#I FINALLY figured out that I DO ACTUALLY have time to read

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

Something constant. | joel miller x f!reader, 9.1k

Summary: You are Tommy’s best friend, Joel’s constant complication- the one woman he can’t touch without breaking. But when years of tension finally snap, Joel has no choice but to face what he’s been running from: the fact that you’ve always been his, whether he deserves you or not.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST (like- I'm putting them through it like my life depends on it)(it does.), SMUT, reader is 5 yrs younger than Tommy, so that leaves a 10 yrs age gap with our man, emotional and physical abuse, toxic dynamics: mentions of abusive family but nothing descriptive or graphic, mentions of abusive boyfriends and unhealthy relationships in general but nothing descriptive or graphic, substance use: mentions of gambling and intense sexual content: grinding, nipple play, fingering, cum eating, unprotected PIV, dom!Joel. Please be aware and read responsibly.

A/N: Well, well, well- what do we have here? It’s been almost a year since I last posted anything of mine. This is not some breakthrough, or something you haven’t read before. For some reason, I decided to forgo dividers and use titles instead. Where did that come from? Lord knows. The writing and rhythm feel a bit different, especially in the beginning- don’t ask me to explain, I’m not a trained professional. I also think I used dashes more than I ever have before, maybe I'm addicted, who knows. (They made sense, ok?) Anyway, I don’t know why I’m rambling; I don’t even know if you still remember me, but hey-(oh look, another dash!) I'm still here and I’ve missed you guys!

P.S.: Oh- oh and please don’t forget, as always, I hate summaries!

Dividers by @cafekitsune

They say you only get what you think you deserve in this life.

They must be gravely wrong then, because you don’t think you deserve Joel Miller. Not for one second. And yet, somehow.. here you are.

But let’s take things from the beginning.

The past.

You and Tommy met when you were young. Well, he was young. You were young..er. Which, by default, made Joel the old..er brother.

You and Tommy became fast, inseparable friends. You were both drawn to mischief and that made you almost instantly thick as thieves. He’s always been like a brother to you. You spent summers at the Millers’, crashed there during rough times.

You didn’t have a stable home life. You learned from a young age to adapt.

Actually, you learned a handful of helpful things: how to read faces, microexpressions, words unsaid and gestures unmade. When to activate your sympathetic or parasympathetic systems. When to freeze. When to hide. When to run. Especially where to run.

The destination was always the same, the Millers’ house. Tommy and by extension Joel, became your lifeline.

The one person you could never read to save your life though, was Joel Miller.

Joel, always wiser, quieter, intense. You called him “sir” jokingly. He called you “kid.” Typical.

He wasn’t warm, but he was reliable. Always picking Tommy up from trouble. Always fixing things. Always there.

You admired him before you even understood why. He never faltered. Never drifted.

As you grew up, that admiration turned into something deeper. But beyond that, all you could ever figure out was that he didn’t like you all that much. You guessed you were used to that. You’d had your whole life training for it.

The hidden love.

You never said anything. Joel treated you like a kid.

Even as you matured, he stayed distant, protective, but formal.

You kept it to yourself, how you felt about him and tried to date others. No one ever measured up. Of course they didn’t. They didn’t even give you the bare minimum.

But even when they did -rarely- your heart was singing only for Joel.

What a stupid fixation, you thought.

To crave the safe. To long for the normal. To love the constant.

But he provided. So you did.

Truth be told, you’ve never shared much with Joel. He was always orbiting your friendship with Tommy, anyway. He was the big brother. He was always around, mostly to keep an eye on Tommy, if you had to guess. So, inevitably, he ended up getting to know parts of your life, of you.

Like right now, when you wish more than anything that he never knew you at all.

You see, you’re in a bad relationship. You don’t tell Joel as much. You never would.

But Tommy knows.

And if Tommy knows, Joel does too.

Because Joel is observant. He always watches. He always has.

Like you said, to keep Tommy straight. Wasn’t his fault if you were always around. So it wasn’t that hard to figure you out. To notice things.

Like you, clinging to people who give crumbs of affection, because you grew up without real support.

Like you, staying with your boyfriend after he apologizes, crying, believing it meant change.

The sleepover.

Tommy lets you crash at Joel’s place. You don't even need to ask; it’s practically a given. He thinks it’s casual, just like always.

You feel safe there, even with Joel being standoffish. He never kicked you out, though. His door was always open when you needed it and that meant something. It had to, right?

But when you settle into the familiar room and mattress, you have a confession to make. You admit to Tommy that you forgave your boyfriend because “he cried and I thought maybe he deserved another chance.”

“Jesus..” Tommy sighs, his brows pinched in frustration. Not at you but at the lucky bastard who’s havin’ it easy.

He doesn’t know what else to say to make you see; you are enough. Enough to stand on your own. You don’t need anyone else to feel whole. Complete. Relevant. Seen.

But who is he to talk? He’s always carryin’ his own demons, makin’ his own same mistakes; always havin’ Joel anchor him to reality, like you’re havin’ him.

Tommy sits on the bed next to you, searching your eyes. “What are you not tellin’ me?”, his voice soft and caring like a knuckle brushing against a cheek.

Goddamn Miller brothers and their ability to read you like an open book.

You avoid his gaze, looking anywhere but him.

He calls your name now, sternly. Serious. Patience was never really his strong suit, but then again, you already knew that. “Done playin’ games, darlin’.”

Tommy pinches your chin, forces your eyes on his. “Spit it out.” He speaks like he’s scolding you, but his thumb brushes gently over your knuckles.

You start stammering, the words to admit your level of failure elude you, like smoke curling in the air. You pick at a loose thread on the blanket. Your knee bounces once, then twice. You suck in a breath like it’ll help you speak. It doesn’t.

“I- I-” you exhale loudly. You rehearse the sentence in your head but it comes out wrong every time. Too much. Too small. Too pathetic. You hate that it’s even real. “I think he spent all of my savings on gambling.”

Silence.

It hangs there, thick and heavy, filling the room like smoke. You don’t dare look at him. You regret saying it already. It feels too real now, like speaking it out loud makes it official.

Tommy doesn’t respond right away.

You half-expect him to curse, maybe yell. You’ve seen that version of him. Loud, angry, Miller.

But when he finally moves, it’s quiet. Gentle.

He rubs a hand down his face, exhales slowly, the kind of breath that says I don’t know how to fix this, but I want to.

Then, softer than you were ready for- “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Your eyes stay glued to the worn edge of the blanket you’re gripping. “I dunno.” Your voice is small. Pathetic. “Guess I didn’t wanna see it.”

He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor for a moment before glancing your way. “You gonna tell Joel?”

That makes your head snap up. “What? No- no. I don’t want him to know. He’ll just-”

You stop. You don’t even know what exactly you’re afraid of. Joel being disappointed? Joel being right? Joel looking at you like you’re one of those strays he has to keep out of the yard?

Tommy narrows his eyes just a bit. “He ain’t like that, you know.”

You shake your head. “You don’t know how he looks at me.”

Tommy gives a little snort. Amused. Tired. “Pretty sure you don’t know how he looks at you.”

Your breath catches. And now you have to look away.

He sees it. Of course he does. Goddamn Miller brothers.

Tommy doesn’t press. He just shifts closer on the mattress, hand resting lightly on your shoulder. No pressure. Just there.

“You’re not stayin’ with him anymore,” he says. “We’ll figure the rest out later.”

That “we” shouldn’t hit you in the chest the way it does.

But it does.

You nod once, quietly. You don’t say thank you. Not because you’re not grateful, but because you’ve learned that some kindnesses are too big for words.

Joel’s Judgment.

Sunlight’s starting to crawl into the kitchen. Joel’s already up, nursing his coffee, sleeves pushed up, working a stubborn hinge loose on the cabinet door.

Always fixing what breaks, never what’s breaking him.

He’s got that tired, focused look, the one he wears when there’s too much on his mind and nowhere to put it.

Tommy walks in after a while, hair still a mess, rubbing sleep from his eyes. You’re not around, maybe still in the spare room, maybe hiding from the weight of everything.

Joel doesn’t ask, not directly. He never does. But he eyes the hallway, then glances at Tommy.

“Everything alright with her?”, he asks almost indifferent while still working on the cabinet door.

Tommy runs a hand over his face. Hesitates. Then shrugs.

“She always ends up with assholes, doesn’t she?” Joel mutters under his breath.

Not angry. Not cold. Just.. detached. Like he’s trying to put you in a box he can label and keep at a safe distance.

Tommy’s halfway to the coffee pot when he freezes.

His voice comes out sharper than intended.

“Jesus, Joel.”

Joel looks up, brows raised. “What?”

Tommy slams the pot down harder than necessary. “She thought she could trust him. He cried, said he’d change, you know how that goes.”

Joel watches him now, more alert. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

Tommy exhales through his nose, pacing once. Shit. Then- too late to take it back- “..The bastard drained her savings. All of it. Gambling.”

Silence.

Joel blinks once. Sets the screwdriver down slow, deliberate. Like he actively accepts he’s capable of murder right at this moment.

“You serious?”

Tommy just nods, jaw tight.

Joel doesn’t say anything at first. His face hardens, not with judgment, but with something else. Something Tommy has seen too many times before. That cold, calculating kind of quiet. Like when a storm’s just out of sight but already coming.

He glances back toward the hallway.

And for the first time in a long time, Joel Miller looks like he might actually break something.

The confrontation.

“Is she really that stupid?”

Joel’s voice cuts through the air, low, gritted, sharp like broken glass.

You weren’t even trying to eavesdrop. Just happened to walk toward the kitchen, bare feet soft on old floorboards, the kind that creak at the worst moments.

But now you’re at the doorframe.

And you’ve heard it.

They both freeze when they see you.

Tommy’s mouth parts like he might say something -anything- but Joel gets there first. He takes a step forward, guilt blooming all over his face.

"Wait-", time fractures; each fraction of a second splitting into aching pieces, stretching into eternity, as he struggles to find the right words. "That’s not-"

You flinch back. Not from fear, from instinct. Like touching him would burn.

Your eyes are glassy, breath stuck somewhere between your chest and throat.

You tried so fucking hard. For years.

To believe he didn’t despise you. That it was just the way he was, guarded, quiet, rough around the edges. Maybe, just maybe, under all that brooding, he gave a damn. Not enough to love you, but enough to keep you torturing yourself. Hoping.

You clung to scraps. Glances. The open door. The silence that wasn’t quite rejection.

But now- now you have your answer.

He reaches out and you step further back, hand half-raised like a warning.

“Don’t.”

Your voice cracks.

“You’re cruel, Joel.” His name tastes foreign, like something you were never meant to say out loud. Not in this kind of sentence. Not aimed at you.

He flinches.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be alone and still try to believe people can be good. That they’ll change. That you matter enough for someone to try.”

You laugh bitterly. Short, sharp.

“I used to think that was my strength, it gave me hope, nurtured my heart.”

You shrug, mouth twisting.

“Now I just feel stupid.”

Joel opens his mouth and this time his voice is soft. A crack in the armor.

“Sweetheart-”

It halts you.

Like something forgotten and fragile just cracked open in your chest.

He’s never called you that. Never reached for softness when it came to you. You were always kid, background noise, someone tolerated.

But this- this name, heavy with something almost gentle- it lingers.

Uninvited warmth in the middle of a wound. A wrong word at the worst possible moment.

And just like that, you falter.

Your footing slips, like the floor forgot how to hold you. You hate that it gets to you. You hate that part of you still wants it to mean something.

You snap.

“No.”

You shake your head, fast, like you're trying to physically push the word away.

“No, Joel. You made what you think of me very clear.”

You take another step back, voice trembling but strong.

“You sorry you said it or just sorry I was there to hear it?”

He looks like he’s on the verge of breaking. But you don’t let him. A quiet kind of peace settles over you- cold, final. It’s all done now. Sealed. Clear. Maybe hope was never meant for you. Maybe it ruined more than it ever gave.

“I’m sorry. Sorry for having a heart. For seeing the good in people. For thinking maybe, just maybe, I could believe in something better.”

A beat. “For thinking you’d ever see me as something more than a burden.”

Then the final twist- “But hey- I guess if anyone knows what it’s like to be an asshole, it’s you.”

Silence.

You turn around.

And this time, when you walk away, you don’t look back.

The void.

The door doesn’t slam. He almost wishes it did, something loud, something final, something that could match the sting in his chest.

But no.

It’s the quiet that kills him.

He stays there, frozen. One foot half-forward like he still thinks maybe he can catch you.

Maybe call you back.

Maybe undo it.

Too late.

Tommy doesn’t speak. He’s seen this side of Joel before, the kind that hits hard and then stands in the wreckage, not knowing how to fix what’s left.

Joel drags a hand down his face, slow. Tired.

He feels like he just handed a loaded gun to someone he swore he’d protect and it went off in his own damn hands.

He sinks down onto the edge of the kitchen chair, his elbows digging his knees. Staring at nothing. Staring at the space you occupied moments ago.

“Didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters defeated. “Not like that.”

But there’s no one there to hear it.

The room stays still.

Tommy leans against the doorframe. Crosses his arms. Watches his brother fall apart without making a sound about it.

He wants to say I warned you.

Wants to say You crossed a line you can’t uncross.

But what good would it do now?

Joel doesn’t need a lecture.

He needs a time machine.

Tommy sighs, low, deep; rubs the back of his neck.

“You love her,” he says simply. Not a question. “You just don’t think you deserve her.”

Joel doesn’t look up. Doesn’t argue.

Tommy nods to himself, jaw tight.

“Then I hope to God you figure out what you do deserve, before she’s too far gone to look back.”

He pushes off the frame and walks out, boots heavy on the floorboards, leaving Joel alone with the quiet and what he’s done.

The conversation.

Tommy stepped out onto the back porch with two beers. Joel was already out there, sitting in silence, the lamp behind him casting long shadows across the wooden floorboards. He didn’t say anything when Tommy handed him one.

They sat for a while.

“She didn’t mean to hear it, y’know,” Tommy said eventually. “Was just.. bad timing.”

Joel didn’t react. Took a sip. His expression remained flat.

“Maybe it’s better she did,” he muttered, eyes fixed on his thumb as it peeled the label off the bottle- then drifting back up again, straight into nothingness.

Tommy bent forward slightly, fingers laced together. “Jesus, Joel. What the hell’s goin’ on with you?”

Joel’s eyes stayed lost in the dark. “She’s the kind of woman who believes in second chances. Believes people can be better. Damn, she forgives the unforgivable like it’s just another Tuesday.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said softly, almost in awe. “I know.”

“But me?” Joel’s fingers tightened slightly around the neck of the bottle. “I’ve run out of people to prove wrong. And if she ever looked at me the way I look at her.. God help me, I’d take it. I’d take it and I’d never let go. Which is exactly why I can’t.”

Tommy went quiet for a moment.

“You really think you’re that far gone?”

Joel gave a hard smile. “You see the man I am now. But she didn’t see who I had to be. Who I chose to be. I’ve done things, Tommy. Not the kind that sends you to jail- the kind you do when you look out for your own. I walked away from people who needed me. I picked you over them. And I’d do it again, but that don’t mean it didn’t mark me.”

“You did what you had to do,” Tommy said sharply. “For me. For us.”

“That don’t make it right.”

“Doesn’t make it wrong either.”

Joel’s voice softened, almost a whisper. “She thinks people can change. I know they don’t, not really. And I ain’t gonna be the one to prove her wrong.”

Tommy studied his brother for a long beat. “You ever think maybe she sees who you are now ‘cause that’s who you are?”

“She’s not like us, Tommy,” Joel said flatly. “She’s strong, but not cold. Got this light to her that-”, he stopped, sighed. “I ain’t got no business even standin’ near.”

“Bullshit.” Tommy said. “You love her.”

“And that’s the goddamn problem,” Joel snapped. “I need her. And if I let myself need somethin’ that good and I lose it..”, his face shifted, darkening into something grim and unyielding, “-Lord have mercy on anyone standin’ in my way.. I don’t think I’d come back from that.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair, head tilted up toward the sky.

“She’s not gonna break you, Joel. She’s already holdin’ your pieces together. You just too scared to admit it.”

Joel took another sip as silence settled over them once again. There was something fragile in his voice now.

“I have a brother, you know,” he said with a dry quip. “He trusts me with everythin’. Even her. I can’t give him a reason not to.”

Tommy laughed bitterly. “I think he’d be more pissed if you kept hurtin’ her just to protect him.”

Joel stared off into the night, beer forgotten in his hand. Another beat of quiet. His resolve was cracking slightly. Not entirely. Not enough. Not yet.

Then, barely above a whisper-

“A man like me don’t get to want things like her.”

The explotion.

It’s been weeks.

No word from Joel.

Tommy checks in from time to time, but he doesn’t say his brother’s name. Not once.

And you don’t ask.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That the silence doesn’t ache.

Then one afternoon, Tommy texts you:

"Swing by Joel’s place. Left some stuff for you in the garage. I’ll be back in 10."

You don’t think twice. You go. You assume Joel’s at work. He always is.

But when you step inside, the air is too quiet. Tommy’s truck is gone. And then you hear a key turning in the front door.

Joel walks in.

You both stop in your tracks. He blinks, like he’s not sure if you’re real. Your heartbeat drums in your ears. You mumble something about Tommy. He nods; says nothing at first. Just sets his keys down on the table.

He glances at you. There’s a hesitation, like something’s been living in his throat for too long and he’s finally decided to let it out.

"Tommy said you.. broke things off."

You nod stiffly, eyes dropping to your feet, like they could carry you away from him. Like they ever would.

He shifts his weight, almost uncomfortable. His voice is low, a little rough, when he dares-

"That guy ever lay a hand on you?"

Your jaw tightens.

Not this again. Not from him. Not when he’s the one who shattered you last.

"Not everyone’s lucky enough to have Joel Miller in their corner." you bite out before you can stop yourself.

His brows twitch and you don’t wait for him to respond. The words keep spilling now, bitter, broken, sharp.

"I don’t let people touch me or talk to me like that. Not anymore."

Your eyes flash, not with anger, with hurt.

"But you? I made an exception for you. God knows why."

He flinches. Not dramatically. Just a subtle shift in his jaw, his breath caught wrong.

Like it’s only now hitting him that being let in -truly in- came with weight. That he held something fragile in his hands and dropped it anyway.

And you?

You hate that your voice breaks on the next part.

"You were the only one I thought I didn’t have to protect myself from."

He takes a step forward. Slow. Careful. Like he’s approaching something wounded and wild.

You don’t move- not back, not forward. Just watching him, tight-lipped and trembling like you’re holding yourself together with spit and thread.

"Don’t," you say, low and hollow.

He stops. Hands hovering like he might reach for you and thinks better of it. Again.

"Kid-"

You flinch at the nickname. Just slightly, but enough. He notices. Of course he does.

That damn observant look of his. It used to make you feel seen. Now it just makes you feel exposed. Like he sees the ache he put there and doesn’t know how to address it.

He doesn’t know what to fix first.

The way he spoke to you?

The way he looked at you after?

The way he didn’t come after you when you left?

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again.

"That day, I didn’t mean-"

You cut him off, voice like stone, "You never mean to. That’s the whole problem."

The silence after is raw.

He doesn’t step closer. He doesn’t step back. He just stays there, suspended in regret.

Like, he finally understands the difference between being in someone’s corner and being someone they can truly rely on.

The tension is suffocating. It coils in your lungs like smoke, thick and hot and inescapable.

Joel says nothing. Quiet again. Resigned. His eyes fix somewhere over your shoulder, or maybe nowhere at all. You can’t tell.

He won’t even look at you. You were always a ghost to him, weightless. Unseen.

A haunting he never asked for.

A slight inconvenience, someone he tolerated for Tommy's sake. Never close enough to matter. Never far enough to ignore.

And that tells you everything.

You’re not getting an explanation. Not now. Not ever.

Whatever that moment was, the truth he nearly let slip, the rawness behind his voice, it’s already retreating back into the dark.

You feel it, the distance returning, sharp and cold, like the final click of a door locking from the inside.

Of course. Of course he’d leave you standing there with nothing. Of course he’d choose silence again.

Because that’s what he does. That’s what he’s always done.

And suddenly your chest feels too tight, your throat dry, like your body’s trying to brace for impact but the crash never comes.

So you nod. Once. Slow.

You turn to leave and he doesn’t stop you.

But as you move past him, something inside you screams enough. And before you can stop yourself-

“Why do you hate me so much?” you ask, your voice cracking before you mean it to. You weren’t even going to say anything, but the way he always looks at you, jaw clenched, arms crossed, that permanent scowl — it’s been eating at you for years.

Joel’s response is a gruff, confused, “What?”

“Every time I’m around, you act like I’ve done something wrong. Like you can’t stand the sight of me. I just- what did I ever do to you, Joel?”

His face shifts. Something flickers in his eyes- not anger. Something else. But it’s gone before you can name it.

“You didn’t do nothin’.” he says quietly.

“Then why? Why are you always so angry with me?”

He won’t look at you. Something between a huff and a laugh escapes his mouth, like he’s mocking you. Silence stretches. But you keep going, your voice sharper now, almost shaking.

“Is it because I’m not your business? Because I was always just Tommy’s dumb little friend hanging around? Or is it just fun for you; pushing me away over and over until I finally take the hint?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” he snaps, his voice cold and defensive, eyes glittering with barely-contained rage.

“Then say it!” you bite out, bitter and breathless. “Whatever it is you’ve been holding back for years; say it. Tell me what the hell I ever did to make you look at me like I’m something you need to keep your distance from.”

You’re flushed now. Heart pounding. He still won’t look at you. So you take a step forward.

“Is it because I’m too young? Because I’m soft? Because I forgive people who don’t deserve it?”

Now, finally, Joel looks at you. Maybe he thinks this is meant for him. Maybe he knows he’s one of those who don’t deserve it- forgiveness. Your forgiveness. And something inside him snaps.

“It’s because I can’t afford to look at you the way I want to.” he says low, furious.

You blink. Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t that.

“It’s because every time you walk into a goddamn room, I feel like I can breathe for the first time in days. And that shouldn’t be your burden.”

“Joel..” you whisper, barely audible.

He goes on, more raw now.

“You think I’m angry with you? I’m angry with myself. For wantin’ something I got no right to want. For feelin’ like maybe -maybe- there’s a version of me that could be good enough for you. But there ain’t.”

He laughs once, bitter, shaking his head.

“I push you away because if I didn’t, I’d never stop reachin’ for you. And you deserve better than a man who can’t let himself want good things without breakin’ ‘em.”

Silence. His jaw tightens. His fists clench at his sides.

“I would’ve given you everything, Joel.” you say, voice trembling. “You didn’t even have to ask.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. Like you just said something cruel. His face twists- not in anger, but disbelief. Something almost panicked beneath the surface.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, quiet, almost pleading.

“What?” you ask, startled.

“You think you do, but you don’t. You’ve always looked at me like I’m some fixed thing. Like I’m solid. Steady. That ain’t love, sweetheart. That’s just safety.”

You blink, like he’s slapped you. And he keeps going, like he has to kill the feeling before it grows roots.

“You don’t want me. You want the idea of me. What I was to Tommy. What I never was to you.”

“If I ever let you close enough to see what’s really here,” Joel gestures vaguely- to his chest, his heart, whatever broken thing still beats inside him, “you’d realize you don’t love me. You just mistook the feelin’. And I can’t be the reason you lose that part of yourself.”

But you’re steady now. Hurt, but unwavering.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I feel.”

Joel stiffens. But you don’t stop.

“You think I saw you as safe? You? With that goddamn storm behind your eyes? With the way you look at the world like it already failed you?”

You step closer. You don’t shout; you just slice.

“I’ve spent years trying to figure out why the worst parts of you still felt like home. Why every time you pushed me away, I wanted to stay. Why I kept waiting for one -just one- moment of softness from you like it might be enough to last me a lifetime.”

You laugh, bitterly, like he did earlier.

“You think I made you into something better than you are? No, Joel. I saw all of it. Every wall. Every silence. Every time you looked right through me like it would be easier if I just disappeared.”

You swallow hard. Your voice cracks, just once.

“And I loved you anyway.”

Silence. He stares at you- stunned. Maybe horrified. Maybe something else. You’d say he almost looks scared of you; if you didn’t know any better.

You continue, quieter. “You don’t get to tell me I mistook the feeling. You just didn’t want to believe anyone could see the truth and stay.”

And then you push again, sharp, your voice shaking with rage and pain as you step forward.

“So, I ask you again, Joel, because you’ve failed to answer me, how dare you tell me what I feel?”

He exhales, tired, low. “I’m tryin’ to protect you-”

“No,” you cut him off. “You’re protecting yourself. Because it’s easier to believe I’m just confused than to admit someone could really love you for who you are. Even with all the shit you carry.”

He flinches. You see it. And it only hurts more.

“I do love you.” you tell him. “I love the man who sits in silence and makes sure everyone else eats first. The man who takes the blame even when it isn’t his. The man who looks at me like he’s drowning but won’t reach out.”

You’re toe to toe now. Your voice drops.

“You think that’s not real? You think I don’t know the difference between comfort and love after everything I’ve survived?”

Your next words come softer, almost breaking.

“You’re not some ghost I projected things onto, Joel. I see you. And I still want you.”

You’re standing so close you can feel the heat of him, the weight of his breath on your face and for a second, you think maybe- maybe this is the moment he’ll finally stop holding back. You reach out, slow, your fingertips brushing the side of his jaw, tentative, trembling with everything you can’t say.

“Joel..” you whisper.

But the second your hand touches him, he flinches- just slightly. Like a breath he wasn’t ready for. Like instinct. But it’s enough. You freeze, your hand falling, your face crumbling. The air goes out of you all at once.

“Right. I- got it,” you say, pulling back, your voice thin and wrecked.

You turn quickly. You don’t want him to see your face, the way it crumples, the way your shoulders shake.

He doesn’t move at first- he’s frozen, like the breath has been punched out of him. But then-

“Wait. Wait- no. No, don’t- don’t do that,” Joel blurts out, panicked.

You keep walking. He follows.

“Don’t you dare think that was about you,” he says, more urgent now.

You stop at the door but don’t turn around. His voice is shaking. You’ve never heard him like this.

“You think I flinched ‘cause I didn’t want you to touch me?”

Your fists clench at your sides. Your heart pounds on your chest; you’re sure he can hear it.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” you admit quietly, trying to hide your broken voice.

Joel crosses the distance between you before you can move again. His hand catches your wrist- gentle but firm, turning you to look at him. His voice is low, rough, but soft in a way you’ve never heard before.

“I flinched because it felt like everything I’ve been tryin’ not to feel for years just broke wide open.”

You finally look at him. His eyes are dark, wet, desperate.

“Because the second you touched me, I wanted to fall into it. Into you. And I’ve spent so long convincing myself I don’t get to have that.”

His hand slides to your cheek- slowly, like he’s asking for permission with every inch.

This time, he touches you. His thumb brushes your jaw, reverent. Like he’s memorizing the shape of you in case he loses the right to ever do this again.

“You scare the hell outta me,” Joel breathes, “because you look at me like I’m someone worth lettin’ in. And I ain’t. I know I ain’t. But-”, he leans in, his forehead resting against yours, his voice shaking, “-just this once. Let me pretend I am.”

You don’t move. You don’t speak. You just breathe -ragged, shallow- afraid that if you say anything, the spell will break and he’ll pull away again.

But part of you still doesn’t trust it.

Not fully. Not yet.

“Joel..” your voice comes soft, almost broken. “Please don’t do this if you’re gonna disappear tomorrow.”

He doesn’t answer, and you can see the war raging inside him; you can almost taste it. The doubt. And that silence? It kills you.

So you turn. Ready to leave, to protect what’s left of you.

But he moves, fast.

He doesn’t grab you, just steps into your path, like it’s instinct. For a moment, he considers pressing his palm to the door to stop you. But after everything you’ve been through, he knows better. Even now, even here, he remembers.

“Don’t go,” Joel says, low and aching. One hand half-raised like he’s scared of touching you, scared of what it’ll mean if you let him.

“Why?” you ask, sharp, trembling. “So you can push me away all over again tomorrow?”

He flinches, but he doesn’t look away. He looks at you like he’s falling apart, eyes dark and wide, as if just saying this next part might break him completely.

And then-

“Because if you walk out that door thinkin’ I don’t love you, I won’t survive it.”

The realization.

Your breath catches.

His words settle like thunder under your skin. You look at him -really look- and for the first time, there’s no mask. No guarded distance. Just raw, shattered truth.

He takes a slow step closer, like he’s giving you time to run.

"You still wanna walk away?" Joel’s voice is hoarse.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Joel’s thumb brushes your cheek, his hand warm and steady now, no longer holding back. His forehead rests against yours, and when he speaks, it’s like a promise that’s already been broken.

"Tell me to stop. If you do, I swear I will."

But you don’t. You can’t. Not when he’s looking at you like this. Like you’re something he needs to survive.

"Don’t," you breathe.

That’s all it takes. The dam breaks. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years and then his mouth is on yours, hungry, devastated, like he’s sorry and aching and starved all at once.

His lips are rough but his hands are gentle, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. The kiss starts slow, reverent and builds, deepens. His hands cradle your face, your waist, pulling you closer like he can’t get enough. Your fingers knot in his shirt, dragging him down, pressing into him.

You gasp into his mouth, and he groans like it’s a sound he didn’t mean to let out. He presses you back against the wall, not rough, not aggressive, but desperate.

"Been wantin’ this for so long.." he murmurs into your mouth.

Your hips shift and he feels it- the press of you against him. His hands fall to your waist, dragging you tighter against him, grinding into you like he needs the friction, needs proof this is real.

You arch into him, needy, breathless. He presses into you, the thick line of his thigh between yours, the heat of his body unbearable. Every little grind is slow, controlled, but filled with hunger.

"You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me…" Joel’s voice is hoarse, dark and full of disbelief.

You whimper at the sound of it. He rests his forehead against your neck, breathing hard, hips rolling into yours.

"Then show me," you whisper, soft and ruined.

He kisses you again, deeper this time; his tongue slipping past your lips, tangling with yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm. You think you’d float away, lost in a dream, if the coarse scruff of his beard wasn’t there, grounding you, prickling the skin around your lips.

His hand slides under your shirt, just skin and warmth and a shiver down your spine. But then he pulls back, just a little, breathing hard.

"If we keep goin’, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop."

"Then don’t."

Your lips part from his, breaths mingling in the heavy air. Joel’s hands don’t rush; they trace the lines of your body through your clothes, deliberate and sure, like he’s committing every inch of you to memory.

His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, ghosting over your ribs, fingertips grazing your skin lightly before returning to the fabric. One hand cups your waist, pulling you flush against his hard thigh- the heat there like a magnet.

You shift your hips slowly, grinding against him, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric, the tension building with every tiny movement.

"So needy already.. what happens when I really touch you?" His voice is low and rough.

You whimper, pressing closer, needing more contact.

"Feels good, baby? Keep grindin’ just like that."

His hands slide to the front of your shirt, palms cradling your soft breasts, thumbs sweeping lightly over your nipples through the thin fabric. He feels them stiffen instantly beneath his palms, the reaction so visceral it sends a jolt through him, something raw, almost primal, uncoiling in his chest. His fingers pinch and roll them with just enough pressure to make your back arch, to draw a broken gasp from your lips.

He watches you writhe, mesmerized by the way you react to every twist of his fingers, the way you shiver and press into his hands like you need more- need him.

Your hands find his wrists, holding him close, desperate for more.

His thumbs drag slowly again over the sensitive peaks, his mouth watering at the thought of that taut skin against his tongue and he swears under his breath, voice thick.

"Joel- please.." you breathe.

He chuckles darkly, his lips brushing against your jaw. His brain is deep in a haze of desire and need; he's not in control anymore. Maybe he never was- maybe he was always waiting for you to undo him.

His thigh tightens beneath you, holding you steady as you grind harder, matching his rhythm without words. His fingers tease, flick, and pinch lightly, coaxing every sigh and tremble from you.

"You feel that? That’s mine. You're gonna come for me, right here, just like this. Show me you’re mine."

You arch into him, breath hitching, heart pounding as the friction and his teasing combine into a storm inside you. His hands roam with growing confidence, undeterred by your soft moans and shudders. You can feel the heat pooling low in your belly, spreading fast and he’s right there- steady and sure beneath you, grounding you even as your senses spiral.

The world narrows to the feel of him, the sound of your ragged breaths and the tight coil of pleasure winding up inside you.

Your breaths come faster, your chest rising and falling as Joel’s fingers trace tight circles over your nipples, every pass sending sparks of heat through you, even though he still hasn’t touched you directly. Your hips grind harder, trembling as the tension coils tighter and tighter.

You cry out softly against his pouty lips, your body shuddering against his thigh. The warmth pools low and spreads, waves crashing through you and he swallows every little whimper and moan like a man parched. Your fingers clutch his shirt, digging in as the pleasure ripples and crashes, leaving you breathless and undone.

"God.." Joel whispers, voice almost breaking.

He watches you fall apart- skin flushed, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and something inside him twists.

The love scene.

His hands freeze for a moment, not wanting to disturb you but desperate to hold onto you. He leans closer, forehead resting against yours, breath warm and steady. Joel watches -intense, silent- his gaze fixed on how your body unravels under his touch, how every shiver and sigh seems to pull at something deep inside him.

His hand stills, hovering just above your skin, afraid to break the fragile spell but desperate to hold onto this moment. His jaw tightens, eyes dark with a storm of emotions he won’t speak aloud- need, protectiveness, and something rawer he’s terrified to admit.

He wants to say something, anything, to stop the rush of feelings, to keep things safe and simple. But the words catch in his throat.

Instead, he simply presses his forehead against yours, breath warm and uneven, trying to steady himself. His body tenses beneath you, a silent war raging inside him; he’s drawn to you like never before, but his mind is screaming that this could burn everything to ashes.

Your breath stays uneven, chest pressed to his, foreheads touching like you’re both holding on to something that would vanish the moment you let go.

"Joel, look at me."

He hesitates. You can feel it- the tremble in his hands, the slight shift in his stance, like his whole body’s braced for you to disappear.

"I’m lookin’."

"I’m still here."

And you are -flushed, shaking, pupils blown wide- but still tethered to him, anchored in this fragile space between fear and want. You watch the fight flicker in his eyes. The way his jaw clenches. The way his hands, warm and steady a moment ago, are now flexing like he’s trying not to grab hold too tight.

"You shouldn’t be."

"Don’t."

He closes his eyes, just for a second. Like that word, like your voice, cuts deeper than it should.

"I don’t know how to do this without hurtin’ you."

"I’m already hurt, Joel. But not by what we just did. By you thinking I can’t decide for myself what I want."

That hits him. You see it. The flinch. The ache. The guilt sinking its claws in.

But you don’t stop. You can’t.

"You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be safe. I just need you to be real."

He looks at you like he’s drowning again. Like you’re offering him something he’s too afraid to take. But his hand rises anyway -slow, hesitant- and brushes your cheek again, thumb catching a tear you didn’t know had slipped down.

"I don’t wanna lose this. Lose you. But I don’t know if I can be the kind of man you hold onto."

"Then let me decide that."

You take his hand. Place it against your chest. Let him feel the way your heart hammers beneath your ribs.

"I already am. Can't you feel it?"

One breath. Then another. Joel exhales slowly, like something inside him just gave up the fight. And what’s left is raw and exposed and his.

He kisses you again, slower this time. Less desperation, more reverence. Like a man memorizing his last breath. And this time, he doesn't pull away.

The kiss deepens again, but there’s no trembling now. No flinching. Just heat. Just his hands moving with purpose, sliding beneath your clothes, skin on skin, rough palms and calloused fingers learning you like he’s starved for the taste.

You gasp as he lifts your shirt, tugging it over your head and tossing it aside. His eyes drag down your body like a slow burn, reverent, almost disbelieving.

"Jesus Christ.."

He cups your breasts, thumbs brushing around your nipples, already raw and swollen from his earlier attention, watching the way your back arches into him like instinct. His mouth follows next, hot and open against your tender skin, teeth grazing your stiffened peaks with aching slowness.

Your cunt is pulsing painfully in anticipation, your panties soaked and surely ruining the thick denim of his jeans. All you seem to be able to do is beg for him one more time.

"Joel- please.. I can't-"

He growls -actually growls- the sound scraping low from his chest, like he’s been waiting years to hear that. His hands roam lower, finding the button of your shorts, undoing them slowly, deliberately, giving you just enough time to stop him, but you won’t. You can’t.

Your hands are just as greedy, tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel him, to know him the way he’s never let anyone close enough to know. When you finally get it off him, it’s almost too much. All of him -broad and solid and burning under your palms.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

"I want you to fuck me, Joel."

A pause. A beat. Like the words steal the air from his lungs.

Then he moves.

Your back hits the wall again -gently, but firm- and his body follows, pressing against yours, one hand slipping into your panties, fingers sliding through slick heat with an almost broken sound.

"You’re so fuckin’ wet.." he breathes against that sensitive spot right beneath your ear and you can feel his hard cock grinding for relief against your hip.

You cry out as two thick fingers slide into you, curling just right, slow and deep. Your soft walls flutter around his digits, welcoming the intrusion. His other hand grabs your thigh, hitching it up around his waist. He’s grinding into you now, rutting slow, the thick line of his cock still trapped behind denim- but you can feel it. Every inch of it, hard and pulsing through his jeans.

The slick, obscene squelch of his fingers pumping in and out of your soaked cunt only makes you ache more, arousal spilling down his wrist. You’re so fucking close to snapping, to breaking apart if he doesn’t fuck you right now.

“God, Joel- need you inside me-”

"I know, baby. I know. I got you."

He pulls his hand back, wet with you and brings it to his mouth, sucking his fingers clean with a groan that makes your knees buckle. Then he tugs your shorts down, sliding them off you and undoes his jeans, shoving them low enough to free himself and—

Fuck.

He’s thick. Long. Heavy in his hand as he strokes himself once, twice, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing.

Heat spreads across your skin and you’re acutely aware of how vulnerable you are and how completely ready your body is for him. You lean forward, gently brushing his hand away and replacing it with your own. He hisses at the contact. The head of his shaft pulses against your palm, and your fingers curl around him, unable to stop yourself from feeling how rock-hard he is.

"I’ll go slow. Just.. hold onto me.", his voice is low and thick with need. Your heart lurches at the raw sincerity in his tone and you press your body closer, arms instinctively wrapping tightly around his neck.

He lifts you effortlessly, one leg hooking around his hip and pulling you flush against him. With one impatient tug, his fingers sweep your panties to the side, and cool air skims over your heated skin.

The slick tip of him nudges at your entrance, and a sharp gasp escapes you as you feel him teasing you through your wetness.

He sinks into you with one slow, steady thrust and you arch back, teeth gritting to keep the first cry from escaping. A fierce burn flares deep inside as the first inch slides in, and you instinctively dig your nails into his shoulders.

He groans, bending to press his lips against your ear, and exhales your name as he pauses. Inch by inch, he pushes deeper, every fraction of an inch driving wild pleasure through you. Warmth and fullness bloom between your bodies and a long, trembling sigh escapes as your muscles flutter around him, completely filled, leaving you both panting and still.

"That’s it. That’s it, sweetheart, takin’ me so good.."

He stays there, buried deep inside you, forehead resting on your shoulder, both of you trembling, both of you lost.

Then he starts to move.

Slow. Deep. Unrelenting.

The song of your bodies meeting- skin against skin, the slick, filthy rhythm of it- fills the room. Your moans spill into his mouth as he kisses you again, tongue tangled with yours, every thrust more desperate, more real than anything either of you has ever known.

"Wanted this.. fuck, wanted you for so long-" he mumbles and you don't know if he's talking to you or to himself.

"Don’t stop. Please- don’t stop-"

He doesn’t. He can’t.

He’s fucking you like he means it, like this is the first and last time he’ll ever get to love someone like this- with everything in him, without apology, without restraint. His hips snap into you with purpose, rhythm deep and relentless, like he’s trying to bury himself in you, like he’s trying to leave part of himself behind.

You can feel the tremble in his arms where they hold you steady, the sweat slicking between your bodies, the way his breath stutters every time you clench around him.

Your name spills from his lips like prayer- wrecked, reverent, desperate. He dips his head into the crook of your neck, mouth open against your skin, teeth dragging over your pulse point like he needs to anchor himself before he loses it completely.

"You feel so fuckin’ good," he groans, voice raw. "Shit- don’t know how I ever lived without this."

Your nails dig into his back, trying to pull him closer, trying to keep him right there- inside you, on you, with you. You meet every thrust with your own, chasing that edge together, breathing each other in like oxygen.

Your drooling cunt chokes his dick with every pulse, soaking him all the way down to the base, slick spilling down his balls and ruining his jeans. The sounds of skin slapping skin make you both feral with lust. Your breasts bounce with every hard thrust, your nipples dragging against the coarse hairs on his toned chest, slick and flushed from the effort.

His hand snakes from the small of your back to the base of your neck, wrapping firm- grounding, claiming. You feel your walls flutter instantly under his grip.

“Not yet,” he breathes- simple, sharp, possessive- against your pleasure-parted lips. Like he knows your body better than you do. Like he knows you'll obey.

“Not till I say. You hear me?” His breath is hot against your lips. “You come when I take it from you.”

Everything in you screams to hold on, to never let go of this feeling- this heat, this fucking need. It’s too much and still not enough. Your vision swims with unshed tears, pleasure cresting into pain, into surrender.

His other hand grabs your thigh, spreads you wider and he drives in deeper, his cock hitting so deep it knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I need to hear it.” he snarls, forehead pressing to yours, eyes wild. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

Your jaw falls open on a gasp, but no sound comes. You can’t. You can barely breathe. He fucks into you harder, his grip tightening.

“Say it, baby. Say it or I stop. Say who this pussy belongs to.”

Your eyes fill with tears- overstimulated, overwhelmed but your voice still breaks through.

“You- Joel, fuck- you- I’m yours- please- don’t stop-”

He groans, deep and guttural, like that was all he needed to unravel.

“That’s right. You’ve always been. Even when I couldn’t have you. Even when I told myself I shouldn’t touch you.”

He drags his mouth over your jaw, your neck, breathing you in like a man starved.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else. I want you so fucked out and full’a me, no one else ever stands a fuckin’ chance.”

It’s too much- the pressure, the stretch, the heat, him. You try to hold back, to obey, but your walls flutter dangerously around him and he feels it.

“Now.” he growls, voice tearing through the air like a command from God. “Come for me.”

And when you finally fall apart around him- walls pulsing, thighs trembling, stars bursting behind your eyes- you gasp his name like it’s the only word you know, clinging to him like you’ll never let go.

“Mine. Fuckin’ mine.” he growls before he follows you with a broken moan, hips stuttering, his whole body seizing as he spills into you, holding you so tight it’s almost bruising. His face is buried in your neck, breath ragged, heartbeat thundering against your chest like it’s trying to match yours.

Like maybe, for a moment, they’re the same.

The aftermath.

He doesn’t move for a long time. Still buried inside you, still trembling- not from release, but from everything after.

His arms are locked around you, your chests pressed together, heartbeats still thundering in unison. You feel the sweat cooling on his back, his breath uneven against your neck. But it’s not the aftermath of sex that makes him shake.

It’s you.

The fact that he finally has you and the sick, gut-deep fear that he might still lose you.

His hand slides up your spine slowly, until it cups the back of your head. He kisses your hair. Your temple. The curve of your jaw.

“You okay?”

His voice is hoarse- too soft for a man like him and yet it holds the weight of a warning. Like he’s asking if you regret it. If he should start bracing for impact.

You nod, whispering his name into his chest.

His jaw tightens, and you feel it- the wildness under the surface, the animal in him that’s never known gentleness without loss. He kisses you- slow at first, then harder, like he needs to claim the truth on your lips.

“You’re mine now,” he mutters, almost to himself. His hand slides down to your thigh, gripping it, pressing you closer, even though you’re already one body.

“You got no idea what that means, do you?” he murmurs against your mouth. “No fuckin’ clue what I’d do for you.”

You look at him -really look- and suddenly you do.

Because this isn’t about sex. It’s about Joel and how, for once in his life, he wants something enough to stay. To fight. To keep.

He brushes his nose against yours. A soft, strange thing from such a hard man.

“You’re not just mine,” he says, barely audible. “I’m yours too, if you still want me.”

He knows he’s done for. He can’t go back- not after this.

The choice is yours now.

It always was. It always will be.

You lift your head, eyes glassy, lips trembling.

“I always did.”

“Then I got you. I swear to God, I got you.”

And for the first time, you believe it.

[nyaruelle-designs]

🦄 Mane 6 + Family Redesign! 🦄

aaaaa this took so long, but it's finally done 😭 here's some art of mane 6 with their families. If you haven't seen my first redesign for the Mane 6, click me!

Keep reading below for design notes! (most of them are very small tweaks to get the palettes to look close to the Mane 6 hahaha)

OK! starting off with twilight's family, I tried to keep her parents' colors close with her own colors, I took both twilight's and shining's colors to match along with their mom and dad. I think Night Light is the most noticeably different of all the parents so far??

shining's colors are quite good but I guess I make it a point to give some siblings matching coat patterns to relate them to each other haha

also I had to add spike. He is apart of the family after all <3

For Rarity's family, I really took a lot of creative liberties haha

I kept Sweetie Belle's colors quite similar but yeah, tweaked it to match more in her sister's color scheme and gave her shared coat patterns with Rarity.

Rarity's parents also underwent some tweaks HAHA (i swear, every time I give the mlp character a unique coat pattern, they turn out looking so different but good??)

Fluttershy's family still looks relatively the same just with a few tweaks to the colors. (Fluttershy definitely gets her soft wings from her mom hehe)

I gave Zephyr a tattoo which I imagine he got in his youth while figuring himself out, thought it would complement his 'surfer?? chill bro' character

Also, fun detail: the tips of Fluttershy and Zephyr's wings compliment/relate back to each other which I think is really neat

Rainbow's family is quite self-explanatory, not a whole lot of difference HAHA

I think I let myself have a little bit of fun when redesigning the Apples. Idk why I thought it'd be interesting to add a bit of green to Pear Butter but ye??

I also kept Pear Butter as having a more petite frame as my personal handcanon is that while she did do farm work, she mostly did the less intensive work like watering the crops or something ahaha

neat detail: Applebloom inherited her eye color from granny smith, thought it'd be interesting to link them together

And last but not least, the Pie familyyy

As Pinkie and Marble are twins, I modelled Marble directly off Pinkie's desaturated form but gave her a longer mane. Other then that, I tried making them look as similar as possible

It's not very noticeable but I also gave Pinkie's dad a bit more pink in his colour scheme to show where she could've gotten her pink genes from. (I want to believe that in the past Igneous Rock had a pink mane before it turned grey from age)

also out of topic but I have this personal headcanon that the pie sisters are actually quadruplets with pinkie being the only one out of the 4 having her recessive pink gene, thought it would be fun to share.

Anyway, congrats on making it to the end! Thanks for reading all my design notes :’D I’ll definitely be drawing more. (next I'm gonna try to draw the secondary characters and hopefully not take too long to get it done-)

[jbbuckybarnes]

Soulmate Subscription [LN4]

✨ Lando Norris x Reader (Y/N)

Author's note: Listen, the state of the world has become so ass that now after almost two years of not writing fanfic this 26yo is back at writing a bit to reduce stress. Don't expect me to be back fully because this unfortunately doesn't pay the bills (oh to be a nepo partner that can just do this on the side...i digress).

Warnings: Bro, I have never been to a GP, especially not as a VIP, so I have no clue how this shit works logistically. Reader is Lan's age because I said so, have fun being 25/26 y'all. Also zero proofreading and written past midnight. Formatting is bad because I posted from my phone...we run on vibes here the way Ferrari engineers do.

Prompt Used: Soulmate AU where you receive a monthly box containing clues to find your soulmate. (by @soulmate-au-bargain-bin) & "Please tell me you want to kiss me as much as want to kiss you"

Since the day you turned 18 in 2017 you had gotten small things sent to you in the mail that hinted at your soulmate. Some people took the clues and figured out their soulmates pretty fast, others took well into their 50s because their soulmate had such an average and difficult to guess life. The problem with your boxes was that you could tell this soulmate had a very uncommon hobby, motorsports, but you couldn't pinpoint it much further.

You had gotten sketches of helmets, a rag with motor oil on it, a map of the Silverstone circuit in the UK, an F1 pass, a nameless boarding ticket for a flight to Las Vegas, a small container of hair gel and a black shirt. All of those things didn't narrow it down. You could tell the person was into racing, but if it was as a fan or a hobby driver themselves didn't quite get across. Anyone could go to a race somewhere and anyone could be into tuning their own car or driving karts every now and then. The small clues weren't of any help so far and at age 26 you wondered if your life was interesting enough to even get your soulmate any closer to your identity. You liked taking the occasional dance class and walks in nearby nature. A concert every couple months and writing personal essays also weren't very identifying.

This months package arrived at the expected time, but it was bigger this time. You took it to your bed and grabbed the way too oversized cutter knife. Inside the box was a blue and orange piece of cloth with a number four on it. It seems to have been cut out of something actually wearable but the material was thicker than a usual shirt or jacket. You looked at the striped orange design of the number and grabbed your phone to look up the couple racing series you were familiar with by now, Formula E, NASCAR, Indycar, WEC, MotoGP, F4, F3, F2, F1. Who has a number four? F1 – "Number 4, Lando Norris, driving for McLaren" you mumbled to yourself. So your soulmate must be a fan of him maybe. He looked cute, a little fuckboy-ish if you were honest.

You looked at the cut out of the cloth more closely and noticed something stuck to the back of it. A piece of paper with something bunched up behind it.

"One of these days it'll have to work. No clue if I can will into existence what the universe sends you, but I'll keep trying to get you to a race. Watch this arrive after the race..." you quietly read the semi-fucked up handwriting and grabbed what is stuck between the cloth and the note. A pass reading "All-Access VIP – Belgian GP in Spa-Francorchamps – Hosted by: McLaren F1 Team"

Your eyes went wide, "Holy..." You didn't know a lot about racing other than the basics but you knew these were probably worth thousands.

"Guess I'll have to figure out how to get to Belgium."

—

You were standing in the humid heat of the European summer. The denim jacket that you had sewn the #4 cloth to on the back was already tied around your hips because the heat was unbearable. How were people doing this three days in a row?

You finally entered the circuit, not a clue of where to go next, but you were sure you'd figure it out. After all, VIP means there aren't many places you couldn't go. And somehow asking someone in a VIP area for help felt less odd to you, there must be rich people here all the time that don't usually do this.

Orange and McLaren is all you knew to look out for. Not that you would mind accidentally ending up in Ferrari heaven, but at this point you had caught up a bit on the sport and knew they weren't doing as well this year as expected. You walked down a mini road full of people between the paddock and mini houses that the teams brought with them everywhere.

A stressed-looking man in blue and white team gear walked by you with a bit of an entourage. You knew that one from the algorithm playing out a video of his to you. Carlos something with S.

In the distance you could spot shiny orange on one side and a bustling entry to the garage on the other side. Like orange little worker bees. You knew the shiny home is most likely where you'd find some water aka what you were sweating out in buckets at that moment.

You dodged your way through media representatives and people making a thousand times what you make a day and finally made your way in and beelined for a worker next to a barebones bar setup.

"What can I get you, Miss?"

"Just cold water, it's like walking through soup today."

"July races will do that to you." The person answered politely.

"At least there's some cooling in here." You took the cup with a small thanks.

"Almost too cold." You looked at the worker noticing them wearing a long sleeve. And they were right, five more minutes in there and you'd probably feel like you're in Antarctica. That electricity bill must be insane.

You drank the water and put your jacket back on.

"I don't know how people do this almost every week. I'd go insane from all the sensory inputs."

"You get used to it." They shrugged with a smile.

You heard the entrance to the motorhome become louder and a man entered with his racing overall half down. You knew that one, he was leading the championship right now. You weren't very keen on asking for pictures here, it's not like you were a big motorsports fan. He also just looked like he wanted his peace, so you focused back on staring holes into the walls of the McLaren home. You didn't notice the little lookover he gave you once he had walked past you.

Free Practice wasn't interesting you that much if you were honest. You'd watch the second one today but cars going fast were just cars going fast at the end of the day, you had two more days to see that. Plus finding your way to a place where you could watch was another mission.

"What do you mean it worked?" "Look." You heard two voices going back and forth behind you.

"I think I might throw up." "God, you're so dramatic." You looked towards the entrance but not behind you. You were nosy but not THAT nosy.

"Oh my god, how would I even introduce myself?" "Like you usually do?" "Os, this isn't fucking usual, not everyone magically went to school with their forever person the way you did." "If you don't talk to her, I will." "Oh hell nah, mate." "Well, I tried. Good look, Lan."

It got quiet around you, the two bickering voices had stopped, many people were already heading out to go watch FP2 in a bit, the worker had struck up a conversation with a rich-looking older lady.

A male figure appeared next to, "Nice jacket. I mean, hi. I mean...ugh, I won't even attempt to save that first impression." You giggled and looked up. Oh, the cute fuckboy-ish guy looking thrown off was kinda adorable, you had to admit.

"Hi. Lando, right?" He gave a small nod.

"Can I ask where'd you get it from,..." "Y/N" "Y/N" He said it very carefully as if he would need to remember it.

"I don't know, just kind of arrived one day." "Like a certain box that arrives every month?" "Maybe..."

He eyed you more intently, "That's from a race suite in my first season of F1. I figured I'd try to attach something to it and lose it on purpose."

You blinked at him trying to process, "HUH?"

"I'll need a little more input than that." He gave a boyish little grin but looked unsure.

"I just thought my soulmate would be a big fan of yours or working for you or something." He shrugged innocently.

"Oh boy." You exhaled, making him raise an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, are you expecting me to process that immediately surrounded by that much sensory input?" He chuckled and shook his head, "My bad, I should've expected absolute confusion."

There was a short silence, "I assume you're not much of a motorsports fan?"

"Eh...it's not my first choice, but some of the faces are hard to dodge in advertising." He gave a wide grin to you.

He looked down at his watch, "10 more minutes of being allowed to dodge my responsibilities. You wanna talk...uh, elsewhere." You nodded.

You weren't really expecting to be dragged into a tiny room while Oscar gave you a look that read as "He's always this idiotic."

"Well, uh, this is cozy..." You stood there, a bit too close to him.

"Yeah, they don't really make big drivers rooms." His hand went through his curly hair.

"At least it's more quiet." You exhaled at the relaxation level your nervous system reached.

"You need ear plugs for the weekend?" He grabbed a round little plastic casing and handed it to you.

"Uh, thanks." "If you needed it I'd literally give you what I'm wearing right now if I wasn't legally required to wear it." He chuckled.

You blinked at him again, processing.

"Sorry, that was a bit over the top. But I meant it as in 'I'd give my soulmate anything', you know?"

You nodded, still processing.

"Am I making this awkward or are you just overwhelmed?" He asked half concerned, half to lighten up the tension.

You exhaled, "Both."

"I'm not the best with first impressions I've heard." He admitted.

"No no, I think it's cute." Now both of you were flustered.

"I always expected there to be this ideal way I'd meet my soulmate. You know that moment some people talk about." "Oh, like the, we don't need to know each other, we'll kiss first and talk second kinda stories." You both giggled.

"I mean..." He looked at you clearly jokingly flirty.

"You excude too much fuckboy energy for that to ever have been a possibility." You laughed.

He feigned offense but instantly stopped and said, "Yeah no, I can see it, my PR people were working hard on that one."

"Oh, I have not seen any PR surrounding you, that's literally just your energy." "Okay NOW I'm offended, wow!"

You both broke into laughter.

"If I win this Sunday, will you change your mind?" He looked like he liked to play with fire.

"Things only a fuckboy would ask." "Well, would you?" "Are we still talking about a kiss or me not calling out your fuckboy energy?"

He caged you in a little, not in an overbearing way, you could easily leave.

"Bit of both." A short silence, "Blushing, are we?"

"Shut up." You mumbled looking away and he chuckled.

"I'll just assume that's a yes?" You met his gaze, "Yeah."

He looked at his wrist next to your head, "Well, gorgeous, wanna watch FP2 from the coolest place of all?"

"You're assuming that wouldn't be my couch for me." He laughed at that.

"I mean I guess that's nicer than in the garage with my headset on." He eyed you, "But that wouldn't be very future wife of you."

You hid your face behind your hands, "Stop it!"

"I'll think about it, darling." He grabbed one of your hands and opened the door of the drivers room again.

His hand switched to the small of your back, guiding you through way too many people to the garage and all the shebang in there.

"Lando!" Someone in the garage called out. "Gimme one second!" His face was focused putting his headphones on you, then he gave you a self-satisfied smile, "See you in a bit, Y/N."

You had to admit, a man in a race suit wasn't the worst person you could've gotten as a soulmate. You definitely didn't mind looking at him. Or his driving.

Or the way he still looked good while sweaty after the helmet came back off after the hour of free practice.

"Is it legal to still look good when sweaty?" You joked as he walked towards you.

"I don't know, you tell me." He brushed over your forehead with the towel he was holding.

"Didn't even give me the opportunity to be offended." He grinned self-satisfied at that.

"I should probably get you some team gear so you won't die out here tomorrow." He said more to himself than your while taking the headphones from you again.

"Ew, orange." "You could also wear my shirts." He shrugged and smirked as he watched you processing yet again.

You were dragged back to the driver's room, "I like the way your brain just short circuits when I flirt with you."

"You just wait until I feel comfortable enough to throw that back at you." You pretended to be offended as the door shut behind you.

"Looking forward to it." He winked at you before taking off his fireproofs. Act normal, act normal, act normal.

He put on a shirt before his hands went to the rest of his overalls...you turned around, this man was insane, unhinged, crazy.

"You can look again." He looked at you a bit sorry when you turned around again, but only a bit.

"You're unhinged." He giggled because you were right.

"You like it." "...unfortunately."

He caged you in again, "Please tell me you want to kiss me as much as want to kiss you right now."

"Dunno, it's giving kiss first, talk second soulmate stories." You teased, but put your arms around his neck.

"I still can't believe that deliberately losing something worked." You could feel his breath on you lips.

"Still can't believe my soulmate is a dumbass driving 300kph." You both giggled before closing the distance.

You didn't expect him to be so...soft and featherlight.

"I have a feeling I'll be in trouble if I don't win this week." You gave him a challenging smirk in response.

"I'd date you either way, but I'd say it's a bonus." "I feel like your existence in my life now is already a bonus."

"You're so corny." You laughed at him.

"Well, damn, I'm sorry?" He held his hands up.

"Don't be. I like it." Soft smiles were interchanged.

"Wanna sneak off and order food?" "As long as an AC is involved." He laughed and grabbed you, expertly sneaking you out of the circuit, into his hotel and spent all evening explaining his life to you between slices of pizza.

[mentalbreakdownsarenormal]

"The carefree shamelessness of a kid." That... entirely recontextualizes her relationship with Lancer in chapter 1, doesn't it.

(Long rant about the two under the cut)

I mean, consider what chapter 1 must have been like for her. The human freak she hates has just caught her eating school property, and if they report it it'd be the last straw that gets her expelled. Considering what she said to them in The_Newist_Girl post, they will probably do so immediately and remorselessly. It is only because of their mother and her kindness towards her that she doesn't cause a major incident on the spot. She begrudgingly agrees to just get some more chalk and head back to class.

(She also drops the line "If you haven't gotten it by now... Your choices don't matter" which uh. Speaking of internalization.)

Of course, it isn't that simple. The closet is both impossibly dark and impossibly big. And when the two of them go to leave, the door is slammed in her face and locked. The floor collapses under her and she falls through. The drop is impossibly far.

She wakes up in a new world that does not make sense. The first person (barring the freak) she sees starts shooting at the two of them. She finds an entire abandoned town, complete with a castle. And, perhaps the strangest thing of all, she meets a hooded figure who tells her about a prophecy. One she is a part of.

One that calls her a hero.

She doesn't believe it. When asked to accept her destiny as one of the Delta Warriors, she refuses. The hooded guy is knocked away by a kid on a bike. And he's the first person to finally give her a clear answer when she asks a question.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm... The Bad Guy!"

This is the first and only thing she has understood in the last few hours. He's a bad guy. He's getting in her way. Someone's getting beat up. After the fight, two facts make themselves clear. One, she needs to go east. Two, people are gonna try and stop her.

So she goes, alone, and makes herself a menace of the enemies. Beats them up, steals their stuff, and other sorts of things you would do in a normal RPG. That's what the enemies are for, after all. Why would she be nice to someone trying to kill her. Eventually, she's blocked by a door she can't open alone until the other nerds show up. She needs to follow them, but like hell she's actually gonna help them or change her behavior at all. There's no point. Kris and Ralsei are good and she's bad. They fell right into their roles, being all nice and stuff, but she's not like them. She can't think of anything good to say about someone trying to kill them like they can. She isn't delicate. She isn't skilled at anything. But she can smash things. And so smash things she shall. Just like she always has, and just like she always will. Don't know why anyone's expecting anything else.

She won't, she can't grow as a person like they can, not now not ever.

Susie's arc where she grows as a person begins after two rooms. It's the scene where Lancer mistakes Susie trying to intimidate him as advice on how to be scary and thanks her for it. His praise surprises her and having someone who appreciates her motivates her to become better. That's the basic reading anyway. But in hindsight...

Lancer is a child. A young child. Why? Lancer's age, for the most part, is irrelevant to his character. If you wanted him to parallel Susie, why not write him to be the same age as everyone else? How does the relationship between the two of them benefit from Susie needing to babysit the kid half the time they hang out?

She's his mentor. The one she never had herself. Lancer is bad at being scary. His evil laugh sounds like a baby Santa Claus. He has no idea what he's doing, he's just trying to be "scary and badass" like his dad. And it just so happens being scary is one of the few things Susie knows how to be "good" at. And with that in mind, Susie's words suddenly take on a whole new meaning.

Susie interrupts with a single word. "Stop." What Susie says next, about wannabe tough guys and bitten faces isn't her trying to scare him. It's her trying to crush him. The same way she was when she tried to play. You need to stop because you're bad, now here's someone who can do it better. But unlike back then, the person who told the kid to stop was the better person. The kid got the chance to see it be done properly and was told what exactly needed improvement.

And the next time they meet, Lancer acts far more intimidating. He's still not good, to be sure, but he did improve. He then immediately asks for feedback to try to improve more. He doesn't even have guys, he just wanted to practice.

And this shatters Susie's world view. This kid, this young, carefree kid who's just playing around improves. The kid who's the only person around she could understand or relate to, the kid who introduced himself as "the bad guy" *improved*. Whatever was wrong with this kid that made him a bad guy, that made him an outcast, didn't end up mattering. The support around him did.

In the very same scene Lancer shows improvement, he realizes your team doesn't have a name. To fix this, he asks everyone to drop a name in his bucket to be randomly selected. Kris doesn't and they "look like they don't care." But Susie does add a name. She might not put a lot of effort into it, but she plays along. Susie, who walked through puzzles, who disobeyed commands, who left the party behind, who repeatedly complains about you being slow, who refused help stop the very world from ending, put a name in the bucket.

And in every following scene the two are together, she encourages everything he does.

She expected to be able to play it because she was. She wasn't trying to be good: she liked the piano and she wanted to play it, so she did. Playing for the sake of playing with the carefree shamelessness of a kid.

But because someone thought she was "bad", they told her to stop. It's a role she's been assigned all her life. Without explanation, without justification, without fault, something as inherent to her as her voice, her claws, her skin.

So she internalized it. "Good" must be a role too, right? No one's ever cared enough to teach her about practice or training or perseverance. "Good" is something Susie would simply never get to be.

[citrustan]

Hey, Citrus!! I miss seeing your stories and posts on the tl! Do you have a "love-daze" update for us? 🤤

hi!!! thank youuu wee i thought you'd never ask wink wink. this is a follow up to love-daze (myg) so please read that first!!

love-daze (myg) #2

title: only when no one's looking

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: unrequited love (but is it....?) n friends to lovers but yoongi's a tad uneasy because well yk

warnings: you and yoongi run into a little problem. a little heavier on the angst this time! non linear storytelling, lmk if you find it confusing because this was written in a haste.

"I have a problem," you say, mostly to yourself.

Nini just happens to be in the room. She looks at you intently, waiting for an explanation.

You debate whether or not this problem is even worth discussing. On one hand, you already have the solution but won't exercise it, but on the other, whining about it will certainly make you feel a lot better. But do you deserve that relief?

“It’s kind of complicated,” you murmur, more to buy time than anything.

You're now dating dating Yoongi. Technically. Emotionally. Exclusively. But only in private. Because Yoongi refuses to be open about it as to lessen his ex's pain. (But, in turn, he's risking yours.)

It's not like you're dying to be out and about, paraded around as his girlfriend, but when he goes out of his way to protect his ex's feelings, it stings.

"Yoongi won't date me openly," you blurt, "-because his ex is in the same friend circle, and I'm kind of over it." It comes out more blunt than you intended.

You don't know how she'll handle this. You could have worded that better though.

She sinks into the couch, next to you, giving you her undivided attention. She squints for second, trying to remember where she saw Yoongi.

Jennie (or Nini) moved in only two weeks ago, so she has limited knowledge of your life.

Yeah, yeah, point and laugh. You're a grown woman with a roommate. It's a tough economy. Teaching doesn't pay your bills anymore. You had to find a side gig, and this is it. Renting.

Pride took a back seat somewhere around your third bounced paycheck.

"Yoongi's your boyfriend?" She looked surprised, finally connecting the name to the face.

"I mean, kind of. We've never really discussed it in that many words." You pause. "We're only dating each other right now, isn't that all that counts?"

"Yeah, more or less, yes." Nini nods along before adding, "But I still don't see the issue. If you're secure, why does it matter whether or not you're openly secure? I mean, if I were in your shoes, I'd be lowkey too."

TLDR: I'd keep my head down if I were you.

That irritates you more than you'd like to admit.

"No, but you don't know..." You trail off, sighing. You hope this doesn't turn into an argument. "I know it sounds bad right now, but this has been a long time coming." You sounded like you were convincing yourself.

"Yoongi and I were friends first. I've always liked him. She knew it too. Everyone did."

Nini's eyes widen, "Oh! Sure, that makes sense. I mean making the moves on your friend's ex is a little..." She smiles awkwardly, "I mean, I'm not judging."

You felt the need to defend your choices, "I didn't make moves on him. Yoongi came to me. And Sera isn't really a friend, she never was. We were friendly but that's it. We've never been anything more than convenient company to each other."

You feel crazy trying to explain yourself to an almost-stranger.

Jennie shook her head in reassurance, "I get it! I'm not attacking you, I'm just... You know, sharing my perspective."

You throw a beady-eyed glance at her, trying to figure out if she hates you yet. Because that was the reaction you had gotten from most of your friends. Her friends.

They couldn't stop talking about it when they saw you kissing Yoongi at some deli.

Once, someone spotted you at a dinner date and actually went as far as to take pictures of you.

Obviously, they circulated back to the two of you.

Yoongi wasn't pleased.

Another time, you and Yoongi ran into Sera and her best friend at a Claire's.

That was the last place you expected Sera to be at.

You had only wanted to find a cheap belly button ring.

How was that the first time you came into contact after the break-up? At a Claire's?

You should've accepted Yoongi's offer to buy you a custom made ring. But he wanted to take you to Swarovski. And you thought they were a scam. You could get the same quality of stuff for way lesser at other places.

You tried to pretend to not have seen them but then she greeted you while her friend glared at you.

Which obviously made you look insanely rude.

But hello? Wasn't it an unwritten rule for the ex to not acknowledge the new girl? Or were you just childish?

You awkwardly force a smile.

The four of you just stood there. In the middle of a Claire's. All staring at each other waiting for someone to make a move.

Was Sera actually that nice and unbothered? You don't know. But, her sidekick sure wasn't.

And exactly at that moment, Sera decided it was too difficult for her to deal coming face-to-face with her ex and his new flame and excuses herself, dramatically (intentionally or not, it was dramatic) turning away and storming off.

But the cherry on top was Yoongi's reaction.

Instead of calming you down, he went after Sera! And she didn't even look half as frazzled as you did!

Yoongi's legs automatically moved to chase after her.

And, you get it. Fair enough.

Because love doesn't just go poof and disappear. And with Yoongi and Sera--- whatever anyone thinks about them now--- had once been in love. For a long while at that.

It must've been insanely difficult and hellish for them to have to move on from something like this.

So, you really don't blame him for running after her.

Connections don't always break cleanly.

It's just... You wish you didn't feel like collateral damage here.

Like do you think you'd do the same if she was your ex? Yes, probably.

Was it embarrassing for you? Also, yes.

Still, you wished Yoongi had asked your permission or at least glanced at you, just once, to make sure YOU were okay.

But you were left alone with Sera's friend.

She shot you the nastiest stink-eye the entire time Yoongi and Sera chatted on the side.

It was nearly barbaric. It was as if she was trying to overpower you in some way.

Shivers.

That look made you want to hide behind your hands or something. It sucked.

Everyone gave you the look. The 'oh, she swooped in like a vulture' look, that 'there goes the homewrecker' look.

You awkward shifted your weight from one foot to another.

These heels were killing your soles. Yoongi told you to wear walking shoes but you were confident you wouldn't need them.

You looked everywhere but at her. And you still felt her eyes burning holes into your head. Like she was trying to decipher your thoughts.

When Yoongi and Sera rejoined you, they were closer in proximity.

You don't think too much of it. You're just glad your boyfriend's back.

Yoongi instantly wraps his large hand around yours, gently stroking it with his thumb. You look up at him with a small smile.

"Um... _____, I'll see you around more I hope?" Sera's voice broke your little moment.

What the hell had they talked about?

Pleasantly surprised, you just nod slightly. You'd like that actually.

"That would be... Good." You agree. A bit more genuinely this time.

Sera's friend also toned it down after getting a little elbow from Sera.

The two women then bid goodbye, leaving you and Yoongi alone again.

You look at Yoongi who's already gazing down at you, "Still wanna look through the Claire's catalogue?"

No, you think. You're actually done with Claire's now.

As if he read your mind, he pulled you in closer and you let him guide you whenever. Preferably to the nearest Swarovski.

Whatever the hell happened there with Sera, you're grateful for.

He took really good care of you later that evening.

But from that day onwards, you noticed he had pulled back from you significantly, all under the guise of being overworked.

You're a teacher. You get it. Overworking, that too without pay, is, like, part of your job description. Yet, you make time for Yoongi.

But all he ever wanted lately was to hang out at his place. He'd come over only when Jennie wasn't home.

He made you feel like you had to hide your relationship. As if you were doing something shameful.

Nini shifts next to you on the couch. She's still quiet, probably turning it all over in her head.

You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve.

"Do you still want to be with him?" She finally asks, soft but cautiously.

The question catches you off guard. It’s not an accusation. It’s not even advice. It’s just… a question.

Wasn't it already apparent that you did?

Of course, you want to be with Yoongi. It's all you've wanted for months. Nothing has changed about that.

With a voice barely above a whisper, you frown, "I really do."

Jennie doesn’t say anything at first. She just nods like she's trying to convince herself.

"You don’t have to figure it all out right now," she says, "But you shouldn’t have to shrink to be with someone."

You raise your chin a little. Hm. True.

Feeling satisfied by your reaction, Jennie grins and pats your head, "I'm gonna go now. Won't be back until tomorrow... After breakfast?" She looks to you for an answer.

"Um... No, yeah ok." You don't know if Yoongi would stay over after the conversation you were gonna have with him. "Actually, whenever is fine. I dunno."

Jennie raises an eyebrow at your waffling, but doesn’t press. She just stands, stretches, and gathers her things into her canvas tote. You hadn't even noticed her stuff around.

"Okay then. I’ll assume brunch. Or post-brunch," she says with a wink, already halfway to the door. "Text me if you need anything. Or if you want me to fake an emergency call and drag you out mid-convo."

You nod with a little smirk.

She lingers a second longer at the threshold, like she’s debating whether to say more.

"Just… don’t let him confuse you into thinking this is what love’s supposed to look like, okay?"

She looks at you pointedly, waiting for a response.

"I won’t."

She smiles. Then she’s gone.

You check your phone. Five unread messages from Yoongi, all within the last thirty minutes.

[5] unread messages.

yoonie bby: Thinking about you. Can't focus.

yoonie bby: Wanna be inside you already. Miss your mouth.

yoonie bby: Also your pretty laugh.

yoonie bby: Should I cook or bring food?

yoonie bby: Your favourite cheesecake secured BTW. Can't wait to hold my sweet girl tonight.

You stare at the screen for a moment. Your stomach flips, as always. He’s so filthy and considerate in the same breath. He's so Yoongi.

You lock your phone and let your head fall back against the couch cushion, reminding yourself that you were still upset at this situation.

note: okayyy sooo i decided to drop this as an apology for my lack of posting in the recent months soooo do tell me what you think of this :) thanks for reading!

[munipe]

helloooo pumpkin! i luv ur writing! i was thinking about something very cute an silly for saiki.! Imagine when Saiki tells his partner about his powers. about what he goes through. Dude is NERVOUS. But instead of being surprised, excited, or anything, they look at him for a while before speaking in a quiet tone and saying something along the lines of; "That sounds incredibly difficult for you, please tell me what I can do to make you feel comfortable after dealing with all this." thank youuu! ^^

I was getting through finals studies—I’m writing this after I’ve finished my first final. This was simmering in the drafts :3

YOU ALWAYS found it weird how Kusuo, your boyfriend, always knew what you needed. Whenever you were down, he’d weirdly, always, have your favorite candy. Whenever you were thirsty, he oddly had an extra can of juice from lunch. It was all odd coincidence that every minor inconvenience you had with him, just dissolved within seconds. Kusuo was no fool to your skepticism, though.

He admits, maybe he did pamper you slightly. Perhaps he’s too often solved all of the small pokes in your back than he has let you solve it yourself. He didn’t see why he shouldn’t, though. After all, you are so tolerant of him. You accept when he doesn’t want to be touched, or when everything is too loud for him. Hell, he even remembers when he felt so tired and you bought him coffee jelly and some tea. He could’ve done it himself, but it tasted sweeter when you made it.

Kusuo admits, as well, that perhaps he’s let you in maybe too much. Maybe he’s ‘sensed’ too many things for it to be passed off as “boyfriend instinct”. He can feel your stares—your internal questions. He thought, maybe, he should play dumb and go about as usual. In that case, you’d be incredulous—how crazy would you have to be to believe your boyfriend has powers? Then Kusuo would feel bad in that event. Would it be best to come clean? He figured you would freak out if he did, who wouldn’t? But he couldn’t risk you feeling crazy, either. He had been so deep in thought and contemplation, he hadn’t realized you were worried.

***

“Kusuo?” The both of you had been dating for not long, actually. It was spontaneous, at a festival. Yet, he felt as comfortable as ever hearing his name from your lips. You were lying on the floor together—you said it felt better on your back, so he accompanied you. He turns his head to signal he was listening. “Are you okay?”

He nods, you furrow your eyebrows. With a small chew on the inside of your cheek, you relent. Your boyfriend was a master at avoiding conversation, you wouldn’t win. “M’kay.” You scooted closer, placing your head on his shoulder—his arm wraps around you.

It was pure warmth. He loved your weight on him, it solidified the idea you were real and with him. He glanced down to your curled up form, and he could feel himself caving. He was sure you had been peeling at his defenses, layer by layer. You were reaching to the core of his being—sooner than he’d like. It was worrying. He was so fortified, he didn’t know what else to do. They say love is like a flower blossoming in spring, but what will he do when his winter comes? When he slips up? He wasn’t sure. He only found himself wanting to bear it to you. He would show the deepest parts to you. Maybe he shouldn’t do that with his first relationship, but he didn’t care.

“You want a cat.” He started, speaking with his mouth. “You want…three. One ragdoll, one siamese, and the other is debatable.” All things you’ve thought about, but never said. “You sometimes want to hold my hand whenever I’m irritated, but you never do because you think I’ll get upset. You think my bed is more comfortable than yours but you never tell me to scoot over when you’re over.” His hands felt clammy when he felt your gaze.

“How do you know all that?” You whispered to him. You swore you could see a genuine expression of anxiety on him for the first time

“I can read your mind. I can do a lot of things. I can…use telekineses, I can turn invisible, I can hear everyone’s thoughts in a certain radius. I can’t throw a ball because I can’t control myself. I have x-ray vision, so I can’t actually see your face.”

You turned warm at the notion. So he knew you liked him way before?

He answered your thought. “I did know. You started liking me after we worked on the Chemistry project together.”

…

The silence was killing him. He looked down to your form, only to see it curling into him. “That sounds…rough. You can hear everyone’s thoughts? You can’t see my face? You…” He was a strong man, you thought. You’d go crazy if you constantly heard everyone’s thoughts—nobody could be two-faced with him. You gently maneuvered to lay on him. “Tell me what I can do to make you comfortable when I can, okay? That sounds constantly overwhelming….”

He looked down at you in curiosity. You weren’t freaked out or angry. You were…gentle. How endearing.

“Just stay.” He answered. So you did.

I’ve written ‘Saiki’ too much it’s starting to look like mumbo jumbo

[panic-in-the-multiverse]

His Spider

Pairings: Frank Castle & Spider!teen!reader, (breif moment with Karen Page and brief mention of Matt Murdock)

Imagine: You show up at Franks doorstep covered in blood from head to toe

Contains/Warnings: blood, mention of death, panic attacks, angst??? Slight comfort at the end, mention of torture, mention of things included in said torture, reader is not tortured…physically at least, parental death… idk what else, reader is described to have a mom and dad

A/N Frank might be a bit ooc since it was a while I wrote for him, but tried my best, also decided to make this into a series, we’ll see if it’s gonna be an actual story or just random parts for the pairings, might do both

Kinda don’t like this one but thought fuck it and we’ll post it anyway

Around 2600 words, so not that long???

Also special thanks to @irisesforyoureyes for giving me this idea 🫶🏻🌟

Hot white blinding waves crashed into your brain tearing at the walls you had so carefully built up. You didn’t even notice the shaking of your hand, or the blood that covered your body — now dark and dried as it stuck to your skin and clothes. Eyes wide open as you stared ahead. You didn’t know how you’d gotten to Frank’s place. Frankly your memory was hazy. Eyes blurry with unshed tears. Mind racing trying to pick up the pieces that were scattered across your brain.

Frank had just glanced out the window when he froze. Stuck in place at the familiar yet unfamiliar way you stood by his door. He was used to blood. He knew how to clean blood out of clothes, knew how it stuck to your skin in an unpleasant way as it dried up — especially when it wasn’t even your own blood. But he didn’t know who’s blood it was that made him feel sick as he watched you. Didn’t know if it was your or someone else’s blood that stuck to your skin, didn’t know if you were seriously hurt or not.

You didn’t even have to knock before the door flew up and one pair of hands grabbed onto your shoulders. In your blurred vision you missed the panicked look on his face. The worry in his eyes. Scanning every part of you for an injury, for a fatal wound. His words fell on deaf ears, not even registering in your brain. And that didn’t exactly ease his worries as he tried to figure out what had happened.

Seeing as you weren’t about to fall into his arms out of exhaustion he deemed you good enough to not be driven to a hospital. Not that it eased his worries for even a second.

His hand moved up to your cheek touching the dried up blood that was splattered on your face in a sickening red color. He took in your scared eyes that were frozen in panic. Frank didn’t think you’d blinked for the entire duration that you’d been there. You were just frozen, your body at times shaking though he didn’t know if it was cause of the cold wind blowing outside or if it was tremors of panic.

“Kid? You hurt?” His thumb caressed your cheek in a soothing motion. The ministrations went unnoticed. “Kid? Hey, hey Kid? Kid? I need you to listen, you hurt? Is it your blood? Kid?” He repeated the words over and over hoping you’d finally hear him.

In the end he moved you into the warmth of his home — or at the very least it was warmer than outside. Your body still shook occasionally with tremors of shock. Body still stiff and frozen as you moved on autopilot as he guided you into the living room. He only left you for a second to shut the door. Frank stared at you for a moment, he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to help. He’d dealt with you and your panic attacks before, he’d dealt with you when you thought you’d killed a man, but this, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know if you were hurt or not, couldn’t even read your expression on what had happened.

It took him a moment before he wrapped a soft texture friendly blanket around you. Due to your sensitivity now with your spider-powers he’d realized you were far more sensitive to things you touched. Frank might not admit he cares or likes you verbally, but it spoke volumes that he kept your favourite snack around and had bought a blanket for specifically you — well Karen had helped him with it but it was his idea and his money used.

“Kid? Please just…” his voice, tinted with an unfamiliar worrines reached your ears this time. His hand going to the back of your head to keep your eyes on him, despite the fact you looked more through him then at him. “Help me out here, can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong”

“Someone’s out for you? You killed someone? Someone hurt you? Just tell me alright” he licked his lips, head tilting down before he looked up at your face once more. “At least tell me your alright… physically”

Both his hands cupped your face, forcing you to look at him, forcing you back to the present in his living room. Relief filled him as he watched you blink. Eyes darting around the room before they zeroed in on him.

“Yeah? You back? You here? What happened kid?”

It’s quite for several minutes. Your lips parting but no sound coming out as you tried to speak. Tried once more to make sense of what had happened in the last 24 hours.

“I-it’s not my b-blood” your voice was unusually quiet. An uncomfortable, sick feeling slithered its way into your stomach. Eyes zoning out once more as you replayed the events in your head.

“I-it‘s n-not my blood” you whispered once more. Eyes forcing its way up to Frank’s. “N-not my b-blood”

“Shh kid, shhh it’s okay” he moves your face into his chest. Sometimes he was glad to have had the experience to calm down a child, sure you were older than his two children had been but it was essentially the same thing. Frank’s eyes closed. At least he now knew you weren’t hurt physically. You weren’t about to drop dead in his arms in just a few seconds. He wasn’t about to lose another child.

Frank's arms wrapped around you as he kept you buried in his chest. The blanket still wrapped cozily around you. If tears escaped you he didn’t comment on it. Nor did he comment about how he could feel your body shaking. Feel how you trembled with each breath you took in as the panic that had frozen you was let out.

The big bad punisher didn’t know what to do. Arms wrapped around the teenager he’d gotten so fond of. Blood staining their clothes. Waiting for an answer that would never come. Waiting for a finger to point him in the direction of those who broke you. Those who tore you down into a trembling mess. The ones who’d caused tears to fall from your innocent eyes. The ones that caused blood to be splattered over your face.

The punisher needed to know, so he could go after them, kill every last one of them. But Frank couldn’t, not right now. Not when you were clinging to him so desperately. Not when your fingers curled around his shirt so tightly he thought you’d tear it off.

Frank didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t like comforting his children, back then when everything was different. His children never came to him crying with torn clothes and covered in blood.

Frank didn’t do heartfelt moments, he just didn’t. But despite everything he couldn’t help but to comfort you. You were a kid, not him, you weren’t Frank, you weren’t the punisher or Matt Murdock. You were just a kid. And despite being a vigilante you weren’t used to blood covering you from head to toe. You weren’t used to the brutality that your opponents actually possessed. The way they’d come for those close to you. Come at you with everything they’d got. Not caring that you weren’t even in college yet. Not caring of the casualties or consequences. Their ugly big horns had steered your way, twisting themselves into your life. They’d taken their chance and left a big gaping hole in your heart.

His hands carefully went over your body, checking for any fatal injuries, but when he found none he knew, Frank knew someone you cared about had died. If you weren’t hurt physically then it was something mentally. And with the lack of injuries that would of come from torture it only left him with one guess. Something he was far too familiar with.

“Little Red…” He pushed your face away. Staring into your eyes. Hoping for an answer. Maybe Matt would do a better job at this.

Frank's thumb went to your cheek trying to wipe away the blood that marked your skin, if only so you wouldn’t see it in the mirror later on.

“What happened?” he held your head still. Forcing you to look at him once more. Forcing you to give an answer.

“T-they” your words wear weak, stuttering as you tried to recollect what had happened. Your hand subconsciously trying to wipe off the dried blood that stained your hands. Eyes watering up once more as you zoned out, getting stuck in the memory of your parents demise. “T-they k-killed my, my-“ your hands grasped at your shirts collar, tugging it away from your skin. It felt as if your throat closed up, an ugly lump forming itself in your stomach. Breath becoming faster. You tried your best to breath properly, the way Matt told you too when your senses got to overwhelming. But the blood felt like it was stuck on you, itching, everything felt wrong. Everything felt close but too far away. Your hands started to shake again. Was it hot? It felt hot. Where you dying? Maybe? Probably?

You hadn’t even noticed Frank leaving the living room before he returned and pressed an ice pack into your hands as soon as he got you to release your shirt.

It wasn’t the first time Frank had been with you when your spider-senses took over. Or when panic filled you to the brim and poured over. Last time the switch of temperature had helped, so he’d guess it’d help this time too. Last time it had grounded you back to your surroundings and he only hoped it’d do the same the second time.

He needed you calm, needed you to tell him who they killed, and who they were. Frank needed to know so that he could help you the only way he knew how. Stop them permanently from going after you.

It’d taken him some time but eventually he got you to utter out the words he wanted to know.

“My parents” you’d said, staring at him with dead eyes. A fire had started to burn in them. A fire he knew all too well. But if there ever was one thing he agreed with Matt on it was that he didn’t want you to kill anyone, at least not while you were still a kid. Matt and him might have their differences and opinions on killing but both agreed that you weren’t to kill. You didn’t need that on your conscience.

He asked you how, though he knew it was probably too soon to ask. Either way you still told him. Eyes going distant once more.

You told him how they had snuck into your apartment. How you’d woken up tied to a chair. Blurry eyes squinting in the dark as you made out the shape of your crying parents on two chairs opposite from you. Two guns pointed to your head. The one you’d guessed to be the leader had held your head still forcing your eyes open as you watched them hurt your parents. Their ugly dark and twisted minds marking your your mom and dad, torturing them, as if they had information to give. As if they knew who you were at night. Who you snuck out to be after school hours.

How your dad’s sobs broke your heart with each muffled sound that left him. How watching your mom’s scared eyes telling you to run had burned themselves into your mind. How their fingers had twitched in pain. How blood seeped out to cover their white torn clothes. Pools of red forming by their feets. The sickening crack of their bones breaking. Their last breath.

Their last breath. You’d hated how their eyes died. The spark in them leaving. Staring empty back at you as you were cut free. Their bodies discarded on the living room carpet as if they were trash that needed to be taken out. The coffee table was gone, somewhere else to make place for the cruel scenes. Their blood stained the carpet. The carpet you’d spilt hot chocolate on a few days ago and your dad had helped you clean it up knowing your mom would be mad if she saw the stain.

Your hands had moved over their bodies as if to stop the blood that was still slightly seeping out of their wounds. Desperately trying to keep them alive. But they were already dead, there was no saving them. You could save a random woman on the street from getting mugged but not your own parents from being tortured to death.

Bloodstained hands rubbing your eyes to try and stop the tears. Wiping your mouth from the way the salty water stung your busted lip from the week prior (not yet healed to a hundred percent).

You must have sat for hours with your parents lifeless bodies. Eyes blurry and body shaking with sobs. You still didn’t know how you ended up with Frank. It was all a blur before you had raised your arm to knock at his door.

You didn’t know who they’d been, who had attacked you, just that they knew about your nightly activities. They’d wanted information. How you got your powers, where daredevil and punisher were. And even if you’d told them there wouldn’t have been any way to save your parents.

They’d left you there in the living room. A kid, broken and crying. Not seeing you as a threat, without the mask you were just a kid to them, and kids couldn’t do any harm. But a spider could with their venomous fangs.

… Or if said spider was friends with someone everyone was scared off.

Frank had called Karen over after your talk. He’d brought you to his bathroom while Karen made you hot chocolate. He’d done his best to wipe the blood off your hands and face with a wet towel. That was afterward thrown away in case seeing the blood would trigger you in any way. He’d given you spare clothes, that were way too baggy on you since you were still a kid, well teenager but a kid all the same to Frank.

When all was said and done you’d sat on his bed. Hands curled around the big cup of hot chocolate Karen had made you. You sat in her warm embrace until the hot chocolate was cold, tears falling and mixing with the sweet liquid. And when your eyes started to drop and your mind growing more hazy and tired you nuzzled into the comfort of Frank’s blankets. Eyes closing as Karen left to bring the still full cup of hot now cold chocolate in the kitchen.

Frank hadn’t left you until you were fast asleep. Despite his promise to stay with you during the entire night, he had Karen keep you company while you slept instead. His mind on one thing. No one hurt his spider. No one hurts his kids and gets away with it.

Clad in his vest. White painted skeleton skull bright in contrast to his dark coat. Guns held high. He’d be gone all night and the (next) day if he had to, as long as he got a lead and pointed in the right direction no one would stand down to his wrath. No one would be left unpunished when he was done with those who caused you so much pain.

He wasn’t even surprised when Matt joined him. Lately New York had gotten to realize that where one Spider went the Devil wasn’t far behind and the Punisher closer than anyone ever realized.

The Punisher was coming to send them to hell and the Devil wasn’t far behind to greet them.

TAG LIST: @verybadatwriting

[bewitched-hours]

Hello there ! first of al you are realy cool writet:D

and second of all can l have small request so l have idea fantasy!forsaken /Yan!azuretime ×lapis lazuli reader like reader is a water gem robloxian and live in water towers whit their kind and azure and two time meet whit them by accident and fall in love whit reader (reader have same traumas like lapis lazuli)

Gonna be honest, I genuinely had trouble reading this but I'll still happily do it! And thanks for the compliment! I love Steven Universe so this is gonna be a lot of fun!

Reader gets She/Her-

Being a gem was never easy.

Sure, your kind were adored for keeping this world in such great condition and bringing balance to the elements but...

Sometimes it got overwhelming.

That's why you preferred your time in the water towers you made with your fellow water gems. You could hide from the public there and relax... Usually.

Hell, you didn't even mind the occasional visitors if they were being polite but maybe that's why you ended up in a mirror.

No... Who were you kidding... You had no fault in this.

It was all the gem war that started this. A war where all of gemkind were wrapped into the chaos and had to choose between fighting and fleeing.

But you took too long to choose and ended up sealed into your gem form to be put into a mirror and show the holder whatever they want from a moment in history.

You never forgot... And you wanted out...

You've been held by many people, told to show them different points in time which forced you to relive those memories even if you weren't apart of them initially.

You figured you could finally rest when you were hidden away from prying eyes and left in darkness after a crack in your gem messed with your abilities. They finally grew tired of you not functioning and left you to rot in your own abyss...

Naturally, it was a shock to see another face again. Much less that of a regular robloxian.

You were confused at first, trying to figure out how much time had passed as they called out to someone to take a better look at your current form.

They creeped you out a bit but you'd take any chance for freedom you could get. You just had to wait and spend enough time with them to hopefully form your own sentences to communicate.

You fortunately- or unfortunately- knew you couldn't access the long-forgotten history anymore. There was no more torture but also no way to call for help because you just knew if you had called for help when you could, those who knew would've only punished you for being unruly.

"Azure! Come look at this!" Two Time called out as they held your prison of polished silver with a reflective metal framed with turtle shell and gold. Back in the times where this mirror was made, it could've sold for a lot. It gave you an odd sense of pride back then.

Another face came into view before both of them seemed to admire your little prison... If only they knew...

Regardless, you were patient. You watched whatever the mirror allowed you to see as they took you away and brought you to a small cabin by the ocean.

Although they didn't place you in a way where you could see the waves, hearing them was just as comfortable as you allowed them to inspect your gem.

"I wonder what happened..." Azure muttered.

Oh, you would've happily shown them the war that happened after robloxians got a little too greedy and decided to spark a war between gems... But alas...

"Well, we could try to get it out but it seems stuck pretty deep... It would sell better after being repaired." Two Time's words stuck to you like a needle. They didn't know you were alive but thinking of being sold was... Unpleasant...

It was over the span of the next few days where you could capture enough from them to start your plan.

It started small, grabbing their attention by butting into their conversation with a suggestion you picked up from Azure, using their own morning greetings to wish them a good morning, that stuff.

Once they actually began talking to you did things go quicker.

They'd learn fast that you can only repeat back what they've indirectly taught you and they tried to use that to figure out more about you. It wasn't too surprising but you've been able to explain you were the gem on the back of the mirror and that you needed to be freed.

You promised them you'd do anything for your freedom and they agreed to talk about your end of the deal once you were out. You couldn't thank them enough for it.

Maybe you should've never asked them in the first place. Just stay quiet and wait for another century or two. It would've been easy.

But no, you were too eager to move again.

The real story started when they finally got you out. They somehow managed to put in enough force but still be as careful as ever when they pulled you out and you were able to reform. You didn't have any pupils because your gem was still cracked so your eyes were a little more reflective.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" You practically rushed to see them up close and show them your gratitude. "I-I can finally move! I can see freely!"

You spun around and materialized your water wings to make sure your gem was still properly intact.

But you didn't forget your end of the deal.

"What can I do to show my gratitude?" You smiled softly, not realizing they had both been mesmerized by your beauty and quietly agreed on something while you had been spinning and looking at the stars.

"We want you to stay with us." Were the words that sealed your fate. Innocent at first glance and you were too overwhelmed with the feeling of freedom to really deny.

With a simple handshake, your fate was sealed and you were effectively bound to them until the day they'd die.

You could still be around the cabin and play with the water like you used to but they were patient in showing you why they wanted you to stay with them.

From the moment they laid their eyes on you, it was an obsession. They wanted to be the only ones admiring your beauty and gentle nature but they didn't want you to get scared or lose your smile.

It started with convincing you that you would be taken away and tortured if you were found out along with some convenient coincidences where strangers were being pushy with you and they stepped in to protect you... It just helped that you had a more timid nature with strangers now that you were out and vulnerable again.

Then it evolved into little affectionate gestures and convincing you they wanted to make you feel safe and comfortable even though you couldn't figure out where other gems were.

Eventually they even had you convinced that any gems spotted were crushed and turned into jewelry, which further aided in keeping you dependant on them.

It was through all that, all their work, that eventually got them to their goal when you confessed you've felt a strong draw to them and they were quick to reciprocate. It made your heart flutter and you never once considered questioning them, making their prepared excuses for nothing.

Although, you could've sworn that they'd whisper about their obsession with you whenever you dozed off... But they'd always tell you you must be hearing things...

If anyone picked up on the fact I used a mirror specifically from medieval times in this, you get a cookie (⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝)

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[householdcryptid]

Cockwarming anon again! Dude… that fic was so fucking good, i’m still reeling from it. Like, read it multiple times, squealing and kicking my feet 🙈❤️❤️❤️

So, I offer you this idea as a little thank you (also apologies in advance if this sucks, i’m not a writer, i’m just extremely thirsty and bobpilled rn);

So they’re not fucking, right? But they’re also technically not not fucking.

It’s taken Bob a little while to actually process what’s going on, and what exactly he’s feeling. It takes him a little while to figure out that, sure, he’s getting comfort, but there’s something else in there, something deeper, more primal.

He develops little fixations, and right now he’s fixated on her thighs. He doesn’t know how he’s never noticed them before, how soft and supple they look. Pure comfort. He finds himself wanting to touch them at all times, and she lets him without question, of course, but it only makes him worse.

He’ll sit closer to her so his legs can press against hers as much as possible, he’ll grab them under the table at meals. He’ll even ask to lay his head on them when they’re watching movies together. Slowly escalating, pawing, rubbing his face against them like a cat, sweating, whining, drooling, until his head is enclosed between them, face pressed against against her core. Panting, shaking, eyes closed in complete bliss like he’s finally found heaven.

Just wait until he figures out that he’s a munch.

babe i know you said you arent a writer but you SHOULD be holy shit 😵‍💫 also thank you! i'm so so so glad you liked the last one 🩷🩷🩷

i'm thinking about doing a part two to this just so i can write about him getting pussy drunk tbh he deserves that. # bob reynolds is a munch

cw: rob bein a nasty lil freak, uhhhh scent kink(? kind of?), nsfw but no real sex, reader knows robby is a weirdo and is Totally into it, talks of addiction (not a lot but mentioned), short because i got sick 💔👎, hope you enjoy 😌🩷

It starts off small. It always does with Bob. One tiny thing that snowballs into an addiction, and leaves him reeling. Once upon a time it was morphine, and then worse, but now? Now it’s you.

Small things— things no one but him would notice. The way you smile when he tells you about his day, no matter how boring it is. The way your eyes sparkle in the sunlight, the way you glow.

More recently though, he can’t stop thinking about your legs. He’ll sit in the gym and watch you spar with Walker or Yelena, not understanding why the sight of their hands on you makes his skin crawl.

Instead of focusing on that feeling though, he zeroes in on your legs. The way they tense up, strike out to catch your opponent in the gut, the way they look when you have them wrapped around someones neck, pinning them to the ground.

They’re beautiful, even when you aren’t fighting. He finds himself drawn in, big warm palm sliding over the fabric of your sweats to knead at your thigh mid movie night. He isn’t trying to be a creep, isn’t making any attempt to get handsy, just wants to feel the plushness of it in his grip.

It devolves quickly. Gentle squeezes turn to fingerprint bruises that he feels genuinely awful for. You don’t ever mind, though. Your best friend is just tactile, he doesn’t know his own strength sometimes, and it’s not like you’re complaining, so why is he upset?

He stops squeezing as much, but it leaves something of a hole behind in his day to day. An ache he can’t explain, a longing that feels bone deep. Until you pull him to lay his head on your lap one day, and he’s found a new thing to be hooked on. Revels in the way the plush skin bows under his cheek, how you always end up petting through his hair. It ends up being a surefire way to put him to sleep, eventually.

It’s just too comforting. To have your attention on him so completely, your fingers in his soft curls and his cheek smushed against your soft thigh.

One day, the tower is empty, save you and Rob. He’s twitchy, strung tight like a rubber band ready to snap, skin buzzing with a power he still doesn’t understand and doesn’t think he deserves.

But you’re there, too, and that helps. Pulling him in with gentle hands, and he expects the usual. His head on your lap, your hand in his hair, but you shift. Your knees part, and you pat your tummy invitingly.

“I wanna lay down too, goofy.” You explain, laughing softly at his puzzled expression. He can’t stop staring long enough to come up with a verbal response. You’re wearing shorts, cotton boxers that pull taut at your thighs, dimpling the skin a bit, and his mouth waters.

His sigh is heavy and tremulous when he nuzzles his face against your stomach, lays flat on his front between your legs, arms wrapped up beneath your thighs, his hands splayed under your lower back.

“S’better.” He mumbles, lashes fluttering as he breathes in the scent of you. That’s where it starts, really. Your scent.

Warmth, clean sweat and a heady musk that makes him a little dizzy, he seeks it out. Noses down your tummy, wriggles southward until his face is buried between your thighs.

You giggle— honest to God giggle— and heat licks up his spine.

“Sorry-” He mutters, not making any attempt to actually pull away. “M’sorry. You smell so good,” He whispers, hands sliding to press your thighs closer around his head, nosing at your cunt through the soft material of your shorts. “S’so fuckin’ warm here.” He croaks out, just on the edge of a whine, nails biting into your supple skin.

“It’s okay, Robby,” You murmur, ever so indulgent, especially when he’s whining against your clothed core, already drooling into the fabric. “You can stay. You’re good, bubs.”

He almost sobs at the reassurance, brain going blissfully empty when you squeeze your thighs around his head gently.

He’s trembling just a little bit, huffing these shakey breaths against your core like he can’t quite catch his breath, pretty blue eyes unfocused and heavy lidded. Blissed out on just the smell and the feel of you, the way your thighs block out the sound of the room and the constant buzzing in his brain when they press to his ears.

He falls asleep like that, mouthing at your cunt through the shorts, letting out short little whimpers and huffy groans, your fingers in his hair and your thighs pressed to his ears.

You can only sigh, slip into a nice catnap as well, knowing full well the whole process will begin again when he wakes up.

[andy-15-07]

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

Kindness in the Shadows

PAIRING: Joaquin Torres x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 1386 ✍️

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

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

Joaquin had read the files. All of them.

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

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

You were always gone before anyone could blink.

Until now.

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

Except… you were untying him.

“What the hell,” Joaquin muttered.

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

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

“Repeat?”

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

A pause.

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

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

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

He was here. The Falcon.

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

And still…

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

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

A beat.

“No,” came the reply.

You turned.

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

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

“Hi,” you said quietly.

Joaquin blinked. “Hi.”

“Surprised?”

“A little.”

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

“I know.”

That stopped you. “You do?”

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

You swallowed.

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

You looked at the floor.

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

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

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

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

“The people you’re helping?”

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

He studied you for a moment.

“You hide them. Help them disappear.”

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

He was quiet for a long time.

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

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

Joaquin frowned. “There’s a list?”

“There’s always a list.”

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

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

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

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

You looked away.

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

“Even though they think you do.”

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

Joaquin leaned forward. “So let me help.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “What?”

“Let me help you stay ahead of them.”

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

“Dangerous?” he said. “So am I.”

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

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

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

He covered your tracks.

You saved people.

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

And sometimes, your quiet at 3 a.m.

Like tonight.

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

“That guy nearly gutted you,” he muttered.

“He was scared. I still got him out.”

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

You stiffened for half a second, then let him.

His fingers were warm, gentle.

“Why are you like this?” you whispered.

“Like what?”

“Kind. With me.”

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

You didn’t answer.

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

Your breath caught.

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

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

“Then we take them down first.”

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

“It’s not. But it’s possible.”

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

He nodded. “Have since day one.”

Your next job went sideways.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They’ll trace the signal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not if we strike first.”

You froze. “What?”

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

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

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

You exhaled. “Okay.”

He looked up. “Okay?”

You nodded. “Let’s burn it all down.”

The takedown was ugly.

Fast.

Clean.

Brutal.

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

“You did it,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

You looked at him.

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

ONE MONTH LATER

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

Joaquin landed beside you.

“Still awake?”

You smiled. “Couldn’t sleep.”

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

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

He smiled. “And?”

“It feels terrifying.”

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

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

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

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

He reached for your hand.

You let him take it.

[ipetdogsandcats]

if i had six chances to get you into brudick...

A fic rec list by yours truly!

Casino Royale by spaceisgay (chancellorgriffin)

The fic that got me into Brudick. Bruce and Dick go undercover at a casino to bust a plot by Roulette, and figure out they're in love. I think the characterisation of Bruce and Dick as adults and equals is well done, and the fic is really fun and satisfying to read, partially because of the realisations our pair has, but also because Dick is really, really good at poker. Fun! Hot! (Finished)

2. Strangers in the Dark by Averia

Incredibly underrated. Dick wakes up from his Joker induced coma after everyone thought he wouldn't, and we get to see what Bruce becomes without his guiding light. An incredibly compelling mystery, with a twist that I genuinely did not see coming. (Finished)

3. The End of the World by ava_jamison

Dick is about to leave for college, so Bruce spirals and angsts at a party–perhaps not the most exciting premise, but the writing is impeccable. The vibe is almost a little surreal, as if from a dream, but the affection and longing Bruce has for Dick is palpable. The setting of the fic (literally "a party for teenagers") also refuses to let you forget that Dick is Bruce's ward, which makes for some internal conflict that's delicious and heartbreaking. (Finished)

4. we’ll be together (eventually, in time) by Laroyena

Everyone has probably read this wonderful classic, but if you haven't, here's a soulmate AU where Bruce and Dick works things out over the course of years, while everyone figures out they're in love before they do. Batman being unable to deny himself and loving Dick, before pushing him away, while Dick leaves but doesn't stray too far is an ongoing theme here, and I'm obsessed. Selina and Tim's appearances are also in character and enjoyable :) (Finished)

5. Dick Grayson Reaction by Dreamquillz

A characters react to Dick's story fic! Okay, fair warning, this isn't actually a Brudick fic, it's tagged gen and will feature other Dick ships down the line. However, with that said, some of my favourite moments between Bruce and Dick in fanfic have come from this fic, and I truly believe no one captures their codependent soulmatism better than Dreamquillz. It is also just a really accurate, thoughtful and well written love letter to Dick Grayson. So definitely give it a go if you love our duo appreciating and getting each other like no one else does! (Unfinished)

6. Happy Acres by Kyele

Bruce and Dick go undercover at a couple's retreat run by Harley Quinn and figure important things out. The dialogue between the two is so fun and flirty (once they figure things out) and you really get the sense that Batman and Nightwing are a well oiled team. The actual plot (and the final battle) is also so well written that I think it actually could have been published as a canon Batman investigative novel if it were adjusted for censors and whatnot. A great great time! (Finished)

If anyone reads any of these let me know what you think :) Happy reading and enjoy!

[wisps-writes-fic]

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Prompt:

sex tutoring ! platonic

Mel wants to figure out what she likes and Jack Abbot has a reputation. Who better to learn from than the expert, right?

Optional: Langdon in the background losing his mind repeating "sex tutoring!?" to himself in an increasingly baffled tone of voice.

CW: Smut

~~~~~

Mel

“If you want to back out, it’s always an option.”

Mel took a breath to steady herself, sitting a little straighter when Abbot’s hands came to rest on her shoulders from behind. She was really, truly about to cross the line no professional should cross in the workplace. But after remaining celibate for so long—after hearing the other women around her when she started the night shift whispering about their own thoughts regarding what their attending would be like in bed—she couldn’t help but be curious.

She hadn’t asked him outright. But her tongue had slipped as it was prone to do. “Not much time to explore my own interests nowadays,” she’d grumbled one day they were alone in the staff lounge.

And Abbot, for whatever reason, had pushed. Not just warned her about burnout or joked about hermit life, but dug at her fleeting comment.

And it had led them here, he trying to decide how to approach a young woman who hadn’t been intimate with anyone since stepping up as her sisters caretaker, and she grappling with all the ways fucking her attending could go south.

She wasn’t worried about him telling their colleagues, of course. It was common knowledge he didn’t share his private life. Never boasted anything. He was respected because of his quiet confidence and competency in the workplace. That didn’t mean their plan was risk free, though.

“Mel,” he pressed softly.

“I’m fine. I can do this. I want to do this. It’s just been… a while.”

He withdrew, the warmth of his hands fading with each step he took coming around the sofa. “This is about discovering what you enjoy. We’ll go at the pace you need. Stop all together, if need be.” She nodded. “Any particular concerns? Things you’re uncomfortable with?”

“I don’t exactly…” She groaned. “I did establish the extent of my education ends with backseat fumbling, right?” Abbot chuckled. “And um, you should know…”

He took her hand, squeezing in encouragement. If there was one thing Mel managed to predict when it came to her attending, reserved as he may be, it was that he was not a selfish man. Going into this as a guide, he would likely try to focus on her completion. “I just—if it seems like—I’ve never actually orgasmed,” she finally blurted, feeling her face and neck heat.

His brows flicked up a moment. “And now you’re convinced there’s something wrong with you?” His lip quirked. “It may be difficult and take time, but I guarantee you’re more than capable. You just need a partner that knows how to get you there.” There was a promise in his eyes and Mel knew he’d taken her confession as a challenge. “Ready?” She nodded again. “Bedroom, we’ll have more space.”

“How much space do we need?” His lips quirked again and he pressed a hand to the small of her back, guiding her down the hall. The room was neat. Sparsely decorated with a four drawer dresser, a queen size bed with a simple quilt, and a single nightstand. About what she’d expect of a man like Abbot. Functional with little frill. 

He only gave her the time it took to turn down the bed to observe the space, reaching for her scrub and shirt hem when he returned. She reached back to unclasp her bra with a bit more hesitation, but still let him ease her down onto the bed. “Do you masturbate at home?”

“Sometimes. Not often.”

He gave a curt nod. “Show me.”

Mel flushed again, but did as she was told. He was trying to help, after all. She could listen. Fighting the self-consciousness, she slipped a hand beneath her waistband, starting to circle her clit. “Start here,” he corrected gently, circling her wrists to guide her back up her body, helping her trail her open fingers down her neck, over her breasts. “There could be a dozen reasons you and past partners couldn’t find the finish line. Neglecting more sensitive areas of your body. Elements you need may have been missing. Everyone’s slightly different. ”

“Elements?” she asked softly.

“Longer foreplay, focus on a particular stimulation.” He nudged one hand aside, pinching her nipple between two fingers and tugging. She groaned softly. He smirked. “Pain play can be a wonderful thing, with the right partner.”

“Abbot—”

“Jack,” he murmured. “Call me Jack outside of the hospital.”

“Jack. I think demonstration would benefit me more than observation at the moment.”

He gave her a true laugh then, but didn’t deny the request. “We’ll come back around to this lesson, then. Any of those fumbling boys go down on you?” he asked, starting to work her pants and underwear down her legs, shoes and socks discarded upon arrival.

“A brief effort was made.” He raised a brow. “He wasn’t enthusiastic, if that’s what your asking. Look, we’ve already established my lack of experience, will you stop asking—Shit.”

He didn’t even hesitate, sweeping his tongue through the slickness that had just begun to pool, shifting down the bed to throw her legs over his shoulders and better angle himself. She whimpered when his head tilted ever so slightly, nose bumping her clit. She just managed not to grind against his face, but she couldn’t help the descent of her hands, curling tight in his hair.

He groaned against her when her grip tightened, shifting his attention to her clit and pushing two fingers into her core. “Jack!” Mel yelped, pulling her hands away, slightly panicked. She trembled beneath him, shocked she’d finally found someone who could play her body so easily. Throw her into this state, hot and aching and desperate.

He eased up, mouth pulling away from her clit. “Relax, don’t fight your body. You’re allowed to enjoy this. Connection is a key part in this. You’re allowed to touch me, sweetheart.”

It was that assurance that settled her. And the name. Not condescending or infantilizing as most men made it. Not truly intimate either. Just an endearment from a mentor she trusted. And it served its purpose, because she had been letting their work dynamic into this. She had been hesitating to give in. And Jack could take care of her, if she let him.

Reading that on her, Jack relaxed too. “Good girl.” 

He was only gentle for a moment, working her back up embarrassingly fast, each stroke over her hips and thighs serving silent praise when she lifted her hips to meet him or let him hear the affect his mouth on her had—each sigh and whimper and whine he earned with his devotion to his task. “I think—”

“Don’t fight it, sweetheart.” His fingers curled, pressing deeper than ever. She came with a cry, nails grazing the back of his neck as she searched for that connection he encouraged. Jack growled against her, not letting up until she pushed him away, whining. “Still with me?” he asked when she managed to lift her head. “You did well.”

“Didn’t do much.”

“Vulnerabilty is half the equation,” he explained, hands tracing her figure. Not to arouse, but to soothe. “Trusting someone takes strength. Which is why I think it’s time we take a step back.” Mel flinched. Of course she’d fucked up somewhere. “Hey. Don’t do that. We step back for tonight. I don’t want to push too far, too fast.” “If you’re done with this, you can say it to my face.” “That isn’t—” “Then I call the shots on when we stop. That was the deal when you offered to help me.” He drew back slightly, clearly surprised to see a little bite she didn’t let show at work. “I want to keep going.” Jack nodded and she straddled his lap, stripping his upper body and grinding down on the hardened length beneath her. His pants would be soaked through in moments, thanks to the building slick between her legs. He kept his grip loose around her hips, letting her set her own pace grinding through the fabric. “Alright, hold on.” She stood long enough to let him strip the rest of his clothing and lean back against the headboard. The full picture was impressive to say the least. Finally seeing the defined muscle great many of the staff suspected. The happy trail leading down to his impressive length. Jack Abbot was a silver fox in every sense of the word. Mel might not have the sort of crush on him her colleagues did, but she wasn’t blind. “You want to ride me?” he asked, opening a condom. “Come here then.” ~~~~~ Jack

Melissa King was a remarkable resident. Eager to learn, confident in her diagnoses and execution. It had very quickly made her his favorite of the new batch. He was shameless in stealing her from Robby’s day crew.

Attentive as he was with his people, he knew something was off with her. Cornered her when it would be least suspicious and slowly worked out the problem from there. Inserting himself as the solution was probably a mistake waiting to happen, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

The arrangement was strictly platonic, but he was finding great pleasure in this new area of mentorship all the same. “Fuck,” he hissed when she started to sink down his length. She whimpered, forehead pressed to his shoulder as she worked herself onto him inch by inch. “Good, Mel. How’s that feel?”

“Good. Really good. Full.”

He slowly worked to free her braid, running his fingers through the length of it. “Take your time, sweetheart.” Her grip on his shoulders tightened again and she circled her hips, lifted herself a few times to test the motion, slowly gaining confidence. It was an effort not to grab her waist and take control. It was her show to run. Her interests to discover. It wasn’t about him. Even as the feel of her clenching around him drove him that much closer to insanity. “Mel, honey, not as young as I used to be. If you don’t get a move on I’m not gonna last as long as you.” 

She froze above him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. “I um—” 

Mel began blinking rapidly, flustered, and Jack was quick to press a hand to the small of her back. “You’re okay. Just give me a chance to maintain a bit of my dignity here, yeah?” She bobbed her head, still a bit uneasy. There was a silent request in her eyes. Permission, too, allowing Jack to adjust his grip around her waist and set a firm rhythm that would help the both of them.

“Can you keep on like that for me?” he asked softly, releasing her waist to trail his hands back up her torso and cup her breasts. She faltered slightly when he began thumbing her nipples.  “Eyes here, sweetheart. Almost there, aren’t you?”  “Yes. I’m close.” “Eyes,” he repeated the next time she tried to hide her face. “Jack.” “I know, honey.” Hold regained, he guided her through the last few strokes, keeping her locked tight against him when she finally came, his orgasm just behind. “Fuck, kid.” She giggled, clearly a little cock drunk. But damn it, but she was adorable that way. Jack left her long enough to dispose of the condom and get bottled waters from the fridge and a couple of rags to clean up. He didn’t push her to talk to him, just offered her the water and cleaned the worst of the mess. Sent her to use the bathroom before they both crawled into the bed. “You really don’t have to—” “I’m not sending you home like this, King. Get in the bed.” He was hesitant to touch her at first. The sexual aspect had been discussed. The extent of aftercare had not. But she didn’t seem bothered when he wrapped an arm around her from behind. “What are you thinking?” Her cheeks went a little pink. “That I still can’t believe I actually fucked my attending.” He chuckled. “Your secret’s safe with me, kid.”

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

defying fate

a/n : love and deepspace au | reverse-harem | mature and explicit | MDNI — not for kids | lads boys x femreader | read at your own risk | story masterlist : love and deepspace

previous ... next

CHAPTER 6 : FINDING ORDER IN CHAOS

Days after Xavier's vanishing felt like a suffocating eternity, each passing moment a stark, aching void where his presence used to be. The grief was a physical weight, it was crushing.

Then, Zayne, ever the quiet anchor in your storm, sat you down. His hands were gentle as he guided you to the sofa, his eyes, usually so analytical, softened with a profound compassion that pierced through your numbed despair.

"Baby," he began, his voice low, steady, "Xavier… he didn't just vanish. He figured out a way." He explained, patiently, the last-minute results of Xavier's frantic investigation, the desperate, brilliant plan to return. "The tricky part isn't his return, it's finding him. And… making him remember."

You stared at him, confusion clouding your grief-addled mind. "Making him remember? What do you mean?" The words felt foreign on your tongue.

Zayne sighed, a deep, weary sound. He reached out, his hand gently settling on your trembling knee, his touch a grounding force.

"He theorized that making him remember would be the easier part. He found out his current state in this very timeline, that some kind of time paradox happened while his presence was disintegrating… or rather, going back to where he should be, in Philos." His gaze was steady, unwavering. "The truly tricky part... is actually locating him."

A cold dread seeped into your bones, replacing the numb sorrow. "Making him remember is the easy part?" you repeated, a bitter taste in your mouth. "What could possibly make that easy?"

Zayne took a deep, steadying breath, his eyes darkening with a flicker of distant pain, a silent preparation for the coming revelation. "Xavier had a theory," he continued, his voice barely a whisper, "that this is the exact timeline when EVER first started working on him. Before… before he became the Xavier we knew."

He paused, giving you time to absorb the chilling implication, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly on your knee.

"This version of him… he's much different. He's one of their most successful subjects. One of the most powerful."

He inhaled sharply, then exhaled slowly, the air thick with unspoken warnings. "It's going to be very tricky. Because after we find this version of Xavier… we may have to subdue him first."

Zayne's thumb stroked your knee, a silent apology.

"According to Xavier, the thing on his neck… that necklace… it somewhat limits his use of Evol. The version we're about to meet? He won't have it. He'll show his real strength."

Your eyes widened, a gasp catching in your throat, and you mumbled, disbelieving, "But… the Xavier we know… he's already powerful enough to fend off hordes of Wanderers, capable of clearing missions alone without backup, coming back unscathed and unharmed."

Your voice cracked, the memory of his fading light too raw, too fresh. "Not until… not until those final months when his time was almost up."

You looked at Zayne, your eyes burning with disbelief, with a sudden, overwhelming fear. "You mean… we're going to fight a version of Xavier who has no necklace that limits his powers? The full force of him?"

Zayne nodded, his face impassive, indifferent, but his eyes, those deep, knowing eyes, screamed volumes—a profound weariness, a shared sorrow, and an unwavering resolve.

Then, his voice continued, now in a much more worried tone—for you.

He reached out, his hand lifting from your knee to cup your cheek tenderly, his thumb stroking your skin with agonizing softness.

"Xavier knew you would exert yourself. He knew your heart might not withstand fighting this version of him. It will hurt you, darling."

His gaze was intense, burning into yours. "I don't want you to get hurt. None of us do. But… nobody would get in your way. We all agreed to give our full support, in all ways. Whatever you need."

A soft, almost imperceptible smile touched your lips, a flicker of gratitude amidst the pain. You reached up, your fingers lacing with his hand that cupped your cheek, holding it tightly. "Thank you, Zayne," you mumbled, your voice thick with unshed tears.

He looked into your eyes, sensing the flicker of guilt, the conflict in your heart. Zayne’s expression softened further, his thumb brushing away a stray tear you hadn’t realized had fallen.

"There's no reason for you to feel guilty," he reassured you, his voice a balm to your wounded soul. "None of this is your fault. It's not anyone's fault."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the empty space in the room, then back to you.

"We all agreed to this set-up. It's twisted, yes, and scandalous by any normal measure, but it seems like… it's the only way to break the sick cycle of our doomed destiny. This is our chance. Our chance to beat the odds and go against the predestined doom that awaits each of us."

His eyes held yours, earnest and unwavering. "We all knew how you love us. Equally. And differently. There's no need for you to feel resentment towards yourself. No need for that impossible choice anymore."

He leaned forward, slowly, giving you time, then captured your lips in a soft, sweet, reassuring kiss. It was a promise, a solace, a silent understanding passing between you.

You returned it, pouring all your fear, all your love, all your desperate hope into the contact. As he pulled away, he kept his forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours, his eyes searching your soul. "Are you overwhelmed?" he whispered, his voice laced with concern.

"No," you breathed, shaking your head, your voice firm despite the lingering ache in your heart. "I'm not. I understand the risk. And… I want him back. We should start planning soon. We have a lot of cursed destinies to break. And," a fierce glint entered your eyes, "we also have to kick Xavier's ass first to make him remember us."

As if on cue, the heavy door clicked open, and Sylus stepped into the room, his presence immediately shifting the atmosphere, bringing a new wave of calculated intensity.

He moved with silent grace, sitting behind you on the sofa, and without a word, respectfully pulled you back, away from Zayne's embrace, drawing you against his broad chest.

Zayne didn't mind—he didn't even look offended, merely adjusting his position, as if this shifting of allegiances, this seamless rotation of comfort, was the most normal thing in the world.

Sylus pressed his lips against the back of your head, a soft, possessive touch, while his large hands rested protectively on your stomach, warm and grounding. Zayne's hand, no longer on your knee, settled softly on your thigh, a lingering connection, a silent claim.

"Don't worry about the sleepy head's ass, sweetie," Sylus mumbled, his soft voice rumbling against your skull, a low, comforting vibration. He then handed you something cool and metallic—a biometric key.

"Xavier game me this," he explained, his fingers brushing yours as you took it, "an advanced technology from his time, but it should work on EVER's systems to trigger his memories. Pure encryption bypass."

Then, he handed you another, identical biometric key. "And this one," he stated, his voice precise, "is for the Colonel's chip. The one that harms his memories, the one that controls him. It should neutralize it, make it possible to extract it without damaging anything. But we have to get the right timing. It's delicate."

You allowed your head to fall back against Sylus's chest, closing your eyes for a moment, the weight of their combined support a strange comfort. You stared at Zayne, absorbing everything, the technical details, the impossible plans, trying to prioritize what should be tackled first, your mind racing, trying to find the order in the chaos.

Sylus gave you another soft kiss, this time on your cheek, his breath warm against your skin. "We'll figure things out one at a time, kitten," he murmured, his voice laced with a quiet confidence that was both reassuring and utterly terrifying. "For now, we have to wait and see what Rafayel has for us."

Then, Sylus's arm tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer until your back was flush against his chest.

Without warning, he turned your face, his fingers gently guiding your chin, and captured your lips in a claiming kiss.

It wasn't soft or sweet like Zayne's; it was deep, demanding, a silent assertion of his presence, his devotion. "This should take your mind off your worries, kitten," he mumbled against your mouth, his voice a low growl that vibrated through you.

You melted into his lips, returning the desperate urgency of his kiss, your own anxieties momentarily eclipsed by the surge of sensation. His hands, large and warm, slipped inside your shirt, fingers splayed wide as they caressed the bare skin of your stomach, sending shivers through you.

From the front, Zayne leaned forward, his breath hot against your neck, nipping soft, possessive kisses along your pulse point, sandwiching you between the two of them. You were a fulcrum of raw emotion, caught between Sylus's passionate claim and Zayne's gentle, yet firm, adoration.

The second your lips parted from Sylus's, Zayne gently, but firmly, pulled you forward, away from Sylus's embrace, drawing you into his own space.

Sylus's hands, still inside your shirt, moved higher, his large, calloused fingers finding the soft mounds of your breasts, expertly massaging them through the fabric, making a low moan escape your throat and into Zayne's lips as he captured your mouth once more.

Sylus leaned in close to your ear, his voice a warm whisper that bypassed your mind and went straight to your reeling senses, "Just let go, kitten. Let us take care of you."

Zayne pulled away, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes, usually so guarded, now alight with a fierce tenderness.

"Will you let us, baby?" he asked, his voice soft, a clear invitation. You gazed at him, your vision hazy, your body humming with a pleasure that momentarily dulled the edge of grief.

You simply nodded, a slow, dazed agreement, giving them your implicit permission.

And just like that, in that moment, sandwiched between their warmth, their desire, and their unwavering protection, they made sure that you forgot all of your cursed fates, the relentless loop of doomed destiny, and the agonizing weight of the world.

For a precious few moments, there was only them, and you, and the intoxicating promise of shared oblivion.

an : i figured out what was missing, checked my file and saw that i was not able to paste everything. so here you go — the missing part added towards the end. :)

[amelias-calamity-quintet]

On Writing (Zelda) Dungeons

Alright, one of the regular compliments I get on Goddess of Secrecy and now on Mark of a Hero is on how my dungeons feel like they could be in the games. It's still one of my strengths, so I figured I'd actually try to write thoughts down. I have never documented this process so please understand a whole lot of it is just ✨ vibes✨ and then piecing that together into something coherent.

Not to give homework, but I think the Deku Fortress (the first dungeon of GoS) still holds up roughly to my current standards and it's a quick read to get to relative to the other examples in my repertoire. I also have a particular naming convention for my works, so you can very easily jump to Dungeon Chapters & Boss Chapters via the index.

Concepting

I talked a lot about in a post I made on MoaH's dungeon design what I think the point of LoZ dungeons should serve as but I'll sum it up here. A dungeon has three goals narratively:

Advancing a local/character plot

Advancing a regional threat arc

Advancing the grand quest arc

If you want a really good example of this in games, Dragon Roost Caverns from WW is a prime example. I talk about it in the linked post above as well.

Starting your own, I recommend picking two of three things before you get into it:

An aesthetic

A boss and/or mini boss

The dungeon's relic

These things should inform each other and are the barest place to start before design. The aesthetic will generally decide the vibe of exploration, while the bosses determine the means of combat and likely your minions throughout the rest of the dungeon. The relic will engage with both as a puzzle solution. And typically if you can figure out two, the third will follow after.

Debatably, dungeons through an original legend should be concepts to connect together as a series of trials to build your hero up towards their final fight. It also depends on if you want to imply whether the dungeon order is linear or not how that will turn out. Having solutions only focused on general mechanics/exploration can lean more open world, while puzzle solutions that use focus on items or require items from previous dungeons will lean towards a linear narrative. Both are valid, but it's good to decide on one or the other before making a dungeon list and order.

Designing

I cannot emphasize enough in this step, but make maps. They don't have to be detailed maps, but figure out your spatial stuff. I wrote all of GoS without any maps and boy, let me tell you. The jump to having them for MoaH was night and day.

Generally, the recommendation here is to look at TTRPG dungeon design or escape rooms. If you got stuck doing this puzzle with other people/reliant on other people's pacing, what would be enjoyable to follow? Because unlike in the games where you are the player, in books, you're limited to the pace of the POV character.

There is also the limitation in writing of the reader's imagination. Complex puzzles are great and all in games, describing it in a way people can imagine is harder. Without the visual and interactive elements of games, easier puzzles are better because most people can picture the basics. As anyone who has played a TTRPG before can tell you, a puzzle for a 3rd grader will absolutely stump an adult if the setting or size of the puzzle makes them miss the important elements of it. You do not need to design complex traps and puzzles (in fact it will often go poorly).

This is also where that aesthetic decision can help. A relatively simple dungeon can absolutely be carried by an interesting location. Are there lore drops to be found in the dungeon? Is it just a cool space to explore? Is the means of backtracking post-relic something the reader can piece through as the character(s) explore it the first time? There should be hints on how these aspects will link together before the end.

I will get into this with relics as well, but it's a good idea to keep an inventory of your character(s)'s abilities before going in. Is your hero traveling alone? How many relics do they have? What resources did they bring into the dungeon? This can help inform solutions too by eliminating what your hero doesn't have access to.

Writing

Pick a pace of chapters. There's a reason that dungeons are consistent in their chapter length for GoS & MoaH. They're aimed to set the tone for how long the dungeon should feel. I'm going to use both as examples for outlining everything I haven't already said in previous sections.

GoS has two types of dungeons: Goddess Temples and Sage Dungeons. The Goddess Temples were designed to be shorter "tutorial" dungeons, the formula being 2 Dungeon Chapters + Mini Boss + 2 DC + Boss. Compared to the Sage Dungeons, which were 3 DC + MB + 3 DC + B. The Sage Dungeons also typically got a Mini Dungeon and Mini Boss to reach the dungeon itself.

The goal of this was to suggest size and difficulty. GoS was meant to parallel OoT in a lot of ways, the Convergence timeline event to the "Divergence" event that was the timeline split. So the Goddess-Sage split is meant to mirror the Child-Adult dungeon split. Once GoS!Link pulls the Master Sword, things got harder, the challenge leveled up, dungeons got longer and more complicated.

Conversely, MoaH's dungeon design was based around BOTW/TOTK and my general response to it. MoaH's dungeons are designed around the idea of having a series of shrines that build to a larger dungeon puzzle in a region. The split here will be a single dungeon chapter and Mini Boss at a time, but three or four trials before leading to the culmination of four dungeon chapters and a boss in the main temple combining the relics and puzzles from the trials.

In both cases, good divides for dungeon chapters are typically switching between floors, puzzles being cleared, or to break for backtracks to other wings.

Bosses & Mini Boss

The top of this, I want to say that the power scaling will not always be right. Nintendo doesn't even always get this right. Sometimes the Mini Boss is harder than the Boss. Obviously aim otherwise, but trust it's fine if it happens.

There are a goals to aim for with trying to keep that balance:

The difficulty of the puzzle

The tools necessary to solve it

How easy it feels like the hero lands a hit

Generally, a mini boss fight will rely on the tools already at the character(s)'s disposal while a boss fight should rely on the dungeon's relic. Both should incorporate parts of puzzles already in the dungeon itself, either in getting to the dungeon or in progressing through it so far.

It can help to look at boss fights as puzzles on a timer. The timer is how fast you hit it before it hits you harder. But that also should help pace the three stages of the fight. The first phase should be the longest, it's puzzle-solving first to see how to hit the boss. Stage two will likely be shorter, as that knowledge is reapplied. It's the same solution but with some added retaliation. Stage three should make the solution slightly harder to reach by adding that final hit glowing red desperation energy.

You want to make sure that hitting a boss monster is challenging but doable. This could be done by letting the hero get hit, focusing on coordination tactics, or having a failed attempt and having to retry. While never gets hit heroes are impressive in games, they can't build tension very well in stories. If there's no risk after all, then the reward won't feel as earned. At the same time, if there's too much risk, then it may feel like your hero is not competent enough to handle the fight. The character(s) should figure out the mini boss's weakness faster than the boss, or the steps to hit the mini boss should be easier to achieve than the boss.

If you want to come up with a new enemy and not reuse an existing one, I'd recommend picking two plants or animals to smash together. Generally, it only takes two or three off character traits for a chimera to start feeling like a monster. Too many elements though and the design may not read well to your reader (unless the point of it is to be unknowable or absurd). Your bosses should fit the aesthetic of your dungeon too, so if you're running short of ideas, trying looking what might live in the kind of environment that your dungeon is and you'll probably start getting ideas. But also, sometimes the answer is just rule of cool.

Relics

Relics are the best part of a Zelda game for me. They add a lot of fun to problem solving and reexploring old areas. They culminate to decide on the general skillset of your protagonist and dungeons serve in part as tutorials to learn how to use the relics in all its possible uses.

A relic should be the primary puzzle solution for a dungeon after its acquired. This is in game to experiment with its uses before the boss and experiment with its mechanics in lower stake situations. Most dungeons will have some no stakes mandatory puzzle in the mini boss chamber requiring use of the item before the character(s) can progress. And then it scales up from there to get creative and use the item with other tools at the hero's disposal.

While there are staples for sure (hookshot/bow/bombs/etc), most Zelda games will typically have at least one totally unique relic to that game. This is a great way to build your story's identity too! Your character's tools should cover a wide array of options, so it's important too to look at your relic list as a whole to make sure they don't overlap with other relics. It's also important to consider a relic having not only combat use, but also puzzle utility too! These are after all going to be used to get through the rest of your dungeon.

Companions

One of the harder things to balance is party comp. If your hero travels with other people, this can change the necessary scale of the dungeon as a whole. Puzzles and fights will need to be solvable with multiple people working together. Sometimes this can be expediting the issue, many hands make light work after all. Other times it's about strategically placing everyone on the map.

One thing you should decide early in is whether dungeons are intended to be solved with more than one person. If the hero is supposed to be handling their quest on their own and just happens to have a companion, then puzzles need to be solvable on their own (this may be better to implement the expediting method). Or you can make the puzzles quick, allowing for more dialogue while they solve puzzles faster.

If the hero is supposed to be traveling together, then puzzles should incorporate each of party member's skill sets. Be sure to add those to the inventory you take at the beginning of design! Rotating around party members solving the puzzles can help them feel like a team, but you can also incorporate this cooperation slowly if you're trying to build up a new relationship.

Based on Zelda tropes, it's very likely that the companion in question to a dungeon will be someone like a Sage. If this is the case, I would advise against making the character's abilities exactly the same as the relic. If the two are identical then it runs the risk of underselling them both. They can be similar, but they shouldn't be the same to make sure both have room to shine. Also so getting the relic at the mini boss isn't just your hero one-upping a companion. That's a quick way to making them seem less useful to a team! It's best to look at them as compliments. For example, if a dungeon gives the hero the hookshot to bring enemies in close, then having your companion be a fighter who deals with the monsters as they're getting dragged in to range would be a good way to highlight teamwork.

On the Grander Scale

As I said earlier, dungeons combined serve as the training montage that gets your characters ready for the final fight. But, as a narrative, they should share some central theme together to weave them together as a story. Maybe that's the overall aesthetic sharing some element, like the Divine Beasts and the Blights. Maybe it's a similarity in the bosses and how they appeared, like the echoes in EOW.

This is where making a loose outline can help. If you have a rough idea of the dungeon themes or relics you want to include, you can start to build a wider narrative theme you want to meet. Do you want your hero to feel more like a wizard? More magic focused relics may help. Do you want them to feel more like a tactician? Having more allies to coordinate could be the way to go.

And I do mean loose! For the entirety of GoS, I only had a list of dungeon names and some rough ideas for items I wanted to give Link. In the original outline, the Soul Temple was going to be kinda funky and disco themed. It ended up in narrative needing to be a much more serious late game beat. The same boss and relic was in the dungeon, but the aesthetic shifted to fit the theme I needed for that story arc. Your grander narrative can always come back to inform what kind of challenge your characters need to face in that moment. And that may change as you figure out the story.

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I think that's generally it though. If I think of anything else, I'll add it in a reblog or edit it in, but generally applying all these elements should get you on your way to making some fun dungeons. Excited to see what you come up with.

[midnightjewel]

☆ 𝙵𝚞𝚗 𝙵𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚜 ☆

☆ 𝙽𝚘𝚠 𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝙸 𝚆𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝙱𝚎 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 - 𝙰𝚛𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚔𝚎𝚢𝚜 ☆

𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐮 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

As you and the Bakusquad walked down the hallway to start a new school year, it was obvious that you all were a lively bunch. Especially to the nervous first years who were clamoring around everyone— trying to find their classrooms.

Bakugo grumbled alongside Kirishima, something about how Denki was not funny and was just drawing unnecessary attention to the group as if the first years weren’t already staring at last years sports festival winner in awe— hoping to be as good as him.

New year, same faces in class A. Well almost all the same.

There was a new but familiar face in class 2-A this year. All of you had grown accustomed to Shinsou’s presence many times last year as they realized his true potential to become a hero. The school finally wised up and let him into the prestigious hero program at UA.

As you all loudly entered the room, laughing, joking and what-not— eyes turned to you all. Not in surprise or anything. It’s just that the group easily caught attention wherever they went.Most didn’t pay you guys any mind, having known you all from last year.

One who did stare however, was Shinsou. He looked on in annoyance at the disruption caused by your friends before returning to his book, he appeared to be reading a poetry book. Edgar Allen Poe, to be exact. Not that you were staring at him or anything but you kind of were.

How could you not stare? You’ve had a crush on him since the sports festival last year! He was so cute and determined and…cute!!

Obviously, with a friend group like yours, secrets are scarce. Everything is just out in the open. So, with that being said, of course they knew of your feelings for the lavender haired guy. They were absolutely stoked for you when it was announced that he would be joining class A.

As you all made your way to your respective seats — which were relatively close to each other, minus Bakugo who insisted on being away from you all— the group chatted a bit quieter amongst themselves.

“So” Denki started while looking at you “You excited to have your man candy in the same class as you this year?” He playfully nudged you and your face burned from embarrassment. Denki was not a quiet person by any means, and there was only one new addition to the class this year. So evidently it wouldn’t be hard for anyone to figure out who he was referring to.

“Denki shush!” You give him a look but you couldn’t help the involuntary smile that strained your facial muscles at the mention of Hitoshi Shinsou.

“Denki that’s such a weird thing to say” Mina furrowed her brows while picking at something under her fresh set of beautiful acrylic nails. Sero nods in agreement.

“Oh come on!” The blonde teased “She likes when we talk about it!” He laughed at you

“Yeah just maybe not when said ‘man candy’ is easily able to hear us” Kirishima pointed out in a low whisper

“Anyways” Denki brushed off the words from his sharp toothed friend “Y’ know how teachers usually do icebreakers for the new kids?” He starts “What if, we all said super off putting and weird facts about ourselves?” He laughs to himself, fully expecting someone to oppose the crazy idea.

“That would actually be hilarious!” You laugh, signaling your approval for the idea.

“Let’s do it” Sero chimed in as the other two nodded

“Yeah!” Mina agrees “I mean, it would probably make him feel less awkward if we were awkward first”

After a few minutes of thinking amongst yourselves, yet not sharing the crazy facts you were all certain that this would ease any uncomfortably Shinsou felt while being new to the class. Soon after, Aizawa came in, gruff as ever and not ready to begin another stressful school year.

“Settle down” he spoke before the class got silent quickly at the command of their teacher. “Okay, before we start our first day back, I don’t normally do things like this but President Mic has insisted that we do this” he rolls his eyes.

“As you all know, Shinsou is new to our class” he continued “So, I’d like each one of you to introduce yourselves to him…so we can get to know each other better” he yawns of boredom.

“Knew it” Denki whispered from the desk behind you and you have to stifle a giggle.

“Iida and Yayorozu” he looks to the two class presidents “You lead this, wake me up when it’s over” and with that he disappeared behind his desk.

And with that, the introductory exchange began. The class presidents introduced themselves first as well as a few other students. You could tell Shinsou wasn’t a fan of having the attention on him so you grinned with joy as Denki was the first of the squad to be called on.

He stands from his seat “Hi chat I’m Denki Kaminari” he waves, earning a few waves back “And I can totally almost burp my ABC’s except I tried this summer and I totally puked when I got to the ‘M’ ” he laughed

“Dude that was hilarious” he and Sero loudly high fived as Denki sat back down. Oh how could you forget that day, it was horrible.

Next was Sero. “What’s good, I’m Hanta Sero and my bearded dragon bit my bare ass cheek when I was getting dressed in my room one night” he says and you all try your hardest not to laugh because it was most certainly a true story. He even FaceTimed the group after, practically in tears with how hard he was laughing.

All while Shinsou just looked from side to side to make sure he was hearing the same thing everyone else was hearing. All while Iida and Yayorozu shook their heads at the front of the room. Knowing how ridiculous you guys could be, maybe this wasn’t the best idea on President Mic’s behalf.

A few more students went before Mina was asked to introduce herself. She stood from her seat and gave the new member a friendly smile before laying this info on him “I’m Mina and towards the end of the last school year I didn’t make dance team captain for this season so I hid in the bathrooms all day to catch the girl who had made captain while she vaped” she explains “And honestly I wouldn’t have done that if she didn’t laugh at me for not being picked… she got kicked off” she shrugs without a care in the world before sitting back down.

“I love me a petty queen” Denki fist-bumps her with a grin before they moved on to who she was sitting next to. It was Kirishima.

He stood and cleared his throat proudly “Hey guys I’m Kirishima and I got foot fungus from walking around barefoot in the locker room after basketball practice last year” he points to himself with his thumb proudly. “Ew” Mina spoke, causing an eruption of laughter from several classmates.

And last but not least of the group to break the awkward ice with weird facts, was you. Now, this was funny to you. It might earn you a few weird stares but the whole point was to match the squad’s energy. You knew that at least they would find it funny!

“Hi, I’m (Name) and I’m almost certain that my left boob is bigger than my right one” you try so hard to keep a serious expression but Mina and Denki are cackling and at this point, it’s causing you to stifle laughs.

However, that’s all thrown out the window when you see the look on his face. He looks as if he hates you all even more than he did last year. Shinsou looks uncomfortable and unimpressed and your heart skips a beat thinking that you may have taken it too far. Now he hates you… your crush hates you…

You sit back down as you can no longer laugh due to the feeling of regret after over sharing pooled in your stomach.

Unbeknownst to you, Shinsou didn’t hate you. In a way, he found it funny that you guys would go out of your way to embarrass yourselves at his expense. You all meant well and he knew that, even if it was a little off putting. So, no, he didn’t hate you at all.

Soon enough, the ice breaker activity was over and the day resumed like normal. Classes went slowly, lunch was okay aside of the fact that you felt like a piece of crap for making your new classmate uncomfortable, and soon enough the first day of your second year at UA was over.

As you and the group walked back to the dorm buildings, you didn’t talk much. In fact, you had barely spoken since this morning. This didn’t go unnoticed by your friends.

“You okay?” Sero inquired, glancing at you. You look back at him with an unreadable expression while you were trying to appear as if you didn’t feel like the worst person in the world right now.

“Yeah?” You drag out the word playfully and with a grin to further the lie that you were perfectly happy. “Just checking” he turns his gaze back to watch where he was walking.

As the group chatted amongst themselves while walking out the main doors to the school, you couldn’t help but notice a purple tuft of hair peaking over the slight crowd. As much as you dreaded the idea of talking to your crush directly, you knew what you had to do to make things right.

“Hey, I’m gonna go talk to Shinsou” you bluntly told your friends and they all look at you with different expressions of shock. You didn’t care. You had to go find him and apologize before you lost him in the crowd. So, you walked off without another word.

“I’ll come with!” Denki goes to walk off with you but Kirishima grabs him by the shoulder to hold him back and with the group. “Nah dude” The redhead speaks “You’re a horrible wing man” he stated causing the rest of them to laugh.

As you maneuver through the crowd, apologizing to people when necessary, you finally made it up to where he was. He had his headphones in.

You reached out and tapped on his shoulder as you walk up beside him with a friendly smile. He looks almost annoyed as he takes his headphones out of his ears.

“Yes?” He raises an eyebrow at you and you feel the heaviness in your chest. Hopefully you weren’t bothering him, but he did sound like you were in fact bothering him.

As you two and the crowd of students all cross the street, you begin to speak to him “Listen, I’m really sorry” you apologize to him and he looks almost confused.

“For what exactly?” He furrows his eyebrows in confusion at your sudden apology. As far as he knew, you hadn’t even done anything to him.

“Making you uncomfortable earlier” you say “Y’know? When we were doing ice breakers and I said my left boob is bigger than my right one?” You continue to explain before he could say anything else “So I’m sorry for my bad joke” you hum as the two of you walk over to the side, away from the crowd so you could talk properly “Although, it wasn’t a joke, I’m actually pretty certain that it’s true” you shrug as the two of you stand in front of one another.

He raised a pierced brow at your statement before you stuck out your hand to shake his. “Let me start over” you tell him before continuing as he clasps his hand in yours to shake it.

“Hi, I’m (Name) and I have a tongue piercing” you stick out your tongue to show him.

“Same” he responded monotonously while sticking out his to show you the proof. All while you two are still shaking hands for an awkwardly long time. Almost as if none of you want to let go of each other’s hand.

But he does, deciding to give you a little fun fact. “Hi, I’m Shinsou and I snuck a cat into my dorm room” he simply states as if he’s not breaking a rule or anything.

“What?” You deadpan. It was a fantastic idea. You were a little envious that you hadn’t ever thought to sneak a pet into your room before.

“I’m serious” he states “Do you want to come to my room and pet it? He’s friendly” he immediately regrets saying that, thinking it was too bold of him. However, you surprised him. “Sure!” You agree, almost too eagerly, making you purse your lips together. Now he probably thinks you’re too weird and eager.

As the two of you make your way up to his room, it just so happens that he’s neighbors with Kirishima. That’s how you ended up running into the Bakusquad (minus Bakugo) in the hallway.

 “Ohhhhh~” Denki says in a sultry teasing tone of voice while doing a fake make out motion while turning his back to the both of you making you become awkward and embarrassed while Shinsou comes up with a sly comeback.

“What? You wanna watch or somethin?” And your cheeks flare up with heat at his statement. Who did this insanely attractive guy think he was?! You wouldn’t mind kissing him but now is not the time for that conversation…

Denki just stood there dumbfounded at Shinsou’s witty and quick comeback. “Uhm..” was all that could leave his mouth before Shinsou spoke up again, unlocking the door with his keys.

He lets you walk inside first as he held the door open for you. “Yeah that’s what I thought” he states before disappearing into the room, letting the door shut behind him.

You stand in the middle of the room stiffly while he puts his bag down and goes to give the cat some attention “You gonna come over here? He doesn’t bite” he sees you standing stiff as a board.

“You brought me here to make out?” You blurt out in a questioning voice and he absolutely loses it in a way that you would never expect.

“Hey why is that funny?” You furrow your eyebrows and he wipes a tear from his waterline

“Sorry! Just the way you said it. You’re so awkward” his laughter begins to die down. This is not the Shinsou you were used to experiencing. He was typically closed off and reserved. You liked this side of him.

“Oh!” You raise your eyebrows “Yeah I get that sometimes” you joke along and put your bag down next to his and go to pet the cat with him.

“What’s it’s name?” You say generally not wanting to assume if the cat was a boy or a girl just yet. You scratch the black fur gently behind its ear and it purrs in delight.

“His name is Gerard Way” he tells you seriously. Now it’s your turn to actually lose it. You laugh your heart out. Yes the name wasn’t surprising considering it was Shinsou, but still it’s not what you at all expected.

“You really are emo huh?” You giggle while the cat walks away from the two of you, leaving you both sitting on the floor parallel from each other. Nearly perfect kissing distance.

“Hey, takes one to know one” he softly laughs as he watches the cat jump up onto his desk and curl up to take a nap.

“Yeah… you got me there” you quietly say as the two of you make eye contact. But something strayed his look away from your eyes. It was your lips. They looked so perfect and soft.

It was almost like it was instinctive that the two of you moved forward on your own. You softly closed your eyes as your lips made contact. This had to be a dream of some sorts!

Lips moved softly against one another before you broke the kiss, needing stupid oxygen.

“Wow” you spoke and he nodded in agreement, eyes still shut, basking in that moment he just shared with you.

“Uhm” he opens his eyes, not knowing what to say. “Listen, I didn’t mean to push y-“ he starts before your lips are on his again, arms wrapping around the back of his neck as his find your waist and hold onto your uniform jacket.

When you pull away you speak up “I wanted to kiss you” you admit, breathless from the most recent set of kisses.

“I see that” he grins with raised eyebrows at your boldness. Not that he was surprised by it, he experienced it earlier today. But this, was a whole different story. He liked it.

“Go out with me?” You quickly ask him before he has much time to think about the kissing. He softly laughs and nods his head “Saturday good?” He inquires and you nod feverishly.

“Alright, it’s a date” he says

[moon-kid39]

Saja Boys Backstories Part 3: How They Met Each Other

A/n: This is the last and final part of this series. I really enjoyed making it and hope you guys enjoyed reading it. Hopefully I can figure out how to link the parts with each other so it’s easier to navigate between them🥴

Disclaimer!: I don’t thinks there’s anything that needs to be mentioned for this. If there is, just let me know so I can add it!

Romance and Mystery:

During their time as demons, they were just going through the motions. Stealing souls, and whatever else it is the demons do. They actually met each other a hundred years or so after their deaths, and started to team up when it came to going outside the honmoon. I like to think of them as the smooth talker and silent duo, using their looks and personalities to lure people in. Even though they were partners in crime, they were never really close, and I think Gwi Ma made sure of that, making sure they were still focused on serving him and his needs. Maybe he even put them against each other; whoever collected the most souls got to eat his leftovers. They were the first of the group Jinu picked out. The way he was thinking was if he could get the “dynamic duo” on board, then he could get anyone on board.

Baby:

Jinu recruited Baby because he was an easy target. Everyone knew that Baby actually hates Gwi Ma because he would send him on missions to steal the souls of those lost in the forest. The only reason he agreed in this is because he didn’t have anything better to do, and he was tired of being around Gwi Ma and following his orders all the time. So naturally he jumped at the chance to get away and to the other side of the honmoon. Was actually excited to see the city since the last time he saw it was before modern times. I would say he was even fond of being an idol.

Abby:

Another easy target that took literally no convincing. Abby was always a people person in his human life, and that quality didn’t go away as a demon. He was excited to finally start interacting with humans again as a human, even if he was just pretending. Before they pitched the idea to Gwi Ma, Jinu actually worked one on one with Abby to help him with his stage fright. From time to time, he does get some jitters when he has to make public appearances, but it’s always short lived because he loves being an idol, just like Baby.