#supposed to be fluff

[thingsilikeincaseofamnesia]

[humanjarvis]

tantrum

synopsis: what makes sylus snap?

tags: fluff, sylus is tired and grumpy bc he misses you, he obliterates his phone with his evol, sunshine reader probably, cartoonish luke and kieran appearance (sorry boys) word count: 842

a/n: after that magnum opus line i really wanted to see sylus throw a tantrum and i kept mulling over what would actually make him do that because i can’t see him doing anything much worse than this. i think he’d find Actual grown man tantrums lame. anyway i don’t like this and will maybe delete? nvm but i had the writing urge so i sacrificed this concept from my wips. 

When you arrived at the base after your three-week business trip, your long-awaited homecoming was…tame, to say the least. You’d been expecting a teasing “How nice of you to join us, sweetie,” or a cocky yet vulnerable “I was beginning to think you’d run away.” But once you’d stepped through the front door, Sylus had barely said a word. A soft “Welcome home” and a kiss on the forehead, and before you knew it, you were cradled in his arms as he carried you to his office.

He’d sat you both down in his leather armchair, making you face him in a straddle. His tired eyes had searched yours, and a moment later, he’d buried his face into your neck, inhaling deeply. 

“I missed you,” you’d murmured into his ear, pressing a kiss to his hair. With a quiet groan, he’d tightened his grip on your hips and nuzzled into you even deeper.

That’d been 15 minutes ago. Basking in the comfortable silence, you’d traded kisses all the while—yours on his hair, his on your neck. 

But suddenly, a low buzzing noise cuts your reunion short: his phone is ringing.

When he makes no effort to answer, still breathing heavily in your embrace, you twist in his arms and accept the call before he can protest. 

A familiar voice crackles over the line. “Boss?” Kieran asks. “Next meeting’s in 10. The one about those stolen shipments from Linkon—we’ve been waiting to hear back for months. You coming?”

Sylus doesn’t answer.

“…Boss?” Kieran repeats. “Boss, you there? You oka—”

Red and black mist shreds the phone into pieces. 

“Sylus!” you yelp, jumping in his lap. “What’d you do that for? He’ll probably be worried. And how will I text you now?”

You pout up at him, and as you study his chronically calm expression, you see something unusual: Sylus’s eye twitches. Just for a millisecond, only moving a millimeter, but you catch it.

“I’ll have a new one delivered tomorrow. As for the meeting, I’ll stay here,” he says lightly, a tight, closed-lip smile on his face.

“But Kieran said it was important,” you reply in confusion. “Why don’t you want to go? Are you feeling sick?” you frown, starting to lift off of him.

“No,” comes his too-quick reply. “It’s just…the twins can go in my stead,” he decides simply, moving to lean into you again.

But before he can move an inch, a rhythmic sequence of knocks sounds at the door.

“Come in!” you chirp happily, too excited to see the faces you’d missed the last few weeks to notice Sylus stiffening under you.

Immediately, the door swings open, revealing two masked figures. 

“Hi Luke, hi Kieran!” you beam, and they wave back at you eagerly.

“Long time no see,” Kieran begins. “Boss, did you lose signal or something? I tried calling you about the meeting, but I think it disconnected. Anyway, we’re about to head down and—”

“Cancel it,” a frustrated growl rings out.

You all freeze.

Somehow, you’d been too wrapped up in your excitement to feel Sylus's body shaking—no, quaking—beneath you.

“W-what? But they’re already here!” Luke sputters.

“Cancel. It.” Sylus grits out the words as if holding back a snarl, and the power in his voice leaves no room for argument. 

“O…kay,” the boys say in unison, and as they back away slowly, you shoot them a sympathetic look.

Red tendrils wrench the door shut behind them, and when you’re alone once more, it’s like the man under you deflates.

His head returns to the crevice of your neck with a soft but unceremonious thud, and his deep exhales and burning hot skin tell you he’s trying to calm himself down. 

Uncertain and a little amazed—you’d never seen him lose his composure—you give his cheek a gentle poke. “Sylus,” you whisper. Nothing. 

“Psst. Sylus,” you try again, and there’s some force behind your poke this time. With bated breath, you watch as your finger sinks into the space under his cheekbone, sighing in relief when the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. 

Lifting his head up to make eye contact, you smile at him softly. “Hi.”

“…Hi,” he rumbles, and as his crimson gaze softens, the remaining annoyance dissolves from his face.

“Are you upset?” you prod gently. 

A brazen scoff precedes the dry chuckles that fall from his lips. “And what makes you say that, kitten?”

A squint and a slight tilt of your head is all it takes. 

“I haven’t had you to myself in a while,” he begins cautiously. “Three weeks is…a long time. The longest we’ve been apart. And then the moment I have you in my arms, well…” he trails off, gesturing to the shards of phone on the table. “I just want to enjoy you right now. Undisturbed.”

“Oh, I see,” you coo, cupping his face in your hands. “Is this your way of saying you missed me too?” you quirk a brow.

“Yes,” he responds through squished cheeks, honest and unabashed. “Now, won’t you stay with me like this for a little longer?”

[cheriecoke]

nanami kento, who hates dating, and didn’t do much of it in his early twenties. but now, he’s almost thirty, watching all the people he works with settle down, have kids, and he thinks he wants that. so he might as well try.

so satoru sets him up on a few dates — friends of friends, he calls them. and at the end of every one of the dinners, kento goes home empty, exhausted, because he knows what they want is not the same.

still; he thinks maybe he’s being a little self-destructive, maybe too picky, maybe he just got so used to being alone. with satoru’s insistence, he gives all the women another call, invites them over to his apartment.

the first time was a disaster… kento had barely set the dinner on the table before his cat had hissed at her, scratched her down the arm in a thin gash. and though it did draw blood, it was hardly enough to warrant that reaction.

he didn’t even try to stop her as she picked up her bag and left, huffing like she’d been morally offend. kento, though, could only smile to himself in amusement.

because maybe kento was a poor judge of character, a man who was secretly hoping nothing would pan out — but his cat could certainly tell the good from the bad.

it became a little game to him, after that. seeing if anyone could win his pet over, and if they could, perhaps they were the one. his darling animal was a fickle thing anyway. a bit too defensive, quick to bite anything threatening after years on the streets.

naturally, no one came back twice.

he was close to giving up, accepting his solitude because he was tired of empty conversations over dinner. but then, he ventured out over the weekend to a new coffee shop, during hours he normally didn’t spend out of his home, and met you.

though you only talked for a moment, kento felt like maybe he’d known you in a past life. a part of him thought maybe it was strange, the way he kept coming back to talk to you, catching you at the end of your shift to see if you wanted to grab a coffee sometime.

by the second date, kento started to think you could turn out to be his best friend.

by the third date, kento wondered if soulmates were real.

on the fourth date, almost two months later, an appropriate time to get to know someone when you were as reserved as kento, he invited you over for dinner. it was, perhaps, the final confirmation he needed to let himself be with you.

he let you through the door, smiling softly as you told him about the book you were reading, and hung his coat on the rack. a moment later, you stopped, distracted, hands covering your mouth in a gasp.

“kento! she’s the cutest cat i’ve ever seen, you didn’t even show me pictures!” you exclaim, and, a few feet away, crouched down. “look at her pretty eyes…”

“careful,” kento said, “she’s not very—“

but the cat approached your outstretched hand, sniffed once, before letting you scratch her under her chin, purring loud enough for kento to hear across the room.

“shes such a sweetheart, you told me she was mean!” you smiled, making a cooing noise as you threaded your fingers through her fur. “kento’s a liar, isn’t he… you’re so precious.”

a few moments later, she snapped her jaw at you in a biting motion, and you only laughed, withdrawing your hand. “alright, i get it, i won’t bother you anymore.”

though she still brushed against your legs, just as she did kento’s, and seemed to communicate some sort of message to him.

“do you want any help cooking?” you ask, tucking your hair behind your ears. “i’m a disaster in the kitchen, but—“

“sure,” kento said, his chest tightening as he blinked back at you, only in his apartment for minutes and already looking as at home there. he wondered if it was possible to fall in love so quickly. “but only if you want to.”

[criiitter]

cozy

[keiscorner]

2:53 am

"kei." no response. you know tsukishima has to get up early for work, but the window across from your bed is open, allowing the night breeze to creep in and sting your face. you could get up yourself, but that's what husbands are for, right?

you twist around, trying to wiggle out of your husband's grasp so you can take a better look at his sleeping face. he has an arm wrapped firmly around your waist, the other supporting your neck to, in his words, 'protect his ears from your constant complaints about your sore neck in the morning'.

"honey?" you poke his cheek, smiling to yourself when he grunts in response. tsukishima has always been a light sleeper. you lay in silence for a few seconds before he finally lets out a sigh, opening his eyes to look at you.

"what do you want?"

you muster up your biggest doe eyes, knowing that he hates getting out of bed just as much as you do. "close the window for me?"

"no. you do it."

you sigh dramatically, gesturing at his arms wrapped firmly around you. "i would love to, but someone is holding me hostage, so i think you're going to have to do it."

tsukishima rolls his eyes, untangling his arms from your body. "problem solved." he holds back a smile when you frown and pull the blankets away from him, turning your back towards him. you're so cute. tsukishima would do anything you ask of him without hesitation, but he can't help but tease you a bit first. he'll never get tired of your reactions, and he loves that he can be a little snarky with you.

you sigh again, this time louder and more pointed, pretending to shiver just to show your husband how cold you really are, and how cruel he is for not helping. "if only someone could hold me right now...", you trailed off.

"ok, do you want me to help you or not?" he finally gives in, getting up to reach for his glasses. you win, as usual. you turn back to face him again with a smile as bright as sunshine, and despite all of the years you've been together, his heart still stops for a second. wow. okay, maybe he is obsessed with you, but he can't help it. you've clearly worked your magic on him, considering the fact that he's getting out of the bed for you when he has to be awake in a few hours. he goes to close the windows with a firm click, walking back to his side of bed.

"kei...since you're already up...", he looks back to see your guilty smile, an empty mug in your hands. "please? last thing, i swear." he give you a look that reads, "you're lucky i love you." (you know you're the luckiest person in the world.)

he takes your mug and you hear his quiet footsteps making their way to the kitchen. he comes back, handing you a mug full of warm water. once you take a sip, he takes the mug from you again, placing it on your nightstand.

"i poisoned that," he quips, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before finally lying down and snaking his arms around your waist, pulling you in closer to him. the only reason he hates getting out of bed is that he has to let go of you, but he doesn't need to say that. he's sure you already know.

[dark-night-hero]

「Where the Wind Left Us」 Caleb

       ↳ He died in the war- or so you thought. Years later, he returns with no memory of you, and you're forced to face the man who once loved you like forever... now looking at you like a stranger.

Caleb had once been a fighter pilot, sharp, brave and deeply in love. Before the war, before duty stole him away, he was yours. Have a love rooted in hope, built during quiet moments in the chaos of wartime. But when the war escalated and he was called to serve, to protect the country and to protect you.

You had written to him. Countless letters. Words filled with devotion, with trembling wishes for his safety. For his return. With each letter, you tried to remind him that he was still loved, that you are still here, waiting for him. But the war ended, and he never came back.

You stood among crowds of reuniting lovers, heart clenched, eyes scanning every face that was not his. In your fist, a handkerchief crumpled tight with tears. They handed you a uniform. A final gesture. They said his plane had been shot down over enemy lines. No body. No wreckage. No closure. He had been declared missing in action and then, eventually, dead.

Years had passed. Then decade. Still, you remained alone. Something inside you had died the same day he did. If not in body, then in memory. You could not bring yourself to move on. His absence was a shadow you had lived beside. And then-

"Ouch!" A small voice snapped you out of the daze. You looked down to find a young boy who had fallen in front of you. Without thinking twice about it, you knelt beside him, concern pushing through the numbness. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" You asked. But when the your eyes met, something inside you cracked. A ghost of the past but this time, his eyes resemble somebody else. Someone long lost. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t look away. It was like seeing a ghost, not of the boy, but of someone you once knew better than yourself.

Later, you found yourself seated in a familiar little ice cream parlor. One that hadn't changed much over the years. Once, it had been the setting of the happiest date of your life. And now, across from you, sat the boy with his apple-flavored treat. "Are you sure you're okay?" You asked. "Yes! I'm a big boy now. Not even a scratch can make me cry!" He beamed. And that smile, that smile nearly identical to another's from so long ago. "Say, kid" You asked gently "Where are your parents?" "Oh!" He paused mid lick, then looked up like he'd just remembered. "Probably looking for me! We just got back here because this is my father's hometown!"

It was almost cruel, how easily your heart twisted. Once upon a time, there was a love story. A foreign soldier lost in a strange land, memory fractured by war. And a medical nurse who found him, pieced him together. They met. They bonded. They fell in love, not knowing that time and fate had other plans. And now, you are left with nothing but the ruin of a fairytale that was never meant to last.

"Oh, it's Dad." the child mumbled as he looked out the window. And there he was. Caleb. Alive. Whole. Smiling that same hesitant smile. Though now touched with worry as he spotted his son. So you look away and turn around. "I need to go" You whispered almost to yourself. In the end the child pout, the same way he once does causing you to chuckle despite the pain, despite the heartbreak. Despite the realization that the two of you were in fact, never meant to be together. But it was alright. 

"I'm afraid I'm quite running late for my errands young man." You smile fondly at him. "But-" He was cut off by the sound of his father calling him from the distance. "Well then, goodbye." You stand up, bidding your goodbye to the young child. "Wai- wait! What's your name?" You thought for a moment and look back slightly at the child. "No one, just a ghost from the past." You whispered along the wind. You never look back. And by the time Caleb reach the child's side, you were already long gone. 

♡

It's been a while since you've clean up your lawn. Its been a while since you have done such a thing ever since the revelation that your former lover. The one you thought was dead for the past few years was in fact, alive and breathing. And has a son, a family. It took you a while to pick yourself up from pieces. For years, you mourned for him, loved him in silence. Lit up a candle for a man declared dead with no body to bury. But then, like a cruel twist of fate, he appeared. Alive. Well. And with a child.

You tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter. That too much time had passed. That you both moved on even though you never truly had. And that he was someone else's now. That he had a family, and your part in his story was long over. But it wasn’t grief you were feeling now, it was betrayal. Not because he had lived. Not because he ha didn't tell you. Because he had come back into your world as if you were a stranger, not the person who once waited for his letters like they were lifelines. Not the person who loved him enough to mourn him twice.

You clenched your jaw, yanking a weed from the dirt with more force than necessary. Why were you so broken over this? He hadn't done anything wrong. No one had. And yet, deep in your chest, a sharp ache remained. You would’ve preferred he stayed dead. It was easier than this.

"Hello!" You pause, something that you tried not to show too much as you turn to face a familiar child. "Hello sweetheart." You tried to smile, really. The child did nothing wrong. Hell, no one did anything wrong. At the same time it really hurts you to be around this child as time went on. "Are you lost sweetheart?" You ask, setting aside your things to talk to the child properly. You haven't seen the boy in days, and now that he was standing right in front of you, it was clear that what happened wasn't a dream. It was true, he was back and you don't know it that was for better or for worse. "Are you okay?" The boy asked catching you off guard. "Of.. course. I'm okay sweetheart. But! but more importantly, Why are you alone again? where are your parents?"

Starting to get pissed off. The Caleb you knew was responsible, a man with taste. You knew who ever we has with right now would be a perfect good match for. But come on! Who lives their child alone?! This isn't the first time this happened, this child also happened to be away from this parents the first time you've seen him. Why are people so irresponsible with their children? Doesn't he love children? He never told you that of course, but you knew he always wanted one and you knew he would be a good dad. So where in the world is he right now-

"My paren-" "Pipsqueak! you little-!!" He pause, you watch him. You watch him watch you, your eyes slowly meeting half way. You did not want to see him. You were doing everything in your power not to see him.

These days, you moved differently. You rarely left your house and even if you did you took side streets, crossed early at lights, pretended not to notice the ache in your chest when someone said his name like it wasn’t a ghost curled inside it. He was back in town, for good, you knew that. But you aren't expecting to see him again, not now. Probably not ever. 

The way he was looking at you. The way it send shiver down your spine. He doesn’t know, you reminded yourself. He doesn’t remember you. He’s not looking at you because he knows you. You told yourself, trying your best to stay calm as he kept looking at you. Why was he even looking at you? He came to pick his son right? Right!

"You" You spoke, sharper than you meant, "Really need to learn how to watch your kid." You did not know where did you get that, words just came out of your mouth before you knew it. Caleb blinked like he wasn’t expecting you to speak first. Or maybe he just wasn’t expecting you. But then he stared at you again, this time, really stared.

The way you tried not to notice how his gaze lingered. The way it clung to your face like it recognized something but couldn’t quite name it. How it made your heart squeeze and your chest ache with things you’d buried long ago. You hate how he still looked at you like that. Like you were something soft in a world gone harsh.

"I- yeah" He replied, finally. "I didn’t know he snuck out again. He’s been doing that a lot lately." "Well, maybe he’s trying to get attention" You snapped, folding your arms. Where did that sassiness came from? "You know, since you're busy with your wife... or whatever." You tried to sound nonchalant, you really do.

But you saw it the moment the words left your mouth, the way something flickered in his expression. Confusion. A little hurt. "My what?" "Your wife.” You repeated, biting down the bitterness. "Look Mister, you've got a family. I get it. But maybe someone should be making sure your son doesn't keep ending up on strangers' lawns."

The way he looked at you like you just accused him of murder. The he said carefully "I don’t have a wife." You thought your ears were playing tricks at you. "I'm not married” He added, frowning. "It’s just me and this little guy over here." You opened your mouth then closed it before opening it again. "I saw you, at the ice cream parlor. You look like family." "We're not" He said simply, eyes softening. "Not like that." You look away. This isn't how you wanted this to go. You weren't even supposed to be talking to him.

Just when you felt like running away. The boy tugged at your sleeve. "Can we still go to the park?" The park? when did the two of you started talking about a park? You glanced down at the boy, then back at Caleb who was still staring at you. Like you were something fragile and familiar. Someone strange all at once. You cleared your throat. "Look, I don’t know what this is. But this little guy right here shouldn’t be wandering off." You smile gently at the boy, gently prying off his hand of your shirt "Next time it might not be someone nice who finds him."

Imagine just when you were about to turn around and walk away for real. "You’re right" Caleb said, voice steady. "You're completely right." What is this guy playing? "So maybe you should help me keep an eye on him. Just for today. Park trip?" 

You hesitated. This man, this stranger who still managed to look at you like you were everything, was asking you to walk beside him again. Even if he didn’t remember. Even if it shattered you. Just then, his son grabbed both your hands and squeezed. "Please? I can hold on both of you this time!" You sighed, you could almost feel a headache forming. "I swear" Caleb spoke quietly. "I’m not trying to make this harder for you." He added. "I just... something about you feels like I’ve known you forever." You didn't answer.

Instead you turn to his son who was looking at you with hopeful eyes. Oh those puppy eyes, who could ever say no to them? "Give me a minute darling, I'll clean this up in a bit." "Oh. Oh! I could help!" You laugh, ignoring the way his stare linger. With your heart pounding, trying not to fall apart as the man who once promised to come back to you followed behind. With no idea he already had.

♡

It began in fragments. A shared walk beneath rusted leaves. A passing smile from across the yard. A quiet lunch in the sun, where the child spoke the most and the two adults sat guarded, orbiting each other in silence.

For you, it was cautious. Your heart, once cracked open by his absence, had been stitched closed over years of grief. And now that he stood right before your eyes, not a memory, but a living echo. With his laugh the same, his presence still magnetic. But his eyes were new. Unknowing. Which honestly made it worse. You didn’t know how to touch a ghost who didn’t remember haunting you.

He was gentler now. Or perhaps he always had been, had you simply forgotten how it felt. He watched you like you were something steady, something quiet. Like he was trying to place you in a dream he couldn’t quite recall. And you tried not to look too long. Not to stare when he leaned back on his hands, when he ran a palm through his hair the way he used to when deep in thought. You tried not to remember how his touch had once been a promise. Now, it was unfamiliar. Unwritten. A beginning that mocked the ending you had survived.

For Caleb, it was instinct.

The pull towards you was natural, like a rhythm he already knew. He could not understand why but it lingered in his chest every time you were near. Like a compass buried deep inside him had found true north. There was something in the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t watching. Like you were mourning while he breathed. Like he had hurt you without meaning to. Like he had once been your world, and now you didn’t even know how to stand close without burning.

You were kind, but careful. Present, but slightly too still. He noticed the way you never leaned in too far. The way your hands stayed folded, as though holding yourself together. And yet, somehow, you two kept finding each other. A cup of tea offered without words. A shared glance when the little guy laughed too loudly. The comfortable silence of two people who knew how to sit with something unspoken.

For you, it was terrifying. To feel the old ache inching back slow, quiet and cruel. To fall for him again, when he had no idea you were simply picking up where he had left you broken.

For him, it felt inevitable. Like he was falling toward something he couldn’t name. Something familiar. Something that felt like home. Even if he didn’t know why.

♡

Caleb hadn't meant to visit.

He was just dropping off for his son's hat. Left behind again after your impromptu park trip. But when you opened the door and offered a gentle, "Come in for a minute." He stepped inside, telling himself it was polite. Just polite. And then he saw it.

First, the jacket. Hanging by the coat rack. Old, military-issued, a bit scuffed. Familiar. Too familiar. Then the model planes. Dusty but lovingly displayed on a shelf, and one of them, one specific fighter jet had a scratch on the left wing. And then the mug. Sitting quietly by the window, like a ghost of a morning ritual. Chipped. Faded. Still readable, Return With Honor. He stared at it like it had slapped him.

His chest tightened. His brain did math. You said you lived alone. That you never married. Yet this place didn’t feel like yours alone. It was layered with someone else's presence. And Caleb, who, despite his calm exterior, had an ego thoroughly capable of jealousy, was not immune.

"Nice place." He said, eyes still glued to the jacket. Boyfriend? No. You said you aren't seeing anyone. But maybe someone from the past? Someone important, judging by the shrine level energy in the room. "Thanks." You replied, walking toward the kitchen. "It's quiet. Suits me." "Yeah. You into aviation or something?" By his question, you paused. "A little." He nodded like that explained everything, but the knot in his chest was winding tighter.

"Those models." He said, referring to the planes. "They're vintage... Collectibles?" "They were someone else's." He felt an ache. "Someone close?" He asked and your silence was enough. Caleb cleared his throat. "Boyfriend?" "What's it to you?" You almost glare at him but ended with a sigh. "Nothing." He said too quickly. "Just curious. Not judging or anything. Totally healthy to you know... keep stuff from a boyfriend." He almost cringe at his own words. Nonetheless he tried to play it cool. "Even years later. It's fine."

"Wasn't a boyfriend." "Oh." He looked relieved then paused. "Husband?" You didn't respond. His jaw clenched. "Okay. Cool. So just- was it serious?" It was entertaining, really. To see him acting like this. Still, "Very." He exhaled slowly, pretending it didn't bother him. Pretending the idea of some air force Romeo haunting your house via jacket and coffee mug didn't sit like a boulder in his gut. "Is he… still around?" He asked.

You turned slightly, enough for him to see the flicker of something in your eyes. Not anger. Not sadness. Something older. But then you blink and it disappears. "No." You said simply, too nonchalant. "He died. Years ago. During the war." Caleb blinked. "Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to-"  "It's alright."

Caleb, in all his complicated grief and confused feelings, nodded gently and then exhaled the kind of breath no normal person should ever exhale after hearing about someone's dead lover.

Relief. An actual, horrible, shameful relief. "So... you never moved on?" Why does he even asked this questions? "I tried." You said, sighing. Looking back, you never truly get over him. Even before this, you carry him with you. "Didn’t stick."

He looked away, heart weirdly heavy. And relieved. Which was so wrong. He barely even knew you. "I'm not saying I was jealous." He muttered under his breath. Clearly wasn't very jealous. "But I just think it's a little unfair that a dead guy still has better closet space than me." You pause, looked at him and then choked on a laugh. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing. I mean. I didn’t say that." He tried to recover but found himself already walking toward the jacket. "That tear in the shoulder? Looks like something from field duty. Enemy fire?" There was a moment of silence before your voice was heard. "Crash." Ah. Damn. He looked back at you. "Did they recover him?" You shook your head, mind replaying the day you received his uniform. "No. The plane was downed over enemy territory. No body. Just..." 

Caleb swallowed, then turned back to the jacket. His fingers brushed the edge of the inner collar. And there, faint but stitched in, was a name. Caleb. His own name.

He blinked. Huh. "That's weird." He whispered to himself. "What is?" "Nothing." He let go quickly, stepping back like the jacket burned him. "Just thought it looked familiar." "You probably knew someone like him." You said, looking at the jacket. "You were a pilot too, weren't you?" He nodded slowly.

The silence that followed was thick with something he couldn’t name. Finally, you turned to him, brows raising. "You okay?" "Yeah. I'm fine. Just..." He looked back at the shelf of planes. "Trying to figure out if I'm feeling haunted or just wildly insecure." You gave him a long look. "Don't worry. You're not the first man to get jealous of a ghost."

♡

It didn’t hit all at once.

Just a flicker. Later that evening, after he returned home and set down his keys. Caleb sat in silence for a long while. Hands resting on his knees, his mind somewhere far behind him. His son asleep upstairs. The house was quiet. But his heart wasn’t.

He couldn't stop thinking about the jacket. The way it had felt under his fingers. The fraying of the collar. The weight of it. Familiar, like a favorite song he hadn't heard in years. And then… the name.

Caleb

His name. Same spelling. Same placement he would have asked for, had it ever been his. And that particular kind of patch stitching, he knew it. Not in theory, not from others but he remembered doing it. Sewing that rip in the field. Threading it clumsily, cursing the cold, using his teeth to pull the knot tight.

The memory was sharp. Real. Immediate. He jolted. For a split second, the sound of wind filled his ears. Rotors. Heat. A hands pressing against his chest. A medic’s voice shouting. The taste of blood. The voice- the voice. Laughing. Crying. Then it was gone. He stared at the floor, breath unsteady, as something ancient and half buried inside him cracked open. He didn’t know the name. Not yet. 

But suddenly, he knew the jacket. He had loved someone once. And he had left them behind.

♡

It had been a while since Caleb last visited. Life had a way of stepping in, work, obligations and the silent ache between two people who used to know each other like breath and now barely touched the surface. He hadn't come by in days, and though you told yourself it was a relief, the echo of absence sat heavily in the corners of the house.

Still, his little boy came. He had a way of showing up with grass in his hair and stories far too big for his age. That afternoon, he sat cross-legged in your living room, babbling about paper airplanes and how he could totally build one that flew to the moon if he wanted. And you listened, smiling through the heaviness.

Then, in the soft lull of conversation, you asked a question that had lingered for too long. "Your dad... what's he like?" When you asked that, the boy shrugged like it wasn't complicated. "He’s kind. And quiet sometimes." He giggle. "He forgets things. But he always remembers the important stuff."

You hesitated before asking, you don't want to get hurt. "Was it always just the two of you?" The boy tilted his head. "No. My real parents died. In the war. Dad, Caleb, was their friend. He says he owes them everything."

The world tilted just slightly beneath you. He wasn’t his son. Not by blood. Caleb had taken the boy in. Raised him. Loved him. Not because he had to. But because it was the right thing to do.

You watch the little boy rummaged through his small backpack and pulled out something you hadn’t seen in years, a small box, worn at the edges. "He gave me this." He said, opening it like it was no big deal. Inside sat a ring. Their ring. The one pair Caleb had with him the night before he left for the war. The one you thought had been lost with him forever. You breath caught.

"He said it was for someone important." He added gently. "That he didn't remember who, not really. But he knew it was meant for someone. That he'd given it to them before everything." The air went silent with something unspoken. "He said that's why we came back here." The child said simply. "Because father- my first dad, told him he had left something important in this town. Someone.”

The ring sat there between them, heavy with memory.

You did not reach for it. Not yet. Because hope was a dangerous thing. And love, especially a love that once had died, was terrifying when it tried to live again. You turned your head, blinking quickly, steadying yourself. You could feel it, fate pulling at the thread. Winding them back toward something unfinished. Caleb didn’t remember you. But somehow, his heart still did.

And yours? Still afraid. But still beating for the same man.

♡

It came to him like a storm. No warning. No slow unraveling. Just a breath, then the world tilted. 

He was standing by your the porch, hand raised to knock on your door when his eyes flicked to the side window. There, through the curtain, he saw you. Front facing him and staring at the ring.

That ring.

The one he had carried through fire and blood and years of unknowing. The one he couldn't part with even when his memories scattered like ash in the wind. The ring he had told himself it was a symbol of something lost, of someone important.

And in that moment, it wasn't just important. It was you.

He staggered back a step, unsteady.

The noise of bombs, of roaring engines, your voice flooded in. Your hands on his uniform, trembling the day before he left. The taste of your kiss. The promise he made with that ring pressed between your and his palms. The letters. The laughter. The ache of missing you so badly that it bled into his bones.

The crash. The fire. Your name screaming on his throat. Your face, framed in smoke, reaching for him as everything fell apart. He remembered it all.

The weight of your head on his chest after long shifts at the field. The curve of your smile when you handed him that ridiculous mug. The way you looked up at him like he was something worth returning for.

He remembered loving you. And the unbearable grief in your eyes every time you met now soft and guarded. Like you were terrified to reach for what had already died once.

His breath came out broken. You didn’t know he remembered. Not yet. But standing there, staring at the one who had waited for a ghost, who still wore that love like an old scar, Caleb realized something. He did not just fallen in love with you again. He never stopped. And now, he finally remembered why.

♡

You noticed it first in his silence.

Not the awkward kind, it was the silence of someone searching for words. The kind that felt like knowing. Like he was seeing you for the first time. Or maybe remembering how he used to.

The way he looked at you had changed. Less like curiosity. More like memory.

He didn't say anything when you offered him tea in the same chipped mug, the one with the faded letters he'd once picked out himself. He just smiled. A Small, soft and took it with both hands, like it meant something. And it did.

You could feel it shifting from within, the weight of unspoken things settling into the space like dust. You did not ask if he remembered. You didn’t dare. Because what if he didn’t? Or worse, what if he did and chose to forget again? You were terrified of loving him twice only to lose him all over again.

He sat across from you, watching you with the same steady calm that used to unravel you within seconds. Like you were a place he had once called home. And now, was again. And still, you held back. Because time had turned your love into something cautious. Because you had built your life around the absence of him, and now, with his presence sitting in your kitchen again, it felt like you were grieving in reverse.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out the ring box, not dramatic, not rehearsed, just... instinct. He held it between them without opening it. And you stared. Your heart cracked. "Why are you carrying that?" You asked, voice barely above whisper. He did not answer at first. Instead, he looked at you like someone who had finally, finally found what he had spent years trying to remember. Then he quietly said. "Because I remember who it belonged to now."

You breath hitched. You did not cry. You wanted to but there were no tears left. Just silence, fear, and the tender ache of almost believing him. "You don't have to say anything." You finally spoke. "You don't owe me that." You added.  "I do." He replied. Quiet and steady. "I left you once." There was a pause. "Not because I wanted to, but because the world forced me to." He looked at you. "I won't leave you again."

And you looked away, blinking rapidly. "But what if you forget again?" Fear. "What if I lose you twice?" You don't know if you would be able to handle that again. He exhaled. A breath full of pain and love and all the words he never got to say the first time. "Then I'll come back again." He said, eyes looking for yours. "And again. And again. Because it’s you. It’s always been you. Even without my memories, I found you." You finally looked at him. And in his eyes, you saw him.

Your Caleb.

Not just the man he used to be. Not just the man war tried to erase but the one who had always, in every version of himself, loved you. And in that moment, you don't need the ring. You don't need the memories. You don't need the promises made in uniforms or letters. You just needed this The quiet truth between them. The forgiveness in your heart. And the love that had never really left.

You did not kiss. Not yet. There was no sweeping declaration. No grand reuniting. Just the ring resting between you two. Two hands meeting across the table. And a slow, steady heartbeat that finally, finally felt like home.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

Letter Never Sent

My dearest love,

If this letter reaches you, then I’ve made it back, whole, in one piece, and still yours. And if I haven’t… then let this be something that stayed behind, even when I couldn’t.

There’s something I wanted to ask before I left, but the moment kept slipping away. I was too busy memorizing your smile.

So here it is, written plainly and tucked into these folds of paper like a promise:

Will you marry me?

I don’t ask for forever. Just ust for the chance to return to you. I’ll chase every sky, every mile, every storm, if it means finding my way back.

No matter where the wind takes me… I know where it will leave me.

With you.

Always,

Caleb 

[theobservatory]

｡⁠☆I'm Baby｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+⁠ 

☆Tim drake x reader

☆Cw: Damian being a menace, crack/fluff

To be honest, Damian was only getting close to you to bother Drake. He didn't really have a reason for it either, but bothering is pseudo older brother is entertaining, fun even.

It's not tranquil, like painting. It's not rewarding, like training. It's not adrenaline filled, like patrol. No, it's just... Fun.

Damian can't even explain why it's fun either. There's just something about the look of utter anguish, irritation, that crosses Drake's face that just makes him smile.

It's an evil little thing, all sharp teeth and hard lines. Nothing like those big grins you see kids have in childish movies. No, he looks like a shark in fish infested waters. Like a wolf locked in a pen of sheep.

So imagine his surprise when you derail his plans by being likeable. You're clever, and kind, but not smothering like Grayson. He didn't start showing up at your window to actually get close to you, and yet here is, tucked into your side as he vents about school today.

The people at his school are utter imbeciles, and he only goes to appease his father. Not that he understands why his father sends him. He already has a friend his age, Jon! He's sure you'd be his friend too, if he asked.

... Even the thought of doing that is too humiliating to fathom.

He's sure you'd just look at him with that dumb smile that makes his chest feel tight, and you'd probably pet down his hair, and say something like "Of course we're friends! Why else would I let you crash on my couch after patrol?" Because you're good like that, and always give reasons why you do and feel things.

But he'd rather drop dead than be perceived as childish or immature. Asking someone to be your friend is playground chat, and Damian stopped going to a school with a playground this year so he's much too old for that. Instead he just rambles about how many times he's had to correct his teacher this year, because if he thinks the kids are stupid don't get him started on the adults.

You listen the whole way through, an arm wrapped around his shoulder. He's practically squished to your side. He planted himself there as soon as he got through the lock on your front door, but you don't say anything about it, you never do. It's much more tolerable than Grayson's constant cooing.

"And do you know what the worst part is?" Damian huffs, a balled fist gripping your pants.

"What?"

"She tried to correct me on the Greek Pantheon, me! It's as if my chosen aunt isn't Princess Diana of Themscryia! Imbeciles, everyone of them!"

You nod solemnly, clearly understanding Damian's plight. This is why he comes to you, no one at that blasted manor gets it. They would try and correct him, teach him to be more understanding, but you just listen! You listen, and commiserate! Like any good sibling should.

"I used to have a teacher like that. It turned out no matter what I told him, no matter what evidence I presented, he just decided that I was a lost cause anyway." You roll your eyes, picking at the stitching of Damian's sleeve. He should probably stop you, but he can't even bring himself to give the gesture a glance of his attention. "I ended up transferring out of the class, my peace was not worth the credit. I just took it online instead."

"If only father were that understanding. I would take every class online if I could."

"What, there isn't a single thing you enjoy about school? When I was your age I only ever showed up for extracurriculars, but they managed to at least make it a little worth it for me."

Damian wants to say no, "My art and art teacher isn't deplorable." But that would be a lie.

"What're they-"

The lock of your farthest window clicks, interrupting you. Damian slips a blade out of the pocket of his school uniform, but doesn't bother moving. A measley intruder won't stand a chance against him, especially because they would be interrupting his you time.

A foot slides in through the open window. Black slacks, he can tell by the hemlines they're expensive. The shoes are glossy, but slightly scuffed, also clearly expensive.

Damian glares, he knows exactly who this is. The grip of his blade gets tighter.

"Hey babe." Drake greets, pulling his satchel in the window before closing it. "You'll never believe the day I had at work-"

Damian and Drake lock eyes. He can feel his eyes turn into giddy crescents as Tim's face falls into disbelief. Yes, this is the exact feeling he's been waiting for. He could revel in that disgusted expression he has.

"What's he doing here?" Drake sneered.

"Don't be rude."

"Wha- I'm not being rude. I just- baby, sweetheart, why the fuck is my little brother in your apartment?"

For his part, Damian just snuggles closer to you, causing you to squeeze him tighter. If it's even possible, he looks even more smug than he did before. All according to plan.

"I invited him. He likes to hangout after school sometimes." You smile, it's genuine, as if you're completely oblivious to why this would distress Tim. They both know you well enough to know you're having just as much fun fucking with your boyfriend as Damian is.

"You know each other? You do this regularly??"

"No thanks to you. I've only met your family once and it was in passing, Tim! What was I supposed to do, tell him to leave? He's just a baby!"

Under normal circumstances, Damian would grow irate at being called a baby. He is ten years old, in double digits, basically an adult! However, annoying Drake takes precedence right now.

"Yeah Drake, I'm just a baby." Damian says flatly. "I'm just a baby, and you're scaring me."

You gasp. "Timothy you're scaring my baby!"

"That demon is NOT a baby! Are you under mind control? Blink twice if you need help."

Your hand tugs Damian into your chest, and you plant a kiss on his forehead. His demonic smile wavers for a moment as a flush hits his cheeks, that same icky syrup-like feeling you tend to give him curling in his chest. It comes right back when he sees that absolute offended and affronted look on Drake's face.

This is the best day of his life.

"If you don't start being nice to this sweet baby angel right this second, I'll have to throw you out of my apartment. Sorry Tim, those are the rules."

"You just made that up, those- that's- those aren't the rules!"

Damian pulls out of your hold to sit up straight on the couch, re-pulling out his switchblade. It glints off the yellowish lighting in your apartment, the same glint in his wolfish grin.

"Please." He stands. "It would be an honor if you would allow me."

You pretend to think about it, a matching mischievous look on your face. "Hmm okay, but only because you asked so nicely.

"I'm sorry Tim, but I don't make the rules, I just follow them."

"I'm not sorry." Damian brags.

"Shut it, brat."

Tim begins to climb back out the window, huffing as his satchel gets stuck on the sill for the second time. His head pokes back in before he closes it, a glare, that would be terrifying if Damian was anyone else, on his face.

"This isn't over."

"I disagree."

The window slams shut, and Damian slots himself right back where he was before. Both of you have the evilist of giggles as you basket on the high of teasing Tim Drake.

Despite his shitty day at school, it's a good day, anyway.

You only played along bc Tim's been ignoring you for the sake of work, leaving his stabby little brother here to satiate your boredom. This is petty revenge.

Damian also becomes the biggest cock block in the world after this. You think it's funny, Tim not so much.

Also planning on writing a short follow up to this where Tim comes to you after patrol and needs reassurance.

｡⁠☆Requests open

[moonlightcycle571]

All the Batkids have their own favourite Superhero (that’s not Batman), but it comes as a surprise when Damian says his favourite is Captain Marvel.

Captain Marvel, after being put on ‘Robin Watch’ after Batman had to disappear in the Watchtower for whatever reason: so … what do you like to do?

Damian, who vividly remembers Dick telling him to play nice or he’ll tell Batman about the 364 cats he’s fostered with Selina: I … like Cats

Captain Marvel, who has no idea what normal kids do: Oh, me too! My best friend is a talking cat!

Damian, intrigued: … elaborate

Captain Marvel, already showing Damian pictures of Tawny: This is Tawky Tawny, he’s a magic tiger that sometimes live in the Zoo! He’s also my best friend 🥰💕😍💕😍💖💗💗💗💗😍😊🎉😊😍😍

Damian, already calling Selina: I would like to meet this Tawky Tawny.

Later, Batman would start to panic when he couldn’t find Robin, but then would be shown a picture from Instagram of Robin, Catwoman and Captain Marvel in Fawcette Zoo, specifically the tiger cage hugging a massive Bengal Tiger, captioned “the most civilised tiger you will ever meet”. The next picture is a picture with the three of them having tea with said Tiger in a suit.

Bonus

Dick, Superman’s Number 1 fan: Oh please, he’s obviously the most like me! Captain Marvel and Superman look like they can be BROTHERS

Jason, forever a Wonder Woman Stan: HA, I heard that he WAS Wonder Woman’s Brother

Tim, hiding all his Cap merch: Oh yeah, he’s nothing like Red Tornado, so I’m good

Steph: why wasn’t I invited to the tea party …

Barbara and Alfred, tracking Captain down: Don’t worry, we’ll be invited to the next one

Cass, sensing something is off: … new … brother????

If you see Batman sulking in the corner, you saw wrong. If Batman sulks harder when he realises Barbara and Alfred figured out Captain Marvels identity before him and refuse to share… you’re a fucking liar.

Bonus

Flash: …

Captain Marvel: …

Flash: so when do we get to hug the magic kitty

Captain Marvel: FOR THE LOVE OF-

Tawny, not even a week later: ✨I’m so popular✨

[slvtforfiction]

Ghost who took his mask off in front of you for the first time,making you quickly turn around.

“Can look lovie.” He mumbles as he climbs into bed.

“I didn’t see anything,I promise I won’t tell anyone.” You whisper,scared of the consequences.

“Love,calm down,you can see my face.” He says as he sits on the edge of the bed,holding your waist from the back as he waits for you to turn around once more.

“Are you sure?” You ask after years of not seeing his face,waiting patiently for the handsome man to reveal himself.

By the time Simon had actually taken off his mask it felt wrong to look. You knew he wouldn’t take off his mask infront of anyone…so, why you?

By the time you cautiously turn around to look at him,your paralysed staring at his face,your eyes roaming past the scars,to his eyes,towards his hair and then to his lips.

You kissed him softly with a smile.

“Handsome.” You whispered as you clambered into bed beside him.

“Tell anyone and I kill ya’” he mumbles quietly as he lets you curl into his chest,slowly falling asleep.

“I know.” You mumble quietly before falling asleep,your head on his chest as he wraps his arms around you firmly.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Masterlist | Pinned Post

[rafeandonlyrafe]

first moments

words: 1.5k

warnings: mom!reader, dad!rafe, established relationship, brief hospital setting, anxiety (from rafe)

“rafe, wanna do chest to chest?” you hum, eyes mostly closed, the exhaustion from labor still affecting you.

“i…” he stares at you, and then at your son, resting against your chest, maternity dress pulled open so he's against your skin, his face resembling the exact same one rafe makes when he's sleeping. “its okay, you keep holding him.”

“okay.” you say, looking down at your son. it didn't take you long to decide on a name. leon andres cameron. leon after rafes grandfather and andres after your own. a good strong family name. 

“he's so perfect.” rafe whispers, his voice cracking slightly.

“come closer.” you beckon, rafe moving his chair closer, but still keeping his distance, making you frown. “what's wrong?”

rafes mouth opens, but no words come out. you pause, hand petting over leons back.

“wait…” your mind starts to piece together, still foggy from the delivery and drugs. “you haven't held him yet.”

“i-” rafe stumbles over his words, knowing he's been caught. “i can't. he's too tiny. too perfect. i-i don't want to ruin him.”

“ruin him?” you frown. “rafe, you're his father. get over here.”

you struggle to scooch over on the hospital bed, but manage to make room for rafe to sit down next to you. he even sits carefully, gnawing at his lip as you turn leon over, keeping him asleep as you turn him face up, supporting his neck the whole time.

“just cradle your arms. it's okay, you'll get used to it.” you watch as rafe moves his arms before placing leon in them, having to cover your mouth when the sudden urge to cry hits you, leon looking even smaller being held by your husband.

“i love him.” rafe whispers, voice cracking, a few tears sliding down his cheeks. “i love him so much.”

“look how relaxed he is in your arms.” you coo. “i knew you'd be a good dad.”

--

“god, im so nervous.” rafe looks in the backseat where you’re sitting, leon buckled tight into the carseat.

“its okay.” you hum, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “just drive slow.” “yeah, of course.” rafe nods. he barely puts the car above 15 miles per hour the entire ride home. leon thankfully stays asleep, you’re not sure if you could have handled just leaving the hospital and having him crying on the way home.

“okay, here.” rafe takes a deep breath as he pulls the car into the garage.

“you got his carseat?” you ask. your body is still recovering from birth, and you’re not sure if you can lift anything up without tearing.

“yeah.” rafe undoes the carseat carefully as you get out and unlock the house, happy to be home after two days spent in the hospital.

“mmm.” you breathe in the fresh air. “my eyes are so happy after all that fluorescent light.”

“um- watch out baby.” rafe hates having to have you move out of the way so quickly, but he can hear leon beginning to fuss and needs to get him inside.

you giggle and step away, watching as rafe quickly rushes to unbuckle him. he looks to you to get him out of the carrier, but you allow rafe to scoop him up, shushing him and gently rocking him back and forth.

--

“i got it.” rafe offers.

“no, he's hungry.” you groan, already feeling your breasts swelling with milk just from hearing his cry. “i can tell.”

“im sorry, baby.” rafe sighs, staying in bed as he tries to get back to sleep. no point having both of you completely exhausted.

you manage to settle leon, feeding him in the rocking chair rafe got you before you gave birth. he almost wakes when you transfer him back to the crib, but you get him down and back to rafe, crawling into bed next to him.

“i wish i could do more.” rafe sighs. so much of you is required from leon, not just the pregnancy but now needing to feed him. rafe tries to take care of anything else you could need, but he struggles with not knowing how to do things as basic as changing diapers.

“you're learning fast, rafe. it's okay.” you move closer so rafe can hold you, snuggling into your back, his hand gently rubbing over your hip.

“i don't deserve you.” you know it's just the exhaustion talking. you grip his hand in yours, squeezing three times, saying the words without needing to speak.

“we should sleep while he's asleep.” you say, rafe nodding and pressing kisses to your shoulders and upper back until you're pulled back to sleep.

--

“shh, leon, it's okay.” rafe looks around for you, surely you must have heard leons cries. you said you'd be just a minute, running to the beauty aisle to grab your conditioner before returning to rafe shopping for groceries.

rafe pushes the brim of the carrier back, his heart breaking as his sons little face scrunches with big tears rolling down his cheeks.

rafe isn't sure what to do, so he just lets his instincts guide him as he quickly undoes the seatbelt and lifts leon into his chest, being careful to hold his head just as you instructed.

the second leon is against rafes, his cries lessen, and then all together subside as rafe bounces gently.

“is he okay?” rafe looks up to see you hustling down the aisle towards him.

“yeah, he was upset but i got him.” rafe pats leons back gently, turning his head to press a kiss against his cheek.

“okay.” you let out a sigh of relief, tossing your conditioner into the grocery cart. “want me to take him?”

“no, im good.” rafe shifts leon a little as you start to walk, pushing the carrier and loading the bottom up with more groceries, especially all the things you couldn't have while pregnant but are now safe despite still breastfeeding.

rafe doesn't miss the way you keep looking over at him with light in your eyes, excitement evident at seeing how comfortable rafe is becoming with leon held snuggly in his arms.

--

“are you sure?” you ask, frowning as your eyes flicker between leon laying on the couch cushion and rafe sitting next to him, focus on your baby as he makes silly faces at him.

“baby, i know i struggled at first, but this is one weekend. you have plenty of milk pumped. ill be fine.” rafe scoops leon into his arms as he stands, walking towards you.

“besides, if i need help i can always call your mom. even wheezie, you know she'll be happy to see leon.” rafe shifts the baby to one arm while his free hand comes to cup your cheek. “go. please, i will miss you and leon will too, but you deserve a break.”

“okay.” you nod, getting on your tip toes to press a kiss to rafes lips before also kissing leon, who lets out a familiar cooing sound.

“im gonna text my girls.” you can't hide the excitement in your voice, pulling out your phone to confirm you'll be able to go to the girls spa weekend away. 

“i want nightly face times with you though baby.” you poke leons little nose, whose cheeks stretch into a smile.

--

“oh my god, rafe, is everything okay?” you squeal, squinting at the screen as if it'll somehow make leon appear.

“yes! fine, i promise.” rafe points the camera down so you can see leon happily on his lap, already looking tired as bedtime is quickly approaching.

“why didn't you pick up the first time?” you ask, a lot calmer now that you have eyes on your baby.

“leon and i were just getting home. i took him to the park. he couldn't really do anything but be in the carrier but he liked watching the other kids play.” rafe looks down at leon, giving him a little tickle under the chin. “isn't that right buddy?”

“did you-”

“yes, i put sunscreen on him. and he wore a hat. and-” rafe stresses before you can interrupt. “i reapplied sunscreen after an hour.”

“you're the best.” you smile. “you know i never doubted you rafe, it's just-” you take a deep sigh. “i worry so much about him. and making sure he's happy.”

“and he is.” rafe assured you. “look at his little face.”

you feel tears well up in your eyes as you look at your husband and your son, snuggled together on the couch. you quickly take a screenshot while they both have smiles on their faces.

“you're such a good mama. leons lucky to have you, and so am i.”

the tears are now falling down your cheeks as you smile. “i love you.”

“i love you too. and we miss you, but go enjoy your night with the girls!”

“okay.” you nod. “you're right. ill be home tomorrow around noon.”

“got it.” rafe holds the camera closer to leon. “say bye bye to mommy, leon.”

the call ends with his smiling face looking back at yours.

sfw taglist: @bejeweledreverie @winterrrnight @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen

[tthoroughfare]

some random modern!abby headcanons as i Cannot think about anything else. NSFW in the latter half spit kink asf i’m not sorry

she’s chronically offline. has social media but does not use it — her IG has one photo from 3 years ago and the only other social media she has is a facebook account she made when she was 14. her entire page is just shit her dad tags her in; photos of her he’s taken while they’re on vacation, cringey middle aged humor, the Facebook Parent works

90% of the time only uses her phone for what a phone is actually for. probably has a super old one because she doesn’t see the point in replacing it; it’s somehow in like perfect condition though

texts in perfect grammar. before you got used to it you literally thought she was mad at you all the time. hasn’t got it figured out what emojis make sense contextually because she doesn’t really use them and occasionally sends you baffling messages like:

“Got off early. Can’t wait to see you. 😬” (was rushing and thought it was a smile)

but sometimes it’s also very cute, like a grandma who just figured out how to text:

“Do you want to tag along with Manny and Nora to a concert on Saturday? The people they were supposed to go with can’t anymore. 🎶🕺🎸”

the type of gf who will get you doing the most random activities. she’s constantly trying new hobbies and always wants you to be a part of it. she’ll decide on a sunday night she wants to pick up rock climbing, have you both signed up and in the climbing gym monday

or she’ll decide on a whim she wants to take you to a restaurant someone recommended even though it’s an hour and a half drive away

med student abby is canon abby…

she really didn’t want to be a cliche and go into it just because it’s what her dad does, but she was always encouraged to excel academically and found herself naturally drifting in that direction

she makes it look easy, but it’s really not. she gets stressed about everything a lot (particularly wrestling with worries about letting her dad down, which you reiterate she couldn’t do if she tried), but doesn’t really show anyone apart from you. you always make her feel better, though, just as she does for you with your problems

grew up well-off, but isn’t a dick about it. very generous with her money, always buying you little treats and picking up the bill despite your protests. takes you on weekends away wherever possible, or a bigger vacation somewhere tropical during the summer

honestly not the best cook… she’s just used to making food for herself, which tends to be pretty plain. gym bro meals ugh. however, has one or two incredible recipes she can pull out the BAG. makes them for you when she knows you’ve had a long day

would 100% be that post of the guy who set his alarm purposefully earlier so that he could wake up and cuddle his partner before he had to actually get up. she’s normally up before you, regardless of the day or time. abby’s an early riser; she loves the morning. you always stir with a warm drink on the bedside table, and either the sound of her pottering around the apartment or a text saying something along the lines of:

“Heading to the gym. Gave you a kiss before I left but you were still clean out, LOL.”

has extremely random and rogue music taste. same with movies. you figure this out not long into knowing her, when you’re talking about favorite films and she deliberates before carefully stating that her all-time top three are flushed away, interstellar and an old foreign movie you couldn’t pronounce if you tried

speaking of — loves movies! you guys frequent the cinema, but also like to stay in and have movie nights at home. you’ll watch just about anything together, taking it in turns to choose. when you stay in, you make it a Whole Thing. all the bedding gets moved to the living room, you buy snacks, she sits and lets you meticulously paint a face mask on her

sometimes, you’ll attentively watch the whole thing. sometimes, if you get halfway through and it’s not the best, she’ll allow her fingers to trail down from their position atop your upper arm in a manner she knows you’ll pick up on. dipping under your shirt and rubbing loose, gentle circles at your hip for what feels like forever, before nudging at your jaw with her nose and planting a light kiss. you turn to meet her, eyes flitting between hers and her lips; closing the gap and smirking against her mouth, “you’re not subtle.”

blowing air out of her nose and shrugging, she brings her free hand up to the nape of your neck, deepening the kiss. it’s slow and deliberate, everything from the way she moves her lips against yours, to how she steadily shifts you on top of her. she likes to take her time with you, gets off when you have to say please

segueing into nsfw… praise kink spit kink gentle domination vers dynamic hey now

loves it when you show her how desperate you are for her, through words or otherwise. while i can’t see her being much of a talker herself (not to say that’s at all), she encourages your blathering about how good she feels, how much you need her. bonus points if you throw her name in there somewhere

should the occasion arise will absolutely put you through the mattress with the strap, but much more so an acoustic girl. two finger tongue combo diva. for her, it’s all about feeling you. how you contract around her, the little signals your body gives her she’s learned so well

to her, that’s the main point of sex. feeling as much of you as she can, feeling close to you, showing you how much she worships you. it’s filthy, yet reverent and devoted. gets a little possessive sometimes, because you’re hers and only she can have you how she does

whether it be arched up, her fingers plowing into you as she kisses her way over your upper back, hand threaded through your hair. stopping to suck a mark where your neck meets your shoulder, murmuring to ask if you can take three (she knows you can, just wants to hear you say it)

or on top of her, legs slotted together and your hand firmly bracing yourself on her knee whilst you rut against her. hearing her get slightly louder and higher pitched, revelling in the way she looks up at you, brows drawn and eyes full. shared wetness pooling and mingling, her hands all over you like she can’t decide which inch of sweat-sheened skin she wants to touch more

or after you’ve eaten her out and she’s still coming down, you running a hand over the outside of her thigh then kissing over her stomach — making your way back up to her lips, allowing her to taste herself through the sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. licking into her dirtily, running a thumb over her lower lip and softly telling her to open. abby doing as you say; always does as you say. a glob of spit falling from your mouth to hers which she accepts gladly, breathing jagged as she swallows. spurred on, dragging you back in with fervor, moving a hand to circle over your sopping clit

she’s never been like this with anyone, never wanted everything of a person so badly. she’d do anything for you, to you, let you do anything to her

while she does like it to be languid, to last, sometimes she can’t help herself. it’ll be the morning and she’ll rouse, tired eyes dragging over your form. abby shifting closer and wrapping an arm around your waist, you’ll stir a little and groan softly, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek and pivoting your head to give her a kiss. both brains still foggy, operating on basic wants, it doesn’t take long for it to turn from an innocent good morning peck to a desperate mess of tongues. then, to her mouthing at your neck, sliding her fingertips over your bare torso to knead at your breast. you’ll tilt your head back, let out a mewl of her name, before remembering it’s a weekday.

“what time is it?” you’ll ask, freezing and subconsciously trying to look at the clock.

“don’t worry, we’ve got time,” she’ll respond against your skin without missing a beat, hand making its way between your legs and coaxing a sharp exhale from you, “i’ll be quick, i promise.”

she knows you well — she certainly can be quick. still has time to make you that coffee she always does, too.

[katsukistofu]

i a-door you

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ k. bakugo x fem reader. fluff. cursing. food. minor unintentional violence. ⭑ bakugo hits on you. literally.

You’re minding your business, book bag slung across your shoulder, and about to walk through the door to 2A’s classroom when something smacks you in the face.

Not only unprompted, but hard.

“Ow!”

It happens so quickly that you don’t remember squeezing your eyes shut as you stumble backwards, both hands flying to clutch your forehead.

Opening your eyes, you swear you can already feel the spot starting to bruise. The previously closed door to the classroom stood ajar and as the cherry on top of the concussion you just received, someone roughly brushes past you.

Fucking asshole.

You whip around, head still throbbing, about to give whoever it is a peace of your mind and finally speak above an inside voice for the first time since a robot almost fell on you during entrance exams semesters ago, when your teary eyes are met with crimson red ones.

He turns his head to give you a once over and your body freezes as his eyes linger a little longer on the darkening mark where the door got you. Something similar to amusement tugs at his lips.

“Pretty cute.”

You blink, dumbfounded as he casually turns on his heel to walk away.

What. The hell.

Did you literally just get hit on by Bakugo freaking Katsuki.

The identical dropped jaws of your classmates that were visible from inside the open doorway confirmed that what just happened was not in fact a post-traumatic induced hallucination, with Midoriya looking the most gobsmacked, his eyes almost comically bulging out of his skull, and upon glancing at Mina, who quickly gets over her initial shock to grin and shoot you a double thumbs up, she excitedly mouths ‘i told you so,’  and you’re not sure whether to laugh or to cry.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀:¨ ·.· ¨: ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ `· . ꔫ

The next day, you’re sporting a fresh, new bandaid on your forehead. It was quite a fashion statement, if you do say so yourself.

It was also the last one at the nurse’s so you were pretty happy to nab it, apparently being the brand that everyone chose when they too got their respective boo-boos.

The latte Mina and the girls brought back from your favorite cafe sat on the wooden coffee table in the common area, still steaming. You refused to go out with a huge bruise marring your appearance, even with the bandaid covering the most of it, and you would take the fullest advantage of the injured person princess treatment while it lasted.

All while awkwardly avoiding a certain blond.

Now that you’re thinking about it, he’s honestly always been kind of nice to you, in his own weird way.

Like when you were forced to ask if you could borrow his eraser, because apparently no one else in the class carried one. Imagine saving Japan your first year of highschool and only writing in pen, even for calculus. Is this what the future generation has come to?

After breathlessly rushing the words out in a hushed voice and wondering if he heard you at all, Bakugo doesn’t even turn around from where he’s resting his chin on his hand listening to Present Mic’s enthusiastic lecture on subject-verb agreement, as he reaches an arm behind him to drop it on your desk.

You’re not sure if you remembered to say “your” before “eraser,” so all he probably heard was “can I borrow eraser?” and it still haunts you to this day.

Shaking the thoughts of him from your mind, you flip your history textbook open to page three hundred and ninety four, ‘A Comprehensive Timeline of Quirk Generations.’ You’re attempting to study for your next upcoming quiz in Midnight’s class.

Key word: attempting.

A delicious smell was starting to waft your way from the kitchen across the room, and now you were kind of hungry. You could feel your attention waning and shook your head, the image of your most recent report card filled with straight As sobering you up. Food could come later, right now you had to focus.

Just twenty more minutes of review, then I'll eat.

Bakugo’s placing the breakfast he easily finished whipping up on the counter. As he uses a spatula to gently coax the fluffy soufflé pancakes out of the pan, he notices the familiar petals of your favorite flower decorating the ceramic he’s putting them on.

It was from a tableware set he picked out when everyone first moved into the dorms. Glasses had assigned everyone groceries among various other things to go shopping for in small groups, and he was paired up with Ponytail to go buy plates.

They were browsing the shelves of a local Daiso store filled with colorful, adorably decorated dishes and rice bowls, when he stopped in front of a price tag, eyes dragging up to study the item it belonged to. The details on it were intricate, and breathtakingly so.

It reminded him of how he felt whenever he looked at you.

Ponytail follows his gaze, and her own eyes brighten.

“Oh, it’s decorated with the favorite flower of–!”

“I know.” He cuts her off, glaring at the floral box set of bowls and plates, before carefully putting it in their cart.

Momo’s eyes widen a bit, before a small, knowing smile spreads across her lips and Bakugo curses at her perceptiveness.

He almost wished he was paired up with that icy-hot bastard instead, who was so oblivious that if you dangled a confession letter in front of him he would have thought you wanted him to proofread it for you.

That was a while ago now, and everyone’s been happily eating meals on the plates they bought ever since.

He tops off the pancakes with a handful of fresh berries and a drizzle of honey, and slides it next to a steaming plate of a kimchi omelette with a zigzag of sriracha sauce already on the counter.

From where he stands, he snorts at your bandaid, noticing the obnoxious amount of Hello Kitty’s plastered all around it. Out of all the bandaids from Recovery Girl’s collection that she kept in her office, of course you would pick the cutest fucking one.

It was undoubtedly something you would like, he thinks, begrudging in his fondness. It was so you.

“Get your ass over here.”

You jump in your spot on the couch at the loud volume of his voice, though it sounded a bit softer than usual. With a finger pointing to yourself, you raise your head in confusion. “Me….?”

Was this about yesterday? Oh my god, was he mad?

You’re not sure why he would be, since he’s not the one that got bitch-slapped in the face by a giant door.

“I don't see anyone else I'd be talking to.” Bakugo scoffs.

He's right, to your increasing dread. The entire common area is completely empty, and you have no choice but to comply with his request.

You’re still nervously fiddling with the edge of your hoodie sleeve, the usual comfort of its softness abandoning you as you approach the kitchen to find him standing at a seat near the counter, arms folded. It hasn’t even been a minute in the same proximity as him and his presence is kind of overwhelming you already.

You’re trying so hard not to stare at his biceps. And just him in general.

“Sit.” he commands, the sound of the metal stool echoing against his hand as he pats it.

You obediently sit down, cursing your lack of a backbone. But his tone didn’t sound like he was planning to take no for an answer, anyway.

“Eat.”

He jabs a thumb at the plate of warm, sweet smelling cloud-like goodness in front of you. You stare at him, wide-eyed.

“This is for me?”

“Huh. You’re slower than I thought you were.” He rolls his eyes and starts to dig into his own plate of omelette in front of him, taking a seat on the stool across from you. It looked good too, as expected. “You’re welcome or whatever.”

With his aggressive blessing and after throwing a quiet but extremely grateful ‘thank you for the meal’ his way, you start to eat.

Your face lights up in joy as the divine taste of spongy goodness and honey spreads across your tongue, and you silently praise his mom for giving birth to the next Gordon Ramsay.

He flicks your forehead as you’re mid-bite in pancake and you yelp in surprise, raising your head to glare at his handsome face. What now? And did he have to be as infuriating as he was good-looking?

That crimson gaze once again stares you down, barely contained amusement dancing in embers of the hot coals of his eyes, and your skin grows warm as you realize you said that last part out loud.

You’re about to give into the urge to run away and take the plate of half-finished pancakes with you when he gruffly speaks up.

“You can’t retain information unless you have something in your stomach, idiot.”

You nod, mouth full, and make a mental note to study on an empty tummy away from him in the future. It’s like he reads your mind because you wince as he scowls, flicking your head again, although a little more gently this time.

Taking care to do it in a spot away from the bandaid covering the injury that he caused, your brain points out.

The both of you continue to eat in comfortable silence.

After a while, your plates are nearly clean.

You smile a little, realizing that you were eating on your favorite plate in the dorm’s kitchen the whole time, and admire the petals of your beloved flowers delicately painted in the center and outer edges of the stark white dish, with the pancakes no longer covering them.

Bakugo notices this, as you softly begin to trace the rim with your finger, and fights the twitch of his lips that threatened to curl upwards.

He’s also noticed those little glances you think you’ve been discreetly throwing his way between the bites of pancake, which you nearly inhaled to his pride.

You could almost be as quiet as that rock-faced animal whisperer of a classmate you both had, but you’ve always sucked at being subtle.

Good thing he hates subtle things.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks as you start to slide off the tall stool, a hint of smirk in his voice. It was cute, how you think you could run away from him so easily. You stop in your tracks, blinking at him as he rises from his own seat.

Strong, toned arms that you totally haven’t been staring at for the past half hour are slowly placed on both sides of you, caging you against the counter. An embarrassing noise escapes from your lips, and the cold granite bites into your back as you lean away, doing anything to avoid his gaze.

“Look at me.”

He rolls his eyes as you continue to look to the side, suddenly finding the chibi magnets of various high ranking heroes on the fridge to be very interesting.

“I said,” he grabs your chin in his hand, which was so big compared to your face that he could squish your cheeks between his ring finger and thumb, “look at me.

You huff, now forcefully held in place to face him against your will. “I’m looking.”

“Good.”

He leans down and his lips graze your ear, seeming to take great pleasure in only further adding to your embarrassment when he mutters:

“And don’t stand so fucking close to the door next time.”

not bakugo pulling the classic asian parent move and giving u food instead of a proper apology LOLL

[illbegottenfaith]

sweet?!

you may not be the one dating theodore nott but you'd be damned if you let anyone think of him as sweet (theo nott x reader)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

a/n - I meant to make a separate post a while back but college has been kicking my ass so 😭 but 300 followers!!! insaneee ily all sooo much mwah I feel so so grateful and also a little weirded out cuz wdym 300 people... (I am SO bad at these can you tell um anyways) also this was inspired by a new girl episode!! I kind of have plans for a part 3 but im still workshopping it so idk yet but !! we'll see :)

tropes/warnings - fluff, slight angst, mattheo not understanding physics (but its not like he had a formal education in the subject so is it rlly his fault??), tw descriptions of injury

word count - 1.5k

taglist - @hzdhrtss @justaproudperson @kandralice @clairesblouse @deenaaa

"You're still coming this afternoon, right?"

You were having lunch in the Great Hall with your best friend Ivy, hours before one of the most entertaining sporting events of the year - an underground Muggle sports day. Every year, a group of students from each house would compete in some arbitrarily chosen muggle sport, with varying levels of success. Casualties and knee-slapping memories (for those standing in the sidelines, such as yourself) were a guarantee.

You nodded. "Are you kidding? Watching the boys wack each other black and blue at some poor attempt at a muggle sport? I wouldn't miss it for the world. I hope it's hockey. It's got sticks, you know." You got an odd, dreamlike look in your eye. "Merlin, I hope it's hockey."

Ivy dug into her Shepherd's pie. "Good. It sounds interesting enough. Plus, Theo's new girlfriend will be there."

You nearly upset your pumpkin juice.

"Girlfriend? When did that happen?"

Something in your voice must have given your true feelings away from the way Ivy squinted at you suspiciously. You pulled a face. It seemed convincing enough.

"It's all very new," Ivy said a tad bit sternly. "They met at Davies' party a while back and, well, they fancied each other, so -"

You snorted.

"What, is he blackmailing her?"

Ivy frowned at you. "Don't snark," she rebuked. "It isn't nice. She's a regular daisy, you'll see."

Yeah. Sure. You piled some more mashed potatoes onto your plate.

"Has anyone checked her for brain damage? Look - I'm not even snarking, I'm genuinely concerned for her wellbeing - "

“I don’t understand how this is supposed to work,” Mattheo was saying as the two of you walked over the makeshift Muggle basketball court someone had fashioned out of one of the disused storerooms in the dungeons. He and the rest of the Slytherin boys were wearing matching fluorescent green mesh vests to distinguish themselves from the Gryffindor team, engaged in some deadly serious discussion. A part of you wondered if you should mention that muggle sports weren’t generally meant to be as fatal as Quidditch.

As usual, Theo looked bored to death by the conversation. "We've been over this a hundred times. You dribble the ball -"

"Yeah, right," Mattheo vehemently said. "Like this thing's coming up if I throw it down. What do you take me for, an idiot?"

Theo pinched the bridge of his nose, oddly reminscent of the way you did when you felt a migraine coming on.

"Remember the tennis ball, Matty? The fuzzy, green one?"

"That's different. That thing was tiny, and bouncy. This thing's heavy. It's the size of my head. No, a quaffle. No, a -"

"Then what do you think is going to happen?" Theo interrupted irritably.

“Stick to the ground, obviously. Watch - "

As seasoned as the lot of you had become in anticipating Mattheo's often highly dangerous impulses, this one came entirely out of left field. Theo yanked him back by his vest, but it was too late. He slammed the basketball down and it ricocheted back up almost immediately, punching him right in the nose. Mattheo swore loudly, and the last thing you saw before you looked away was an awful amount of blood.

Even after Enzo took him to the Hospital Wing, once Theo had sufficiently plugged his nose with obscene amounts of tissue, things did not improve for the team. About halfway through the game, an unfortunate scuffle between some of the players left Draco curled up in a ball, grimacing as he clutched his knee. Theo winced, running over to where Draco was doing a rather poor job of concealing his pain.

"Oh, that's so Teddy," Margaret gushed to you, "always stopping by to help anyone in need. Isn't he such a gentleman?"

You nodded stiffly, your slight smile frozen on your face, willing Ivy to hurry back with the snacks and drinks she had left for. After she had introduced the two of you to each other, you decided that Margaret was a perfectly pleasant person, even if she wasn't the type of friend you typically sought out. If anything, you were more confused than ever about what she was doing, hanging around a guy as bitter as Theo.

However, one thing that truly bothered you was the odd remark here or there that revealed her grossly inaccurate perceptions of him, such as this one. You thought back to just last week when you had tripped in front of him on one of the Shifting Staircases, your books tumbling down into the recesses of the stairwell. He had stopped by you, alright. Stopped to point and laugh, that is.

"Honestly, I couldn't have asked for a better boyfriend. He's really sweet," Margaret finished.

Your eyes nearly fell out of your head.

"Sweet?"

Just in time, Ivy hurried over, gently pulling you away with some half-hearted excuse.

"O-kay, I think that's enough bonding for today."

"Sweet," you echoed weakly as you limply allowed yourself to be carted away, the appalled expression still on your face. "She thinks he's sweet." Euch.

But Ivy wasn't paying attention to you anymore. "How bad is it?" she asked, as the two of you neared the cluster around Draco.

"Bad," Ivan replied, gingerly pressing Draco's knee. "He definitely needs to see Madam Pomfrey. No way he'll be able to play any more today, and we're out of reserves, so we're a man short." He turned, motioning to the Gryffindor players scattered across the field that the game was over.

"Damn. I'll take him to the hospital wing, I've been meaning to check on Mattheo too. Meg, you'll help me, won't you?"

With a little difficulty, the three of them limped along once they had pulled Draco's arms over their shoulders. One of the Gryffindor players approached the crowd, picking up on what was happening after a glance at Draco.

"What about the game?"

Theo rolled his eyes. "We'll rematch, you nitwit."

You went back to your seat, trying to figure out what to do with Ivy's refreshments. Once it was clear that the game was over, the last of the players and the scanty audience filtered out of the room.

"What gives?"

You pulled your gaze back to the lone Slytherin player left, in a blood-spotted mesh vest. Your least favourite player. You could slap that on a T-shirt - not that you wanted to cheer for him. Merlin, no. Cheer against him, maybe. You wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy - which, coincidentally, happened to be him. You momentarily abandoned your musings as you returned to the real world, noticing the expectant look on his face.

"Hm?"

Theo spread him arms out and shrugged in a helpless sort of manner.

"I don't get it, L/N. What do you want from me?

You stared at him blankly. "...what are you talking about?"

He scoffed half-heartedly, like he was too upset to put any real heat behind it.

"I have this amazing new girlfriend that everyone loves." He tossed the ball away with a defeated air. "Everyone, except you."

The words stung. You stuck your chin out defiantly.

"Why do you care so much about what I think?"

"Why can't you just be happy for me?

"I just want you to be honest."

Theo's eyebrows shot up. "Honesty? That's what this is about?"

That's what it had always been about, you wanted to say. You sniffed nonchalantly, rearranging the pleats of your skirt.

"I don't think it's fair to Margaret that you're selling her some lie just to -"

"You think I'm lying to her?"

He kept his voice cool, almost offensively neutral. You rolled your eyes. "I know you are."

Theo was quiet after that, as if mulling over what you had said.

"So," he pressed after a moment, slowly walking towards you, forcing you to crane your head up to maintain eye contact, "you think I should be more transparent with her. That is...show her my unpleasant side."

You allowed yourself a brief smile. "Exactly."

"Be more rude to her."

"Yeah."

"Mock her."

You furrowed your brow slightly.

"Erm, sure."

"Insult her."

"I - what?"

"In short," Theo continued, as if you hadn't spoken, "you want me to treat her like I do you."

He tilted his head.

"Why is that? Do you feel...betrothed to me? Or, perhaps, you consider me your boyfriend? Since we're being honest, and all."

In that moment, you decided you never hated Theo more than you did then, with his domineering stances, condescending sneers, and caustically sarcastic remarks. You swallowed hard, your throat almost painfully tight as you felt the traitorous prick of tears behind your eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous," you muttered. But he wasn't being entirely ridiculous, was he? It was what made the whole thing all that more upsetting.

If he noticed you were teary-eyed, he didn't comment on it, as if it were disappointing. As if you were yet another disappointment in his book of unfairly high expectations. He straightened with a barely convincing air of nonchalance. If anything, he looked just as upset as you felt.

"Whatever, L/N. See you around."

Part 3

[demigods-posts]

the way percy just leaps for annabeth the second he sees her being pulled toward the pit. this girl was descending into literal hell. a place the gods themselves wouldn't dare to go. and without hesitation. he chose her over everything else.

[sexlapis]

one shot. angst & fluff.

“Don’t even look at me!” You spit at Nanami. “You don’t even fucking love me anymore.”

Nanami sighs. “Baby, that’s not-“”

“No, no,” you storm away from, going back to furiously washing the dishes like you were doing before he arrived home from work, “seriously. Just go back to your coworkers and have fun with them instead of me. Go have drinks with them or something. Since that’s clearly what you want.”

Nanami gulps. He watches you angrily scrub at a dish, fireing away at an annoying stain.

He takes off his suit jacket.

“Sweetheart.” He walks up behind you, like you’re a skittish, feral cat about to pounce. He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, an act which you surprisingly accept. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t give you your kisses.” Nanami kisses your temple. “I was just in a hurry.”

You and Nanami had a routine - he gives you one kiss in the morning, your voice croaky and the crust still caked in the corners of your eyes and one kiss before he leaves for work.

He seems to have forgotten this, much to your dismay.

You huff, not facing him. “…I’m not being ‘sensitive’ or ‘crazy’. They’re important things and you forgot.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.”

You turn your head to face him this time. “Just sensitive?”

“Well…yes.”

Rolling your eyes, you whip back around to continue washing the dishes.

“Wait. Wait.” Nanami prevents you from turning away from him again. He asks his next question softly. “Is it really just two kisses you’re upset about?”

“Because it’s not fair, Kento!” You shout. The sudden outburst stuns him a little, his heart jumping. “You can’t just leave without saying goodbye!”

Your last word is choked out in a sob and Nanami is quick to pull you to his chest.

He thought you were only joking, being light-hearted and would go back to your usual self after a few kisses, but now? He doesn’t think so.

How long have you been feeling like this? Carrying all of these feelings of worry and distress inside of you, keeping them all stored inside of you until, inevitably, all would be revealed anyway.

It pains him that you didn’t tell him almost as much as the fact that you’re feeling like this in the first place.

It makes him even more resolute in his decision.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling like this?”

You sniffle. “Because of your stupid job and your stupid long hours and your stupid-“”

“Okay, okay.” He shushes you, cupping the base of your head. “Alright”.

You groan. You’ve seemingly come to the realisation that you’ve been acting unreasonably.

“Kenny, I-“”

“I’m going to quit.”

You pause. You look at him, teary eyes wide. “What?”

“I’m going to quit. Do something else. Something…safe.”

“But…but what about when you said-“”

“Forget about what I said. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. I can’t do this forever. And…I want you to…I don’t want you to always be worrying about me. Especially if it makes you so stressed out.”

“Kenny…”

A few seconds later, your face is being cradled in big, rough hands. Nanami makes sure you’re looking at him. “You’re my number one priority, okay? Not my coworkers. Not my job.”

Waters ripples in your eyes once more. “Kento…”

“Don’t cry.” He wipes a stray tear away with his thumb. His eyes are soft. The weight of the job is already being lifted off of his shoulders. “I love you. I love you.”

You hiccup. “I love you too.”

Nanami can’t help but smile at your wet face, red nose and runny nostrils. He cradles the back of your head with his hand. “You’re so silly, angel.”

You whine into his chest and he knows everything will be alright.

[starrystevie]

“i must have been real sweet on you,” eddie murmurs as he runs his fingers over his husband’s cheek, sleepy and sated, warm in their bed. 

steve chuckles, twisting his head to catch the tips of eddie’s fingers with a kiss. “why are you talking past tense? you’re not sweet on me now?”

the room is peacefully still. years of baby monitors are long gone only to inevitably give way to their daughter’s teenage years of slamming doors and too loud stereo speakers. but in this moment, with the pale moonlight streaming in through the windows and crickets chirping in the distance, the room is peaceful, thick with love. 

“quit your pouting, ‘course i’m sweet on you now.” eddie wipes away steve’s fake frown with a kiss, turning it into a sticky sweet grin. “it’s just something my mom used to tell me. that freckles are all the places your soulmate in a past life kissed you.”

eddie pushes steve back so he’s laying flat on the mattress and dips his head to press featherlight kisses on the side of his neck. across his shoulders. over his cheeks. his fingertips flutter over the spots afterwards, leaving goosebumps in their wake despite the heat radiating between them. 

“must have loved you a whole lot in our last lives to leave so many on you now,” eddie whispers, pulling back to stroke the back of his hand over steve’s face once more, letting his lips curl up in a dopey half smile that only steve ever gets to see. 

it doesn’t take long for steve to tilt his head up and press kisses of his own where he can; under eddie’s eye, the bottom of his chin, right over his heart. it doesn’t take long for eddie to giggle as his sensitive spots are found and attacked with ticklish kisses and fluttering eyelashes. it doesn’t take long for their legs to tangle together underneath the sheets and their breaths to get caught in their chests and their hearts to start beating a beautiful melody of their own making. 

steve lays a firm kiss to the side of eddie’s chest, over jagged white scarring and half bitten away tattoos. over memories that somehow don’t haunt them as much anymore. 

“what was that one for?” eddie asks, eyes half lidded, the adoration in his voice loud across the quiet room. 

another kiss on another scar. “wanna give you some freckles. for your next life and for this one, too. so you know just how sweet on you I am-” kiss, “ -and was-” kiss, “- and forever will be.”

they won’t know for however many more years if it worked or not. but here in this lifetime, they have all the time in the world to try their damndest to make sure it does. in this lifetime, they don’t have to worry, because they know they’ll  find each other in the next one.