their heartbreaks any less gutting to watch them go through. That’s a helpless feeling, Jack, watching your child ache like that. And if it was my little girl? If some boy looked at her, saw how smart and kind and full of fire she was, and then decided he got to choose what she deserved? That she didn’t get to weigh in? You can bet your ass I’d still be waiting on that apology thirty years later.”

Grier didn’t let up. “She wasn’t just collateral damage in your origin story. She was a person. With her own plans. Her own heart. You think you were the only one bleeding when you walked away?”

Jack blinked again—once, twice, three times fast—but it didn’t help. His ribs ached. His throat tightened. He remembered the weight of her letters in his hands. The words written on those pages. The nights he almost called but didn’t.

Grier leaned in again, not unkind now, but insistent. “So I’ll ask again, Jack. Why’d you really leave?”

Jack swallowed hard. “Because I didn’t think I was enough for her.” 

The words came out rough, scraping past a throat that felt too tight to speak. Jack clenched his teeth. The air felt too thick in his lungs. It sounded pathetic now. Small. But it was the truth.

Grier nodded slowly. “And maybe you weren’t. But she should’ve gotten to decide that. Not you. You made the decision for both of you. For her. You looked at this girl—this unstoppable, brilliant girl you’ve described that you supposedly loved and who loved you—and instead of giving her the dignity of a choice, you left her like a coward.”

He flinched again. Coward . He hated that word. He’d spent his life trying not to be that. Trying to outrun the kid who had been one. He should have known that eventually, his lungs would give out, his muscles would ache, and that eighteen-year-old would catch up to him whether he was ready to face him or not. “You didn’t sit down and say, ‘This is what I’m afraid of, this is what might happen, and I don’t know if I’ll make it back the same,’ and allow her to be a part of a conversation that was hers to have,” Grier continued. “You just took her off the board like she was some piece in your game. You left her standing on that porch thinking she was still in it, still part of the plan you two made, while you’d already flipped the last page and closed the book. She would’ve followed you. You know that. I know that you know that.”

Jack swallowed down against the lump is his throat. That one cut deeper than the rest. Because it had always made him angry; the way she’d looked at him like he was something worth staying for. Like she saw something good in him. He hadn’t known how to hold that without breaking it.

Fuck, he didn’t realize he was paying a copay just to get his ass handed to him by a former Marine on a father’s warpath.

Then again, maybe he was. Shit. He was, wasn’t he?

Fucking therapy. He still didn’t know why the hell he let Rachel talk him into this.

“You just couldn’t stand the idea that she wanted to. You didn’t believe you were worth loving. So you made sure she couldn’t. Tell me if I’m on the right track here.”

Jack swallowed hard, like the weight in his throat might choke him. “I thought if she hated me, it would be easier. For her, at least. That it would make it easier to move on. I thought I was doing what was best.”

“For who, Jack? For her? Or for you?” Grier shrugged. “You weren’t. You were saving yourself from the guilt of watching her sacrifice something you decided she’d regret without trusting her when she told you she wouldn’t. You didn’t just make a hard call, Jack. You didn’t fall on your sword. You dropped it then disappeared. And she had to live in the rubble you left behind. She had to rebuild, and it sounds like she did a hell of a job, but that doesn’t change the fact she had to do it alone. Without answers. Without closure. Without the decency of knowing whether you were dead, alive, or just too much of a chickenshit to write her back.”

Jack’s jaw clenched. “That’s not—”

“That’s exactly what it was,” Grier cut in. “And don’t give me some bullshit about doing it to protect her. You didn’t protect her. You left her.”

He let that hang a beat. Then, quieter, “And don’t sit here telling me it wasn’t important.”

Jack looked away again, rubbing at his ring.

“You were afraid she’d look at you someday and see your father.” The words hit like a bullet. His breath caught. A jagged breath came through his nose, too sharp. Grier let that hang a moment. He leaned forward, then, his voice softer, added, “But Jack, you’re not your father. And you don’t get to decide who sees differently.”

Jack leaned back into the stiff couch, eyes on the ceiling now like he couldn’t quite bear to look at the man across from him.

“She didn’t just lose you, Jack,” Grier continued. There was less edge to his voice now, something gentler to his words that didn’t make him any easier to look at. “She lost the life she thought she was building. You rewrote her story without asking if she was okay with the edit. Frankly, I don’t believe that you were ever okay with that edit either.”

Jack’s mouth worked silently for a second, trying desperately to form a defense that never came. For something easier than the truth.

“I didn’t think I deserved her,” he muttered.

“That might be true,” Grier said. “But it wasn’t your call to make.”

Jack exhaled sharply. “What the hell was I supposed to do? Ask her to stay? To risk being unhappy and resenting me for the rest of her life?”

“No,” Grier shook his head. “You were supposed to trust her. You were supposed to sit across from her and let her make the hard call with you. Not for her. With her. That’s what love is.”

Jack didn’t say anything for a long time. He just sat there, staring at the glass like maybe if he looked long enough, the answers would be up there in the sway of the trees. Written in the rivulets like cyphers. Threaded into the silence.

He should’ve said something. He should’ve said a thousand things. But all he could do was sit there, Grier’s words still echoing in the quiet that followed. 

She had loved him.

That was the part that undid him. Not the anger. Not the accusation. Just the truth of that. That she had loved him; fully, without hesitation, through every jagged, awful inch of him. Through all of it. Through his mother’s decline, through the long silences when he couldn’t find words for the ache inside him.  She’d stayed through those blood-crusted nights when he didn’t know who he was angry at; his father, himself, the whole goddamn world. She’d just unlock the window and scoot over, make room on the bed, press her hand to the back of his neck and say nothing until the shaking stopped.

She didn’t flinch from the mess. Never so much as blinked. But she’d stayed for the good, too.

The soft. The stupid. The ordinary.

She laughed at his jokes even when they didn’t land. Stole french fries off his plate like it was her God-given right. Knew every lyric to every Springsteen song when he sang off-key in the car and still rolled her eyes like it annoyed her. Kept the notes he’d pass her in class or leave on the front desk at work tucked in the drawer of her nightstand like the inside jokes written on gum wrappers were scripture.

She sat across from him at her parents’ dinner table and kicked him under the table just to make him smile. Held his hand like it was a normal thing, a safe thing. Would press those ice-cold little cadaver feet against his legs just to hear him groan and would giggle when he pushed them away. Kissed him slow on that rooftop when there was nothing they needed to escape.

She loved all of it. All of him. Not just the boy trying not to drown in his own bloodline, who didn’t know what to say and didn’t need him to, who was trying to survive, but the boy who forgot sometimes that he didn’t have to.

His throat tightened, and for a second, he wasn’t sure he could breathe around the lump lodged there. He rubbed his thumb along the edge of his ring. She would’ve followed him. He knew that. That was the worst part. She would’ve followed him through hell if he’d asked. But he hadn’t. He’d just walked away. And she had stayed.

And God, he loved her too. Every last bit of that beautiful, brilliant bit of wildfire that burned right through him.

Grier leaned back, his arms folded loosely across his chest. His thumb tapped absently against his bicep. “So tell me about the now,” he said. “Work. What’s that been like?”

Jack exhaled, slow and measured, like he was sifting through the question before answering. “Weird,” he said finally. “Not bad. Just… weird. Having her around again.”

“Weird how?”

Jack rubbed a hand over his jaw and shrugged. “The first couple days, we barely looked at each other. Kept things polite. Professional. Like we were both trying to prove something; mostly, I think, that we were fine. Almost like we were in this weird contest of who could act like they cared less.”

“And were you?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Not even a little. Every time I saw her, it was like the air went thin. Couldn’t catch my breath right.”

Grier nodded once. “And now?”

“Now it’s… different.” Jack paused. “Easier.”

“Easier how?”

“She’d nod when she walked past. Ask about a patient. I’d answer. We’d talk for a minute if she was at the desk. Nothing major. But it didn’t feel like walking a tightrope anymore. Didn’t feel like I had to brace myself every time she was in the room.”

Grier tilted his head slightly. “Did that surprise you?”

“Yeah,” Jack admitted. “Thought it’d be harder. Thought I’d spend every shift trying not to look at her too long. But it kind of just… leveled out. Like we slipped into some version of normal. Not what we were. Not even close. But not strangers, either.”

Grier didn’t say anything right away. Just watched him, head slightly tilted like he was waiting for the rest of it. Jack’s fingers fidgeted against the seam of his jeans.

He wasn’t going to admit it. Not outright.

Not that for the first time in his career, he actually preferred day shift. Not that he missed it his first night back like some green rookie who hadn’t learned to hate the sun yet. Not that he caught himself watching the clock now; not for calls or breaks, but for the few quiet minutes before handoff when she’d breeze past him with that small, practiced smile that never quite reached her eyes but still knocked the breath out of him just the same.

And every goddamn time she did, he’d spend the next twelve hours thinking about it. About her. About who on days might be willing to swap shifts. Just for a few days. Just long enough to stay in the orbit of that smile and try, just try, to see the real thing again.

He used to hate day shift. Hated the noise, the chaos, the way it crawled by under fluorescent lights and relentless chatter. He hated the way it felt too exposed, like the world could see too much of him.

But now? Now he missed it. Missed her. And it wasn’t just the smile. It was the way her hand lingered on the back of his chair when she laughed. The way she still clicked her pen when she was thinking. The way she jumped at every peds case that came in and talked to every kid in the gentle, soothing way like they were her own. The way her voice got quieter when she was delivering bad news, like she was trying to make the world softer for someone else. It was all those little things that shouldn’t matter anymore; except they did.

He didn’t say any of that. Just sat there, the truth swelling against the back of his throat like it was too big to fit through.

And still, Grier waited.

Jack tapped his fingers together, chewing his lip before he spoke. “Last week, she came through the ED with her kid for an ortho appointment. Left her wallet at the nurses station while she was helping a resident. Mike picked it up, said he’d drop it off, but I told him I was already headed that way.”

Grier raised an eyebrow. “Were you?”

Jack’s jaw flexed. “No.”

“Hm.” Grier didn’t press. Thank God for that. Jack wasn’t ready to unpack the way he and Robby had hovered over that wallet like they were rivals in an Indiana Jones movie and it was some sacred relic. Or how they’d politely bickered about who should return it like two idiots trying to ask the same girl to prom. 

“And?” Grier asked, voice low.

“And…” Jack hesitated, then huffed. “Her kid invited me in for dinner.”

Grier glanced up at him over the edge of his glasses and nodded slowly. “How was that?”

“Fine,” he said. “Good, actually.”

It had been more than good. He knew that. Knew it the second he stepped back out into the cool air that night and realized, for the first time in longer than he could remember, he didn’t feel like he had to turn on the scanner or open the window or find something, anything, to fill the silence. The quiet didn’t feel like punishment that night. It felt full. He liked it. Far more than he should have, really. He wrestled with that thought the entire drive home, wondering if he was even allowed to. But he had. He really had. It was still noise, but that noise hadn’t felt nearly as quiet as it did at home.

“It was really good,” Jack said. He sat up, mouth tugging up slightly. “Her kid, Abby, she’s something else. Reminds me a lot of Beth when she at that age. Smart as hell. Quick. But in this way where you don’t notice it at first. She’ll say something that sounds casual, and then two seconds later, it clicks and you realize she just roasted the hell out of you. She kept me on my toes the whole night.”

Grier smirked, his pen scraping against paper. “And Beth?”

“It was like nothing had changed,” his voice softened, something like a smile lifting his mouth as he remembered sitting there beside her with his shoulder pressed to hers. “Like we hadn’t lost years. Like we still had that shorthand; like she still knew me. Gave me shit. Rolled her eyes the same way when Abby and I would get goin’ on something. Called me out on stuff before I even said it. Had the same five Fleetwood Mac songs she played to death when we were kids on the speaker. It all just… fit . And the way she looked at me when—.” 

He paused before he could tell him about that moment in the kitchen, the memory nudging at the edge of his thoughts. The way she stood there, the warmth of her hand against his chest, the way her eyes found his and held. The way the air shifted, like something old and familiar was unfolding between them again and for one fragile second, they were still who they used to be. Like she was still his beautiful, brilliant girl who brought the sun with her and he was still that kid that wanted to deserve that light. 

But no. He didn’t say that.

Didn’t tell Grier about how her hands had felt steady, like they remembered him. The half a second when his own brushed against the curve of her, and she let it. Or the way her eyes had softened, blue and bright and so fucking open it made something in his chest ache.

Didn’t say how he hadn’t wanted to leave.

Instead, Jack rubbed his palms on his thighs and sat back slightly, letting out a breath.

“It was really good,” he said again, a little too quietly.

Grier studied him for a long moment, eyes narrowed slightly behind his glasses. “Do you think Beth felt the same?”

Jack’s gaze dropped to his hands, thumbs rubbing together unconsciously. “I think… there were moments where she did,” he said slowly. “Where she looked at me like she remembered exactly who I was. Like she wanted to feel it again.”

“And then?” Grier’s voice was gentle, coaxing.

Jack exhaled through his nose, the breath sharp at the end. “And then she’d shift,” he said quietly. “Like she remembered she wasn’t supposed to. Like it caught her off guard and she didn’t trust herself with it. Or maybe…” He trailed off, jaw working.

“Or maybe didn’t trust you,” Grier offered.

Jack nodded once. “Yeah.”

Silence settled between them, soft but heavy. Grier tilted his head, watching him with that same unreadable patience.

“Why do you think that is?” he asked.

“Because I left,” Jack sighed. “And maybe she thinks that if she lets herself feel it again, I’ll just do what I did last time. And the worst part is? I can’t even blame her for that.”

Grier rested his elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped between them as he studied Jack; not interrogating, just listening. Then he spoke, voice quiet but certain. “But she still let you in.”

Jack blinked, the words catching him off guard. He opened his mouth, closed it again. His throat felt tight.

“Yeah,” he said eventually. “Yeah, she did.”

“She opened the door. She invited you to dinner,” Grier continued. “Let you sit at her table. Let you hear her laugh and see her live and know her child. That hesitation you’re seeing? That’s not distrust, Jack. That’s a scar. And the thing about scars? They’re proof the wound healed. Still hurt like hell, still visible, but healed.”

Grier leaned back, resting his notebook against his knee, eyes still fixed on Jack. “So what now?”

Jack glanced up, brow creased. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Grier said, tone even but direct, “are you going to keep knocking on that door?”

Jack stilled. His gaze dropped to the space between his boots, shoulders curving in like the question physically landed. Finally, he muttered, “I don’t know.”

Grier didn’t say anything at first. Just flipped a page in his notebook, then tapped his pen once against the binding. His voice was mild, almost casual. “Lying to your therapist only defeats the entire purpose of therapy.”

Jack huffed a dry breath, half irritation, half acknowledgment. “Jesus Christ, that line again?”

“You do know,” Grier said. “I think you’ve always known. You’ve known since the moment you saw her again. Hell, maybe since the moment you left. You’ve been carrying this answer around for thirty years, Jack. All that’s left is whether you’re going to let her see it, too.”

“So let me be clear,” Grier said, measured. “If you’re going to show up—then show up. Not a letter. Not a voicemail. Not some quiet vanishing act in the middle of the night.”

“But if you do,” Grier continued, quieter now, “you better be sure. Really sure. Because she’s not the only one who’d be risking something. There’s a kid in the mix now. A kid who set a place at the dinner table for you. That mother is going to defend her with everything she’s got. And if she even senses you’re unsure, you’re out. Deservedly. So if you’re going to knock? Make sure you stay. And if she slams that door in your face? Respect that. Honor that. Do not knock again.”

Grier didn’t press. Not right away. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he had all the time in the world. Like he hadn’t already asked the question that had been clawing at the inside of Jack’s chest for weeks.

Jack looked at him, jaw tight. “You’re not exactly selling this.”

“I’m not supposed to. You’re already paying,” Grier said, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “This isn’t a pitch, Jack. It’s therapy. It’s not meant to be comfortable. This is the part where you decide if she is worth being uncomfortable. Worth the risk of getting the answer you’re afraid of.”

Jack swallowed.

“I’m not asking if you think she’ll say yes,” Grier continued. “I’m asking if you’ll knock anyway.”

Jack didn’t lift his eyes. He kept them fixed on the frayed edge of the rug beneath his shoes. There was a thread coming loose at the corner. He toed at it absently.

He thought about the way Beth had looked at him when he showed up on her porch again after all those years; like her body wanted to step forward but her heart hadn’t decided. Like memory was at war with instinct. Like she didn’t know whether to close the door or fall into him. Like maybe she was trying to figure out if he was real or just another echo of what used to be.

He’d felt that, too.

The answer pressed against the inside of his chest, dull and insistent. It had been there for weeks; since the moment she turned around in Three. He’d just been pretending it wasn’t. But it lived in every memory that surfaced when he wasn’t paying attention. In the way she still said his name. In the way her kid had smiled at him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And Grier knew it, too. The smug motherfucker. 

Grier had known the moment Jack sat down on that damn couch and said her name like it still meant something. Maybe because it did. Maybe because it always had.

Jack swallowed hard. The room felt too quiet.

He was so tired of running. Of pretending he didn’t already know the truth. The boy who left, who convinced himself it was easier that way, he wouldn’t survive another lap around this. And he didn’t want to.

And from the way Grier sat back, quiet, waiting, not pushing, he knew too. He let out a slow breath and nodded, meeting Grier’s gaze. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m gonna knock.”

[rimouskis]

cross-generational friendships have been so important and formative and crucial to my adulthood. and i'm not talking about "oh I'm in my 20s and nearly all my friends are in their 30s ha ha ha" [true], I'm talking about "I labored side-by-side with people in their 40s, 50s, and 60s and became friends with them."

one such friend and I went to a funeral today to support a third friend and it really reaffirmed how important these relationships have been to me and how good they are for keeping perspective and taking advice from people with more experience than you.

tomorrow I'm going on a walk and then getting lunch with an old boss-turned-friend/mentor who's old enough to be my mother (like, literally her oldest son is my age) and I'm looking forward to it so much. having friends who you can bond with but also learn life lessons from is such a gift and it makes me lament my current work situation (everyone on my team is within a 3-year age range).

[deus-ex-mona]

farewell, my idiot son…

[ariichive]

WHITE DAY ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱

celebrating white day with the man who’ll do anything for you <3

cw: gen. neutral reader, fluff, established relationship, moze is a bit weird, sliiiight possessiveness, astral express sunday, kissing, lmk if i missed anything :)

boothill, aventurine, jing yuan, mydei, anaxa, sunday, moze, and phainon ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

boothill ᯓᡣ𐭩

you giggled as boothill led you through the empty, infamous clock studios theme park. "this can't be allowed," you whisper-shouted at him, who had a ginormous grin.

boothill, however, only flashed you that devil-may-care grin of his, tipping his hat back as he casually strolled forward, seemingly not bothered by the rules—or the late hour. “aw, darlin',” he drawled, looking over his shoulder at you, “ain’t no harm in a lil’ late-night stroll. the park’s still runnin’. they got their folks takin' care of the rides, but they ain't watchin' every corner.”

you shot him a disbelieving look, glancing around at the still-bustling park—there were still families and groups laughing, enjoying the remaining hours. but with how boothill had his hand around yours, there was no turning back.

“boothill, there’s security everywhere. we’re gonna get caught.”

“nah,” he said, a wink thrown your way as he led you further into the park. “what makes you think they can catch us? you just gotta know where to go and when to disappear.”

“and you know where to go?” you said, trying to sound incredulous, but you couldn’t hide the excitement rising in your chest.

“oh, darlin’, i’ve been around these parts enough to know where the real fun happens after hours. all the good stuff happens behind the scenes,” he said, eyes gleaming with mischief. “we’re just gonna skip the line and see the real show.”

it was a known fact boothill was a wanted man; ipc and other factions wanted his head.

you laughed, shaking your head. “you’re absolutely insane. this is—”

“fun?” he finished for you, smirking as he pulled you toward one of the smaller, quieter corners of the park, away from the main attractions. “that’s exactly what it is. don’t let the suits and tie-wearin’ folks fool you, sugar. there’s always something hidden behind the curtain.”

you followed as he led you down a narrow, slightly hidden path between the many gift shops and food stands. there were fewer people here, and the sounds of the park seemed a little more distant. a quiet buzz lingered in the air, one that made your heart race with anticipation.

“what are you planning?” you asked, your voice low now, the playful tone taking on a hint of curiosity.

“i’ve got some connections ‘round here. places they don’t show the public. places you might not expect.” boothill's grin was unrelenting, his eyes scanning the area, like he was constantly on the lookout, always one step ahead.

you furrowed your brow. “so we’re sneaking into some secret area where nobody goes?”

“exactly,” he said, his voice dropping to a quieter, more dangerous tone. “and you’re gonna love it. it’s the part of clock studios they never show—the real behind-the-scenes stuff. think of it as a treasure hunt, sugar.”

you swallowed hard, feeling that familiar rush of adrenaline you got whenever boothill pulled you into one of his schemes. “and what’s the treasure?”

boothill sent you a smile, one that was more gentle than the previous ones. "you just gotta see for yourself. just a lil' somethin' to show you how much i enjoy spendin' time with ya.”

you raised an eyebrow. "oh really? and what makes you think i want a date in the middle of clock studios at this hour?"

boothill grinned wider, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "because i know ya, darlin'. you got a wild streak in ya. and i can tell you like a bit of adventure—so i figured we'd skip all the usual fancy stuff and give ya a night you'll never forget."

you snorted softly at his confidence. “well, i’m curious, i’ll give you that.”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he led you down the winding path, eventually reaching a large, circular room lit by soft lanterns hanging from the ceiling. as the door closed behind you with a soft click, you took in the scene before you.

there, in the middle of the room, was a cozy little table set for two. delicate white candles flickered on the table, their soft glow casting dancing shadows across the walls. the table was covered with a cloth, and on it, there were plates of food, wine glasses, and a single rose in the center.

your breath caught in your throat. “boothill... is this...?”

“yep,” he interrupted, chuckling. “a lil' somethin’ special just for you. dinner in the heart of clock studios.” he motioned for you to sit down. “now, don’t be shy. i reckon you’ll like it here. no crowds, no distractions, just you, me, and some damn fine food.”

you shook your head, still trying to wrap your mind around the situation. “this is... unbelievable. you really planned all this, didn’t you?”

“sure did,” he said, pulling out the chair for you like a gentleman. his usual rough demeanor was softened by the genuine care in his eyes. 

you squeezed his hand, your heart beating a little faster as you looked into his eyes. "this... this is perfect, boothill. thank you."

“anything for you, sugar,” he replied, his smile softening as he poured the wine. “anything for you.”

aventurine ᯓᡣ𐭩

"w-what the—"

when you woke up, you were met with an eerie sight. two beady eyes stared back at you from the foot of your bed, gleaming in the dim light. your breath caught in your throat as you turned to the side, only to be greeted by another pair of eyes—this time from the nightstand.

you froze, unsure whether you were still caught in a strange dream or not.

then, hurried footsteps approached, the blinds were thrown open, and bright daylight poured into the room, revealing the full scope of the situation.

the room was filled with them—hundreds of teddy bears. stuffed animals of all sizes, arranged in perfect rows, surrounding your bed. their stitched eyes all seemed to glisten with an unsettling lifelike quality, staring at you from every angle.

“a-am i still dreaming?” you whispered, unsure whether you could still trust your senses.

you shut your eyes tightly, squeezing them shut in a vain attempt to block out the madness. but when you opened them again, the bears were still there, their beady eyes gleaming.

before you could say anything else, a voice that was too calm for the situation echoed through the room.

"not exactly the reaction i was going for. how unfortunate."

you snapped your head toward the window, finding the source of the voice: your lover, aventurine. he stood there, leaning against the window frame with his arms crossed, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he observed your shock.

you exhaled a breath of relief—at least he wasn’t part of the teddy bear invasion. his gaze, filled with gentle amusement, was the only familiar thing in the room that grounded you in reality.

“aventurine...” you trailed off, still trying to process what was happening.

“yes, yes, i know.” he straightened up, stepping into the room, his voice smooth as always. “you were probably expecting something a bit more romantic, were you not? perhaps a flower delivery or a candlelit dinner?” he gave a dramatic sigh. “but no, instead, you get this."

his arms gestured around the room, and you couldn’t help but blink at the absurdity of it all.

“what... what is all this?” you asked, your voice wavering with confusion.

"well, my dear, some would see it as a heartwarming gift from their lover. but, i bet you see it as more of a... heart attack."

"i wanted to do something memorable." he looked down at the stuffed animals thoughtfully before letting out a soft laugh. “i suppose, after all the chaos, the gesture doesn’t quite come across as I intended.”

you took in the various different bears, realizing how cute most of them were. you smiled softly, knowing he had good intentions. "it's cute, that one has the same glasses as you." you pointed to one perched on a high shelf.

"ah, not the same glasses, i'm sure those didn't even cost half as much as mine," he flaunted confidently, "but yes, quite similar."

you rolled your eyes affectionately but couldn't hide the smile on your face as you looked at him. “you’re unbelievable.”

“ah, but you love me for it, don’t you?” he teased, his voice warm as he leaned in closer.

you couldn't help but laugh softly, reaching up to gently cup his cheek. "i do, more than you'll ever know."

his expression softened, and for a moment, the ridiculousness of the situation melted away, leaving just the two of you—surrounded by stuffed animals, but wrapped in a moment of shared warmth.

"well, then," aventurine said, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his hand lingering on your cheek. "i’d say this surprise was a success after all."

"for you, maybe." you smiled, leaning in to kiss him. "but next time, let’s go for something less... beady."

he laughed, pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around you as he kissed your forehead. "i’ll take that into consideration, love."

jing yuan ᯓᡣ𐭩

it was normal for you to wake up before jing yuan. often, the man would cling to you and mutter 'five more minutes' before falling back asleep for another hour, giving you enough time to get ready and out the door before he wakes. his warmth was always a comfort, his breath soft and steady against your skin. you could feel his arms tighten around you in his sleepy, possessive way, a silent plea for you to stay in bed with him.

this morning, however, something felt a bit different. his usual murmurs didn’t come, and when you turned your head to look at him, you noticed that jing yuan was already awake, his amber eyes watching you intently.

“you’re up early,” you murmured, your voice still thick with sleep.

he gave you that half-smile of his, the one that always made your heart flutter. "couldn't sleep," he said, his tone low and a little too smooth.

"really? that's kinda hard to believe," you said jokingly as his hand found comfort at the top of your head, stroking you gently.

“you know i always get up first,” you said softly, glancing at the clock.

“yes,” he replied with a lazy grin, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—something that made your chest tighten. “but i was enjoying the rare moment when you’re still here with me."

you smiled, though a part of you couldn’t help but notice how tightly he was holding onto the bed sheet, how his hands lingered on you just a little longer than usual.

"how about we get up together?" you suggested, teasing him with a gentle nudge.

he sighed dramatically, but then his hands pulled you back toward him, his body pressing against yours with a sense of finality. "i don't want to," he murmured, his voice almost childlike. "you're all i need right here."

his words sent a flutter through your heart, and you couldn’t help but melt into his embrace.

"do you wish to help me tend to my garden today?" he said gently, continuing to caress you. he was on the brink of falling back asleep.

you hummed softly, feeling the warmth of his touch, the tender way his fingers ran over your skin. the thought of spending the day with him, surrounded by the scent of fresh flowers and the quiet peace of the garden, sounded perfect.

"i would love to," you replied quietly, your eyes closing as you leaned further into him, letting yourself feel his presence. "but only if you promise not to drag me out there too late."

jing yuan chuckled, the sound low and soothing. "i’ll make sure we take it slow, just like now. no rushing." his hand slid to your back, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against the top of your head. "we’ll spend the whole day there if you want. just the two of us."

you smiled, a sense of calm settling over you at his words. it was always the simple moments with him that made you feel the most at ease, and the thought of being by his side while surrounded by the beauty of nature felt almost too perfect to be real.

"you make it sound so perfect," you murmured, resting your cheek against his chest. "i think i could get used to this."

"good," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "because i’m not letting you go anywhere today." he tightened his hold on you, but it wasn’t suffocating—it was comforting, a reassurance that you were his, and he was yours.

"i’m not going anywhere," you whispered back, feeling your heart beat in sync with his. "not when you make staying so easy."

he gave a content sigh, his lips pressing gently to your head. "i promise [name], you'll forever live easy with me by your side."

moze ᯓᡣ𐭩

moze dragged you into another dark alleyway, hand over your mouth. he brought his lips close to your ear, "i walked by them thirty-eight days ago around this time." he whispered gently as he glared at the couple the two of you were watching.

"this is my third time following them since, and not once has the man noticed," he tsked in disapproval.

you bit his hand gently, causing him to let go of the hold he had on your mouth. "so... why drag me into this?"

"do you not find joy in following around such ignorant people?"

you thought about his question for a second, truly thinking it over. well, it would probably be entertaining.

you decided to let him have his fun for the day. besides, this was practically a date.

"a filthy man like him does not have what it takes to be in a relationship." he continued to mutter more to himself, a dark shadow casting over his face.

you glanced at him, feeling a shiver of both unease and excitement crawl up your spine. there was something magnetic about moze, his dark intensity and sharp observations always keeping you on edge, but also pulling you in. you couldn't deny the thrill of being part of whatever strange little world he inhabited.

"you really hate him, don't you?" you asked, your voice low, trying to keep your amusement from showing too much.

moze didn't respond right away, his eyes never leaving the couple as they walked past the alley. he seemed to be weighing his words carefully. finally, he let out a quiet, almost inaudible sigh. "it’s not hate," he said slowly. "it’s... disappointment."

you raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "disappointment?"

"yes," he muttered. "people like him don't understand the weight of commitment. they wear their affection like a mask, pretending to care, when they don't even know what it means to truly invest in another person." his voice dropped to a near growl. "they’re fools. dirty fools.”

you tilted your head, studying his profile. there was a certain calm, almost cold certainty in his words, and you couldn't help but feel drawn to him in a way that made your heart race.

"and what about you, moze?" you asked, your voice teasing. "do you know what it means to truly invest in someone?"

he turned his gaze to you, his eyes sharp and calculating. for a moment, he didn’t speak, just studying you with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

"i followed you for over a month before our first interaction. during that time, i learned all your favorite foods, hobbies, and even your favorite book."

he ended your question at that.

"you... actually, i'm not that surprised."

moze didn’t smile. his expression remained unreadable, though there was a quiet satisfaction in his eyes as he watched your reaction.

"i told you," he continued, his voice low and steady, "i invest in the details. when something interests me, i pay attention." he stepped a little closer, his presence filling the space between you. "and you, [name], have intrigued me from the moment i laid eyes on you."

"oddly enough, you're such a romantic in your own, moze way."

he hummed in approval, gently taking your hand in his. "if you prefer, we could find a different activity. i simply wanted to spend time with you on an excursion that wasn't dangerous."

"we could go for a walk," he continued, his tone thoughtful. "a peaceful one. no hiding, no stalking, just... time spent together." his words held an edge of something deeper, as if the suggestion itself was a rare offering from him.

you were taken aback. moze, the man who had watched you from the shadows, who seemed to find thrill in the darker aspects of life, was now offering something simple, almost mundane. it was a side of him you hadn't seen before, and it made you wonder what else lay hidden beneath his carefully crafted exterior.

you hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "alright," you said, voice soft but steady. "let’s see how that goes."

moze gave a small, approving smile, the flicker of warmth in his eyes making you feel like you were the only person in the world. "good," he said, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. "then let’s enjoy the day."

mydei ᯓᡣ𐭩

"this one's really good," you said as mydei fed another home made pastry to you. he hummed, deep in thought as he took mental note of all the flavors you seemed to like thus far.

"figured you would like the freshness of the strawberry and sweetness of the chocolate." he held another chocolate covered strawberry up to your mouth, which you ate without hesitation.

you smiled at him, feeling the sweetness linger on your tongue. "you know me too well," you said with a playful grin, leaning back slightly as you rested against the plush cushions. "but seriously, these are amazing. when did you even have time to make all of this?"

mydei chuckled softly, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "i make time for things that matter," he replied, his voice low and warm. he was always like this—calm, thoughtful, and careful with you. "besides, watching you enjoy it is worth every second."

you raised an eyebrow, your heart fluttering a bit. "you're so sweet," you said, though you weren't sure if you meant the pastry or him.

"i try," he said with a teasing smirk before reaching for another treat, "but if i'm honest, i think you’re the one who's sweet. i just… enhance it."

his words made a gentle warmth spread through you, and you found yourself leaning closer to him, almost instinctively. "enhance it?" you repeated with a small laugh. "that’s one way to put it."

"well, i’m not one to leave things half done." he smiled, his gaze flickering to your lips for just a moment before returning to your eyes. "and you, my [name], deserve more than half of anything."

"you're spoiling me," you said with a soft laugh, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. "but i don’t mind."

mydei’s eyes softened, a gentle smile curling at the corners of his mouth. "i’m happy to spoil you, [name]," he said quietly, his voice low, almost like a secret shared between the two of you. "you deserve it."

"who would've thought the prince of kremnos was such a sweetheart?" this time, it was your turn to take a sweet delicacy and being it up to his mouth.

mydei raised an amused brow at your gesture but didn’t hesitate to accept the treat, lips brushing ever so slightly against your fingertips as he took a bite. his golden eyes flickered with something unreadable, something almost dangerous, as he chewed slowly, savoring both the taste of the pastry and the moment between you.

"only for you," he murmured after swallowing, voice dipped in something almost intoxicating. "i don’t make a habit of spoiling just anyone."

you felt a warmth crawl up your neck, but you held your ground, refusing to let him fluster you so easily. "oh? so i should consider myself lucky then?" you teased, though there was a genuine curiosity beneath your playful words.

mydei chuckled, low and rich, resting his chin in his palm as he studied you. "very lucky," he answered, his gaze never wavering. "because once i decide someone is mine, i don’t let go."

phainon ᯓᡣ𐭩

phainon had been gone for a few days, his whereabouts unknown to you. it was extremely worrying, especially since he stopped answering his teleslate.

as the days passed, you found yourself staring out the window, lost in thought. the only thing that kept you going was the belief that he would return, that he had a reason for being gone, no matter how hard it was to wait.

then, one evening, as the sky burned in hues of blue, a soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. you froze. for a moment, you thought you had imagined it. but then, there it was again—a gentle, familiar rhythm.

your heart pounded as you hurried to the door, your hands shaking slightly as you reached for the handle. when you pulled it open, your breath hitched.

phainon stood there, his clothes dusted with travel, silver strands of his hair catching the evening light. despite the exhaustion lining his features, there was a soft smile playing at his lips, his eyes warm as they met yours

“you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he teased, though there was a gentleness in his voice.

“you—” your voice caught, a mix of relief and frustration bubbling up. “where have you been?! do you have any idea how worried i—”

before you could finish, he lifted his hand, revealing a small, elegantly wrapped box. “i know, i know. and i’m sorry,” he murmured. “but i had to find this.”

your frustration faltered as your eyes fell on the box. carefully, you took it from him, untying the ribbon with hesitant fingers. as the lid lifted, a soft gasp escaped your lips.

nestled inside was a necklace unlike anything you had ever seen. its chain was delicate, shimmering like bright stardust, and the pendant—a gemstone that seemed to shift colors under the fading sunlight, like the twilight sky itself trapped in crystal. it was breathtaking. if you had to guess, he had found the luxurious gem and then had it made into a necklace.

“phainon…” your voice was barely above a whisper.

"it's a necklace from aedes elysiae, well... what's left of it." he mumbled the last part more to himself.

a once glorious civilization, a place that most believed never existed, spoken of only in half-whispered legends, it was a remnant of beauty and tragedy.

you looked back at him, eyes wide. "you went... back there?"

phainon gave a small shrug, but there was something distant in his gaze. “i had to.” his fingers brushed over the lid of the box before retreating. “the place was beyond repairable, not a single structure in sight. but even in its ruins, i knew there had to be something... anything left worth saving.”

your fingers curled around the necklace, feeling the cool weight of it against your palm. "but why go so far? why risk it?"

he let out a quiet breath, gaze flickering away for a moment before settling back on you. “because i wanted something as rare as you. something that carried the weight of history, of stories untold. something that—” he hesitated, his voice dropping lower, “—would remind you of me, even when i’m not around.”

your chest tightened, a rush of warmth blooming in your heart.

carefully, he reached forward, taking the necklace from your hands and stepping closer. his fingers brushed against your skin as he clasped it around your neck, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary.

"it suits you," he murmured.

your fingers ghosted over the pendant, the weight of it somehow comforting. "you really..." you started, unsure of what to say. there was so much—gratitude, relief, something deeper you couldn’t quite name.

he smiled, a small, knowing curve of his lips. “no need for words.”

but even so, as the evening light cast long shadows around you both, you knew that this moment—this gift, this feeling—would stay with you forever.

anaxa ᯓᡣ𐭩

anaxa was never one to partake in festivities that landed on the calendar. that, however, changed when he started dating you. it was almost irritating how mushy you made him feel.

which he made it known, never one to shy away from his feelings of devotion to you.

"these flowers were grown by me by hand. it seems it was useless to try to create something that matches your beauty."

your fingers curled around the stems of the flowers, holding them close to your chest as you let the warmth of his words settle in. anaxa was never one for grand displays of affection, but the way he showed his devotion—subtle, unwavering, and entirely sincere—always left you feeling breathless.

"you act like you’re forced to say these things," you teased, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eyes. "but i think you secretly enjoy being this romantic."

he scoffed, his expression remaining unreadable, but the way his fingers twitched at his sides betrayed him. "enjoy is a strong word," he muttered. "i simply refuse to be inadequate when it comes to you."

you chuckled, shaking your head as you reached out, looping your arms around his neck. "you’re terrible at hiding how much you love me, you know that?"

anaxa let out a small sigh, his hands settling at your waist, pulling you in until there was barely any space left between you. "if you already know, then i see no reason to deny it," he admitted, his voice quieter this time, almost as if the words were meant for you and you alone.

he leaned in, his forehead gently resting against yours. "besides, if it makes you happy, then i don’t mind indulging in a little sentimentality."

your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile. "just a little?"

he exhaled, shaking his head. "fine. a lot," he conceded, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

you held onto him a little tighter, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. "then i guess i’ll just have to make sure you keep indulging me," you whispered against his skin.

anaxa hummed, tilting your chin up with a single finger before capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. "you never had to ask."

you pulled away with a smile, remembering the flowers in your hand. "say, i never took you much as the gardening type."

"you humor me, gardening is an essential part of science and understanding the reality of this world. it would be foolish of me to be clueless."

you chuckled, twirling one of the blossoms between your fingers. "of course, trust you to turn something as simple as flowers into a lecture."

anaxa scoffed, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "if you listened more closely, you'd see there's value in my words." he reached out, plucking the flower from your grasp and tucking it carefully behind your ear. "besides, these were grown with a purpose. for you."

your teasing smile softened at his words, fingers brushing over the delicate petals. "so, you really did all this just for me?"

"obviously," he replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"you’re so—" you started, but he cut you off, tilting your chin up so your eyes met his.

"so what?" he asked, voice low, gaze intense.

you swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of the warmth of his fingers against your skin. "so… good to me."

a rare, almost smug smile graced his lips. "i would hope so," he murmured, leaning in just enough for his breath to tickle your lips. "it would be unacceptable otherwise."

sunday ᯓᡣ𐭩

it wasn't known to most how much of a sweet tooth sunday truly had. when he was still known as the head of the oak family, he never had time to induldge in sweet treats.

on the astral express, however, was a different story.

the party car had something special, something amazing.

"shush" was its name.

sunday had quickly discovered that the little automaton, despite its strange way of speaking, was an invaluable source of sweets. and the best part? you would often come by to enjoy a treat with him.

"another?" "shush" asked in its usual monotone, holding up a plate of intricately decorated pastries. "you have already consumed three. should i prepare an intervention?"

sunday smirked, reaching for a sugar-dusted tart. "should i prepare an intervention for your terrible sense of humor?"

"shush" whirred, as if contemplating its response. "humor analysis... failed. please consume more snacks to compensate."

he chuckled, sinking into one of the plush seats as he took a bite. the caramel filling was rich, the crust perfectly flaky. he exhaled through his nose, savoring the taste.

“so this is where you’ve been hiding.”

before sunday could speak, "shush" did for him. "sunday is a frequent patron. valued customer. concerning sugar intake."

sunday sighed, setting his pastry down with a faint shake of his head. "i do believe i liked you better when you weren’t so talkative." sunday turned his attention back to you. "come, sit with me [name]."

you wasted no time to take a seat next to him.

"i trust you’re not here simply to watch me indulge," he mused, reaching once more for his half-finished pastry. "if so, i must insist you partake as well. it would be unfair otherwise."

“how could i deny such an offer?”

you picked up a small, delicately frosted cake from the tray between you, twirling it between your fingers before taking a tentative bite. it was light, airy, dissolving sweetly on your tongue. sunday watched your reaction carefully, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

"good, isn’t it?"

you nodded, swallowing before answering. "i suppose i can see why you keep coming back here."

sunday hummed in quiet amusement, taking another slow sip of his tea. "there is something rather charming about the simplicity of it all, isn’t there?" he mused, almost to himself. "a moment of quiet, a pleasant treat... a rarity, once upon a time."

his voice carried something wistful, something almost unspoken. you wondered if he realized how much his words revealed.

"then you should enjoy it as much as you can now," you said softly. "you deserve that much, don’t you?"

sunday looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. then, slowly, he smiled—just a small, quiet curve of his lips, but warm all the same.

"perhaps," he murmured, fingers grazing the edge of the teacup. "and if that is the case… would you care to indulge with me a little longer?"

there was something about the way he said it, so effortlessly graceful, yet sincere. an invitation not just to share another dessert, but to share this moment, fleeting as it was.

and as you reached for another pastry, you decided—perhaps you would stay a little longer after all.

[ksangelscrpt]

thinking about season three shauna with a crybaby reader…..

warnings: mdni, nsfw, swearing

a/n: first drabble on this account!! i haven’t written in literally months so sorry if this is rusty also the ending is a little rushed 😭😭 but my requests are open, so pls pls send them in!!

shauna couldn’t stand you. she couldn’t stand your perpetually wobbly lip or your constantly teary eyes. she couldn’t stand the little almost silent whines you let out when you were upset or overwhelmed. she couldn’t stand the way that you still resorted to tears after everything, everything that they had been through out here, what you had been through. but here you were, still blubbering over every inconvenience. but most of all she couldn’t stand the fact that every time she saw a tear drip down your cheek, her heart clenched in a way that made her chest ache. fuck

it didn’t help that your hut, that you shared with gen and robin, was almost right next to hers. that after especially ‘hard’ days, ones where the team had been arguing or one of the animals had to be slaughtered for meat, she could hear your sniffles and hiccups through the thin stick walls. gen and robin tried to help of course, tried to be supportive, but nothing could ever really console you. you would only stop long enough for gen and robin to presumably go to sleep before shauna would hear those familiar little weeps start up again.

when shauna was finally put in charge, she used this new found power as an opportunity to shut you up herself. she was tired of hearing your fucking whining at night, of seeing you wiping at your eyes. at least that’s what she told herself. it had nothing to do with the pang in her lower stomach everytime she hears your breath hitch, or sees your eyes glaze over with tears. nothing to do with the way her hand with drift down between her thighs some nights, thinking of you looking at her with that same look. nope. nothing at all.

it only took one day of her being in charge before she heard the sound of voices in the hut next to hers, followed by a hiccup of yours. she could tell right away that you were crying, and she knew it likely had to do with coach ben’s death. you were in the collective that believed that he would lead the team home in some way, that he was the bridge. so natalie’s actions had just wrecked you.

shauna’s face morphed into a small smirk at the sound and she is immediately making her way out of her own hut and into yours. you were sitting on your makeshift bed with robin on one side of you, rubbing your back comfortingly while gen paced around, actively talking about something. the presence of your new leader at the entrance of your hut drew all of the attention in the room, even your sniffles silencing as you looked up to meet the eyes of the girl.

“get up” shauna grumbled, eyes glued on you. her hand flicked out, making a ‘come here’ motion with two of her fingers. it was almost condescending the way she called, as if she knew that there was no way you could refuse. which really, could you?

you were confused by the sudden command, who wouldn’t be. but it was shauna, everyone knew better to refuse her wishes. especially now that lottie had put her in power. your legs were wobbly as you stood up and hesitantly took a few steps forward. before you could question her, shauna’s calloused hand was wrapping around your wrist and giving a tug, turning on her heel.

she gave you no time to protest, to think even, before she was dragging you the few feet into her own hut. “shauna wh-“ you go to ask but before you can a hand is pressing over your mouth, pushing you against the hut wall with a soft thump. “shut the fuck up” shauna huffs, but the way her thumb rubs under your eye is nothing but gentle. a complete contrast to her harsh words. “i hear your every night, you know?” she continues, taking a step closer until her chest was pressing against yours, crowding you against the wall. but it wasn’t suffocating, instead it was almost comforting, grounding. “do you know how aggravating it is to listen to your sniffles every night while i’m trying to fucking sleep”

you go to say something but all that comes out is muffled vibrations against her hand. “shush” shauna grunts, but her hand drops from your mouth opting to instead rest it on your hip. the warmth of her palm against your stomach, exposed from the way your tank top had ridden up, causes a heat to spread in your abdomen. your thighs clench involuntarily, the action not going unnoticed by shauna. but surprisingly she chooses not to comment on it, the only acknowledgement being the way the corner of her mouth quirks up. “what are you always crying for anyways?” her voice was a hum as her eyes flick over your face “you have nothing to cry about. i know you don’t.” she knows because she made sure of it, always keeping a watchful eye on the interactions you were having, especially these past few weeks. she made sure you had everything you needed, in her own way.

“there’s always something to cry about” your answer came out mumbled and breathy as your eyes flick down to where her hand was on you. maybe you didn’t really have an answer, maybe you were just emotional, sensitive, or maybe there was something more. you knew shauna wasn’t looking for a real answer, not right now at least. and your suspicion was proved correct by the way her hand trails down a little farther until it was right against the waistband of your worn pajama pants.

“mmm you need someone to make you feel better, huh?” the brunette asks, her voice taking on a cooing tone that makes your face burn and your core clench. fuck. you couldn’t believe you were getting this worked up over shauna shipman. “maybe that way we could both get some fucking sleep.” her hand pushes past your waistband and she is pushing two fingers against your clit before you had a chance to respond. your words were swallowed by a gasp as your eyes fluttered shut automatically, hips bucking to try and meet the new sensation

“oh” shauna chuckles, her eyebrow raising a bit at your eagerness. “yeah you needed this, huh?” her fingers give an experimental circle over your clit which draws a quiet moan from your lips. this wasn’t particularly surprising to either of you to be honest, there was always tension there. shauna new position had just given her the confidence she needed to make her move.

shauna’s fingers start to move at a steady pace now as her other hand finds her chin, titling your head forward from where you had allowed it to lull against the hut wall. the touch causes your eyes to snap open to meet hers, and in her brown irises you can see how feral this is making her. how much she had been longing for this.

with your eyes still locked on hers, shauna’s index finger slips from your clit to your entrance, pushing in halfway. the stretch causes your mouth to fall open and your eyes to burn with the familiar sting of tears. it was like you could see a switch flip in shauna’s brain when she sees that glassy look start to build. in an instant she was plunging her finger fully in, giving you only a few moments to adjust before pulling it out and pushing in right back in. she starts at a relentless pace, and even though it was only one finger it still set every single one of your nerves on fire. “you gonna cry?” she mocks, leaning her head in until her nose was resting on the tip of your ear, her mouth brushing the lobe as she whispers out a “nothing new.”

another finger was added, her thumb still moving relentlessly on your clit. you hadn’t been touched like this in god knows how long, especially with this intensity. it didn’t take long before you could feel a coil forming in your stomach. shauna could tell you were getting close from the way you were clenching down on her fingers, like you never wanted her to slip out. “this is all it takes, really?” shauna can’t pass up the opportunity to mock how fast you were on the edge, but her pace doesn’t let up.

she pulls back so she could look at you, eyes locked on yours as she surveys the wetness pooling in them, right on the edge of rolling down. her thumb presses down hard on your clit and that coil in your stomach bursts with a choked moan. the tears finally slipping down your cheeks as you cum. yeah shauna could definitely get used to those tears.

[wttcsms]

talk so sweet when you're doin' bad things !!

ᝰ.ᐟ after narrowly avoiding a kaiju attack unharmed, you think you’ve gotten away unscathed until you start feeling an unfamiliar, unsatiable heat building inside of you. it’s almost similar to the funny butterflies you get in your tummy when you see your older brother’s rival, third division vice captain soshiro hoshina. and wouldn’t you know it: you just so happen to cross paths with him. ( fem!reader )

pairing soshiro hoshina x reader word count 4.8k content contains soft dom!hoshina, slight love confessions, narumi's younger + civilian sister!reader, creampie, forbidden romance-ish, you two get caught by narumi in the end, sex pollen, biting (please look at hoshina's lil fangs & tell me he ISN'T a biter) kinktober masterlist

You’re in trouble. 

Gen always said you had a knack for getting yourself into situations. You always got in trouble back in school because one student would act up and make a mess, escaping in time, leaving you as the only person for the teacher to catch. Or, someone would break something in a store, and you’d be the unsuspecting customer to happen to walk down the aisle the same time the manager comes by to investigate. In a pay-it-forward chain, you naturally get stuck in front of the person with a 10-people group order, and you’ve always been too kindhearted (and people pleasing) to break the chain… 

Needless to say, it isn’t that you have a knack for getting yourself into trouble. It’s just that you always happen to find yourself at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

In your defense, your neighborhood isn’t just relatively safe — it’s as safe as can be. Gen’s the one who vetted it out for you in the first place, still a little annoyed that his little sister wants to play at being independent. Do you know how dangerous it is for a young woman to live alone in this city? He told you, before complaining that you’re one of the biggest headaches in his life. 

He says this, but he’s the one who patrolled your neighborhood for the two weeks leading up to you moving in. He’s the one who scaled the apartment complex and made sure the security measures were up to par. He’s the one who accessed all records of nearby kaiju attacks and took in the statistical data with careful consideration before finally agreeing that you could live here. You know your older brother cares. It’s why you always try to practice caution in your everyday life. The last thing you want is to be an inconvenience for him. 

This, you think nervously, goes a bit beyond a mere inconvenience. 

Right in front of the gates of your well-protected, super-safe luxury apartment complex is a kaiju. 

And while you and Gen might share the same genes, there are some differences between you and your older brother. The most important one right now being the fact that while he’s the captain of the First Division in the Defense Force, you’re just a civilian. 

A civilian who always finds herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

You’re not sure how long the monster’s been here, nor are you going to bother sticking around to find out. You have no clue when the Defense Force is going to dispatch, and you happen to be the only unlucky soul outside right now. The kaiju’s already detected your presence, and you fumble for the bracelet on your wrist, searching desperately for the emergency button on the wristband. Gen had gotten this custom-made for you. The minute you activate the button, Gen’s notified of your location. It’s an in-case-of-emergency-only, and you’ve never felt the need to use it before. Until now.

You take a few steps back, almost stumbling on the pavement, palming at your bracelet, letting out a sigh of relief as you find the tiny button. And then your heart drops as you realize just how bad your luck is.

The button’s jammed. 

Because of course it would be. 

Because you just always have to constantly be in trouble, don’t you? 

The last thing you can think about before your impending doom is that you hope Gen won’t be too upset. Everyone thinks your older brother is childish and sometimes hard to deal with, but you know him best. If only you were a bit more like him; maybe then you wouldn’t feel so resigned to your fate.

“[Name]? Whaddya doin’?” Casually dropping by — no, literally dropping onto the pavement — is none other than Third Division Vice Captain Soshiro Hoshina. 

On one hand, you’re happy he’s here. You are definitely not dying today. On the other hand… Why did it have to be him of all people? It’s one thing to have a near-death experience, but to have it in front of your longtime crush? You honestly wished the kaiju got a hit on you. Nothing fatal; just enough to have you in a coma, or better yet, turn you into an amnesiac so you never have to relive this moment in your memories. 

“H-Hoshina?” You squeak out. He gives you a concerned look before turning all of his attention to the kaiju, brandishing his swords in one swift, fluid movement. 

You’ve seen footage of Hoshina fighting before, even going out of your way to search up news footage of the Third Division’s missions just to catch a glimpse of the Vice Captain. You’re used to the way Gen fights; hard and fast, sometimes a bit flashy. He’s hard to miss when he’s hauling his almost cartoonishly big bayonet attached to his massive rifle. Maybe it’s crush bias, but you admire the way Hoshina fights. With him, he’s all lithe muscle and agility. There’s a sort of beauty to the way he fights, moving like a dancer, every arc and stroke of his twin blades purposeful. 

Despite the size of the beast in front of you, a muscular mass of pink and purple flesh, Hoshina makes quick work of it. So quick, in fact, that he doesn’t think to consult the command and support center as he digs his blades into its body, landing fatal cuts that take down the kaiju—

—and allowing its massive body to emit a strange violet gas that quickly starts to spread all over the scene. The scent of it is sickeningly sweet, and it overwhelms you.

Eyes wide, Hoshina sprints to your side, tugging at his own mask as if he’s about to force you to put it on, but you shake your head. You’re coughing, inhaling the mysterious vapor the now-dead kaiju is emitting, but you feel fine enough to start walking to the gate of your apartment.

“Fuck.” Hoshina curses, rushing to your side, gripping your left arm as you finish punching in the gate code. “Hey, are you hurt anywhere? D’you feel weird, funny, anything?” 

His concern for you is making you feel embarrassed, but it’s not like that’s the answer he’s searching for. 

“I’m fine, really.” You force a smile. “I’m safe now, all thanks to you. I’m sure Gen’s going to have a lot to say about this.” You roll your eyes, trying to lighten the mood, but Hoshina’s red eyes are staring deep into your own. He’s not laughing. In fact, this is one of the rare moments where you’ve ever seen the Vice Captain so serious. 

“Let me walk ya up to your apartment, at least. Just in case somethin’ happens.” 

You want to tell him that you’re pretty sure there’s no other kaijus lurking around in the hallway of your complex, ready to strike, but you can tell he’s stubborn. And besides, later at night, when you’re all alone and falling asleep to fantasies about a world where Soshiro Hoshina likes you just as much as you like him, you’ll romanticize the fuck out of him being so concerned for your safety.

Because at the end of the day, it’s Hoshina’s job to protect the defenseless citizens like you. He’d do this for any other person who has bad luck like you. It’s not like he’s walking you back, concerned for your safety, purely because it’s you.

Following your string of bad luck is the fact that the elevators are currently out of order. Fantastic.

You turn to him. “Um, I don’t really think walking up almost a dozen flight of stairs is in your job description. You can just leave me here, really! I’ll even call my brother, just in case you think something bad might happen to me in the five minutes you leave me alone.” 

“Don’t be silly, Junior.” This time, Hoshina does flash you his normal, teasing smile. The one that you fell head over heels for back on the primary school playground. The gesture is enough to make you almost ignore the way he brings up that stupid nickname. Junior. Narumi Junior — that’s who you are to him. His rival’s annoying little sister, always faithfully trailing behind her older brother, never saying a word when Gen starts throwing insults his way. “Just ‘cause I’m not captain of the First Division doesn’t mean I can’t handle a few flight of stairs. Ya doubtin’ me?” 

You shake your head, biting down on your bottom lip. Hoshina’s just being nice, you tell yourself. And you have to keep repeating this mantra in your head as you dutifully follow a step behind him on the stairs. 

You’ve noticed it before, but you’ve never been this close up ‘til now. Hoshina’s uniform fits him very well. The black fabric of the suit only serves to emphasize the lean muscles he’s spent years training, his Defense Force-issued boots only serve to announce every step he takes, even the gas mask he wears to protect himself — all of it just suits him so well. 

You try to ignore the flicker of heat lighting up your core, something a little bit more intense than the little flutter of butterflies you normally get when you’re next to Hoshina. You just have to make it back to your apartment, you reason. You’ll make it back to your apartment, and you can lay down on your bed, and then you’ll have all the time in the world to think about how nice Hoshina looks in his uniform, and how special you feel that he’s personally escorting you home. 

But the growing heat within you becomes harder to ignore, and you can’t quite control your labored breaths, not from the walk upstairs but from the fact that you truly do feel hot. Hot, and dizzy, and downright desperate for some relief. Something isn’t right, you realize. And Hoshina catches on quick, too, especially when your knees buckle and you nearly fall until he catches you in his arms. 

He says your name so seriously, you’re almost snapped out of whatever weird daze you’re in. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?” His eyes scan your weakened body before pulling you closer to him. In a second, he’s lifting you up, carrying you bridal style as he starts to sprint up the stairs. You know there’s a time and place for everything, but you can’t help but admire the fact that Hoshina can carry you while running up several stories and he’s not even breaking a sweat. 

The thought of this makes your core grow warmer, and you wriggle a bit in his hold. 

“We’re almost to your apartment, don’t worry.” He reassures you, tightening his grip on you. Hoshina is holding you so close to him that with every inhale, you breathe him in. He smells of musky cologne and something familiar from your childhood, like mochi and other sweets. It’s a funny mix, but it suits him. You find yourself snuggling even closer to him, and if you were in your right state of mind, you would be screaming at yourself for being so bold. But the heat inside of you, it’s seeking him out. 

“I need your key, [Name].” He tells you, and despite the way he’s clearly in a rush, he’s still patient and sweet with you. 

You shamelessly bury the front of your face into his chest, trying to avoid him as you admit, “I must’ve dropped it.” 

He swears, but it’s not at you. “That’s okay.” He tells you, even though you’re proving to be a very inconvenient girl. “Hey, who pays for this apartment?” 

“Gen.” You sheepishly admit. You offered to pay the rent, but he’s the one who chose the insanely expensive penthouse for you. One of you is making a Captain-level salary, and it’s damn sure not you. It only makes sense he’d cover rent. 

“Good.” Hoshina says, before promptly kicking open your door.

And again, time and place for everything, but you can’t help but get a little too excited at his show of strength. 

Hoshina sets you down gently on your bed, frowning as he takes you in. 

“What’s the matter? You need to tell me how you’re feelin’, or else I can’t help you, okay?” 

Hoshina’s being so gentle with you, it’s enough to make your heart soar and ache all at once. He leans down, pressing a cool hand to your forehead. You must feel normal enough, because he doesn’t make a comment, even though you feel like you’re burning up. 

You know what’s the matter. 

You want Soshiro Hoshina in a way a woman wants a man. 

“...hot…” You finally mutter out, squirming on top of your sheets. “I‘m hot.” 

“Hot?” Hoshina’s confused for a few seconds, until he watches the way you press your thighs together, your tiny fingers tugging at your clothes, the way you bite down on the bottom of your lip before peering up at him curiously, trying to see if he understands you. 

It hits him all at once. A kaiju that’s a blend of pink and purple, the sweet scent its gas emitted. This is a rare type of kaiju; the one that boosts one’s pheromones, turns its victim delirious with lust. The only way to help, really, is for the affected person to be truly satiated. 

He knows it’s wrong to think of Narumi’s little sister like this, but Hoshina would be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about you writhing on a bed, wantonly calling out his name, begging for him to give you relief that you can’t find from anyone else. He dreams about it, really. Not just the sex, but everything that encompasses taking care of you. He wants to make sure that you’re always well taken care of, always safe, always protected. This isn’t the Third Divison’s territory, y’know. But between patrol breaks, Hoshina finds himself around your neighborhood just on the off chance that something bad happens. It’s a good thing he was there today. 

And it’s his lucky day, he thinks, that he’s here with you now.

No other man would treat you as well. No other man would be able to satiate you.

“Let me help you, baby.” The pet name rolls off easily on his tongue. He’s so used to teasing you, careful to avoid saying your name too much. He saves his reverent groans of your name for when he’s pumping his cock in the darkness of his room. “I know exactly what you need.” 

“Hoshina.” You moan out, and he swallows hard at how desperate you sound for him. “I need you so bad.”

“It’s the kaiju.” He mutters, getting on the bed with you, balancing himself on his knees. He’s towering over you from this angle, and you look up at him. “The kaiju’s gas acts as a… bit of a sex pollen, really. And I can help ya combat the effects, but I— I can’t take advantage of ya. You’re Narumi’s precious lil’ sister. It’d be wrong.” He’s trying to talk some sense, but you’re immediately frowning. 

“Nuh uh.” You whine out, pouting. And it’s thanks to the kaiju that you have lowered your inhibitions, because you would never admit this out loud otherwise. “I always want Vice Captain Hoshina like this.” 

Fuck. You know just how to drive a man crazy.

“Usin’ my title?” He grins, leaning down to get his face closer to yours. “Good girl. Ya mind your manners, don’t ya?” 

And he rewards you with a kiss. 

The kiss turns hungry, desperate. You’re tilting your head up a bit to try to capture his lips some more, even though the two of you are already as close as can be. You two are a mess of tongue and teeth by the time you have to struggle for oxygen, and as he reluctantly pulls back, there’s even a thin string of saliva still connecting the two of you. 

“So, ya always wanted me, huh?” The thought that the girl of his dreams could possibly want him as much as he wants her turns him on like nothing else. He must be dreaming, he decides. And then he thinks, he doesn’t fucking care if this is a dream or not. If he gets to fuck you boneless, then he trusts in himself to never wake up. “Whaddya like about me so much?” 

He’s just teasing you now. He’s always teasing you. It’s what he’s good at. You feel heat rise to your cheeks as you shyly admit, “I’ve always liked you. Even before you got the fancy uniform and your rank. You’re funny and sweet and you care about others.” Even in your sex-focused mind, the genuine feelings you harbor for Hoshina shine through. This catches him off guard. 

You might be under the effects of the kaiju’s vapor, but the sweet girl he’s fallen for is still laying down right underneath him. It’s not just lust for you. There’s genuine love.

“Fuck, I’m gonna treat you so well.” He peppers kisses all over your face; your cheeks, your eyelids, your jawline, teasing you ‘til he finally, finally, plants a kiss on your swollen lips again. 

He makes quick work of your clothes, committing the sight of your bare body to his memory. He tells you you’re beautiful, and he means it. You want to tell him to stop trying to charm you, but then he’s immediately going down on you, digging his fingers into the plush of your thighs as he spreads them apart, forcing you to open yourself up to him.

You’re caught off guard, but your body screams in relief as you watch Hoshina get eye-level with your cunt. He licks his lips before glancing up at you. 

“Such a cute pussy my lil’ civvie baby has.” Civvie — Hoshina never lets you forget that you’re a civilian, but you don’t know it yet (you will, eventually), but Hoshina’s never actually been bothered about this fact. Actually, he takes pride in the idea that he’ll be the one to take care of you, the one to keep you safe. 

Right now, though, he’s tasked with being the one who makes sure you’re satiated.

You have the prettiest pussy Hoshina’s ever, and as his mouth descends onto your waiting heat, he determines that you’ve got the sweetest taste, too. You let out cute, little mewls that only motivate him to devour you some more, and he groans into your pussy as he laps at your arousal, your juices seeming to never stop flowing. 

Your body arches up, and Hoshina has to apply pressure to his grip on your thighs, to force you back down so he can continue licking at your cunt at his own hungry pace. When bucking your hips fails, you find yourself losing control of your body, your legs spasming, your thighs clamping down on his head. Your fingers tangle themselves into the thick, dark strands of Hoshina’s hair, and he thinks you’re trying to suffocate him with your pussy.

What a way to go, honestly. 

He manages to lift his head up, cheeks flushed from the heat in between your thighs, chin and lips wet with your juices. “Ahh.” He smacks his lips, licking up traces of your slick that his tongue can reach. “My civvie has the sweetest pussy in the world.” He inserts a finger into your wet hole, and you literally yelp. Your walls hungrily clamp down on his single digit, and he laughs. 

“D’ya want more?” He sounds innocent enough, almost as if he isn’t leisurely fucking you with one finger. “‘Cause I can give ya more. All ya have to do is ask.”

“Pl-ease.” The word comes out in broken syllables. You clutch at his bicep, nails digging into the material of his combat suit. It’s because he still has his uniform on that he can’t really feel you. 

“Who are ya askin’?” He teases, pumping his finger at the same agonizingly slow pace he’s been giving you. You keep clenching around him, your body making it obvious who you’re hungry for. 

“I-I’m asking Vice Captain Hos— Soshiro.”

You say his title, and he feels himself tightening in his combat suit. You say his name, and his heart nearly skips a beat.

Oh, he’ll give you everything he’s got, now.

The intrusion of three fingers inside your cunt catches you off guard, and he swallows up that shocked moan of yours by slotting his mouth against yours, kissing you with a vigorous passion that has you realizing that maybe Soshiro just might like you back. 

He spreads his fingers while they’re buried deep inside your cunt, trying to desperately stretch out your pussy, get you nice and wet and ready to take his cock. 

“Ah! Wait! No, ‘Shiro, please!” You protest as he pulls his fingers out, licking and savoring the taste of your essence. You were about to cum, and he knew it. 

He plants a rather chaste kiss on your forehead before telling you, “You hafta ask me to cum, okay? Can my little civvie baby get that in her head?” 

You nod weakly, sniffling a bit as you’re disappointed from your stolen orgasm. 

“Hey,” he taps on your cunt gently, but with just enough firm pressure to make you understand you have to look at him, to listen to his commands. “When your Vice Captain tells ya somethin’, ya need to answer. Where’s my baby’s manners?” 

“S-sorry, Vice Captain.” You look up at him, teary-eyed. “Can I please cum?” 

“Aw, you’re askin’ me so sweetly, it’s hard to say no to you.” But from the familiar mischievous glint in his eyes, it’s clear what his answer is. “But today, you’re only gonna be able to cum all over my cock.” 

Hoshina makes no effort to take off his clothes fully. The uniform that you admire him in is only being pulled out of the way rather than completely off. Hoshina messes with the bottom half, pulling at the suit until he can free his cock. He’s already hard, and he pumps his cock a few times, using the fingers covered in his spit and your slick to act as lube. 

“See how hard your Vice Captain is? My little civvie got me all fired up.” There’s a feral, crazed look in his eyes as he stares down at you, at how your legs are spread and your pussy is so wet. “This is what you wanted the whole time, huh? You wanted to be stuffed full of my cock. Poor baby.” His tone is mocking, but it only makes your hole clench at nothing. You’re so heartbreakingly empty of him that you’ll do anything to make sure he gives you what he promised. “I know, you must be all hot and bothered right now. Pussy so empty, waitin’ for me, huh?” 

You nod, tears streaming down your face. Hoshina chuckles at the sight. He hasn’t even fucked you properly yet, and you’re already a mess. Fuck, he loves you so much. 

When he presses the tip of his cock to your entrance, your pussy is instantly swallowing him up, greedy for more of him. So he gives in, because the two of you have clearly been wanting and waiting for this for so long, why bother dragging it out any further?

“A-ah.” Your legs are trembling as your pussy engulfs more and more of Hoshina’s thick cock. “It’s too big.” You whine out, more tears falling as you take him in completely, his whole entire cock buried deep inside of you, throbbing impatiently, insisting that he pins you down and fucks you hard and fast.

“It’ll be okay.” He reassures you, rubbing comforting circles on your hip. “I’ll make ya feel so good. Ya just gotta relax for me, baby. Remember? You’re the one who wanted this so badly.” He coos, moving his hand to rub at your clit, the little nub hardening for him. “Good girl, atta girl, that’s my precious civvie. Doin’ so good for me; I knew you would.” He praises you when he feels you start to move your hips a bit, begging for movement now, and he kisses your cheek when he feels your pussy yielding to his cock. “I’m going to fuck you now, baby.” 

He doesn’t wait for you to answer.

“You feel so good.” He grunts this directly in your ear, which rewards him with a cute little whimper from you, and the feel of your pussy clamping down on him, tightening and preening at the praise. He’s holding himself up by his elbows, his face so close to your own as he fucks you, just like how he promised he would. It’s sweetly intimate this way, and you love it. He can tell.

“Your pussy feels so good around my cock. So tight. So fuckin’ wet.” His thrusts are deep, powerful. His cock seems to reach into the depths of your pussy, and you don’t think you’ll ever recover. You don’t think you want to. 

You curl your arms around his neck, bringing him even closer to you. Your string of moans and broken sobs of his name haven’t stopped flowing from your lips, and the pleasure is so overwhelming, so good, so Hoshina. You don’t realize what he’s planning on doing until it’s too late. He licks at the soft skin between your shoulder and neck, deciding which spot he wants to mark up first, before taking his sharp canines, the ones you love so much, and digging them deep into your flesh. 

“Ah!” The pain bleeds in with the pleasure. The sting of his bite is heightened when he nuzzles your neck with his nose endearingly, almost as an apology, before he bites down in a different spot. Marking his territory. 

It feels so good in such a foreign way, you forget what your Vice Captain told you. If you want to cum, you have to ask. But he’s making you feel so good, your climax comes without warning. Your walls tighten up around him, and he can feel you, can feel you creaming around his cock like the dirty, disobedient girl you are.

“What did I tell ya?” He growls, looking down at where the two of you are connected. He pulls out a bit, just to stare at the ring of white encircling his cock. “Hm?” He takes a hand to grab at your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. “Is my little civvie so fucked dumb her brain doesn’t work anymore? I thought I told ya that if you wanted to cum, you better ask my permission.”

“I’m s-sorry!” You gasp out. “B-but you made me feel… Felt too good, I didn’t know I was going to!” You’re crying again now, and he almost feels bad. Instead, he likes this power he has over you, and he’s back to being his usual, teasing and mocking self. 

“Aw, did I break you?” He coos sweetly, pounding into your pussy with a fervor he hasn’t exhibited before. Your eyes widen when you realize he still has on his combat suit. He’s drawing out his strength from the suit, using it to fuck into you even harder. “S’okay, baby. No need to cry. I’m not mad at ya.” 

His hips stutter when he’s ready to finish. His thrusts falter in its usual pinpoint precise movements, and he drags your body towards him, pushing you deep onto his cock as he groans out your name. The heat of his cum fills your twitching, sensitive cunt, and you think you could probably cum again just from the pleasure of having Vice Captain Soshiro Hoshina fill you up. 

“Ah, fuck.” He breathes out, leaning his forehead against your own, panting a bit, his chest rising and falling. “You drive me crazy, ya know that?” 

You let out a weak giggle, equally breathless. Your mind feels a lot clearer now, the heat within you subsiding greatly. You wrap your legs around his slim waist, refusing to let him go even though he refuses to leave you in the first place. He looks like he’s about to say something until a familiar, booming voice comes from the front of your apartment.

“[Name]?” Gen calls out, his footsteps indicating that he’s coming closer. “[Name], where are you?” 

Your eyes widen in shock and fear, the cute afterglow of the moment officially ruined, all thanks to your annoying older brother. Hoshina is quick when he pulls the covers of your bed over your naked body, and he’s adjusting his combat suit as Gen makes it to your bedroom. 

You shut your eyes, not wanting to witness the expression on your brother’s face.

“Oh, Narumi.” Hoshina says brightly. “Funny runnin’ into you here.”

[himasgod]

Hello! How are you doing? May I ask a reader who is Lilia's wife (and consequently the boys' mother), she has been missing for years, but here suddenly they see her alive and well. Lots of tears of joy, figuring out what happened and at the end she says something like, "well, let me make your favorite food for dinner, shall we?" Boys: *rejoicing that their stomachs will be okay from now on* Lilia: happy, trying to hold back tears. I also want to say that you write so "deliciously" about Diasomnia! Especially about Sebek, I saw that another anon asked something about him and I'm sure it will be interesting and fun to read too!

DIASOMNIA AND READER

Where you are Lilia's wife, missing for years, and you return home.

It began on an otherwise ordinary afternoon in Briar Valley.

Silver had just returned from a training session, his hair still damp from the light rain outside.

Sebek followed at his heel like always, lecturing him about staying alert despite the weather.

Malleus stood near the great hearth of the main hall, idly watching the flames dance.

And Lilia?

Lilia was cooking.

Unfortunately.

The boys had long resigned themselves to his “creations,” though they shared one common silent prayer whenever he stepped into the kitchen: please, Great Seven, don’t let this one kill us.

“I believe I nearly unlocked the secret to curry-flavored cheesecake this time!” Lilia announced emerging from the kitchen with a bioluminescent dish.

Silver’s soul left his body for a moment. “F-father, maybe we could try—”

He was interrupted by a knock at the gate.

Not the main entrance. No, this was the old garden gate—rusted from disuse, half swallowed by ivy.

The room grew still.

“…That gate hasn’t opened in years,” Malleus murmured.

“I didn’t sense anyone approach,” Lilia said, suddenly more serious.

He handed the cheesecake off to Sebek (who immediately looked like he was holding a bomb) and moved toward the hallway.

The knock came again.

Once.

Twice.

Slow. Almost hesitant.

Lilia opened the gate.

And time stopped.

There, standing in the haze of the twilight garden, was someone who had been gone from their lives so long that seeing her again didn’t seem possible.

“Lilia?” your voice was softer now, worn by time. A little hoarse. A little tired. But undeniably you.

His eyes widened.

“…Dear?”

You looked up at him. A little older. But still smiling.

The smile he used to dream about and wake up heartbroken to realize was gone.

“I’m home,” you whispered. “I’m sorry I—”

You didn’t get to finish.

Lilia pulled you into his arms so tightly you could feel the shudder in his shoulders. The way his fingers clutched the back of your coat.

You felt his breath hitch against your neck.

“You idiot,” he breathed. “You’re alive. You’re alive.”

The next moment, heavy footsteps echoed down the hall.

“MASTER LILIA, WHO WAS AT THE—” Sebek’s voice rang out before he skidded to a stop, Silver nearly bumping into him from behind.

And then, silence.

Silver dropped his sword.

Sebek’s mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound came out.

You looked at them with a trembling smile.

“My boys… You’ve grown so much.”

Silver’s eyes filled with tears . “M-mother…?”

The moment he said it, the dam broke.

He ran to you like a child again, throwing his arms around you and clinging tightly, nearly knocking you off balance.

You laughed, hugging him back, kissing the top of his head like you used to when he had nightmares.

Sebek, meanwhile, dropped to his knees.

“You… You were presumed… H-how can…?”

You knelt down to him and brushed his hair back, just like you had all those years ago when he scraped his knee climbing a tree. “I’m here now. I promise.”

He lunged forward and hugged you, sobbing uncontrollably.

And then Malleus.

Quiet Malleus.

“I had long accepted your loss. But even now… my heart dares not believe this miracle is real.”

You reached for his hand and placed it over your heart.

“It’s me, Malleus. It's me.”

A small laugh broke from him.

He drew you into a gentle embrace, forehead resting against the top of your head.

“Welcome home.”

For several minutes, you stayed like that. Surrounded by them.

The explanations came later, once everyone had calmed enough to speak without sobbing.

A magical accident—your disappearance had been the result of a sealed portal misfiring during a research expedition.

You were stranded in a temporal bubble, barely able to age, watching the years pass. It wasn’t until the rift finally weakened that you’d escaped, fighting your way home.

“I could hear your voices sometimes,” you admitted, sitting on the hearth now, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. “In my dreams. I held onto them to stay sane.”

“And I stopped singing at night,” Lilia murmured, his voice breaking. “Because it hurt too much.”

You touched his cheek .

“Sing again. I’m home now.”

You stood up and stretched.

“Well…” you smiled at the boys, wiping your eyes with your sleeve, “how about I make your favorite dinner tonight?”

Sebek actually yelped in joy.

“Master Lilia's wife cooking has returned. Salvation is upon us.”

Silver burst out laughing. “Father, please let her into the kitchen before you finish your cheesecake.”

“I will gladly yield the ladle- My culinary reign ends tonight.”

Malleus chuckled, a rare sound of true joy. “Then I shall summon the stars themselves to light your table.”

You cooked.

Lilia watched you with a soft smile, brushing away a tear every now and then when he thought you weren’t looking.

The boys sat at the table, basking in the comfort of a meal that tasted of home.

You were home.

[solxamber]

can i req vil, romantic, young and beautiful by lana del rey? please and thankyou!! ^^ i love your writing btw /gen

thank you! hope you like my take on it <3

"Young and Beautiful" || Vil Schoenheit

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Young and Beautiful by Lana Del Ray

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 570

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Established relationship, Fluff

Vil knows he is at the peak of his career right now.

Everywhere he goes, cameras flash. The world drinks him in, enamored by his beauty, his elegance, the way he carries himself like he was sculpted by the gods themselves. He is young, radiant, untouchable.

And yet—when he sees you, when he catches even a glimpse of you—he is taken back.

Back to the days when he would lounge in the tattered remains of Ramshackle, nose wrinkling in distaste as he lamented the state of the old dorm. “Honestly, potato, how can you stand living like this?”

And you—ever unshaken, ever warm—would simply laugh, curling your fingers around his wrist, tugging him down onto the dusty couch beside you. “It doesn’t matter, Vil,” you’d say, smiling at him like he was the only thing worth looking at. “You’re here.”

Those summers were endless. Long, golden days filled with laughter and whispered promises, with lazy afternoons where he let himself rest in the comfort of your presence. He remembers the haze of young love, the weightlessness of it, the feeling that the two of you were untouchable.

He still has you now. Even when the world pulls him in a thousand directions, you are always there.

You still lighten up when you see him.

You still take care of him on his bad days, the ones where even perfection feels like a burden.

You still make his tea the exact way he likes it.

You still smooth your hands over his shoulders, whispering words of comfort when the weight of expectation is too much.

He thinks you are a deity, made only for him.

And yet, a quiet thought lingers in the back of his mind. A fear he rarely allows himself to acknowledge.

Will you still love me when I’m not young anymore?

Vil is many things—intelligent, self-assured, disciplined—but he is not naïve. He knows beauty fades. He knows the world only adores the bright and the unblemished. One day, the cameras will stop flashing. One day, the world will move on.

Will you still love me when I’m not beautiful anymore?

He hopes. He prays. But deep down, he already knows the answer.

Because he remembers the way you held him after his overblot, when he had unraveled completely, when his very worst was laid bare before you. And you, despite everything, had held him close. Had kissed him. Had whispered that he was enough, even then.

You have seen his ugliest side.

And still, you love him.

Vil Schoenheit has everything. Fame, beauty, power. But none of it matters as much as this—as much as you.

He returns home after another long day, exhaustion pressing at the edges of his mind. But then, there you are, waiting for him by the door.

Your eyes soften the moment you see him.

“Welcome home,” you say, stepping forward, reaching for him.

And when you kiss him—when your lips press against his with the same love, the same devotion you have always given him—he knows.

You will love him, even when he is not young.

Even when he is not beautiful.

Even when all he has left is his aching soul.

And if the afterlife is kind, you will go together, hand in hand.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[robinminustherichard]

Sorry, I can't actually take Hen queen of being given second chances NOT pushing Tommy and Buck back together. Enjoy a little fix it fic.

"Just Want to Let It Be This Easy"

BuckTommy | Gen | Fix it Fic

In the end, it's Hen that gets them back together. Which is kind of a surprise for Buck because Hen was definitely just as adamant that Buck not try to talk to Tommy after they broke up. Despite that though, when Tommy shows up at his door, clear that he's been crying, it's Hen's name that he curses the second he sees Buck. 

“Wait, what?” Buck says, still blinking awake from sleep, honestly not convinced that this isn't a dream, “Tommy? What are you doing here?” 

“Evan, you're here! At Eddie's house! You...aren't kidnapped?” 

“No, that was Maddie.”  

“That was--wait, so someone was kidnapped? Oh my god.” 

“Yeah, and I live here now. It's kind of been an intense week.” 

“A week?!” 

“I know, right?” Buck says, leaning against the door and yawning. Maddie had been released from the hospital a day and a half ago, she and the baby okay, and Buck had gone right into a full shift after that. He was exhausted. 

“But you're--you're okay, Evan? Hen told me that you were kidnapped.” Tommy asks, breathing slowing down and eyes roving over Buck's body, catching on his tight sleep shirt. 

“Yeah, she definitely lied to you,” Buck tells him through another yawn, eyes closing. “I’m like, really tired though. Do you want to come in?” 

Tommy looks unsure, hands wringing in front of his stomach nervously. “Do you want me to come in?” 

“Well,” Buck says, rubbing a hand across his face, “I'm pretty mad at you, but also my life is kind of insane, and you're like...really good at cuddling. So maybe you could come in and cuddle me for s-say seven and a half hours? Then in the morning you can make me avocado toast because you're also really good at that, and then we can fight it out then?” 

Tommy looks a little awestruck, but his body sways forward into the door. 

“Yeah,” Tommy breathes out, “yeah I can do that.” 

Buck hums, grabs Tommy's hand to pull him into the house, and shuts and locks it behind him. 

“Where's Eddie?” Tommy asks as Buck waits for him to kick off his shoes, pulling him again towards the bedroom. 

“Texas.” Buck says, laying back down on the bed. 

“Texas? What's he--” 

“Tomorrow, Tommy.” 

“Right, sorry Evan.” 

“That's okay, I get it...what are you waiting for?” Evan is looking up at Tommy, who's paused on the other side of the bed, staring down at Buck in wonder. 

“I wasn't...I didn't think I'd get this far honestly.” 

“Yeah,” Buck says, “I’m not convinced this isn't a dream.” 

“Not a dream.” 

“Then take your pants off and get in the bed, Tommy.” 

“Yes, sir,” Tommy says, with a tone. 

“Don’t get sassy you're still in trouble!” 

“Sorry, Evan,” Tommy says, finally getting into the bed. Evan rolls over, puts his back to Tommy and throws his hips back just to hear Tommy huff, “right, cuddling then avocado toast.” 

Buck thinks he says something back, but Tommy throws an arm around his waist and wiggles the other underneath Buck's head, and suddenly the weight of the week (all the weeks since their break up) rush up to meet him and he can't stay awake any longer. 

In the morning, he'll be amazed at how it's the smoothest make up he's ever heard of. 

And when they show up to Maddie's baby shower a week later, not having told anyone they were back together, they walk into a smug look from Hen and confusion from everyone else. 

“Don't look smug, Hen; you almost killed a man with a heart attack. And by a man I mean me. I'm forty, how could you do that?!” 

Hen smirks and leans back in her chair. Karen has the decency to look guilty next to her. 

“Wait, what?” Maddie says, “what did I miss?” 

“Maddie, I am so sorry to hear about what happened,” Tommy says, handing her the gift Buck had let him add his name to, “Hen however told me the wrong Buckley got kidnapped, and uh, I panicked.” 

Chim's head whips between Tommy and Hen, eyebrows drawing together as he opens his mouth to shout, “What? Hen! You stole my move!” 

Hen's laugh rings out, and Buck can't help the grin that stretches across his face. 

[thelonestarinthesky]

words left unsaid

────୨ৎ────

a/n: wrote this to celebrate 100 followers !

────୨ৎ────

Laying down on Senku's bed, you stare up at the ceiling of his bedroom, munching on a stick of pocky, thinking to yourself before rolling over to look at Senku who was busy on his laptop.

"Go on a date with me." You exclaim loud enough for him to hear.

He's well aware of your romantic feelings towards him. You didn't feel any shame hiding them from him since you always thought these feelings were something precious because they were about him.

"Pass."

You sighed heavily at this, but his response was always the same since you two were children.

"I'll definitely get you to say yes to my question someday." You say pouting slightly.

Senku only shrugged his shoulders at this, but you were unaware of the way his cheeks flush pink slightly; the tip of his ears red as he stared ahead at the screen of his laptop.

"Not in a million years." He replies.

"Even if it takes a million years, I'll wait for as long as possible." You argue back at him, "because you're worth it, Senku." Rolling around a bit to get comfortable before giving up.

Senku turns to look back at you, only to see you smiling at him softly with that same gaze that held only the softest look reserved for him.

"..." His lips part slightly, not sure what to say before he lets out a quiet 'hmph' and turns back around. "...don't get your hopes up, idiot."

────୨ৎ────

He remembers the last conversation he had with you before you left Japan with Byakuya. There was a worldwide contest, the prize being a passenger of the International Spacs Station, going alongside Lillian Weinberg.

And you had won.

You won.

You.

Won.

Won.

...

you died 3700 years ago.

Senku knew that, of course, he heard your voice in the record Byakuya had made and left behind for him in Ishigami Village.

A tear or two were shed, but he moved forward because humanity still needed to be saved.

It wasn't until they reached Treasure Island, where the original island the 7 sole survivors lived—

and died.

He stared down at the record in his hands. He didn't know what he would hear, the context behind making a second record. Why did Byakuya make a second one.

Unsure, but he built another record player. There had to be a reason, right. The sound of fireworks was heard outside, and everyone else wanted to hear, but one look at the expression on Senku's face as he stared down at the record, it was clear that maybe he wanted to listen to this alone.

Gen and Kohaku stood a bit away from where Senku was listening to the record.

"...you think it's about the girl he's never mentioned." Kohaku says quietly to Gen, who lets out a quiet hum. "The message in the record."

"From the way they spoke of her, she must have been extremely close to Senku. It's just bad fate that she won her seat on that trip."

The two stood there for a bit as Gen gathered his thoughts, "Yuzuriha and Taiju spoke about their childhood friend who was a part of the survivors who once lived on this island."

He sits down, staring at the stars. "Even I know not to bring her up to Senku. It's clear that he's still not over her despite her passing away thousands of years ago. His father, too. In a sense, he's got no family left. All alone."

They say nothing else, Kohaku hadn't thought about it like that.

She couldn't imagine being alone, her family dead years ago, truly alone.

────୨ৎ────

The record player starts, and Senku stands before it.

"....there we go, it's a miracle this still works." Byakuya's voice is heard, and then Lillian's, "i reckon the old thing wouldn't hadn't have and we would have to make another one."

"....we'll let you talk in private, okay [Name]?" She says quietly.

It goes quiet before a faint voice is heard. ".....senku."

Senku flinches slightly, his fingers twitch as he places his hand next to the record player.

"....senku.." She calls out again in a hoarse voice. "...we never got to say goodbye....just a see you later...at the airport, remember?"

A cough is heard, [Name] speaks after a few seconds, "....I wished I hugged you tighter...if i had known..."

A sickening cough leaves her lips, and Senku could only hear it happening, gripping his fist as he struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to roll down his face.

".....space was everything you said it would be..." A tear rolls down his face as he now realizes that the record was meant to be [Name]'s last words.

"....I want to see you... even if it's just one last time...." her voice is getting more tired and raspy. He could hear it.

"....I can feel it...you know?"

More tears rolled down his face as he gripped the table, shoulders trembling.

"...don't," his voice cracks, "...don't say goodbye, you idiot." He doesn't care about the tears rolling down his face and onto the record player.

"...senku...." He's brought back upon hearing his name.

[Name] says in that sweet voice that gentle tone with such affection breaks his heart. To know that he wouldn't hear her call his name again or ask him out on a date that he always declined. "...as long as you're happy...my dearest wish in life will come true so....please."

"....[Name]." Senku calls out as he falls to his knees, shoulders trembling as he cries. Tears refuse to stop as he hugs the record player.

The anguish cry that leaves his throat as he holds onto the last piece he has of the girl he loved. He thought they had more time, he thought they had all the time in the world...he wanted to be the one to ask her out on date instead of her asking him.

"[Name]!"

He thought that he had enough time to confess his feelings.

".....you want to go on a date...senku?"

He breaks down even more.

The record went quiet before the sounds of footsteps are heard "[Name]? [Name]!?" Byakuya's voice is heard. "Stay with us, sweetheart." Lillian says.

Before the record ends, Senku's anguished cries only continued even more, "....she's gone, Lillian." Is heard before the room is filled with his cries.

"...yes...I should've told you yes earlier."

────୨ৎ────

[snapscube]

I’m personally holding off on Switch 2 until there’s more games, but I’m glad it runs well and feels good!

What franchise are you most looking forward to seeing another installment for on it, using your wildest imagination that they will make it and it will be good? I know I’d probably kill someone for another proper Star Fox

going to stick to nintendo first party here

in spite of my issues with New Horizons i am ALWAYS down for more Animal Crossing and its one of my most anticipated

i really really really hope we get another Princess Peach game in the near future. it seems like Showtime wasn’t a major smash hit or anything but she deserves as many chances as she can get, i just hope they have the sense to give it to a studio that will do something…. even SLIGHTLY more ambitious with the gameplay? Showtime has vibes and aesthetics and charm in boatloads but i really can’t fully mesh with such a simplistic gameplay style. i know it’s clearly targeted towards much younger players but like…. kids play and thrive in mechanically dense games all the time? Minecraft, Fortnite, Roblox, etc. this is not news to anyone who pays attention to the stuff kids actually enjoy on a large scale. you can just make a good game, people will get it!

there’s a few more im fully waiting with bated breath for. the next 3D Zelda of course, the next 2D Metroid, gen 10 Pokémon. i have a feeling these will all alter my brain chemistry in some key way.

[demie90s]

You Asked.

Azzi Fudd x Player!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Your smooth, and unapologetically known for giving unforgettable head—but never catching feelings. Azzi Fudd? She’s the latest obsession.

Genre: Angst, smut (later), obsession in denial

Warnings: Smut 18+, emotional tension, ghosting

Vibe: You shouldn’t have cared. But you do.

Word Count~ 2.5k

I didn’t earn my name in class. I earned it on my knees. Yeah, I said it.

Not because I’m desperate—not even close. But because I like it. I enjoy it. There’s peace in it. Pressure in it. Something about making a girl forget how to breathe just does it for me.

I don’t fuck for their pleasure—I eat for mine. College is hard. Papers due. Tests piling. Professors assigning trauma as homework. So when life’s a mess?

I find relief between thighs. Hot, aching, clenching relief. And yeah, a few girls talk. Like I’m some campus side quest. A little mystery you whisper about in group chats. “She made me black out,” one said. “She was humming,” another added.

I don’t deny it. I don’t confirm it either. I don’t need to. They know my name.

Y/N.

No last name necessary. Tall, tatted, always in an oversized tee and sweats that hang low off my waist. I’m in class when I need to be.

But most of the time? I’m high, posted up in somebody’s dorm, or laid out under a tree like I own the campus.

I don’t chase. I don’t beg. And I never double back.

…Until Azzi. But we’ll get there.

See, the real story starts with this class. “Modern Cultural Rhetoric.” Just a gen-ed filler I picked ‘cause the professor doesn’t take attendance and the papers are optional if your discussion grades are high. I walked in late the first day—hood on, blunt on my breath, iced coffee in my hand. Sat in the back and didn’t say shit. Still left with the highest pre-quiz score in the room.

That’s the thing about me. I talk slick and fuck reckless, but I’m smart. Smart and dangerous. I don’t try. I just do. And people notice.

Even her. Yeah—her. Miss Sunshine. Star Player. Sweetest smile on campus. Azzi Fudd.

We’d crossed paths before. Hallways. Cafeteria. Parties where I was posted up with someone else’s girl while she laughed in corners with her team. But we never spoke.

Until that day.

When Professor H started assigning project partners “based on GPA proximity,” I already knew I was screwed. There’s maybe five people in the class smart enough to challenge me. She was one of ‘em. So when he said, “Fudd and Y/N”? I already felt my jaw clench.

She turned around. Smile like sugar. Hair pulled back. Bright eyes.

“Guess we’re stuck together,” she said, chipper. I didn’t smile back. Just licked my lip, leaned forward and said,

“Guess you’re lucky.”

She laughed. Thought I was joking. I wasn’t. Not even a little.

——————————————————————————————-

Azzi’s POV

The Warning Was Loud. I Just Didn’t Listen.

I didn’t think much of it when Professor H read out the partner list. Group projects were annoying, sure, but I usually got through them just fine. I was already packing up my bag when he said it:

“Fudd and Y/L/N.”

I froze. Blinked once. Then looked up slowly—like maybe I misheard. But no. Everyone else heard it too. There was a pause in the room. One of those weird silences where you feel people staring. Whispering. Like the air just got warmer.

Y/N didn’t even react. She just stretched her legs out, yawned like this was boring, and slouched deeper into her seat like nothing touched her.

I’d heard of her. Of course I had. You’d have to be living under a rock not to know about Y/N.

She didn’t play any sports, didn’t care for clout, didn’t run with a crowd—but she was known. Tall, masc, dressed like every piece in her closet was stolen from a high-end shoot. Pretty in that rude, effortless way.

She didn’t flirt so much as…claim. And the stories? They were legendary. Whispers in dorms, giggles in locker rooms, half-smirks in the library.

Some people said she ruined them. Others said she saved them. Everyone agreed on one thing—once she touched you, you weren’t the same.

Still. I figured the rumors were exaggerated. People talk. I didn’t think she’d actually be anything special.

Then after class, she leaned over, smelled like good weed and cinnamon gum, and said in that low, rich voice, “Guess you’re stuck with me, princess. Lucky you.”

I laughed it off. Played it cool. Went about my day. But it lingered. So later, after practice, I brought it up casually in the locker room.

“I got paired with Y/N for my rhetoric project,” I said while tying my shoe.

KK’s head snapped up. “Y/N Y/L/N?”

I glanced at her. “Yeah. Why?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Caroline groaned, already rolling her eyes.

“Say it like what?”

“Like it’s nothing,” Inês muttered. “That’s something.”

“Y’all are being dramatic,” I laughed.

“She’s dangerous,” Ice said. “In that slow, ‘I won’t even ask your name’ kinda way.”

“She’s smart,” KK added. “Real smart. Real charming. Gets what she wants. And what she wants is usually—”

“Girls,” Ayanna said bluntly.

I raised an eyebrow. “So she’s a flirt. Who cares?”

“No, Azzi,” KK said seriously. “She’s the munch.”

I paused. “I’m sorry—the what?”

“She eats pussy like it’s therapy,” Ice deadpanned. “And not for the girl. For her.”

“She doesn’t even make it romantic,” Inês added. “No cuddling. No feelings. Just that mouth. Then poof.”

“She hooked up with two girls from the rugby team and left both of them giggling and heartbroken,” Ayanna said, shaking her head. “At the same time.”

“Okay but we’re just doing a project,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Everyone turned.

KK tilted her head. “You curious?”

“No!”

“You are.” Caroline smirked. “You smiled just now.”

“I didn’t!”

“God,” Ice muttered. “She’s already done.”

I stood up fast, grabbing my bag like it would protect me from the accusations. “Y’all are dramatic.”

“Sure,” KK said. “But don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

And the worst part? They were right. Because two hours later, when my phone lit up with her name—“You free?”—I smiled before I could stop myself. And I think… I knew right then.

——————————————————————————————-

I don’t think she knew what she was walking into. Not really.

She was soft, too soft for her own good. Sitting on that pink blanket like she ain’t just open the door for her own downfall. Cute little shorts. Oversized UConn hoodie swallowing her up like a blanket of innocence. I almost laughed. The kind of girl who doesn’t even know how loud she breathes when she’s nervous.

“Let’s just get this done,” she’d said.

I nodded. “Sure, princess.”

She looked up—eyes narrowing just a little, like she clocked the name. Good. I like when they pay attention.

We worked. Kind of. She tried. Pulled up her little doc and started typing. But I was watching her thighs. The way she sat cross-legged on the bed, little shorts riding up every time she adjusted. I wasn’t trying to be respectful. I wasn’t trying at all.

She caught me staring once. Didn’t say anything. And that was the moment I knew. So I asked, casual as fuck, “You ever been eaten right?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

I smiled. “You heard me.”

She didn’t answer. Just stared. So I stood, slow, real slow, and stepped between her knees.

“You wanna know why they talk about me like that?” I asked, voice low, watching her chest rise and fall. She didn’t move.

Didn’t push me away. Didn’t say no. So I dropped to my knees.

No teasing. No warm-up. Just slipped my hands under those soft ass shorts and pulled ‘em down like I owned her. Her thighs tensed, legs still clumsy, but I pushed them open with a quiet little grunt.

And then I dove in.

Tongue flat and slow against her clit, lips tight around it like I was trying to drink from her. She gasped—sharp, unsteady—her hands flying to my shoulders but not pushing, just holding.

“F-Fuck—”

Yeah. That’s more like it.

I didn’t go fast. I didn’t need to. I dragged my tongue in lazy little figure eights, then flattened it again, licking her like a prayer. Like she was something holy. She twitched under me, hips jerking every time I sucked her clit into my mouth.

I hummed into her. Felt her shake. She was soaking. Already. Dripping down my neck. And I hadn’t even really started.

I slid two fingers inside—slow, deep—and curled them up until her back arched off the damn bed. She moaned my name, breathy and broken, and I felt her clench around me like she’d never been touched like this before.

That’s when I smiled against her. Because I had her.

I angled my wrist, found that little spot inside her that made her cry out, and just stayed there. Tongue rolling on her clit, fingers pressing just right, slow and nasty and perfect. Her hands were in my hair now. Not pulling. Just holding on for dear life.

She came so pretty I almost forgot I didn’t care. Almost.

When she went limp, I pulled back, wiped my mouth, and sat up like nothing happened.

She stared at me—face flushed, lips parted, chest rising in short bursts.

And I just said, “You good?”

She nodded slow, still dazed.

I stood, grabbed my phone, and tossed a nod toward the doc. “Send me your half when it’s done.”

And I walked out. Didn’t even kiss her. Because I don’t eat to please. I eat because I like it. And Azzi Fudd? She’s my new favorite flavor.

——————————————————————————————-

It was three days later when she found me. Not texted. Not called. Found me.

Back bleachers. After class. I was laid out, hoodie up, headphones in, face to the sky like I didn’t have a care in the damn world. I felt her before I saw her. That nervous energy she carries—balled up and polite. She was pacing, hesitating.

“Hey,” she finally said.

I popped one headphone out. Didn’t even lift my head. “Fudd.”

Her jaw twitched. “Can we talk?”

I stretched, slow and smug. “We already did. You just couldn’t speak at the time.” She blinked. I watched her try not to react. That was half the fun.

She sat beside me, knees bouncing. “I just…” She sighed. “I think we should talk about what happened.”

“Which part?” I asked, turning to look at her. “The part where you came in under five minutes? Or the part where you ain’t even say thank you?”

That got her. Her lips parted. She looked stunned. I raised my brows, amused. “You always ghost people who make you see God?”

“I didn’t ghost you,” she said, too fast.

I tilted my head. “So you were what, busy recovering?”

Her face flushed, and I smiled. She was trying so hard to be serious. So hard to be in control.

“Look,” she started. “It was… good. I’m not gonna lie.”

“Good?” I repeated. “That ain’t the word you used when your legs were shaking.”

“Okay—it was great,” she snapped, looking away. “The best I’ve ever had. Happy?”

I grinned. “Ecstatic.”

She rolled her eyes. I sat up, elbows on my knees, turning to face her more directly. “So what now? You here to ask for seconds?” She hesitated. Too long.

“That a yes?” I pressed.

“No,” she said—too soft to sound real. “I just… I don’t do stuff like that. It’s not me.”

I leaned in, voice low. “It was you. That was all you. Loud, needy, cumming on my tongue—don’t rewrite it.”

Azzi’s breath caught. I saw the way she clenched her hands in her lap. She was remembering. Feeling it again. That’s how I knew I won.

“I’m not asking for anything,” I said, pulling back, stretching again like none of this meant anything. “We can call it even.”

“Even?”

“Yeah. You got the quickest, hardest nut of your life. And I got a new flavor to think about when I’m bored.” She stared. Stunned.

I popped the other headphone back in and said around a lazy grin, “Good talk, pretty.”

And just like that? I leaned back, closed my eyes, and let her sit there stewing in it. Because I don’t chase. And she’ll never forget how I made her feel.

——————————————————————————————-

Azzi’s dorm. Noon.

She opens the door like she wasn’t just texting me two minutes ago saying “you don’t have to come.” I step inside anyway.

She’s in sweats. No makeup. Hair pinned back like she’s trying not to look soft but can’t help it. Her eyes flick to my mouth immediately.

“Lunch in an hour,” she mumbles. I nod. “Then I’ll be quick.”

I’m lying.

I close the door behind me, set my phone down, and press her gently into the mattress. She tries to sit up, say something, but I shake my head.

“Shh,” I murmur. “I’m not here to talk.”

She gasps the moment I lift her hoodie, soft hands twitching like she doesn’t know whether to pull away or pull me closer. I hook my fingers in her waistband and slide her sweats down slow—so slow she starts to shake before I even touch her.

I drop to my knees and press my face between her thighs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And then I take. My. Time.

I don’t rush it. I don’t showboat. I eat her like I’ve been starving for days and this is the only meal I’ll ever want again.

Slow licks. Deep pressure. Lips wrapping around her clit, drawing every twitch and sigh out of her until her fingers are tangled in the sheets, breath catching with every pass of my tongue.

When she whimpers and tries to close her legs, I grip her thighs and pull them back open, firm and calm. No.

She tries to say something—“I have to meet them soon”—but I lick her slow and deep until she forgets the sentence.

Until her mouth hangs open, body shaking like it can’t take more but refuses to stop me. I keep going. An hour. Easy.

She cums four. Maybe five. I don’t stop long enough to count. I just kiss the inside of her thigh when I’m done, give her a soft peck on the lips, and wipe my mouth with her hoodie sleeve like I’m doing her a favor.

I leave before she can say a word.

⸻

Thirty minutes later. Team lunch.

Azzi walks in late. Hair slightly messy. Hoodie sleeves pulled low like she’s hiding something. She doesn’t speak. Just sits down slow like her knees ain’t stable.

Jana eyes her. “Damn. You okay?”

Azzi blinks. “Yeah. Why?”

“You look like you had a time.” Everyone ooohs. Azzi’s mouth falls open.

Ayanna sips her drink. “Who had you missing meetings and walking funny?”

Azzi clears her throat. “Nobody.”

“Liar,” Paige says without even looking up. “That’s munch damage.”

KK just whistles. “Y/n did it again.”

Azzi’s quiet. Doesn’t deny it. She’s still feeling it in her spine. And across campus? You’re laid up in your bed, hoodie over your head, earbuds in—grinning. You didn’t just eat Azzi Fudd.

You ruined her lunch.

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog

[theodorenmyth]

Hi Kai! Could you make the Slytherin boys discovering that their partner is half a vampire? Surely one of his parents has been a vampire and another a human (Gen or Male Reader PLS)

Slytherin Boys React to you (M!READER) being half-vampire.

Mattheo Riddle ;

Mattheo stared at you, mouth slightly agape, as if waiting for the punchline. When you just stared back, arms crossed, he blinked rapidly and ran a hand through his curls.

"Fucking hell… My boyfriend is half a vampire?" he muttered, eyes wide. Then, after a moment, his lips curled into a slow, wicked grin. "That explains the whole ‘mysterious, brooding, pale but weirdly hot’ thing you’ve got going on."

You sighed. "Mattheo, I swear, if you start being an idiot about this—"

"Too late." He suddenly leaned forward, squinting at your face like he was trying to decipher some ancient text. "Alright, open your mouth. I need to see the fangs."

You gave him a deadpan look. "No."

"Oh, c’mon! Just a peek—"

"NO!"

Mattheo, being Mattheo, ignored your refusal entirely. Before you could stop him, he grabbed your face, thumbs pressing into your cheeks as he pried your mouth open like a deranged dentist.

"Oi! You do have fangs!" He grinned, then gasped dramatically. "Wait.. can you bite me? Just a little? I wanna see if it does something."

Without hesitation, you smacked him upside the head with your fist. Hard.

"OW! WHAT THE FUCK, Y/N!" He clutched his head, looking personally betrayed. "That hurt! I thought vampires were supposed to be gentle with their prey!"

"Do I look like I give a damn? I’m not biting you, you absolute menace."

Mattheo groaned but didn’t back down. Instead, he smirked, rubbing the sore spot on his head. "Fine. No biting. But I am going to test some things."

You narrowed your eyes. "What things?"

He suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out a clove of garlic, holding it up like a weapon with a proud yet stupid face.

You stared at him. "Why are you.."

"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU CARRYING GARLIC WITH YOU?!"

"You never know when you’ll need it," he said with a shrug.

You rolled your eyes and snatched it from his hand, taking a huge, exaggerated bite. Mattheo gasped, grabbing his chest like you’d just performed an unforgivable curse in front of him.

"Eugh.. that’s sick. That’s actually disgusting, babe. What the hell?"

You chewed slowly, making direct eye contact. "Garlic is fine, you moron. I’m half-vampire. I’m not gonna burst into flames or anything."

Mattheo still looked a little disappointed, but that only lasted for a second before his eyes lit up again.

"Alright, what about sunlight?" He grabbed your wrist and dragged you toward the nearest window. You barely had time to resist before he shoved your hand into a beam of sunlight. When nothing happened, he groaned. "Oh, come on! No sizzling? No dramatic smoke? What kind of vampire are you?"

"One that will absolutely knock you out cold if you keep making me do these vampire stereotypes."

Mattheo pouted like a child who had just been told he couldn’t keep a pet dragon. "So you don’t burn, you don’t hate garlic—wait, can you turn into a bat? Please tell me you can turn into a bat."

You felt your eye twitch in annoyance. "No, Mattheo, I cannot turn into a bat."

"Damn, you're boring."

You didn't hesitate to smack him again.

Theodore Nott ;

Theodore didn’t react right away. Instead, he just stared at you, his eyes were unreadable, as if he was running through a thousand different thoughts in his mind. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms.

"You're serious?" His voice was quiet, controlled, but there was a sharpness behind it.

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. "Yeah, I'm serious. My dad was human. My mum... she was a vampire."

Theodore exhaled through his nose, nodding slightly. He was silent for a moment before speaking again.

"I suppose that explains why you never seem to get tired at night... and why you always hear me coming before I say anything."

You chuckled. "Yeah. That, and the fact that your footsteps are loud as hell."

A flicker of amusement crossed his face, but it was gone just as fast. He tilted his head slightly, studying you. "Does this mean you need blood?"

You hesitated before answering. "Not really. I mean, I can eat normal food, but… sometimes, I do get cravings."

There was no judgment in his eyes—just pure analysis, like he was fitting this new piece of information into the puzzle that was you. Finally, he spoke again.

"Do you need blood? I can get it. Don’t ask how."

You blinked. "Wait—what? No! I don’t—Theodore, I’m not some starving, bloodthirsty monster."

He gave you a pointed look. "I never said you were. But if you ever need something, I’d rather you come to me than let yourself suffer in silence."

You swallowed. You hadn’t expected him to take it so... practically. No fear, no disgust. Just understanding.

He must’ve noticed your expression because he sighed, rubbing his temple. "Y/N. If you think this changes anything between us, you’re an idiot."

You smirked. "So you’re saying you’d still kiss a half-vampire?"

For the first time in the whole conversation, a small smirk ghosted across Theodore’s lips. He stepped closer, his fingers curling around the back of your neck as he pulled you in.

"I’m saying," he murmured, "that you’re still mine. Fangs and all."

And with that, he pulled you in for a soft kiss.

Lorenzo Berkshire ;

Lorenzo blinked at you. Once. Twice. Then he scoffed, crossing his arms.

"Wait… you’re joking, right?"

You shook your head. “No, I’m serious.”

He stepped back dramatically, placing a hand over his chest like you’d just confessed to murdering someone.

"So all this time, I’ve been snogging a vampire? And no one thought to warn me?"

Rolling your eyes, you sighed. “Half-vampire, Lorenzo. It’s not like I’m going to turn into a bat and fly away.”

He narrowed his eyes. “...Can you do that?”

“No.”

"Damn. That would’ve been so cool."

After a moment of silence, he walked up to you and squinted, inspecting your face like he was trying to see the vampire in you.

"Merlin, this explains so much. Your whole ‘mysterious, brooding, pale-but-attractive’ thing makes so much sense now. And your teeth—"

He grabbed your chin and tilted your head slightly, eyes locked on your canines. "You do have sharp fangs. I thought I was imagining it!"

You swatted his hand away. “I swear to Merlin, if you start calling me Count Y/N-ula, I will bite you just to make a point.”

His eyes widened, but instead of backing away, he smirked.

"Wait—hold on. Can you bite people? Like, is that a thing you have to do? Should I be worried?"

You sighed. “I don’t need to, but I mean… I could. If I wanted to.”

Lorenzo stared at you for a moment. Then he dramatically tilted his head, baring his neck.

"Go on, then. Just a little nibble—"

“Lorenzo, I am not biting you.”

"Why not?"

“Because I don’t need to, and you’re being an idiot.”

He pouted. "What if I wanted you to?"

You groaned, shoving him playfully.

Lorenzo laughed, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "Alright, alright. Jokes aside, you're still you. Half-vampire or not, that doesn't change anything."

Then, after a pause, he smirked again.

"But if you ever do get the urge to bite someone, I’m just saying—I’m open to the experience.”

You rolled your eyes. This was going to be a long night

Draco’s initial reaction was pure disbelief. He just stared at you, his grey eyes flicking between your face and the sharp canines that, now that he was actually looking, were far more pronounced than he’d ever realized.

"You’re... half what?" he repeated, as if saying it out loud would somehow make it sound less ridiculous.

You rolled your eyes, flashing your canines in an exaggerated grin. "Half-vampire, Draco. Not full vampire. I’m not about to drain you dry in your sleep, calm down."

He made a noise of protest, pushing back in his chair as if you might lunge at him any second.

"Excuse me for needing a moment to process the fact that my boyfriend is a damn half-vampire!"

You folded your arms. "I don’t see why you’re acting like I’ve sprouted bat wings. I literally go outside in daylight all the time. It’s not like I burst into flames."

Draco pointed at you accusingly. "Yes, but you are ridiculously pale! I thought you just had bad genetics, not that you were part-creature!"

You smirked. "Oh, so you have been checking me out."

"Not the point!"

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples like you had just confessed to being the Dark Lord himself. But as he thought about it, he found himself looking at you differently. Not with fear—

No, Draco Malfoy didn’t fear things. It was intrigue. A strange, undeniable attraction to the idea.

He crossed his arms, leveling you with a thoughtful look. "So… does that mean you have, I don’t know, enhanced abilities? Like, can you hear heartbeats? See in the dark?"

You tilted your head, giving him an amused look. "Why? Getting nervous, Malfoy?"

His chin lifted defiantly. "Of course not. I just want to know if I need to start carrying garlic around you."

You laughed, shaking your head. "That wouldn’t work on me, you idiot. Besides, if I wanted to bite you, I wouldn’t need to wait for some big reveal to do it."

Draco blinked. His brain short-circuited for a moment.

He cleared his throat, his usual cocky demeanor faltering for a fraction of a second before he managed to regain his composure.

"Well... I suppose it does make you more mysterious," he said finally, schooling his features into nonchalance. "And I do have excellent taste, after all."

You rolled your eyes. "And you wonder why I didn’t tell you sooner."

Blaise leaned back against the couch, his expression as unreadable as ever. You had just dropped the biggest bombshell on him, and yet, his reaction was maddeningly casual. He swirled the wine in his goblet—Merlin knows where he got it from—and eyed you with mild amusement.

"Mm. That explains a lot, actually," he mused. "The pale skin, the sharp canines, the way you always seem to know when I’m behind you even when I don’t make a sound."

You shifted on your feet, feeling unexpectedly self-conscious under his gaze. "So… you’re not weirded out?"

Blaise exhaled a slow, amused breath, setting his goblet down. "Weirded out? No. But now I do have one very, very important question, tesoro."

He leaned forward, his dark eyes locking onto yours with that lazy, half-lidded smirk that always spelled trouble. "Does this mean you have a thing for necks?"

Your eyes widened as your face instantly heated up. "Blaise! what the hell?!"

"Because if that’s the case," he continued, completely ignoring your mortification, "I might just start leaving my collar unbuttoned more often. You know, for your 'convenience'."

He reached up, tugging at the top of his crisp white shirt, exposing the smooth, golden skin of his neck. "I wouldn't mind, you know. If you ever feel… tempted."

SMACK!

"OW— What the hell, Y/N!?" Blaise winced, rubbing the spot on his head where you had just smacked him.

"You deserved that," you muttered, crossing your arms as you tried to ignore the heat rushing to your face.

"Deserved?" Blaise echoed, feigning innocence as he tilted his head. "For what? Offering myself to my utterly irresistible, half-vampire boyfriend? Is that such a crime?"

"Yes, it is, you smug arse," you shot back, refusing to meet his eyes.

He chuckled, moving closer, his voice dropping into that low, velvety tone that always made your brain short-circuit. "You wound me, amore."

You huffed, turning away, only for Blaise to smoothly step into your space, his hands sliding down your arms. "Come now, darling," he murmured, "just one little bite. Think of it as a trust exercise."

You rolled your eyes, trying to push him away. "You’re insufferable."

*"And yet, you love me for it."*

You opened your mouth to argue, but then Blaise tilted his head again, fully exposing his neck.

His pulse was right there.

Steady.

Warm.

inviting.

Damn him.

You hesitated for only a second before leaning in, your breath ghosting over his skin. He tensed slightly but didn’t move away, waiting.

"Only because you won’t shut up otherwise," you muttered before sinking your canines gently into his skin.

Blaise let out a soft, shuddering exhale, his fingers tightening on your arms. "Mmm… remind me to tease you more often."

Tom stared at you, his dark eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your skin prickle. His expression was unreadable, but the sharp glint in his gaze told you that something had shifted.

"A half-vampire," he murmured, as if testing the words on his tongue. He took a slow step forward, his presence suffocating in the quiet room. "Now that... is fascinating."

You swallowed, resisting the urge to step back. You knew how Tom was—cold, calculating. You had no idea whether he saw this as a strength or a weakness.

"I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it mattered." Your voice was firm, but you couldn't deny the slight unease curling in your stomach. "I'm still me, Tom."

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

"Oh, but it does matter, Y/N." He reached out, fingers barely grazing your jaw before tilting your chin up, forcing you to hold his gaze. "You are an anomaly. A rarity. Something neither fully human nor fully vampire... but something in between."

He studied you like you were a puzzle he needed to solve.

"Tell me," he continued, voice velvety smooth, "how does it feel? Do you crave blood?"

You exhaled sharply. "Not in the way you think. I don’t need it to survive, but… if I go too long without it, it makes me weaker."

Tom hummed, clearly pleased with your answer. "And sunlight? Does it burn?"

You shook your head. "I’m half-human, remember? It’s annoying, but not deadly."

A slow smirk tugged at his lips, and for some reason, that made your pulse quicken.

"So… you retain the advantages of both, but not the full weaknesses of either. Strength, heightened senses, speed... without the fatal flaws."

You knew what was coming before he even said it.

"You are extraordinary, Y/N."

His grip on your chin tightened ever so slightly, his eyes darkening with something you couldn’t quite name.

"And that means you are far more useful to me than I ever could have imagined."

Your jaw clenched. "I’m not a tool for you to use, Tom."

His smirk deepened, but he didn’t argue. He simply leaned in, his breath ghosting against your skin.

"We shall see about that."

Even without fangs, you suddenly felt like his prey.

[apollodarling-writes]

Babycakes can you pretty please write a male y/n x yan!ghostface where y/n doesn’t die in the end and lowkey falls in love 🤭 (also pretty please make ghostface a praiser 🙏🏽)

FAMOUS LAST WORDS

yan! dbd! ghostface x gen jockey! male! reader

cws : yandere themes, a bit of dry humping, praise, creampie, choking, rough sex, kinda ?? handjob (reader receiving), orgasm control, knife play, anal, pronebone, dubcon??? , mentions of public masturbation, thigh fucking, danny is a tease, reader cleans his blood off of the bowie so blood play but ingestion??? , cum eating i guess but the reader is made to clean up his cum from danny’s gloves.

the fog that hung between the trees was particularly thick this trial. the red forest was known for being hard to navigate in some areas due to the low lighting, and the natural fog scattered throughout the landscape was of no help either. you were unsure if one of the survivors offered the entity a bottle of murky reagent, but it had become harder to see than it already was. you suppose you couldn’t complain as it made you harder to track, and thus it was easier to hide.

your group had completed two generators without a single person being hooked. anxiety knotted your stomach as you mulled over what the killer was up to. was the killer waiting for your group to finish the generators and then camp the gates? were they watching from the shadows and getting some sort of sick pleasure from watching the lot of you squirm? the answer to these questions was beyond your reach, and you knew that all you could do was focus on the task at hand. if you struck the wires too early, you would blow up the generator and the killer would surely know your location if they didn’t already.

a chill runs the length of your spine, gooseflesh raising the hairs on your body. you stop repairing the generator for a moment, the feeling of being watched prevalent as your swivel your head to find the source of the gaze. you’d been in this realm long enough to abide by your instincts. your gaze flits through the trees, your heart thumping in your chest as you are unable locate the source. chalking it up to the quietness of the trial, you busy your hands with firing the wires of the generator, successfully sparking one portion. you sift through your toolbox, searching through old and rusted scraps for something to replace one of the broken parts.

a hand suddenly grips the back of your neck, hoisting you off the ground. a hand muffles your cry of protest, bending your front over the generator.

“shhh… just be quiet now, baby.” a muffled voice all but pants, their chest pressing against your back as they lean forward to whisper in your ear. “i’ve finally got you to myself….”

you recognize that voice — the ghostface. realization washes over you; the quietness of the trial, feeling watched, the lack of a terror radius…. it all made sense now. your tongue darts out to lick the leathery material of his gloved palm in a feeble attempt to get him to release you.

“be patient now,” the ghostface groans, “we’ll get there, pretty boy.”

the ghostface maneuvers his fingers to grip your wrists, pinning them behind your back while grinding his half-hard cock into the meat of your ass. you squirm at his touch, feeling disgusted at the desperate panting the man behind you let out.

“i know you’ve been thinking about this,” the masked man grunts, his breath hitching. “i’ve seen you fuck yourself in trials before — did’ya think i wouldn’t know?”

shame and embarrassment wash over you, a quiet whimper leaving your lips as a hand snakes around to palm you through your bottoms. “n—not here… please—“

“god, look at how cute you are,” the ghostface coos, his gloved hand slipping past your waistband and cupping your length. “keep begging like that and i won’t be able to control myself.”

“i’m not—“

“ah-ah, quiet now… don’t you wanna be good for me, baby?” he purrs, your hips bucking as his thumb brushes against your cockhead. ”mmm, so sensitive. i think im gonna have fun with you…”

the ghostface’s hand tugs down your pants, your protests going unheard as you hear his robes shift. his cock slides between your thighs — the intrusion unwelcome and unfamiliar.

“stop… i cant — we can’t… not here.” you panic, your gaze flitting through the areas you could see. god forbid any of the other survivors witness this and get the wrong idea. you’d be considered a fucking traitor. maybe they’d even think you were selling them out. or, shit, what if they thought you were slutting yourself out to survive?

“shut the fuck up,” he groans, his cock brushing against your shaft. “just sit there and look pretty for me, ‘kay?”

your mouth immediately closes, figuring it would be better to just let him have his way and hopefully all five gens will be done by the time he finishes. your body is tense with shame and guilt, your thighs clenched around the masked man’s length in an attempt to get him off faster.

the ghostface spits in his hand, wrapping his fingers around you again, and pumps you in time with each thrust. with each movement, you find yourself melting into his touch, biting your lip to keep yourself quiet. he was too good at this, and he fucking knew.

“y’like that, baby?” you could hear the smirk in his tone.

“fuck you.“ you grit out, hating that you were becoming aroused at such an invasive, disgusting act.

“oh, i plan to, little bunny.”

the masked man removes his hand just as you were on the cusp of your orgasm, a soft whine leaving your lips. your cockhead is flushed an angry red, beads of precum now smeared along your shaft. “why’d you—“

you suck in a breath as a finger slowly dips into your ass, curling into your g-spot. the feeling was foreign, and it hurt like a bitch, but fuck did it feel good. “yeah? just like that, pretty boy?”

he slowly pumps his finger, careful not to hurt you as he works up to another one; his fingers scissor and stretch, curling into your prostate. before you knew it, the man had gotten three fingers in you, your legs shaking and your whimpers increasing in volume as you come closer and closer to your climax.

“fuck — ‘m gonna cum.” you pant, your back arching as you try to fuck yourself on his fingers. through a lust-induced haze, you hear a faint chuckle before the sensation you crave eludes you. the ghostface removes his digits, your cock twitching and aching for release.

“oh, you poor thing. were you gonna cum?” the man murmurs teasingly, his own erection throbbing beneath the layers of his robes. he eagerly grips the back of your neck and ushers you on your stomach behind the generator, lifting his clothing just enough to carefully push inside of you.

“y’so fuckin’ tight..!” he hisses, releasing your wrists to press down on your lower back. your fingers find purchase in the dirt of the forest floor as the ghostface slowly thrusts into you, your gummy walls hugging the man’s cock so deliciously.

with each thrust, you found it harder and harder to control your volume. with the way the man had angled himself, the tip of his cock bumped against your g-spot damn near constantly. your stomach tightened as your release began to approach once more, desperate whimpers and whines leaving your lips as tears pricked your eyes.

“i’m gonna cum – ‘m gonna fuckin’ cum…” you whine, “please, i need more!”

the killer groans in ecstacy at your desperation, his cock twitching inside of you as one hand wraps around your throat, lifting you from the dirt. “gonna have to fuck you more often, yeah? youre doin’ so fuckin’ good for me, baby.”

his digits tighten around your throat, cutting off your air supply as your jaw slackens at the brutal pace. a gurgled moan parts your lips, your face growing red from the lack of oxygen. mercifully, he releases his grip on you, but is quick it with the cold steel of his bowie knife.

the ghostface snakes an arm around your midsection, pumping your cock in time with each mind-numbing thrust. you hold yourself up as the blade trails along your flesh, drawing thin lines of blood. it seemed that the man was getting off on the pain he inflicted, his thrust becoming harder, faster.

the blade trails up, pressing against your lips. “open up, baby. gotta clean up your mess.” the ghostface breathily groans, his thrusts growing sloppy.

your lips part, the blade resting on your tongue as your lips close around it. it tastes like iron, your own blood coating your tongue as your cock twitches in the killer’s fist. ropes of cum spill onto the leather of your assailant’s glove, a long moan erupting from your throat as your vision blurs with tears. your hips buck into his grasp, the killer never once stopping. your mind melts into a delicious quiet, the only thing you’re able to focus on is how fucking good it feels.

“fuck — you feel so fucking good, bunny.” he groans, sheathing his blade and replacing it with the cum stained leather. “be a good boy and clean off my glove, yeah?”

the killer pants as you mindlessly obey his order, the bitter taste seemingly only serving to arouse you further. you lap at the cum on his glove while the killer fucks into you with fervor, breathy groans leaving him as the chill of his mask presses into your shoulder. the ghostface weakly thrusts into you as his climax washes over him. his cock twitches inside of you, cum painting your insides as he slowly comes down from his high.

the man is quick to fix his attire as the exit gate sounds, leaving you breathless as cum drips down your thighs, the scent of dirt and sex staining your clothing. with shaky legs, you pull up your bottoms and quietly mull over what just happened as you make your way to the exit gate on the opposite side of the map.

[noorpersona]

heyy first time requesting from you but i looove your work so if you don’t mind can you please write a timeskip!kenma x female!reader where reader is sick w high fever and kenma takes care of her and everything but two or one n a half day in she starts feeling really needy but is too tired embarrassed to tell kenma but he eventually finds out about what getting her so fussy and moody (other than the fever) and gives her what she longs for🙏🏻🙏🏻 I apologize if this is too long i mean no pressure at all you dont have to do it but i love the way you write fics please make it as long as possible thank youuu<33

I think I've ticked all your boxes hehe NEVER apologize for a request I love every one <333 thank you for your lovely words of encouragement! Enjoy!!!

--

Kenma had never liked seeing you sick.

Not in high school, not now, not ever.

He wasn't the overly expressive type—not with words, not even with touch unless prompted—but he was attentive in the quietest, most precise ways. It was in how he brewed your tea with exactly the right amount of honey, how he remembered which corner of the blanket you preferred, how he adjusted the thermostat a degree lower without being asked. It was in how he never once complained when you sneezed directly onto his hoodie and then apologized like you'd committed a crime against humanity.

You'd caught a fever two days ago. High. Dangerous enough to make him drop his controller mid-stream, tell his viewers he was logging off, and shut everything down without a second thought. His fans could wait. You couldn't.

Now you were curled up in bed, cocooned under three layers of blankets, face flushed and eyes watery. Your hair stuck to your temples in damp strands, and your lips were dry despite the water and juice he kept coaxing you to drink. A warm haze clung to you like a second skin.

Kenma sat on the edge of the bed, gently brushing a clammy strand of hair from your forehead, his brows drawn together with a soft, worried furrow. You looked so small like this. Fragile in a way he hated.

"Do you need anything?" he asked, voice soft.

Your response was a quiet hum—too soft, too weak. Your hand barely moved when you tried to reach for him and gave up halfway through.

He sighed. "I’ll take that as a 'no' then."

He rose and padded barefoot to the bathroom to change the cool compress on your head. When he returned, you winced slightly at the shock of it against your heated skin but gave him the smallest of smiles. That smile was all he needed to stay planted beside you for the rest of the evening.

The first day was simple: fever, rest, more rest. Kenma read to you in a soft voice when you couldn’t sleep, half-watching the screen of his Switch when you drifted off. The second day, the fever didn’t break. Your cough got worse. You started getting whiny—not in a mean way, just more clingy, more fussy. You tossed and turned, grumbled at the blanket for being too heavy and then too thin. Kenma adjusted it each time without complaint, wordlessly refilling your cup when it was empty.

"Don’t leave," you murmured once when he stood up to grab your medicine.

"I’m just going to the kitchen."

"Still. Don’t."

He paused. Then slowly sat back down. "Okay."

You fell asleep not long after, your fingers curled in the fabric of his sleeve like a tether.

By the start of the third day, the fever had started to dip, but something was off. Not worse—just different. You were moody. Restless. Your eyes kept drifting toward him, then away. You fiddled with your sleeves, pulled your legs up under the blankets only to stretch them back out a moment later. You weren’t saying much, but when you did, it was to complain—your pillow was too soft, your tea was too sweet, your shirt was itchy.

Kenma didn’t mind. He never minded when it came to you. But the inconsistency in your behavior pinged in the back of his mind like a notification he couldn’t swipe away.

By mid-afternoon, he closed his game console and leaned forward, placing it gently on the nightstand. His golden eyes watched you with subtle intensity as you fiddled with the edge of your blanket.

"Okay," he said flatly. "You’ve been squirmy and weird all day. Spill."

Your eyes widened, and your face—already flushed from the fever—somehow turned redder. You immediately turned your face into the pillow.

He waited.

You groaned. "It’s nothing. I’m just... tired."

He didn’t buy it. Not for a second. "You’re not tired. You’re needy."

Your breath hitched in your throat.

Kenma blinked, letting the silence stretch for a moment as he watched you squirm. His voice dropped lower, a little softer, more curious than accusatory. "...That it?"

You buried your face deeper into the pillow, voice muffled and near-incomprehensible.

"What was that?"

You turned just enough to peek at him with one eye, your lip trembling slightly. "I just... I wanna be held. But I’m gross and sweaty and disgusting, and I didn’t wanna bother you."

Kenma stared at you for a long beat. Then he gave a soft sigh, scooting closer until his knees bumped the side of the mattress.

"Move over."

Your eyes widened again. "But—"

"You think I care about sweat?"

"I literally sneezed in your hair yesterday."

"You did," he admitted. "And I’m still here."

You shifted slowly, cautiously, your heart fluttering like the fever had sparked all over again. Kenma climbed into bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. He was careful not to press against you too hard at first, but once you leaned into him, he wrapped his arms around you with a slow, deliberate tenderness, pulling you close until your head rested just beneath his chin.

You melted.

The warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers settled gently against your spine and started tracing soft, grounding lines—it was everything you hadn’t been able to ask for.

"Better?" he murmured.

Your voice cracked. "Yeah."

He kissed the top of your head, barely a brush of lips against fever-damp hair. "Next time, just say it. I can’t read your mind, you know."

You made a weak, embarrassed sound. "I didn’t want to be annoying."

"You’re always annoying," he mumbled, brushing his thumb against your arm. "But you’re mine. So it’s fine."

Despite the congestion, the soreness in your throat, the heat in your cheeks—you laughed. A breathy, tired little sound that still managed to be real.

He felt your smile against his collarbone.

Kenma held you tighter.

Neither of you moved for a long time. Minutes passed, then maybe an hour. Eventually, you dozed off in his arms, breathing soft and slow, and Kenma didn’t dare shift or get up.

He stayed right there, running his fingers along your back, as the fever began to retreat.

The medicine was working.

But more than that, you had finally let yourself rest in the place you needed most.

With him.

[revelboo]

Idk if you have seen this starscream or not but do you think can do transformers armada starscream x reader? I have a real soft spot for him. He deserves some love ❤️

I can try- my knowledge of Armada is a bit thin. 18+ 🌶️

Even If It Kills Me

Armada Starscream x Reader

• Helm tipping back as the sun drips through the leaves and dapples him in spots of warmth, he can almost relax out here, far from home. Nearby, he can hear Jetstorm, Runway, and Sonar splashing in the lake as they dart along the rocky shore. Knows the Autobots would probably not like it if they knew he was out alone with the Mini-Cons, but also that the three of them deserve some peace from the fighting. It’s Sonar tapping his ped that makes him look down and it doesn’t take the mini-con’s frantic hand gestures to realize that there’s only two of them. Runway is gone. Primus, it’s like having sparklings sometimes. “Show me,” he growls tiredly as Sonar and Jetstorm both point into the woods framing the clearing and the lake.

• Leaning across the engine to get at the intake manifold while trying to not drop anything inside the engine, the little beeping chirp from behind you almost makes you brain yourself on the hood. Like you need any more injuries, your face is still swollen and your split lip burns as you turn to look and do drop a tool into the engine, hearing it clanging. Because there’s a little robot just taller than you standing behind you, red visor glowing as it startles at the noise of the dropped tool. A kid in a costume? It looks real as you push yourself back and your feet hit the gravel. “Where’d you come from, buddy?” Because your house is well off the road. It’s not moving closer, but not retreating either, so you approach it. It’s not a costume, it can’t be. It’s too cannily made for that. You’d known robots were getting advanced, but why is it out here wandering around? It shies away when you try to touch it and you hold up your hands, palms out. “Okay. We’re good.”

• Not expecting it to cautiously reach out and press its palm to yours, head tipping as it chirps at you. “Hope you’re not a first gen terminator, buddy.” And then it’s carefully gripping your hand to play with your fingers and thumb, seeing how they move and you inhale, but its touch is shockingly gentle as it makes little beeping sounds to itself. It’s inquisitive as it plucks at your flannel shirt and then touches your hair. “Not a fan of personal space, huh?” Its head tips, visor flickering like it’s uncertain.

• Branches clawing at him as he moves through the woods, forcefully making a path, when he breaks free of the tree line, he freezes because he hasn’t realized he was so close to a human dwelling. And there’s a human in the yard right there standing in front of Runway as the mini-con chirps. And you and Runway both freeze as he crashes out of the tree line, Sonar and Jetstorm running toward their brother before stopping short when they notice the human. You’re just staring up at him and he knows he’s supposed to be hidden on this world and not be seen.

• There’s two more you sized robots, but you can’t tear your eyes from the giant red one scowling down at you. The little guys are cute, but this one? Are these his babies? Is he about to stomp you for messing with one of them? “Human,” he growls, taking a thunderous step forward and that’s it for your ability to deal with this nonsense. You throw up a hand at him and start speed walking for the house. Cause nope. No, thank you. You have enough problems without this too.

• You’re ignoring him? Venting raggedly, he strides after you and insinuates his ped between you and the door to your house. And you stare up at him, one eye squinting, the skin around it discolored. “If you let me go, I’ll pretend none of this ever happened, okay?” You say, little arms crossing. “You go do your giant robot, kaiju thing and I’ll go get drunk until I forget this. Everyone wins.” And you grin at him, wincing and darting your tongue out to touch your split lip. Those little injuries shouldn’t mean a thing to him. Except, they strike a chord and he hates it. Because he knows what it’s like to be someone else’s punching bag. You’re just a human, you mean nothing to him, but as Runway chirps up at him almost pleadingly, he bends to curl his servos around you. Or tries to, because reaching for you shatters your odd calm and there’s the fear he expected. And you bolt.

Next

Added a bitty Soundwave plush to my Soundwave Jeep. There’s a lot to do to get ready for Jeep Jam in May