#best breakfast for weight loss in AUS

[todaynewsonline]

20 Satisfying and Healthy Breakfast Ideas for Weight Loss

Healthy Breakfast Ideas for Weight Loss

Healthy Breakfast Ideas for Weight Loss:- Making healthy breakfast choices can help set your day up for success by giving you energy, keeping you full until lunch, and preventing you from turning to sugary snacks or fast food as an alternative. If you’re someone who wants to prioritize protein in their breakfast, egg recipes are a great choice. Breakfast scrambles, omelets, and plain fried eggs…

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。what if you’re someone i just want around (i’m falling again)

synopsis. somewhere along the line, you started to hate suguru—that doesn’t mean you stopped loving him too

— word count. 9.5k (i am in misery)

— contents. post canon! au — fix it! (we all need a good fix it fic with suguru don't lie), this fic was started before recent manga chapters so the higher ups are still alive—just go with it ok :,), geto survives + lives free of kenjaku, exes to lovers, kind of redemption i suppose, mentions of blood, injuries, and weight loss (geto), mentions of canon character deaths (nanako, mimiko, nanami), mentions of wanting to raise children with geto and have a family, no gendered terms but reader has a personality and actual thoughts and feelings, references to the hunger games (you have movie night lol), BFF satoru (he is babie), there is a kiss y’all !! (scandalous i know :O)

— notes. i started this fic back in march and i had trouble with it and put it on pause for a while. i’m very glad i finished it in the end. i always like fix it! fics and this is self-indulgent and idk if ppl will read it bc it’s sfw but it’s ok if they don’t, i loved writing it. thank you koi for beta-reading this whole bad boy. mwah <333

the day suguru is declared a free man is actually the day he signs away his freedom for good. 

you say nothing, but you know it’s the truth. satoru fights tooth and nail to plead suguru’s case—you think it’s perhaps a little too desperate for it to be in the best interest of suguru and not himself. but satoru has suffered enough, and admittedly—although you deny it—a small part of you does not want to lose suguru twice. you watch as satoru argues that suguru has already died once—surely he can’t die again? and losing control of his body and mind is paying for his crimes enough, is it not? he argues that there are no ideals left for a man like geto suguru to chase after losing himself to every principle he had left. 

and then satoru wins. 

you expect it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. you watch numbly as suguru is assigned under your watch. you should be happy. you love suguru—you never stopped. but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not a free man, and now he drags your freedom with his. you’ll never break away from him, never cut through the ropes that tie your hands behind your back and bind you to him—and then you wonder for a moment, unsure if it’s selfish or selfless or some cruel in-between to think this way, if geto suguru was better off dead. 

whether that’s for your sake, or his, you’re not sure. 

and yes, he’s let off alive, and sure, there’s no real punishment for all he’s done, but you know deep down he’s as chained and shackled as he’s ever been. he’s not allowed to leave the house unless you or satoru are there to chaperone, and it’s never to be anywhere near non-sorcerers. he’s not to live in a place of his own until the higher up’s deem him trustworthy. he has to ask you to buy the things he wants from the grocery store. he can’t even step outside for a smoke unless you’re aware. 

for a long time, he doesn’t speak much—can hardly muster a barely audible mornin’ back when you force a smile and greet him cheerily for breakfast. slowly, it turns into half-snarky conversations that get cut short by one of you leaving the room. finally, you’re civil—maybe even friendly. you’re not so sure where you stand with him as of now.

it’s not the same suguru you remember falling in love with, it’s not even close to the version of the man you fell for all those years ago. it’s hard having him here—some days you’re angry and want to throw him out, to scream at him for haunting you again just when you think you’ve moved on from the horrors of your past. some days you want to cry and cling to him, bury your face into his neck and thank him for being here again, for finding his way back to you. and some days you wish you never met him at all, that this would all be easier if it didn’t exist in the first place. 

he’s not the same geto suguru you loved, but somehow, because life is as bitter as it is ruthless, you fall in love with this version just as hard no matter how much you deny it. 

“i made your favorite,” you smile gently, placing a neat plate of french toast with freshly cut strawberries on the side. you even take great care to get the syrup-to-powdered sugar ratio he likes right, but he doesn’t make a move to reach for the plate. instead, suguru sits at the table stiffly, like he has to be here or there are consequences for that too. it almost makes you sad—even here, he’s not free. 

“thanks,” he says quietly, “but i’m not hungry.”

“you said that last night, suguru,” you sigh, “and at lunch. and at breakfast. and at dinner the night before—”

“i’ll eat it later,” he cuts you off, playing with the ends of his hair. 

it’s a lot shorter now. it’s you who finds his body battered and bruised after the smoke clears. he’s almost unrecognizable, not the same charming and perfect suguru you’re used to seeing. not the same silkened strands and smooth skin, not the same muscled and toned body, not the same chiseled jaw and soft cheeks. instead, he’s a shell of himself. his hair is matted in knots, his body is almost frail, and you notice the sunken hollows of his cheeks and dark undereyes as you lift him from the rubble a little too easily. but his body is his own—that much you can tell from the way the stitches have disappeared. 

it takes shoko a long time to nurse him back to health—it takes even longer for him to open his eyes.

you waited day and night by his side, hand over his as he breathed slowly, unconscious and unsuspecting. it would be so easy, you think one night, it would be so easy to kill him and forget and move on. 

you’ve already grieved him once before. you’ve felt and conquered the pain of loving geto suguru and losing him first to himself and then to death. but love is as selfish as it is selfless, and it’s under your mercy that you let him live—yet it’s under your cowardice that you keep him close. 

“you have to gain back the weight you lost, suguru,” you sigh, “you’re w—”

“weak?” he finishes for you, eyeing you for a second and then grinning. it’s unsettling, a grin that makes your skin crawl and your heart stop for a moment before he’s reaching for the fork and stabbing into his toast. “is that what you wanted to say? that i’m weak?”

“suguru, you know that’s not how i meant—”

“you’re not wrong,” he hums, chewing on the first bite as he speaks, “i suppose i am pretty weak right now, huh? couldn’t even kill you in your sleep if i tried could i?”

your throat is dry as you shrug, “i suppose not,” you whisper. 

“ah,” he grins again, “but that doesn’t stop you from locking your door every night, does it?” 

suguru is still healing. his body is weak, and sometimes, he leans against the wall as he walks. his arm is healed—you’re not entirely sure how, but you catch him rolling the shoulder out every now and then like it’s sore and stiff. he’s lost a lot of weight—part of it is from being bedridden for as long as he was, injured and half alive, and part of it is from barely eating—save for the few bites you force into him. you never thought there’d be a day when you could say this—but the odds of you beating suguru in hand-to-hand combat are high, and the reality is an everlasting reminder that he is not who you fell for. 

you swallow, letting out a shaky breath as he watches you closely, diligently cutting another bite from the french toast sitting on his plate as he stares you down like he can see past your soul. you don’t know what’s scarier—that suguru can still practically see yours, or that you’re unsure he even has one anymore. 

“you tried coming in?” you ask, unsure what else to say. he merely shrugs, takes another bite, and sets his fork down. 

“thought i’d check on you,” he pops a strawberry half into his mouth as he speaks.

“is that what it really was?” you raise a brow, “or was i right to lock the door?”

you’re not sure why you lock the door at night. maybe it’s because you don’t trust him, or maybe it’s because you don’t want him near you just yet. you’re not sure. you’re not sure how satoru can go back to his cheery self, how he can step through your door and boom a loud yo, suguru! before settling beside suguru on the couch with his feet on the coffee table as he rambles away. maybe it’s not real—maybe it’s satoru desperately pretending that if he tries hard enough, things can go back to how they were. 

but you don’t know how he still has the energy to try, and you don’t know if you have it in you to try anymore yourself. 

you and suguru stare each other down like that for a bit, the tension rising with every silent second that passes. you’re sure he doesn’t want to be here as much as you don’t want him around—but you’re also sure he’s glad it’s here with you as much as you’re glad it’s with no one else.

“you tell me,” he smirks after a bit, the hint of amusement making your fists clench. how dare he have the audacity to look at you like that in your own home? like he has the upper hand over you without trying? “what do you think i was there for?”

“i think you should stay in your room, suguru,” you say carefully, “i bought a new bed just for that room.”

“how sweet of you,” he hums. he sips the tea before him—it’s cold by now, but it’s just how he likes it, rose with one sugar. “you must have been excited to have me.”

“hardly,” you mumble bitterly—you can’t help it. you want him to feel hurt, even just a little. you want him to know that just because he’s back, it doesn’t mean you’ve waited all this time for him to be. liar, a part of you says, you’ve always waited for him, haven’t you? but suguru doesn’t seem phased—he doesn’t even blink.

“then tell me, why am i here?” suguru asks, his tone is as casual as ever. 

i wish i knew, you want to say. i wish i knew but i don’t.

“because satoru asked you to be,” is all you can say.

he nods, pushing back his plate and standing up, offering you that same grin. “you’re right,” he hums, “that’s exactly why i’m here.”

it hits you why his smile is so unsettling once he leaves—it’s almost genuine, like he’s still loved you all this time. impossible, you tell yourself. suguru stopped loving you a long time ago. and you need to stop trying to figure out why. 

————————————————

even despite telling yourself you don’t care what suguru thinks, a small part of you needs to prove to him you’re not scared of him. that you don’t fear for your own safety in your home, and that him being here is not some form of him haunting you. you don’t care. he shouldn’t get the luxury of thinking you care. he can come in and watch you sleep like the creep he is if he wants—you couldn’t bother to give it a second thought. 

the first night you take a chance and leave the door unlocked, suguru slips into bed beside you. it wakes you up instantly, and before you can question it, his head tucks into your neck, and his hand grasps your shirt tightly. you notice the panting almost instantly—and then you realize, it must be a nightmare. 

you fall into old habits, even after all these years, defaulting to care for him like it’s second nature. 

“you’re safe, suguru,” is what you settle for saying after a moment of contemplation. it’s all you can really think to say, so you brush your lips over the top of his head as you murmur, “you’re safe,” over and over again. 

as difficult as it is to have suguru around, as painful and cruel and aggravating as it is to be reminded of his distant existence even as he’s two doors down, this part feels natural. it’s almost like you’re back in jujutsu high, waking up to him sneaking into your room as he presses his weight over your body and wakes you with soft kisses along your face. 

except this time, he’s not annoyingly demanding cuddles or telling you about his weird dream, he’s not stealing your blanket and demanding you play with his hair. this time, it’s not the same suguru—and this time, it’s not jujutsu high. 

it’s your room. the one you got on the other side of town to leave the sorcery world behind, somehow still stuck right in the center of it no matter where you go. and yet, just like all those years ago, your legs tangle, and your arms wrap him up, and you murmur, “you’re safe,” while he catches his breath. 

“but they’re not,” he mutters in between labored pants, making you pause. 

and then you remember. 

faintly, you recall the blonde and black hair from a distance, you remember bitterly wondering what’d it be like watching suguru fathering children of your own as you came to the reality that it would never happen. sometimes, you wonder if you hate nanako and mimiko for existing, for living as the dreams you never got to live through with suguru. 

it’s selfish—to hate two children because they are what you do not have. 

but then you feel something wet hit your neck, and then you wish they were okay—for his sake. and just for a moment, you’re selfless again. 

“they’re not safe,” he mutters, making you sigh. 

“they are,” you whisper, hesitating for a moment before letting your fingers slip into his hair. you scratch gently at his scalp, feeling his body melt into yours almost instantly—like it’s a response that’s natural to him. “they’re not suffering. not anymore.”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” he scoffs. you shrug, letting your cheek press against the top of his head as you sigh.

“it helps me feel better,” you say softly, “‘s just how you learn to cope.”

it’s an understanding you both silently come to. loss on both sides. bloodshed on either ground. defeat no matter which ideal you take. to love is to bear the pain of mortality—it’s a lesson that you never cease to learn until the ends of time itself. 

“the jujutsu world is one of suffering,” he grits, sniffling into your neck. you hum, pressing a kiss to his head as your eyes close. 

“every world is one of suffering, suguru, you can’t erase them all. the sooner you realize that, the easier you’ll find peace.”

you fall into a slumber after that, faintly aware of the way he shuffles closer to you, faintly aware of the soft kiss pressed to your skin as sleep takes over your body and drifts you out of consciousness. 

when you wake up the next morning, suguru is gone, and the door is closed. the blanket is tucked up to your chin, and your neck still tingles from last night. 

————————————————

“get up,” you throw a pillow at suguru, waking him up with a start as he sits up. his hair is tousled and messy from sleep—it’s now long enough that he can put it in a bun without strands slipping from the bottom anymore. you chuckle as he glares at you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he groans. 

“the fuck was that for?” he grunts, holding the blanket up to cover his exposed chest. 

it’s funny that he does that, in a way. it’s not as though you haven’t seen his chest…and then some too. it’s not like you haven’t torn his shirt off to stanch the flow of blood from his injuries before or feel the bare skin with your palm under the pale moonlight as the lingering scent of sex breezes through the room. 

but somehow, even though he doesn’t need to cover his chest around you of all people, you’re glad that he does. truthfully, it keeps you slightly comforted to know that he’s aware you’re still technically strangers—no matter how well-versed you are in each other’s pasts. but you don’t ponder on it too much. instead, you grin, shoving aside the visual of the small glance you caught at his pecs, and you clap your hands to motion him to hurry. 

“we are going grocery shopping,” you say casually—as though it’s not something to make him raise a brow in shock.

“me?” he points a finger at himself. you roll your eyes, and he challenges you with another raise of his brow. “aren’t i supposed to stay away from civilians?”

“yes, you,” you nod, pointing back at him, “and satoru has worked overtime to get you granted permission to roam around with me. he says you’re welcome, by the way.”

“tell him to go fuck off.”

“that’s ungrateful,” you say flatly, “his feelings will be hurt.”

“his feelings will find a way to cope,” suguru huffs. “i don’t want to be around…them,” he says bitterly. 

you suppose it’s wishful thinking to hope suguru has let go of his past beliefs. perhaps he’s long abandoned the possibility of the vision he once planned on bringing to life, but you can’t say you expected him to revert back to the old suguru who fought alongside you and satoru. you yourself certainly have no intention of returning to the sorcery world after all the events, so you can’t say you’re shocked by the lack of change he seems to show. but then again, you suppose suguru has changed. whether he sees it or not. 

he stays here and doesn’t put up a fight to leave even though he can now that he’s healed. he eats lunch when you tell him and even washes the dishes. sometimes, when you come home a bit late, dinner is even ready on the table as he sits and stares at you expectantly. his plate is empty like yours—like he’s been waiting for you even though he doesn’t need to. you suppose you can see he’s changed in the way he doesn’t scoff at the tv channels you surf through, he silently sits on the opposite end of the couch now and watches with you, and perhaps if you’re lucky, you’ll hear a light chuckle or a quiet sigh as the scenes roll on the screen. 

you suppose this suguru is a step closer to your suguru every day he spends with you, but you don’t know if any suguru is what you need right now. perhaps that name should’ve been buried away as a distant memory, perhaps it should’ve only been something you unlock once every year on his death anniversary—when satoru clambers through your door drunk and unsteady as he clutches the hand that killed his best friend, only to share pancakes with you in the morning and pretend like you don’t notice the dried tears on his cheeks while he acts like he doesn’t catch the way your hand shakes as you cut into your breakfast. 

but suguru is here now. whether it’s as geto, one half of the strongest duo in jujutsu high, whether it’s as suguru, the love of your life and the sole reason you exist, or whether it’s as geto suguru, the curse user and mass murderer who haunts your past, present, and everything in between. 

so you simply sigh, grab the pillow again, and hit the top of his head before walking over to the door as you call over your shoulder, “i’m gonna wait for you by the door in fifteen minutes. be ready or face the consequences..”

“no thanks. don’t wanna,” suguru grumbles petulantly, frowning at you as you stick your tongue at him, smirking as if you’ve just played your ace. 

“too bad,” you sing before swinging the door shut.

he’s at the door in exactly fifteen minutes, like he waited until the last possible second to join you as a move of spite. but you simply gesture him out the door and lock up, taking your sweet time as he stands there with an annoyed face. you stare at the doorknob once you’re done, taking a deep breath before turning to him with your best smile. 

“let’s go,” you hum.

“after you,” he mutters.

—

he grimaces as soon as he sees the people going about their business, clearly unhappy with the idea of being around non-sorcerers, but one sharp glare from you has him sighing and trekking along. the grocery store, admittedly, is not as bad as suguru thinks—in fact, there are lots of things he doesn’t realize he misses until he watches you grab a shopping cart. 

suddenly, he sees shadows. the silhouette of your figure climbing into the cart, the angry wave of satoru’s hands as he claims it's his turn to be pushed around, the figure of shoko pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation from the back—and then, he sees the dark shadow of baggy pants and a small bun. it’s him. suguru watches himself almost in slow motion through the remnants of his imagination as he gently shoves satoru out of the way and reaches to poke the tip of your nose before he pushes the cart with you in it.  

it’s a happy memory—and it’s gone all too soon.

as soon as he blinks, the shadows have disappeared—instead, it’s you waving a hand in his face, concern written on your features as you call his name. 

“suguru? hey, hello? are you with me?”

he exhales, pulled from his trance as he gently grabs your wrist from in front of his face and sets it down as he nods, “yeah, i’m fine. just thinking,” he mumbles. 

for a second, you hesitate, like you almost mean to say something. but in the end, you only nod before turning to grab the shopping cart. but he stops you—grabs the handle and turns to you with a small smile on his face, making you raise a brow as he gently moves you away. 

“what are you—”

“get in,” he grins, making you stare at him in bewilderment. 

“what?”

“just get in,” he sighs, “you love it when you get to sit in the cart.”

“i’m not a teenager anymore—”

“get in, will you?” he groans, “always so damn difficult.”

“hey,” you pout, glaring at him with your hands planted at your hips, “that’s rude.” it’s cute. suguru stares at you with amusement in his eyes and a soft look on his face that you don’t think you’ve really seen in years. 

“humor me,” he hums, “just get in, okay?”

so you do. 

with a huff and a grumble under your breath, you fight back a smile and climb into the damn cart just like old times. you swallow and try not to let it get to you when he reaches over and pokes the tip of your nose and pushes the cart around, letting you name off the things you need from your list while he grabs them. and when he sneaks snacks into the pile, you roll your eyes and glare at him in the way you always did—the one that isn’t actually annoyed. fond. happy to let it slide because it’s him.

“we need candy,” you murmur, “that’s the last thing on the list.”

“okay. what kind?” he asks, turning the cart into the candy aisle and smiling softly down at you.

“doesn’t matter, satoru eats anything as long as it’s sweet. he’s more likely to die from sugar than fighting a curse, i think.”

“you buy candy for satoru?” he asks, making you shrug as you reach over and grab a few bags of candy off the shelves, setting them down beside you. 

“he comes over a lot so i learned to keep stuff stocked up for him. you know how he gets when he’s hungry.”

suguru feels something he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager. jealousy—specifically of satoru. 

suguru is not foolish. he knows as soon as he meets gojo satoru that of the two, one of them is stronger and it’s definitely not himself. for the longest time, he’s okay with that, okay being the strongest only when alongside satoru—until he’s not. and even if suguru always had a bit more attention in the romance department than satoru, in his head he’s always known that perhaps satoru can keep you safer, more well off, maybe even happier. with smooth smiles and eyes as welcoming as an oasis, gojo satoru would never leave you in the dark pit of misery as suguru once had. 

something about the thought of you and satoru keeping each other company through the lonely years, filling that empty spot suguru left behind, sharing moments over candy and empty wrappers makes suguru wonder for a moment if perhaps he’d be happier if he stayed. maybe he could have worn a heartfelt smile in a world that carves them off the faces of sorcerers with bloody knives as long as you were there to wipe the blood.  

but before he can dwell on it, you snatch one more bag—this time of his favorite candy, placing it into the cart and grinning gently up at him. 

“i haven’t bought this one in years,” you admit, “i almost forget how it tastes.”

“me too,” he says quietly.

“well,” you hum, “we’ll have to have some when we’re home.”

home. you say it as though it belongs to him as much as it does you, and then like you always have, without even meaning to, you wash away the dark stains of his jealousy with no trace left behind.

“yeah,” he chuckles, “we—”

“daddy, look! candy!” suguru is cut off by the gentle pitter-patter of two tiny feet running into the aisle, pointing at a bag of candy as a man follows close behind. 

his breath hitches. 

she’s small, the girl—she has two pigtails with soft strands of blonde hair falling out of the loosely tied bands. it reminds suguru of the first time he perfected tying up nanako’s hair, the soft giggles behind her tiny hand as she twirled in the mirror. 

there’s another girl in the man’s arms—dark hair on her head as she curls into her father’s chest and tucks her head into his neck when she sees you and suguru in the aisle. she’s shy, he realizes, like mimiko, and suddenly he remembers the tiny fingers that used to hook into his pants when she got too overwhelmed by the people around her, waiting for suguru to scoop her into his arms. 

perhaps in another life, suguru would redo everything differently—he’d be happy with you and satoru and shoko, and nanami and haibara would be there too, well and alive. but no matter what, he’d never redo nanako and mimiko differently. he’d never change a thing about them, not even the way nanako whines too much about small things or the way mimiko never speaks up even when something is clearly bothering her. he’d never change the way he saved them and took them in at the tender age of eighteen, too lost to be a father but choosing to raise them anyway. he’d never change the feeling of pure joy and unbridled pride when they climbed into his bed for the first time, shushing each other so as not to wake him—even though he’d awoken as soon as the door to his room opened. 

because he realized that night that yeah, maybe he’d made mistakes in his lifetime, lots of them too. maybe he’d made a bad choice choosing the path he did, or maybe he didn’t. he’s never been completely sure—just that he had to try at least to make his vision for a different world come to life. but one mistake he never made was his girls. one thing he was always sure about was the soft clutch at his pants and the tiny hands reaching for his own.

suguru wouldn’t change anything about nanako and mimiko—except maybe the fact that they aren’t here, gone because of him. 

“suguru?” you ask softly, reaching for his hand as he grips the cart tightly and pulling his gaze away from the family in the distance. 

he blinks, meets your eyes, and knows that you know. with one glance at your face, he knows you understand. the world is cruel, one filled with suffering, he thinks. but then he remembers what you said, that every world is full of suffering, not just his—that it’s a truth he has to come face to face with.

but it’s hard. it’s hard when this man has his two little girls and suguru does not—it’s hard to watch someone have what he wants with no worries of losing it, all because of people and their own weaknesses. he thinks for a moment that he’s been right all along—that non-sorcerers are too weak for this life, that the jujutsu world has always suffered so they don’t have to. 

but then the man speaks up, catching both of your attention. 

“your mother used to love those,” he says quietly to his daughter, a pained smile on his face. instantly, you and suguru both seem to understand the weight of that single sentence. 

every world has its own pain, suguru realizes. its own cruelties and unfairness, its own way of bringing suffering in its wake as it rips away the things closest to you from your begging fingertips, leaving them cold and empty and numb from the lost weight underneath them. 

“let’s go, suguru,” you whisper, “we have everything we came for.”

“yeah,” he whispers back, clearing his throat so his voice doesn’t crack, “let’s go.”

suguru leaves the grocery store with you after you pay, and for a brief moment, he’s unsure. unsure whether he’s grateful to satoru for fighting for him to be able to come and grateful to you for dragging him along, or if he wishes he died along with the rubble, gone before you could find him and turn him into this.

“before you even think about hiding away in your room,” you say, grabbing the bags from the cart as you put it back where it belongs, “you have to help with putting away the groceries.”

“sure,” he says smoothly. he grabs all the heavy bags from your hand, and you make a move to protest that you don’t need him to take the heavier ones, that you’re fine and can handle them like you’ve always handled them. 

but he walks off, and finally, you decide to simply follow.

————————————————

satoru likes to come and visit—you’ve started a routine movie night every week (unless he’s away, of course.) it’s fun, but it also means he makes your veins pop because he’s a headache like that—always makes himself right at home and eats your snacks like this is his place and not yours. he helps himself to your already limited candy and puts his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table no matter how many times you tell him not to. 

you try sitting with legs as long as these, he always whines, earning a harsh glare from you as you smack at his shins until he ultimately caves and begrudgingly sets his feet down. 

but then they always make their way back up to the coffee table, and you’re too busy enjoying his company to care—although you’ll never admit it. 

satoru is endearing like that, swallowing the dark clouds from your shoulders whole and eating up your burdens with that side of responsibility that you don’t think you could ever stomach. satoru is just like that, you realize, taking the brunt of the weight and laughing off every concern until you can’t help but not take them seriously yourself. 

it’s hard to remember that sometimes you didn’t just lose suguru, the love of your life, that night. everyone lost something. shoko lost someone to smoke with, yaga lost a student to scold, nanami lost a headache to avoid, and satoru?

well…satoru lost what you think might’ve been the only filled void of his miserably empty life. 

it’s hard to remember that satoru lost his best friend—the only best friend he’s ever had (although you like to think of yourself as a close contender)—because he’s so good at letting you forget. he brings you ice cream (that he eats half of because it’s only fair he gets a share), and he sits and hogs your couch (that he argues you don’t really need as much space as him on because your legs aren’t as long), and he watches those stupid sitcoms that are dry with boring jokes (that you used to make suguru watch back in the day).

it’s hard to remember that satoru also lost as much as you because he’s so damn good at making you forget about your own loss, you don’t care to think about anyone else’s for a while. just a short while. just until he’s yawning that obnoxiously loud yawn and stretching those awkwardly long limbs of his before he claims he really should go and that being the world’s best teacher requires as many hours of beauty sleep as you can squeeze in. 

and then he’s off. and it’s empty again. and just like that, you’re reminded of why he was there in the first place—to fill in that sick and painful void that geto suguru left in you. 

it’s gaping, like he tore a chunk of you right out with sharp teeth, like you’re just a piece of meat for him to get his fill of. if suguru really loved you, would you be so easy to let go of? why couldn’t he smile? because you could—god, you could smile just from the sight of him alone, you realize a long time ago. him with his cigarette tucked between his lips, those death sticks as you called them, hung loosely from his mouth as he gives you a lopsided grin. 

geto suguru is enough of a reason to smile. the world could crumble at your feet and leave you with nothing but rubble and dirt, and still, suguru is the core of the earth you’re searching for. 

so why couldn’t you be the same? what is it you were missing? what about you was just not enough for him like the way he was enough for you? 

it dawns on you one night, through bitter tears and shaky sobs, and that sick, twisted, pleading feeling in your gut that begs the wind to carry him back to you—geto suguru has never loved you the way you loved him.

and for that, you can never forgive him, you don’t think.

“you tryin’ to go bug-eyed?” he asks, settling down on the couch next to you, making you snap out of your trance. you shake your head a little, stare back at him for a moment before putting on that look on your face where you roll your eyes and pretend everything is fine.

“no,” you huff, “i’m just thinking.”

“about…?”

“satoru has rarely ever missed a movie night.”

“maybe he’s sick of you,” he shrugs, grinning slyly at you as you narrow your eyes with a glare, “there’s someone here to keep you company now so he’s probably taken his opportunity to run.”

“you’re hardly company,” you scoff, “freeloader.”

“hey,” he defends, shrugging as if it’s not his fault. you suppose it’s not. “i didn’t ask to be rescued. you can’t be high and mighty and petty. ‘s not how that works.”

“says who? you don’t make the rules. i can be graciously kind and a jerk all at once.”

“complexity,” he nods, “i like it.”

“i’m not as complicated as you might think,” you grumble, crossing your arms as you stare at the time. yeah, satoru isn’t making it—which, he told you as much, but he’s strolled in at the last second too many times to count before. you figure today would be the same. “as long as you don’t skip movie nights with me, i’m pretty simple to keep appeased.”

“alright,” he props his feet up on the coffee table—seriously, what is it with asshole men putting their feet on your table? satoru is a terrible influence. “let’s have a movie night.”

“what?” you blink.

“movie night,” he repeats, “you said you don’t like skipping movie night—”

“well, i meant i don’t like satoru skipping movie—”

“well, it was me before satoru, wasn’t it?” he says with a smile. his eyes are closed, crinkled at the corners, but his voice is carefully neutral—like he takes extra care not to let you see any emotion behind it. 

but that only means there is an emotion, isn’t there? is he jealous? does he hate the fact that you and satoru have a routine of your own without him? that you don’t need him to continue living your life? 

good. he should be. he walked out on you all those years ago. he killed a village. killed his parents. you never even got to meet them—he never even got to take you home and introduce you to them before he ripped away every fantasy you ever had with him. 

and now he’s back—he has the audacity to live, to laugh in your face with his existence that yes, geto suguru is here. and he was supposed to be executed, but your stubborn friend didn’t let that happen. he was supposed to be your husband by now with kids and a happy little home, and you were supposed to be his parent’s new addition to their family that they loved so much. but none of that is even close to happening, and it’s suguru’s fault, and the least he can do is show you some regret and maybe feel just the slightest bit bad that you now have to watch shitty movies with his best friend instead of him to feel normal. 

ex-best friend? half best friend? you don’t even know—do they still consider each other their best friends? does anyone consider suguru anything? you don’t know what you consider him. but you think the least he can do is act just the slightest bit pathetic after making you feel so pathetic for so long just to even the score. 

he should be a stranger. he feels like an old friend. but either is dangerous. 

“alright,” you sigh, “let's bring back movie night. don’t fall asleep.”

“i get plenty of sleep nowadays,” he hums, “i have more than enough free time for that now.”

“how lucky of you,” you snort. 

—

picking a movie with suguru is difficult. he actually has standards—satoru watches anything so long as he gets snacks, and he can make anything fun to watch with the way he comments from the side like a critic. suguru, on the other hand, actually cares about the quality of a movie, the metrics that make it good. 

so you pick the hunger games just to piss him off. 

“seriously?” he raises a brow, “this is your pick?”

“yes,” you grin, “i like these movies.”

“of all movies—”

“my house, my rules,” you grin cheekily, “you can pick the movies as soon as you start paying the bills.”

“wow,” he deadpans, “stooping to use my financial status against me? i thought you were better than this.”

“oh suguru,” you sigh dramatically, grabbing a bag of chips from the table, “you don’t know me at all.”

all things considered, you think it’s a rather enjoyable experience. it’s not as fun without satoru’s stupid comments that you pretend to hate, but suguru provides his own commentary that earns a giggle out of you here and there too—although his are not meant to be funny. but that’s the appeal of it, you think. 

“she should have picked gale,” he mumbles. you raise a brow.

“peeta was always there for her, did you miss the rain scene?”

“so was gale,” he says smoothly, grabbing a chip from your bag and making you scowl.

“gale killed her sister,” you point out, “and a lot of other people too. he was ruthless. she needed peeta.”

“gale did what he had to do,” suguru mumbles. 

suddenly, it doesn’t really feel like you’re discussing the movie anymore. it feels more than that. it feels sickening—the air is heavy, and your throat is dry and god, you just wanted a movie night and not this heaviness as you talk about stuff from the past without actually talking about it. 

you blink before turning to your chips, playing around with the bag as you shrug. 

“in the end he didn’t get katniss, did he?”

suguru studies you for a moment, stares a little too deep into you that you start to feel the urge to bolt to your room and go to bed. 

“guess not,” he says quietly, “guess that’s the one regret he has, huh?”

you think for a second, as suguru stares at your eyes with something you can’t quite read, that you might cry. you might cry and throw that half-empty can of soda in his face for speaking in codes and making you question what he means and remember your past. you might cry because suguru could’ve always gotten you—in fact, he had you.

it’s not fair. nothing is, but you can’t help but dwell on it.

“i’m going to bed. it’s late,” you mumble after a few moments, standing. he only nods, staring at the tv as the credits roll. when you make it to your room and the door shuts behind you, you debate clicking the lock in place. 

in the end, you don’t lock the door. suguru climbs into bed with you once more later that night, shaking slightly from his nightmare but calmer than usual. he’s still gone by the time morning comes, and you still never mention it.

it hits you one night that maybe he still has you—maybe you never let him stop having you, no matter what you say.

————————————————

suguru is good at cleaning while you’re away. you have to go out and do adult things like breadwinning and grocery shopping and bill paying. he dusts and cleans and even takes out the trash when you’re home to monitor him as he steps two feet out of your front door. sometimes, because you like to get on his nerves, you accidentally mess up a corner of the house just as he cleans it, laughing as he shoots you an unimpressed look. 

“stop getting crumbs on the floor,” he mumbles, “i just vacuumed.”

“you make a good malewife,” you giggle, “vacuuming and everything. how cute.”

“don’t call me that,” he grumbles, sitting down on the couch. 

“but you missed a spot,” you point to the crumbs you’ve sprinkled from your fingers as you snack away, making him glare. “failwife.”

“i’m going to divorce you and take everything,” he snaps, making you snort as you put your hands up in surrender.

“you don’t have to, you know,” you murmur, “clean, i mean. i can handle it.”

“i think i should carry my weight around here,” he shrugs, “since you are basically sugar babying me around for now.”

“dangerous curse user to the world, but sugar baby to me,” you tease, pulling a chuckle out of him as he rolls his eyes. 

sometimes it’s nice to have his company. suguru is good with banter like that, he’s not annoying like satoru where you run in circles. suguru makes you laugh from your belly, makes the hiccups catch in your throat as you double over. he’s always been like that, always known how to make laughter pour from your lips and trickle down your chin. it’s comforting to know he still knows how. it leaves a small amount of bitterness that he’s still able to make you feel like this. 

“by the way, next time you go shopping, take me with you,” he says casually, “i need to buy stuff for my hair. it’s growing.”

“you’ll finally see the sun just for your hair?” you gasp, “who knew that’s all it’d take?”

despite the playfulness in your words, there’s still shock. suguru is willingly stepping foot outside your house. he’s finally choosing to return to life after living like a recluse no matter how many times you and satoru have tried to beg him to get up and go somewhere. the most you can get out of him is a walk around the neighborhood before he goes back to wandering your home and hiding away in his room. 

suguru is returning to life, his life, and you can’t help but wonder where that leaves room for you.

“my hair is my charm,” he reasons, “wouldn’t you agree?”

there’s a smirk on his lips when he asks—it’s like he’s seventeen and teasing you again, giving you that unfairly flirty smile that used to make you stutter as a kid. back when you were hopelessly in love. back when it was you, suguru, and the world in your corner. back when you had dreams of your future, practically giggling as you planned it away in a notebook. 

suguru was always perfect like that, the kind of guy you could only dream about. he’s always been handsome—he’s always been the center of attention everywhere you went. you used to huff about it, about all the attention he managed to get from walking into a room alone. but then he’d smile, give you that tender look of his as he’d chuckle, and you’d be hopeless again. 

he shouldn’t have that effect on you anymore after over a decade. but he does. it’s cruel, the way the universe works. it’s like there’s a magnet that pushes you together no matter how far you try to go, still pulled by gravity straight into his awaiting eyes and devilish smile.

“i cut your hair off once, i can do it again,” you huff. he laughs, it’s good-natured and kind. 

“i was a bit heartbroken when i realized it was so short, i have to admit,” he says, “i didn’t look like me.”

“you looked good,” you say quietly, “i think you’d make anything work, to be honest.”

“yeah?” he grins, “any requests? i might consider it if it’s you.”

“oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, “how about shaving your head bald? let's see how much charm you have without all that hair.”

“i could charm you without the hair still, couldn’t i?” he winks. 

it’s unfair how he acts like normal. like a few months in your home undoes everything he’s ever committed, all the atrocities he’s caused. the way he flirts with you feels like you’re his again. the way he’s aged and changed feels like you’re meeting someone new. you don’t understand how suguru is so natural with that—with seamlessly falling back into a rhythm with you like nothing has changed at all.

deep down, you know that suguru is just moving on with his life. he’s making the most of what he can. he can’t die, satoru would never let him have a peaceful death after all this. he can’t go back to the way things used to be, whether that’s his sorcery days or his curse user days, and he certainly can’t start over. so he’s making do with what he has—which is very little in reality.

it’s you, your home, and the biweekly visits from satoru and occasionally shoko. so he weaves you seamlessly into his life and treats you with a sense of normalcy you can’t hope to treat him with. maybe it’s because suguru was actually able to move on after he left. 

it’s the part you hated him most for. for building a family with new people. for having two girls that he raised as daughters. for finding people to follow him and trust. suguru, after he walked away from everything he ever knew, actually did something with his life—even if it could hardly be considered good. 

you? you fell deeper and deeper into a pit of denial until clawing your way back out was too impossible, until you had to leave behind everything you’ve ever known to get away from the remnants of his existence. 

it’s easy for him to weave you back into his life because he chose to cut you loose. it feels damn near impossible to let him weave back into yours after he tore himself from the edges and frayed away. 

“don’t do that,” you sigh, making him frown.

“do what?”

“you know what, suguru,” you pinch your nose in frustration, “stop acting like things are normal.”

“things are definitely not normal,” he snorts bitterly, “i think needing your approval to take the trash out is not equal to normal.”

“then why are you acting like…” you trail off, unsure.

“like what?” he raises a brow. 

“like we never changed,” you slam your hands down on the couch in exasperation. 

he stares at you for a minute, blinks once, then twice, and then furrows his brows.

“well, of course we changed,” he mumbles in confusion, “i know that—”

you shouldn’t have said anything. you quickly realize that. suguru is not trying to act like things are normal—he’s trying to be civil, and you’re just a fool. a fool who looks too deeply into everything and assumes what you want to out of things and god, you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of your one and only ex-boyfriend in over a decade who was once dead and somehow came back to the land of the living.

of course, he knows things are not the same. he doesn’t want what you think he does. it’s been years and suguru has moved on—he had already moved on all those years ago, and you’re the only one here that is still focused on the past. and now he knows it too. 

you stand before he can finish, nodding as you stare down instead of meeting his eyes, pretending to adjust your clothes. 

“right, of course you do,” you nod, “i don’t know why i said that. just ignore me, i’ll be going to my room now. i have…things to do, so i’ll be—”

“hang on,” he frowns, hand grabbing your wrist, “i don’t mean it like that,” he says gently.

fuck geto suguru for being so confusing and fuck him for being nice about it too. 

“you can let go, suguru,” you pull at your wrist, “forget what i said, i wasn’t thinking—”

“i still feel the same,” he cuts you off, making your eyes widen, “if that’s what you mean. i never stopped.”

never stopped—that’s almost worse than moving on. how could he have felt the same all those years and still never come back?

“that does not help even a little,” you swallow the lump in your throat. “that makes this so much worse, do you see that?”

“i know,” he sighs, “i’m sor—”

“don’t say you’re sorry,” you grit your teeth, “we both know you’re not.”

“maybe not,” he admits, “i had to try. and that meant leaving—i’m sorry that’s not what you wanted.”

“it’s not!” you turn around, pulling your arm out of his grasp—suguru, for what it’s worth, takes the shove to his chest like a champ. “of course i didn’t want you to leave and kill a bunch of people and have an execution stamped on your forehead and live your life without me.”

“i know—”

“and now you’re back. back! in my house, eating my food and sleeping in my bed for half the night and i just have to act like this is normal. how is any of this normal?” 

“it’s not,” he agrees. he’s calm. so calm, it almost makes you mad. why is he so calm? “nothing about anything in our lives is normal. it never was.”

“you ruined my life,” you blink back tears. he smiles sadly, taking a step closer.

“i guess i can take the blame for that,” he nods, hands finding their way to your hips. against your better judgment, you lean half your weight against his body. this is bad, very bad—but it’s also the best thing ever. 

being close to suguru feels like the sun’s heat tearing through your skin—it’s warm. it’s pleasant. it leaves you parched and drained with a dry throat. but still, you need it to survive. 

“why did you come back?” you ask tiredly. his hand finds the small of your back, rubbing slow circles.

“i don’t know,” he hums, “i didn’t really get a say. maybe i was always meant to, who knows?”

you look at him at that—tilt your head to get a good look at his features. his eyes are more tired, and his cheeks are a bit more sunken in compared to the youthful flesh you remember him with. his hair isn’t as healthy, and his forehead has the slightest traces of pale marks from the scars. but he’s still suguru—and you have always loved suguru, even if he gives you every reason to hate him.

“you make my life unreasonably difficult,” you mutter.

he hums, smiling. “can i?” he asks breathlessly, pleadingly. you stare at his eyes, he stares at your lips. you know what he wants—but fuck, you can’t let him have it so easy. 

“can you what?” you ask, raising a brow slowly.

“are you really gonna make me say it?” he grunts, lips almost curled into a pout. it’s cute, the way he looks longingly at your lips—it’s so cute and beautiful and dangerous all at once, just like suguru. 

“yes,” you say, “yes i am. i deserve to hear it suguru, after everything you put me through. you…you left me. i wasn’t enough for you. i mourned you. i grieved a body i never even saw. do you know what that does to a person? to lose them not once but two times? the least you could do is tell me what you want,” your voice wavers just a little. 

it shakes for the lost time. for the moments you’ll never have. for the memories you lost. for the past that’s tainted. time is cruel like that. but that’s the beauty of it all—the fragility. it’s like sand falling through the cracks of your fingers, every grain slipping from your reach but still soft and soothing against your skin as it falls. everything fades over time, everything starts to hurt one way or another. but it stops. it heals. it starts over. the sand fills the cup of your palms again, warm and delicate and just as beautiful as before it crumbled. 

“can i kiss you?” he asks desperately, “please?”

“kissing me is not a temporary thing,” you shake your head, “not anymore. it’s for good. only for good.”

“i want to kiss you for good,” he nods, hands digging into your hips impatiently. you’re close. you’re too far. he can feel you, smell you, hear your unsteady breaths. but it’s not enough. he needs to devour you, taste you on his tongue, and melt you with his touch. “i won’t stop this time,” he promises. 

“you better not,” you sniffle, tears blurring your vision. you hated suguru for leaving you. you hated him for coming back to you like this. you never stopped loving him, never will stop loving him—and maybe that’s what love is. when the darkness is worth trekking through for the afterglow of the light. “if you fucking leave me again, you’re dead to me. i don’t care how many times you come back to life. you’re dead to me.”

“okay,” he agrees through a shaky chuckle, “i suppose i deserve that. let me kiss you, yeah?”

“yeah,” you breathe.

he kisses you—years too late, he kisses you. it feels like you’re teenagers again. it feels different and foreign. you know this feeling like the back of your hand. you don’t understand what this sensation is anymore. it’s new. it’s old. it’s perfect. it hurts. suguru is here. he promised not to leave—you don’t know if you believe him, but you’re going to trust that finally, for once, you are enough. 

you’re enough to make him happy. to give him a sense of purpose. to keep him swimming when his limbs start to sink. 

finally, for once, you’re enough. 

“i love you,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing the words into you like he’s offering you the air from his lungs, “i never stopped. i promise.”

“you don’t deserve to hear it from me,” you murmur back, panting against his lips, “not yet.”

“fair enough,” he chuckles, “you sure know how to leave a guy waiting.”

“i learned from the best,” you shoot back.

he grins—suguru smiles, heartfelt and real. life is full of misery, it’s painful, and nothing fucking makes sense. everything is cruel. everything dies no matter how carefully you water the roots. there’s always something, someone, ready to tear it from the earth. but if you keep planting the seeds, suguru will keep watering. 

maybe something kind can bloom from that, something big enough for him to hide under the shade when the scorching heat of tragedy becomes too much. 

in this world or in the jujutsu world; in this life or in the next. suguru is yours.

“why am i here?” he asks gently, his face digging into your neck. you hold him, cradling the back of his head as you hum. 

“because i need you here. will you stay?”

“yes,” he murmurs, “i think i’ll stay.”

hi. i have been working on this since march. its still not how i envisioned it to be originally but that's okay. i had fun writing it and it means a lot to me even tho its kind of. well....cliche LMAO like everything i write. but. i enjoy the cliches okay ?? i do. kxljchskdf hope u guys didn't hate it </3

also the fic banner is …. not the greatest. just ignore it ok

[joelalorian]

Fall Into Me - Chapter Three: No Mirror for Monsters

dbf!Joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Story is inspired by the song Fall Into Me by Forest Blakk. Chapter titles will be lyrics from the song.

Word Count: 4.3k

Chapter Warnings: Mature, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. Lots of feelings, confusion, and self doubt. Joel goes on a date but not with you. Two idiots falling and pining for each other. Lotta swearing, because, yeah, I like it. Reader has long enough hair for a ponytail and likes comfy clothes. Age gap of about 9 years (Reader 24/25, Joel 33/34). No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname used by her dad.

Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Thank you for reading this little tale! I did not expect all the love - my heart is fit to burst over all the wonderful comments and reblogs!

Chapter Two | Main Masterlist

“Good morning, Millers!” you greeted as you let yourself into their house the following morning. Nearing late October, it was a beautiful day outside and the crisp morning air made you happy. It would heat up later, but for now you were enjoying the comfort of a beloved hoodie and yoga pants.

“Hi darlin’,” Joel replied with a lot less enthusiasm as he leaned against the kitchen doorframe. Still nursing his first cup of coffee, his sparkling personality hadn’t kicked in yet. “Sarah’s just gettin’ dressed. Want some coffee?”

“Nah, don’t drink the stuff. Smells good, but the taste is just…” You scrunched up your nose, at a loss for the right word to describe how utterly disgusting you found the taste of coffee. You moved through the house to join him in the kitchen.

Turning back to the counter with a chuckle, Joel poured himself another cup and shrugged. “There’s no accounting for taste, I guess. More for me, then.”

“There’s the silver lining!” you teased. “So, you guys have any big plans this weekend?”

“Nah, should be qui—Oh shit, I almost forgot!” Joel closed his eyes, bumping a fist against his forehead. His gaze was shuttered when it met yours again. “Would you mind watching Sarah on Saturday evening?”

“Yeah, sure. I don’t have any plans, so I’m happy to hang with the nugget. You got a hot date or something?” You meant it as a joke, but the way Joel winced clued you in. Your face fell at his next words, and you hoped he didn’t notice.

“Uh, yeah. Tommy set it up.” Joel drained the rest of his cup, tossing it into the sink, and ran an anxious hand through his curls. “First one in a while, ya know.”

No, you didn’t know. But it wasn’t really your business, was it? Sarah’s arrival in the kitchen saved you from having to say anything else as the little girl launched herself at you.

“Hey nugget,” you said, wrapping your arms around her little body as she clung to your waist. Despite your best efforts, your greeting lacked your prior enthusiasm. You could feel the heavy weight of Joel’s gaze on you like a laser, but you refused to look in his direction. “You ready to go?”

“Uh huh, I already ate breakfast,” Sarah said proudly, spinning to hug her father. “Bye Dad, love you.”

You turned away, already heading for the door as Joel pulled her in for a bear hug, feeling your heart constrict at how much they loved each other. You didn’t bother to say goodbye.

Joel had a date.

A date who wasn’t you.

Man, that fucking sucked.

Could you blame the guy, though? He was still young and handsome, hardworking and responsible to a fault. And, most of all, he didn’t know that you harbored growing feelings for him. Nor could he ever find out, you reminded yourself, not when your dad was his best friend.

The ride to drop Sarah off was full of silence, your mind weighed down with thoughts of Joel and the valiant effort of trying to convince yourself to stop thinking about him. Coming out of the fog as you moved up in the school drop-off line, you wished Sarah a good day and watched as she bounced up the steps into the building. You envied that sweet obliviousness of youth.

Driving away from the school, anxiety started to kick in. The thought of going back to your house to sit alone as the four walls closed in on you made your stomach churn. You drove around for an hour, no real destination in mind, and ended up at Peace District Park. With nothing much else to do, you walked the trails of the urban oasis and let nature work its magic in calming your nerves.

It worked.

As you sat on a bench watching songbirds flutter around the flora, you texted one of your best friends from high school who still lived in the area. You needed a girl’s night out.

Distractions were dangerous in his line of work, but Joel struggled to get his mind to focus all morning. He fixated on the way your face fell and your entire demeanor changed when he mentioned the date, like you were disappointed, hurt even. But that couldn’t be, could it?

There was no way you felt something for him. Was there?

Joel went over and over every interaction between you two since the day you met, trying to see if he was reading into things too much. He wasn’t the most observant guy, he knew that well enough, but there were moments when he’d catch you gazing at him with this look of wonder in your eyes… that had to mean something. Right?

Fuck. He was really bad at this stuff. So out of practice and lacking confidence.

Maybe he just imagined it all. Maybe you had something else on your mind and didn’t give a shit about someone like him going on a date.

What could he do about it if you liked him anyway? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. So, what did it matter. You were JB’s daughter and Sarah’s babysitter, nothing more and nothing less.

Joel’s mind continued to cycle through the same thoughts all day, until he smashed his thumb with a hammer because he was so distracted. Pissed off and in pain, he called it a day a couple hours early, leaving Tommy in charge of the site. He needed to get home and put some ice on his thumb.

By some cosmic coincidence, he arrived home at the same time as you and Sarah. He couldn’t hide his thumb from your eagle eyes as the three of you entered the house.

“Jesus Christ, Joel!” you hissed, trying not to swear in front of Sarah, your delicate hand already reaching for his larger, dirtier one. “What happened to your thumb?”

“It got in the way of a hammer,” Joel mumbled, doing his best not to wince as you gently prodded at the swollen digit. He also did his best to ignore the softness of your skin and the warmth of your touch on him, wishing you would touch him everywhere. “You don’t have to fuss, darlin’. It just needs some ice.”

“Oh, hush up, you. Go wash your hands then sit down and relax, I’ll get you some ice and aspirin to help with the swelling. You’re lucky it’s not broken!”

“Bossy lil’ thing, aren’t you,” he grumbled, doing exactly as you ordered once his boots were kicked off to the side of the foyer. Sarah nestled against him on the couch once he sat, fussing over his thumb just as much as you did. His lips quirked upwards at the thought that it meant you both cared about him.

You returned minutes later with a bag of frozen peas, two white pills, and a bottle of cold beer in hand. “Take these,” you directed, offering him the pills and beer. Once he swallowed, you placed the bag on his hand, carefully adjusting it to wrap around his thumb. Your teeth bit into your bottom lip as you concentrated on not hurting him and he nearly groaned as an ache built up in his belly at the sight.

“Thank you, darlin’,” Joel said, voice deep and husky before clearing his throat. His eyes clocked your movements as you stood up straight and your eyes widened when they met his half-lidded gaze. He catalogued the moment to add to the growing list of moments between the two of you that hinted at something deeper, something more lingering in the air.

You waved off his thanks and headed back to the kitchen, calling over your shoulder, “I’ll make some dinner for your two before I leave.”

He wanted to follow you, to let you know he wanted you to stay for dinner, and maybe watch a movie with him and Sarah afterwards, but Sarah’s sweet little voice distracted him.

“Will you help me with my homework, Daddy?” She peered up at him with eyes that matched his own and his heart swelled with love.

“Of course, my little nugget. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

They worked on math problems until you called them for dinner, Joel relieved at the break. An exceptionally bright girl, Sarah didn’t really need his help, but she enjoyed it when he tried. Math made his head hurt, a headache starting to build between his eyes. The headache grew at the sight of only two plates full of spaghetti on the table.

“You’re not eating?” Sarah’s voice squeaked, making her dissatisfaction clear. Turning to him as you shook your head, she added, “Daddy! Tell her she can stay!”

Joel’s mouth barely opened before snapping shut again. You were already speaking, cutting off whatever he would have said.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, nugget. I gotta go now.”

“Oh, okay.” Sarah’s disappointment broke his heart, and Joel felt helpless.

“You sure you can’t stay? I thought maybe we could watch a Disney movie after.” He looked at you with unmasked hope in his eyes. He wanted you to stay even more than his daughter did, but he couldn’t tell you that.

Something flashed in your eyes but disappeared before Joel could figure out what it was. “Sorry, I have plans with a friend and I can’t stay. You two enjoy the movie without me,” you said with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’ll come by at 4:30 tomorrow, okay?”

Joel nodded, cringing at the reminder of his date, and watched you leave with a pang of disappointment rivalling Sarah’s.

Emily never changed. She was still the prettiest girl in the room and funny as hell, lifting your mood just like she did back in high school. The pair of you sat at a swanky bar downtown, catching up like you never missed any time together. You stayed in touch a bit over the years, but the distance and different priorities led to your friendship taking a back seat to everything else. Now that you were back, it was easy to dive right back into that unbreakable bond the two of you always shared and pick up where you left off.

You didn’t realize how much you missed that bond until now.

The bar filled with the typical Friday night after work crowd as the two of you sipped at your drinks and rehashed the past few years. Soon, the conversation moved to your current love life – or, more accurately, your complete lack of one.

“So, you seeing anyone lately?” Emily asked, signaling to the bartender that you were ready for another round. “Last I heard, you were with that dude… what was his name? The one that would gaslight you and always insisted your tears were weaponized when he made you cry.”

“Yeah, Tom. That asshole. I wasted too much time on him not knowing any better, but we broke up about a year and a half ago, thank God.” You cringed at the thought of all the emotional damage you had to overcome after that one. You worked hard on finding yourself again after that disaster. “No, I’m not seeing anyone.”

Ever the receptive one, Emily picked up something in your tone that you couldn’t hide. Tilting her head curiously, clocking your movements with her sharp eyes, she continued, “But there’s someone who caught your eye? Do tell!”

Without hesitation, you launched into a long-winded explanation of how you met Joel and how you’re now a mess over the guy.

“Dad’s best friend, huh? When did you become such a cliché?” Emily teased, her shoulder gently bumping yours. “He sounds dreamy, though!”

“I am not a cliché! We don’t all get to all get to marry our high school sweetheart because we met ‘the one’ when we were 15. Talk about a cliché!” You cackled, drawing the attention of two men in suits a few seats down from you, but you ignored them.

“Alright, alright,” Emily mock surrendered. “Back to dad’s best friend. What is the problem? The JB I remember is a cool guy who wouldn’t have a problem with you dating his friend, not when said friend is only a bit older than you and such a good guy.”

That caught you by surprise. “You really think my dad would be okay with it?”

Emily shrugged. “I mean, I haven’t talked to your dad in years, but I remember him being a pretty reasonable guy and he always wanted the best for you. Why wouldn’t he want you to be with someone responsible and caring like this Joel guy?”

You nodded thoughtfully, your teeth worrying your plump bottom lip. “Even if my dad was cool with it, there’s the fact that Joel is not interested. He’s going on a date tomorrow, for fuck’s sake.”

After a moment of consideration, Emily asked, “Does he do that often? Date, I mean.”

You shook your head, fingers dancing absentmindedly along the edge of the bar. “Apparently not. He said it’s the first one in a long time.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed. “And you don’t find the timing suspicious?”

That caught you off guard, your eyes darting to hers. “Should I?”

Shoulders shrugging beneath long layers of dark hair, Emily hummed. “Maybe? From what you just told me about your interactions, I find it interesting that he’s suddenly going on a date. Makes me think he has feelings and he’s struggling with them just like you are.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that.” You blew off her observations, you couldn’t afford to start having hope now when he was going on a date tomorrow. Instead, you changed the subject. “So, how are you and Ed doing?”

The rest of the night passed in a blur of conversation and mixed drinks with the occasional interruption from a few brave men hitting on you. It crossed your mind to flirt with one or two of them, but you were having too much fun catching up with Emily and blew each of them off. Before you knew it, the hour was late and Emily’s husband, Ed, picked you both up to make sure you got home safe.

“What the hell am I doing?” Joel asked his reflection as he tried on his fourth shirt from his closet. He wasn’t looking forward to this date at all, his mind a mess between feeling guilty about leaving Sarah, the confusing mix of emotions revolving around you, and his complete lack of confidence.

Torn between trying too hard and not trying at all, he huffed in frustration, ripping the buttons of the shirt open before tossing it onto the growing pile of discarded clothes on his bed.

He had no business going on a date. What had he been thinking when he agreed to go?

Joel slumped onto his bed in defeat, his right fist coming up to bump against his forehead. How could he ever think that going on a date would get his mind off you? Not to mention, he felt like a dick for asking you to watch Sarah while he went on said date.

God, he really wasn’t good with this kind of shit.

A glance at the clock got him moving. You were due to arrive shortly, and he had to pick Annica up for a 5:30 reservation Tommy insisted he make. There was no room to dilly dally.

Another glance through his closet and Joel settled on a blue flannel and dark jeans, paired with newer black boots. Best to just be himself, he thought. Using a bit of gel, he pushed his curls back from his face. His beard was freshly trimmed, and he ran his truck through the car wash earlier in the day.

“That’s as good as it’s gonna get,” he said to his reflection before leaving his bedroom, the doorbell ringing as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Joel opened the door to find you standing there, your feet shifting uncertainly. You looked tired, yet beautiful as always and he gulped. “Hey, why didn’t you just come in? You have a key.”

“Hey Joel,” you greeted with a shrug, your voice quiet. Your eyes scanned from his head down to his feet like you were drinking him in. “Just didn’t feel right, I guess.”

“Ok?” Confused, he waited for you to explain, but you kept your mouth shut. Something was off with you. He wondered if something happened last night – you said you had plans, had it been a date of your own? His heart skipped a beat as he shook his head clear. “Well, come on in. You doin’ alright, darlin’?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed back causing Joel’s brows to pull into a frown as you followed him into the house. “You look nice. Ready for your date?”

Was it just him or did it seem like asking that question pained you? What the fuck was wrong with him? Shaking his head free of thoughts like that, he blushed. “Oh, uh, thanks. As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” After a beat, he added, “I’m kinda nervous, actually.”

Joel watched your eyes soften at that. “You shouldn’t be. Any woman would be lucky to go on a date with you.”

Including you? he wondered. There was a wistfulness to your voice that shattered him, leaving him ready to ditch his date and stay there with you and Sarah. “Hey, I, um—”

“You’re here! Finally! Come on, I want to show you something!” Sarah sprinted into the living room, grabbing your hand, and stealing your attention before Joel could finish his sentence. Maybe that was a good thing. God only knows what was about to come out of his mouth.

“Slow down, nugget! I’m coming,” you laughed as the young girl dragged you toward the stairs. It was the first smile of yours Joel glimpsed since you arrived, and his heart beat heavy in his chest when you turned to speak to him over your shoulder, your broad smile dimming with your next words. “Have fun tonight, Joel. You deserve a nice night out.”

“Thanks, darlin’,” he replied, the words heavy in his mouth. Clearing his throat, he called out, “Be good, Sarah! I ordered pizza for you both, should be here soon.”

“I always am, Dad! Love you!” Sarah yelled down the stairs, her attention already focused on whatever she wanted to show you.

“Love you, too.” Joel continued staring up the stairs long after the two of you were out of sight, a sense of yearning knotted deep in his chest. Forcing himself to look away, he grabbed his keys and headed for the door, once again asking himself why the hell he agreed to this date in the first place.

“Can we go see it tonight? Please?” Sarah gazed up at you with her dark eyes widened like a baby cow and you were powerless. How did Joel ever tell this precious, sweet girl ‘no’? It was impossible.

“Let’s see what the showtimes are first. We can’t be out too late.” Scanning the movie listing Sarah pulled up on her tablet, you found the showtimes for the latest kid friendly adventure movie she wanted to see. “There’s one at 6:30. We can totally do that one and still have you home for bedtime. Sound good?”

“Yes! Can we get popcorn?”

“Of course! No trip to the movies is complete without popcorn.”

The two of you ate some pizza before getting ready to go. You liked getting there early enough to find your seats and see the trailers before the movie started. Texting Joel on your way out the door to let him know you were taking Sarah out, the two of you climbed into your car.

The movie theater was busy as usual for a Saturday evening, but you found a good parking spot beneath a light post not far from the entrance. There were lines for tickets and concessions leaving you relieved at arriving early. With tickets in hand, you led Sarah to the shortest of lines in front of the concessions counter. That’s when you saw them.

A tall blonde with big hair and legs for days, wearing tight fitting jeans like a second skin and yapping away while walking closely with a taller man with broad shoulders and curly, dark hair. The man’s sleeves were rolled up, his left hand placed low on the woman’s back, gently guiding her as she gripped a bucket of popcorn and a fountain drink. Another fountain drink was clutched in the man’s right hand. As if he felt the searing heat of your jealous gaze, the man turned, and your stomach plummeted.

Joel’s dark umber eyes met yours in surprise, his hand dropping from the woman’s back as he watched your face fall. He looked uncertain, like he didn’t know whether to carry on with his date or rush to your side. His eyes darted to find Sarah standing at your side, her focus on the snacks displayed within the glass counter. Forcing a half smile to your face, you dipped your head in greeting and turned to move forward, your attention refocusing as it was your turn to plan an order. All the while, your mind raced with thoughts of Joel and his date. Knowing that he wouldn’t want to introduce his daughter on a first date, you never told Sarah that you saw him.

Handing the bucket of popcorn to Sarah, you said, “Careful now. I’ll grab napkins and carry our drinks.” You led the way past the concessions toward the designated theater, which was, thankfully, on the other side of the building from where Joel and his date had been heading.

You phone buzzed in your pocket once you and Sarah were seated – in the middle of the aisle, at Sarah’s insistence, because you’d have the best view. It was a text from Joel.

JM: Sorry darlin’ just saw your text. Hope you and Sarah enjoy your movie.

Torn between responding or just leaving him on read, you went with a third option and gave his message a thumbs up before shoving the phone deep into your pocket. Minutes later, you relented with a sigh, pulling the phone back out to respond a little kindlier.

You: Thanks. I didn’t know you were taking your date to the movies or we would have gone somewhere else.

Bubbles appeared as he was typing, but you didn’t want to see what else he had to say. Silencing your phone, you shoved it back into your pocket.

You were distracted the entire movie, staring blankly at the large screen as you over-analyzed every detail about Joel’s date. She was closer to his age, maybe even a bit older, with big, perky boobs and a pretty face covered with a thick layer of makeup. Her hairstyle fit the old quote, “the bigger the hair, the closer to God” and likely took her an hour or more to style. She made an effort, that’s what seemed to matter. Meanwhile, you sat in the theater with your hair scraped back into a messy ponytail and wearing worn jeans and a hoodie. You felt like a child compared to Joel’s date.

Part of you wanted to hate her for having all the features that Joel apparently found attractive, but you couldn’t. It wasn’t her fault the man you were pining over wasn’t the least bit interested in you.

Finally, the credits rolled, and you pretended to have paid attention to the movie as you listened to Sarah gushing over it for the entire ride back to the Miller house and in the moments between brushing her teeth and tucking her into bed.

The living room couch was particularly comfortable when you sat on it, your body settling into the pillowy cushions with a sigh as you stretched across it. Staring at the ceiling, eyes blinking tiredly, you wondered when Joel would be home, both eager for and dreading his arrival. Still mortified over nearly crashing his date and self-conscious about not fitting the mold of what he found attractive, you wondered what you’d even say to him when he walked through the door.

The pull of sleep too strong to fight, you submitted to the emotional exhaustion, dozing off until a gentle shake of your shoulder caused you to stir.

“Darlin’, go sleep in the spare room,” Joel murmured as you blinked your eyes open.

It took you a moment to come back to your senses, your body following his orders before your brain kicked back to life. He stepped back as you got up, one strong hand reaching out to hold you steady as you wobbled. You met his eyes as the haze of sleep began to clear. He gazed at you with such a soft look you trembled.

“You okay there?” he asked with a quiet laugh and your eyes flicked down to his mouth, catching the glint of something on his cheek, just above his beard. Focusing on that spot, it became clearer. A very distinct lipstick mark. He wasn’t even bothering to hide it.

Wrenching yourself from his gentle grasp, you slipped on your shoes and pulled your keys from your pocket.

Joel watched your every move, confused and clearly not wanting you to leave. “Hey, where are you going? Just take the spare room. You’re still half asleep.”

Shaking your head, you avoided looking at him. “Nah, Imma head home. G’night Joel, see ya Monday,” you said, turning your back on him as you headed for the door. Unable to help yourself as you wrenched the front door open, you added, “Might wanna go clean your face off.”

“What?” his baffled question echoed behind you as the door closed.

tbc

Taglist: @mellymbee@untamedheart81@anoverwhelmingdin@runningmom94@leilanixx@pedropascalfan221@lovelyjess69 @sarahhxx03 @sofiparallel @tammythr @lulawantmula @islacharlotte @allyourfavesinoneblog @lover-of-books-and-tea @pedropascalsbbg @ashleyfilm @brittmb115

[jungkookslipring]

I Will Never Make You Lonely: Ch 5

Summary: When your life is falling apart, your 8 best friends are there to lift you up

TW: mentions of de&th, su!c!de, su!c!de tendencies, su!c!dal ideologies, depress!on, anxiety, crying. If this is in any way triggering I’d steer towards more of my happier works. 

If you or someone you love has thought of or acted on suicide, there is help and there is hope 

Call or text 988

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, non-idol AU

PSA: this is no way represents the artists. While their birth names are used in this story, this is in no way a reflection of the artist or artists in real life.

AU: mentions of de&th are implied in this chapter, read at your own risk. Swearing. mentions of eating and lack thereof. Reader doesn’t have the biggest appetite but I still wanted to put it as a warning. 

Ch 5 When you woke up the next morning, you found yourself surrounded by sunlight and the sound of birds chirping. You also found Jeongin's head on your shoulder, his messy bedhead evident as he quietly snored. You smiled as he snuggled deeper into your hold, and you let out a small sigh. Glancing at your phone, you noticed that it was already 9:00 am. Suddenly, there was a small knock on the door, followed by Hyunjin's announcement that breakfast was ready. The noise woke Jeongin up, and he lifted his head with his eyes squinted and confused, much like a baby waking up from a nap. Hyunjin smiled and ruffled his hair.

“There’s coffee too, Innie”, you both laughed as he quickly untangled himself from the blankets and sped off into the kitchen. You lay there for a second before Hyunjin spoke up. 

“What’s on your mind?” Hyunjin asks quietly. You shook your head, looking out the window.

“I just feel so guilty,” you whispered. “I know I can’t control it…I just…I don’t know…*sigh* I just don’t know why she had to go, you know?” you stated as you did your best to keep your voice level, throat still sore from last night. Hyunjin nods understandingly. 

“Carter *shaky exhale* Carter had a difficult childhood. After Peyton turned 18, neither of their parents were around. Carter only had her sister and me, so I felt responsible to make sure she had the best life possible and was always happy.,” you say trying to control your trembling lips. Hyunjin nodded and listened intently. 

“Has she always felt this way?” Hyunjin asked hesitantly, not wanting to ask the wrong question. You nodded. 

“Yeah, but she’s never tried you know, at least I don’t think…” you say rubbing your head. “But this time...I guess it was just too much…” you choked out. Hyunjin was at a loss for words. 

“I was too late…I couldn’t save her Hyunjin…and the signs were there! What if…what if I can’t save anyone else?” You ask as Hyunjin shushes you gently, pulling you into his chest. He was not going to let you take the blame for this. He let you have a few minutes before he started speaking.

“Our y/n…you have such a big heart. You’re kind and welcoming to everyone you meet. You’re sensitive when one of us needs a hug, or a shoulder to cry on. We love that you take care of all of us here, but that’s not your job sweetheart. You’re not in charge of everyone else’s happiness. Bearing the weight of someone else’s well-being isn’t your job as a human on earth. It’s not your fault, it’s never your fault, baby,” he said scratching your back. 

“I know she was grateful to have you,” Hyunjin said, kissing your head. You let out a sigh while your arms tighten around Hyunjin’s torso.

“Please…please if you or the boys ever feel anything please please please come talk to me, I can’t go through this again,” you plead desperation coating your words. Hyunjin squeezed you tighter; he knew, they all knew they could come talk to you, but you needed to be reassured.

“Of course, we’d come and talk to you…you’re stuck with us for lifers,” he said cheekily as he pinched your side, effectively getting you to giggle until he gently cupped your face, wiping away the last bit of your tears.

“But remember that your health and well-being come before any of ours,” he whispered looking down at you as you shrugged.

“It’s easier said than done…”. He nods while tucking strands behind your ear.

“I know Y/n, but it’s the truth. I know some of the other guys struggle with that. We want to take care of the ones we love, it comes naturally, so I understand,” he said. 

“Thanks, Hyunjin.” He smiles and gets off the bed, reaching for your hand to pull you up not too long after. As you walked into the kitchen, the sweet aroma of blueberry pancakes and coffee filled the room, making you feel warm and fuzzy inside. But as you looked at some of the boys, you noticed that they had puffy eyes from last night's events. Although they reassured you that everything was okay, it still hurt. Fortunately, it was the weekend, and it seemed like none of them were planning to leave the house. They were all gathered around the TV, some sitting on the floor, others on the couch. When they saw you, they didn't question your puffy eyes, but gave you sympathetic looks. You smiled back at them, trying to lighten the mood. Hyunjin was by your side, with his arm still around you. You both found a spot on the couch and sank into the cushions. Han, who was sitting on the floor next to Minho, turned around and took your hand.

“How are you doing y/n?” he asked quietly. You smiled and rubbed his hand with your thumb. 

“I’ve been better but I’ll be okay,” you said sincerely.

“Y/n?” Jeongin asked in a quiet voice. You made eye contact and hummed in response.

“How did you find out? About Carter?” he asked quietly, also not wanting to ask the wrong thing. You realized everyone knew what determined her passing when he was in his room. 

“Yeah she uh, Peyton found her letter Jeongin-ie,” you said as his eyes softened even more if that was humanly possible. You let out another exhale, and Minho’s hand found its way above your knee, rubbing your skin in comforting motions, silently letting you know that it was okay, to take your time and that they were here for you. Hyunjin squeezed you tighter, kissing the side of your temple while you tried to get rid of the lump in your throat, but the boys didn’t mind, they wanted you to do this on your terms. 

“I’ve always been on edge about her doing something like that…and I wanted to believe it was just an accident, but deep down I guess…I figured it was…I don’t know intentional, but when Peyton confirmed it, it was impossible to deny it, even though I tried,” you explain as your eyes stung with unshed moisture that gathered at the waterline. Now that you were no longer blocking out the reality of it all, you were hurting so much more now. Chris got up from his spot on the floor and moved to the back of the couch, to hug you from behind, seeing that Jeongin got up from his seat and wrapped his arms around your middle. Your hands clutched onto his forearms as they all scooted closer, making one big group hug. They held you for a while until Chris rubbed your arm and asked if you were hungry. Truthfully, you weren’t, but you hadn’t been eating as much as you’d hoped the last month and a half, so you were at least going to try. You sat at the table when one of the guys fixed you up a plate. You were so determined to eat something, but with depression comes nausea, and your vision blurred as you stared at your eggs.

“Dammit,” you grit between your teeth, your hand furiously rubbing at your eyes. Your chair slowly spun around, and you were now facing Changbin.

“Hey y/n it’s okay, it’s okay if you’re not up for eating right now, please don’t beat yourself up over that…” he said pulling you into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling so frustrated with yourself. That phone call did it for you and you felt like you couldn’t close the floodgates. You weren’t bawling but crocodile tears were plopping on his shoulder.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, I promise, you did nothing wrong,” he whispered, holding you tighter. “How can we help you bug, what can we do for you?” Changbin asked.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, not knowing what you wanted.

“Would you like to get back in bed?” He asked. He was so patient with you. You nodded weakly.

“Yes please…” you say barely above a whisper. Changbin nodded and helped you down from your chair, supporting your back as you two walked out of the kitchen. After you both reached the room, Changbin closed the door quietly and shut the blinds to make the room pitch dark. He lifted the covers so you could crawl under them and immediately curl up into a ball. Changbin was heartbroken seeing you go through this. He tucked you in bed, ensuring that no part of your body was exposed except for your face. He gently moved some of your hair that was stuck to your face out of the way to make you more comfortable. 

“Changbin?” You ask, struggling to make eye contact. He doesn’t stop his movements as he looks at you, watching your eyes slowly make their way up to his.

“I-I don’t think I’m okay…” Changbin nodded sadly.

“We know y/n… but we want you to know that you don't have to be strong all the time,” he reassured you by wiping at your cheeks. 

“I hate feeling like this though…” you say as you try to keep your new onset of tears at bay. 

“But numbing yourself will only make you feel worse, love,” he argued as gently as possible, and you knew he was right. 

“What is it you’re feeling? I won't push you if you don't want to talk about it, but I can assure you it helps sometimes,” Changbin said kindly. He truly didn't want to push you if you didn't want to say anything, he knew you were hurting enough as it was.

“It’s just once I start I can’t stop;  last night and this morning were concrete evidence of that,” you stated, sounding drained. Changbin nodded, they’ve all had their fair share of masking their emotions, and they’re sure everyone got the same talk from each other at least once. They knew you felt and loved very deeply, so they understood why you wanted to protect yourself from hurting.

“I’m just so sad. I can't even fathom the pain she felt all these years and how it built up until it became too much *sniff* and my heart just really hurts right now. I’m so lost Bin, I’m so lost without her,” you stuttered thickly before hiding your face in your hands, Changbin scooting closer to you, still kneeled on the floor, pulling your head into his chest as he laid his head on top of yours. He cradled your head as if he were protecting you from the world.

“I understand, we all do, y/n, and I’m so so sorry this happened,” he whispered, trying to find the right words in this situation. He said what he felt in his heart. “I know it hurts, but thats why you have us. We are here for you to share your pain, so that it feels more bearable. Please know that we are willing to do anything to help you, even if it means taking your pain away completely. I think I speak on behalf of all of us when I say we wish we could be in your shoes,” he said, eyes softening when fear spread through your body. You pulled away and shook your head rapidly while grabbing a hold of Changbin’s wrist. No, not them. You wouldn’t want any of them going through the nightmare you were in. The idea of them feeling what you were feeling tore you apart. Jeongin bawled into your arms last night stating how scared he was to go through that, you wouldn’t wish this sort of heartbreak on your worst enemy, let alone your best friends. 

“Binnie no…I’m beyond grateful it’s me and not you guys going through this,” you say as crocodile tears start slipping down your face once more. Changbin swallowed the lump in his throat as he caressed your hair. 

“Shh shh shh, but if we were, you would do anything in your power to make sure we weren’t bearing the weight of the world alone, let us do that for you y/n, let us help you,” he practically begged. He was starting to sound a lot like Chris. You couldn't argue with him, not Changbin. All you could do was cry.

“Would you like to be alone?” Changbin asked. You shook your head, cause while you weren’t one to ask for help, there was no point in masking your feelings anymore.

“Can…can you stay, just a little longer, please?” you ask. He gave you one of the kindest smiles you have ever seen, getting under the blankets and pulling you into his arms, your head lying against his chest. He allowed you to cry out your remaining tears on his chest while petting your hair and murmuring words of comfort. He encouraged you to let all your emotions out and let yourself be comforted. You’re not fully positive when you fell asleep, but by the time you opened your eyes, it was already 10 p.m., and Changbin was nowhere to be seen. You assumed he went to the bathroom, and the realization hit you that you had been sleeping most likely for 13 hours straight. You dragged yourself out of bed and stumbled into the hallway in search of an unoccupied bathroom. After finishing your business, you walked into the kitchen to get some water when you noticed the TV was on in the living room. Curiosity got the better of you, and you peeked around the corner to see Seungmin lying on the couch, engrossed in a drama.

“Hi Minnie,” you whisper, doing your best not to startle him. He turned around and his eyes sparked as he sat up.

“Hi y/n, did you sleep okay?” he asked as he patted the space next to him. You plopped yourself next to him and smiled when he lifted the blanket to throw over your legs. 

“I slept so long but I still feel tired. How does that even work?” you chuckled lightly. He gave you a knowing grin, understanding that everything going on has you completely and utterly exhausted. 

“I’m sorry y/n…” Seungmin said sympathetically. As you felt your eyes getting heavy again, Seugmin laid back down on the couch, pulling you along with him. He wrapped his arms around you, and your head rested on his shoulder. You two fell asleep almost instantly. After Changbin finished his shower, he entered the living room to see who was still up. He smiled when he saw two sleeping figures cuddled up on the couch. He pulled the blanket to cover you both up and turned off the TV. You and Seungmin remained in each other's arms, and for that evening, the rest of the week, and maybe the week after, nobody slept alone.

taglist: @felixmainacc @felixburneracc @myforevermelody143 @dunno-wut-to-do @itzsana-kiddingmenow

[carpehistoryandthepens]

Legacy (what is a legacy?) Part 8

It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me

Hamilton, the world was wide enough. LMM.

one, two, three, four, Five, six seven

Summary: Mike is 13. Born May 2009. Sid didn’t know he had a son. All Mike had was hope and a prayer for his and his half-sister’s safety.

(Sid is a dad of a teen he didn’t know about AU) Sidgeno.

Warnings: (for the total story) post-child abuse (all off-screen but it affects things and is spoken about often), learning how to parent, panic attacks, anxiety, based on last season, OCs?, realization about sexuality. Post breakups. Desperate lack of in-depth research for CPS in both PA/CA, melodrama?, kidfic, angst, slowburn, playing fast and loose with the law for drama/storytelling purposes.

-

Sid was exhausted the morning after the first preseason game he played in, nearly moving zombie-like through his house and heading toward the kitchen. 

The Pens lost last night. The loss wasn't the reason for his exhaustion. But honestly, Sid didn't even really care. It was a preseason game. Okay… at least he didn't care in the same way he had before like it was important to him, but when he woke up, the terrible loss wasn't with him the same way it would have been the last season. His exhaustion came from figuring out new (!) game-day routines with the kids; it was an adventure. 

It was four days since the kids had arrived. Sid's crash course in parenting was an adventure, to say the least. Mike and Marisol did everything together. 

For the first two days, the siblings slept most of the time. Helena and Geno said it was their bodies recovering from the trip.

Marisol was still in potty training, and while Mike assured Sid and Helena that she was doing really good – there were a few accidents. Enough that Mike didn’t mind when Sid had a second bed put in their room. Sid was never more thankful for the WAGs; Jake and his wife stopped by with some kid-friendly items for Marisol collected by the WAGs. Some of which were meant to help with potty training.

They both wanted to eat but seemed so scared of asking for food. That worried Sid so much. They were both terrified of expressing a need sometimes. Mike could easily ask for things for Marisol, both her wants and needs, but neither of them could ask for themselves.

Marisol cried most nights, and although they tried hiding it on the second night, it didn’t last long. Mike often looked like he would join her. It broke Sid's heart that a three-year-old was trying not to cry. Sid had lasted an hour listening to the quiet crying and Mike trying to calm Marsiol down, before knocking and coming into their room to help them both.

The bruises that covered the siblings were starting to fade, thankfully. The trainers said Mike's black eye might take the longest to heal. The relief on Mike's face when they told him that Marisol's bruises were well healed wasn't one Sid understood, but he respected.

Sid wasn't sure what he would do if he met the people responsible for Mike's scared eyes and Marisol's bruised arms, but it wouldn't be pretty. 

The trainers had also declared that Mike was in reasonably good shape if a little underweight. Sid and the trainer didn't allow Mike to do the fitness tests - even though Mike had offered. Instead, insisting that Mike take some time and gain some weight first. 

Mike was doing his best to stay fit by himself with no support. Sid was honestly amazed at how much Mike tried to keep in shape. Marisol told Sid that when he was home from school, he would take her to the park, and they would run around doing sprints or how he would do workouts on the equipment near the playground. Mike had gone red and explained that it was the only way to get close to staying in shape.

Yesterday's pregame changes had started with breakfast. Sid had woken up at his standard time for a pregame skate and made breakfast. Usually (and by that, Sid meant the two previous days), Sid made breakfast for all three of them before they went to the rink. However, when Sid got to the kitchen yesterday, Mike was awake with Marisol. Both were fed, meals cleaned up, and both were already dressed to start the day.

It worked out well for Sid; he had spent the last four days exhausted, starving, and so, so, so nervous. But at the same time…

Sid's whole world had changed, and now he had two people in his life who were his focus, something that wasn't just hockey. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. Sid was a parent. 

After four days, Sid could see why Helena was so concerned about attachment. Watching Marisol smile increasingly more was a delight that Sid didn't even know how to describe. Mike was so wide-eyed and overwhelmed with everything, but he was so damn earnest, and Sid wanted to keep them. 

Sidney's agent, Pat Brisson, had landed the day before. He had made the trip to see Mike and Marisol just before the morning skate and met Mike briefly before enclosing himself with Jen, Helena, and Sid's American lawyer. Sid hadn't seen Pat since then. While they had a meeting with him after the practice that afternoon, Sid was slightly worried about what Pat might present. Sid trusted Pat to devise the right plans, but it was still a significant worry. Sid clarified to his lawyer and Pat that he wanted to keep the kids if Mike was his son. 

While it was nice that the siblings had gotten themselves ready before the morning skate, it meant that Sid was left alone for breakfast. Sid's disappointment and sadness were a surprise – he hadn't expected the shift from three days of routine to be that deep. 

However, seeing them already fed was a more considerable relief than worry. In the back of Sid's mind, he had been worried about how many of his pregame rituals would change. Sid had consoled himself that it was a preseason game, and if preseason games weren't for changing things up and testing things out, then what were they good for?

Sid didn't know how to breathe or find time to skate, work out, eat, and care for the kids, but somehow, he was doing it.They were figuring things out one event at a time. It was just the first game Sid played for the season. The game didn't matter in the long run, as it was a preseason game, but they still lost. 

The kids hadn't been at the preseason game. There had been some contention about whether or not they should be seen in the stands. While Helen, Sid, and Mike were in the camp of not going, most of the team expected to see them. Sid put his foot down when they nearly asked Mike about it. Mike was so uncomfortable talking to people who weren't Sid, Helena, or the two trainers that Sid ensured he was between him and the rookies. The rookies had good intentions but poor choices. They backed off after that. 

In the end, Dumo's wife hosted a kids' watch party that night for Lady Pens, who didn't want a kid in tow for a preseason game, and Marisol wanted to go, so she and Mike went there rather than to the game. However, it wasn't perfect. Helena also went to the party so Mike wouldn't feel so alone. No one knew what else to do; honestly, neither Mike nor Marisol didn't want to be left alone in Sid's house, and Sid would rather have them close. Being with the team was protected, so it was the compromise they all chose.

While it sucked that the kids weren't even there to see the game, the reality was that no one was ready to see a game yet. Marisol was asleep when Sid picked home, and Mike wasn't much more awake. Helena said he had tried to stay up for the whole game but couldn't make it. Sid didn't blame him.

Still, despite the loss, Sid found it pleasant knowing he would be going home to a house full of family. Helena had taken the kids back to his home after the game. It would have been fantastic to have family in the stands for him. Family, at least, who weren't Kathy or his parents or sister, but it would be okay; he wanted a win. He still wanted to do better for the kids. They deserved to see him at his best. 

They might be a few years too late, but they deserve the best Sid he can be. He would have to be better than in the last few years. He had to. He had a son now. 

Sid emerged from his memories, staring blankly at the closed kitchen door – almost zoned out. Sid hadn't heard anyone else awake as he got ready, but other than yesterday, he had always been the first one up. He didn't know if that was a one-off event or how things would be from now on. A routine would be nice to settle into. Despite his game day routine changes yesterday, he was still happy to have Mike and Marisol with him. 

A faint scraping noise and the smell of eggs cooking came from behind the kitchen door. Sid's stomach growled, letting him know it was time to get breakfast. 

As he entered the kitchen, Mike was already there, back turned toward the doorway, attention on the stove. He was making breakfast. There was a skillet making what looked like an attempt at an omelet, but it would probably end up being a sausage, bell pepper, and cheese scramble.  

"Mike?" Sid asked, doing his best not to surprise the teen. It had taken an hour after they got to Sid's house from the rink that first day before Mike had very quietly told Sidney that he preferred his nickname over his full name. Sid laughed and agreed, thinking about all the times he had chosen plain 'Mike' rather than Sidney.

Mike was startled so visibly he nearly dropped the spatula he was holding. "Sid – Sidney!" he said, spinning around, eyes wide. 

"Just Sid, if you can, please," Sid reminded him. Both of them were still trying to figure out what to call Sidney. Papi, or Papa, were right out. Sid wasn't about to replace Mike or Marisol's father – who had been there for their childhoods and helped raise them to be so strong – and Mike wasn't comfortable calling Sid by his first name. Sid figured they would get there in the end. 

"Right," Mike said. "I was making breakfast… For you! I ate. Or really, I'm not hungry. Mari really isn't awake yet." he nodded to the bay window and the sleeping girl tucked into the bench seat, covered with a throw blanket. "Do you want an omelet?" 

He said all of that in one breath, and Sid took a second to parse out what was being asked of him. "I would love an omelet. But that won't flip right unless you turn down the heat." 

"Oh shit!" Mike said, turning around and trying to fix the omelet. 

Sid realized belatedly that he probably should have said something about the cursing since he was a parental figure and all. He hadn't even registered the words until Mike was well into cooking again. Sid decided it wasn't worth it. It wasn't like Sid's language at thirteen was immaculate. 

Sid got some plates out as it was clear that Mike's omelet was more of a scramble despite some reasonable efforts to save it. There was more than enough to feed Sid, even with a hockey player's appetite. 

It was a mildly chaotic few moments as the food was plated into two good-sized portions for both of them. When they were settled at the table, Mike stared at his plate like he had no idea how it got there. 

"Please eat," Sid said with a smile, "I like having company while I eat breakfast." He paused before he tucked into the meal, waiting for Mike to make the next choice. 

Mike stiffened against the chair, frowned at the food, nodded, and started to pick at the scramble. But as Mike ate the admittedly excellent (if not as omelet-like as initially intended) breakfast, the slow start bearly picking at the meal transformed into the massive appetite that Sid remembered from being a teenager who played hockey. 

Sid frowned a little to himself. Mike wasn't this stiff around him before the game. Did something happen during the party? Did Sid make Mike feel bad? Was there something else? Was it the loss? Was he just overwhelmed for the first few days, and is he waking up now? That would make sense because he ran away with his sister to escape abuse.

Sid took a deep breath to keep himself from spiraling down into a panicked mess. He hadn't had to deal with panic attacks or anything like that since the very start realization that the concussion would be around for a very long time. And that was over a decade ago. Fucking hell, Sid felt old. 

Sid ate and watched Mike inhale breakfast out of the corner of his eye; he was sure of his earlier conclusion. He was okay with the loss, personally. It meant some more work for the team, but they would get there; learning how to lose is essential to ensuring the team survived the season. It's best to get it done early. 

"Mike," Sid asked once he was done. 

Mike jumped hard like he had forgotten that Sid was there. Which was not good, Sid realized. "Yes… Sid?" he said quietly. 

"Did you…." Sid trailed off, thinking about the dozens of questions he had about their lives before they came to Pittsburgh. "Did you choose whether you liked homeschooling or would you prefer to be in a classroom? No pressure," Sid rushed to reassure, realizing that even asking might be pressing Mike for an answer.

Mike pulled a face that said he really wasn't ready to answer yet. 

"I just wanted to know your feelings about it," Sid said, feeling like he chose the wrong thing to say. He was usually very good with kids! Why did he choose this topic? Mike was barely settling down into his life. So, Sid brought up school?! 

Helena had come to the rink yesterday to talk to the three of them about Mike and Marisol's options for school before the game and party. Marisol was a bit young for school, but Helena was sure she needed outside-child interaction. Sid figured that if they didn't want to go to school, Sid would sign them up for a sport or class. Probably hockey. Maybe dance; Tanger's daughter loved dance classes. 

Mike's terrified expression changed into a more complicated one, clearly thinking about it. "I… didn't like learning on a computer. It wasn't... really good..." 

Sid nodded in understanding. Many of his teammates, friends, and coaches said their kids didn't like the pandemic learning styles. But there was something else that would cause a problem. "But you also don't want to go to school." 

Those were the two options that Helena suggested. Mike made many faces that he quickly tried to cover when she said that. Sid understood that well. He didn't really like options either. 

"No, I don't..." Mike shook his head. "I don't…. really feel comfortable going to a school like you suggested yesterday."

Sid suggested a private school to which he knew many of his teammates had chosen to send their kids. But it was a very private environment Mike had never been in before. Mike hadn't seemed too happy either. 

Mike looked down at his lap. "I mean, what about a public school? Or I don't go to school and just help with Marisol!" he said, looking up. "That would be easiest!" 

"What about a private tutor? One who could work with both you and Marisol?" Sid asked gently. Because he would definitely ensure that Mike and Marisol had a good education while they were with him. It was good to have an education, at least a high school diploma.  

Tanger had suggested a private tutor in the chat after the game, saying it was something he and his wife had thought about for their kids, even though they chose to put them into school. Carts had backed it up with some thoughts for his girls. 

"If that helps," Mike said, sinking into his seat, not enthused at all, but at least not uncomfortable at the idea. 

Sid smiled at him, amused at the show of age-appropriate dismissal of school and education, "It's just a suggestion rather than an order there, Mike. You're able to make the choice in the end."

Mike looked up briefly, then looked at his plate. "I'm going to wake up, Marisol." He said instead of agreeing or disagreeing. 

Sid let the topic be. "I can get started on breakfast for her. Does she like oatmeal?" Sid asked, standing up. 

"With strawberries and brown sugar," Mike started before he snapped his mouth shut, eyes wide with panic. Sid didn't know how to take that. "But! You don't have to worry about her. I can make her something to eat." He rushed to say. "I'm sure you've got important stuff to do." 

Sid waved him off, mind still on the panicked expression Mike had. It was always an emotional rollercoaster with him; Sid would just be along for the ride. "It's an hour before we need to leave for the rink. Besides, I like making breakfast." 

It was one of the few things he could do in the kitchen, beyond a few baking recipes and dinners that Sid rotated through when left to his own devices. He should really get his mother's banana bread recipe. He wondered if Marisol and Mike would like it. 

"Oh." Mike paused. "It's not too much trouble?" he asked, voice small. 

Sid shook his head, "No, you guys aren't trouble. Just let me know how Marisol prefers her oatmeal, eh?" 

Mike stares at him for a long time.

Sid feels like he missed something. But before Sid could ask, Mike agreed, collected Marisol from the window seat, and entered the living room. 

[xxwritemeastoryxx]

Alright ouchie time

🪦 how would you kill Nat, that isn’t her canon death? If you could have inserted her death anywhere in the series, or if you have a new idea, how would you do it? Hurt me (gently)

It took me hours to figure this out. I had a full on list of possible ways that got crossed off one by one because it just wasn't possible for Nat to go out like that.

It started with somewhere in an AU Endgame and continued backwards to her origins. But nothing fit. Not with who Nat is. She's gonna fight and get out of what she can control. Even if some pieces are just out of reach, she won't just give up. And that's what made it so difficult to actually choose a scenario to use. That was until I was sitting at my kitchen table and the most heartbreaking thing came to mind. I even went into detail with a friend who isn't on Tumblr and definitely agrees that I'm evil for even thinking it. So brace yourself.

As shitty as it is to even think it, there's only a few things she can't control. Time was one of them. Her growing old and dying of old age was an idea, however that's inevitable and quite the easiest way out of this question.

But the other...

It would come when she least expected it. After being knocked around pretty harshly on a mission, she'd be sent to get checked out. It'd be there in one of her scans or even in her blood work that would cause her to get sent in for more testing.

It's nowhere near early in catching it. All signs pointing to it would have been brushed off in one form or another. Dizziness? Hit her head pretty hard. Unexplained weight loss? She was 'captured' for a few weeks and was hardly fed. Constantly becoming fatigued? It was a long week at the office.

She's in denial of course. She was refusing to believe that this is what would take her out. Her teammates, best friend and her sister would spend time trying to convince her to see specialists. Tony instantly offered to cover the costs of whatever treatment she needed. It didn't matter what it was, if she needed it she would have it.

It was while on a mission, in the middle of a fight that her illness almost gets her killed. She's silent on the ride back as she finally acknowledges to herself what she has. That's when her fight begins.

Friends and family are with her every step of the way. Even when she argues and pushes them away, they refuse to leave her side. Even with missions each of them take turns, or in most cases Clint and Yelena, would stay behind and keep the others informed.

But sometimes medicine and time just aren't on our side. She'd be tired that last day. Her friends and family would be there despite her saying that she wasn't going to be much fun around. Half way through she'd excuse herself for rest.

Yelena would go with her to spend some one on one with her sister away from the unruly lot that was down the hall. They'll laugh at Yelena making fun of some the teammates and Nat will fall asleep.

The real heartache would come when Yelena and Wanda come to wake Nat for breakfast. It's Yelena's cries that will send Clint running down the hall as fast as he can with the team right behind him.

[masterwords]

as the crow flies (part four)

Summary: After a journalist does the BAU dirty, Derek is forced to take the job at the New York Field Office. Hotch is forced to deal. (AU where Hotch and Haley have a daughter instead of a son. Based on this story.)

Warnings: explosion injury aftermath, intermittent hearing loss, ear infection, food

Words: 4k

Notes: Want some cute sick Hotch? Something a little lighter after that last one? Hotch & Clooney & lots of comfort live here.

** CHAPTER LIST **

**

“I'll stay with Clooney.”

Hotch's voice was soft, weary, feverish. Derek couldn't help but laugh, but Hotch...sick as he was...he was also serious. Even from inside of the mess of blankets, only the tips of his hair visible,he was trying to bargain with chips he didn't have to play. Derek's blankets were warm, new, silky soft and very expensive feeling...and he was sweating all over them. And still somehow shivering inside of them.

“Let me. Please.”

Derek contemplated the offer while he made breakfast and got ready to hit the gym. He thought about it while he ran on the treadmill and lifted weights with the friends he'd already made in the building. A lot of other extended stay executive types who were bored out of their minds, just like him. Except most of them were single and loved to hit all the best night clubs, something Derek hadn't done in a very long time. He was enjoying himself, and it wasn't nearly as hard to go home alone every night as he'd originally thought. Every morning it was the same, meet up in the gym, spot each other on the weights, go out for coffee.

This morning, though, Derek skipped the coffee. “I've got someone visiting from out of town,” he said and one of them winked and nudged him with his elbow.

“That someone in your bed waiting for you to come back all hot and sweaty?”

Derek simply grinned and said no more. It was always good to carry an air of mystery, and he wasn't entirely sure what sort of someone they thought he'd have waiting for him.

Coming back upstairs, he'd expected to find Hotch on the couch or on his computer, but he was still in bed. Slipping through the shadows, he nudged the blankets back and pressed the back of his hand to Hotch's forehead, flinching at the radiant heat. The night before he'd seemed off, and he'd been pretty honest about how difficult the trip was, but it didn't really worry him. A good night's sleep seemed like it would be all he needed, that was usually it. Hotch didn't sleep, so the morning after a solid night he was like new. But not today. Today there was a definite fever.

Of course there was.

There was a corner store at the end of his block, a kind of half convenience store half produce stand that he loved to stop by and grab and apple or something a little more exotic at when he was bored and going stir crazy. No reason in a city like this to sit alone in his penthouse, so he'd decided to make friends with the man who owned the little shop. In turn, the man had started setting certain things aside for him.

Today, he grabbed the dragon fruit that Emil had snagged for him with a smile and added some cough drops and Tylenol to the mix. “Under the weather?” Emil asked in his thick accent, punching in numbers entirely from memory. He didn't use bar codes and there was something almost romantic about that to Derek. Like stepping back in time, being a child and buying handfuls of penny candy while his mom bought her cigarettes. No one scanned anything at that store, either.

“A friend,” was his reply with a half-hearted smile. That was a strange thing for him to say...a friend...and he nearly corrected himself before he realized that the look Emil was giving him said he somehow understood it was not a friend. “I'm good.”

Emil threw in a bottle of orange juice and a kiwi with a wink and didn't ring them up. “Vitamin C is more helpful than Tylenol...”

“Thanks, man.”

Hotch was still in bed when Derek returned for the second time, hadn't even moved. There was only so much he could do to keep himself busy...it was his day off and the last thing he wanted to do was sit and watch TV but leaving, wandering around the city, wasn't an option. Not when Hotch was here and sick. He was trapped.

There was some training he could do, so he unpacked his briefcase all over the kitchen island and paced back and forth listening to the HR training courses through headphones. A lot of bureaucratic red tape, diversity and inclusion and mostly just covering the FBI's butt more than him actually learning anything of real value. He started counting the buzz words they used, the terms that were hot and new in training, words that would be meaningless in ten years...replaced by other fun, trendy buzz words that made the company sound like they gave a shit. He got nothing from the training but he logged the hours. No wonder Hotch was always frowning. Dealing with the horrors of their job and adding this on top of it would steal the joy from just about anyone.

Hotch finally dragged himself out of bed around noon, a jumble of squinty eyes and messy hair stumbling cautiously through the apartment he wasn't familiar with. At Derek's house, he could manage with eyes closed but not here. He didn't know the place, so he rubbed his sleepy eyes and then looked around a minute to get his bearings before making his way for the kitchen. Straight to Derek.

“He's aliiiiiiiive!” Derek announced in his most wobbly, mad scientist voice and Hotch shrugged politely before falling with a thud right into Derek's chest.

“Don't feel good,” he muttered, his fevered cheek resting against Derek's shoulder.

“Yeah, I gathered that.”

His arms wrapped tight around Hotch's shoulders, and he pressed his nose into Hotch's temple, breathing him in. They stood in silence, and Derek almost thought by the way Hotch's breathing slowed almost to a still that he had gone back to sleep standing up. That would have been funny, a story to tell, but Hotch pulled away and looked at him miserably. He thought Hotch might say something, but he just stared at him with those big watery eyes and Derek couldn't stand it. Like a big, pathetic child who had come down with the flu but needed to be forced to rest.

“Go lay back down. I'll be right in.”

They spent the entire weekend in Derek's bed, sleeping and medicating and laughing. With just the right amount of Tylenol in his system, Hotch was at least in good spirits. Adding in the icy orange juice that felt like heaven in his burning throat and the sliced mango that left their chins and fingers juicy, and he was having as good a time as he'd ever had even if he did feel like absolute trash.

Sean couldn't resist coming by when he heard his brother was in town. He didn't get the opportunity often when he was in town and it wasn't for work. So he showed up with a couple growlers from the craft beers at his bar and a few pirated movies his buddies burned for him. Derek frowned.

“You know piracy is a crime,” he said. “And you're in a room with two Federal Agents.”

“Yeah? What are you gonna do about it? You telling me you don't wanna watch The Dark Knight or Cloverfield?”

Hotch sipped his orange juice and stared at his brother while he dared Derek to make a move. Derek only laughed.

“Fuck. Okay, yeah. I already saw Batman though...” Cloverfield and pizza delivery it was. Hotch had less than zero interest in the movie, which turned out to be fine because the ache in his head made him just want to sleep. They'd gone to the Urgent Care that morning and gotten the news that he had a double ear infection, which would account for the fever at least, so he lay across Derek's lap with a warm, wet towel on the side of his face and misery in his eyes while Derek and Sean lost their minds over a movie that he was only barely able to focus on. Chewing was pure agony so he took only a few bites of pizza before deciding that juice was going to be his main source of sustenance until the antibiotics did their job.

Juice and ice cream to soothe the burn in his throat, anyway. He sucked on an ice cube, listened to it click against his teeth, while Sean and Derek talked about the movie afterward. They talked over the top of him, forgetting easily that he was even there.

He took the train home, still miserable but able to handle it with enough Tylenol and his antibiotics. At least until his doctor at home gave him news that left a sour taste in his mouth. News he wasn't keen to share with anyone just yet.

Instead, he moved Clooney into his apartment. Lucy was thrilled, let Clooney sleep on her bed at night even though Derek had forbidden it. “Don't be soft,” he'd said sternly. “Don't let that dog walk all over you. He has his own bed.” Yeah, well, Lucy loved him and so she would scoot over until she could wrap herself fully around the big furry mutt and Hotch didn't have the heart to tell her no. He'd find a way to fix it later.

Clooney followed him around whenever he was home, all wagging tail and slobbery tongue. With Lucy there, they became a little family of three walking to the park and playing with the dog for hours at a time. When she wasn't with him, the two of them fell into a sort of mope. Sitting together on the couch and lamenting Derek being gone. “We're pathetic,” Hotch whispered, scratching behind Clooney's ear. “Miserable and pathetic.”

They got into a routine of early morning and evening walks. Clooney gave him a reason to leave the office on time even on days Lucy wasn't staying with him. The dog was spoiled, but he sort of thought he was too. So when Derek called to let him know that he was ready to bring Clooney up, he'd moved completely from the penthouse into his own place and Hotch was a little hurt. Emily had gone up to New York, and with she and Sean's help, they'd done all the work without even telling him.

“I would have helped,” he said, patting Clooney's head. Derek hummed.

“I know, but your back still isn't better and you've been with Clooney so you're already helping...”

He stared at a pile of letters on his coffee table, letters addressed to him via The Post...asking him about his injuries, berating him for hiding information about a terrorist attack, calling him names, asking for his phone number. It was overwhelming, and JJ told him not to look at the mail. Not to even read it. She assured him that it would die out if he just didn't give it any attention. The problem was that it was coming to Quantico in droves, checked out and approved for safety before being placed on his desk.

He hadn't told Derek about the letters. It was embarrassing.

“I'll come get Clooney next week...this week's gonna be crazy at work. But next week, I'll drive down and pick you both up okay? Put you on a plane home, even.”

“I...” Hotch began, feeling like this was his in. The time he had to mention that he was going to need surgery for his ears. But he couldn't bring his voice to work, so he smiled. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

(x)

Showing up on Derek's doorstep with Clooney in tow, watching him unlock the security door, he felt the anxiety worm its way around in his stomach. Derek pushed into the long hallway and lead Hotch up the stairs to his apartment, listening to the clicking of Clooney's nails on the tiled floor. “It's a quiet building,” he said, leading the way. “Everyone's got a dog but I never hear them.”

“Clooney's quiet,” Hotch said in that supportive tone he got when he didn't know what else to say. Something was eating at him. Once they were inside, he was stopped short by the sound of the television, of some strange music coming from the next room. “Did you leave the television on when you left?”

The answer was provided to him moments later when he saw two bodies on the couch. Two bodies that looked like they'd been in the same place for hours, or days.

“Emily,” Hotch said softly, peering into the apartment. She and Sean were sitting on the couch playing Dr. Mario and lobbing insults back and forth with a bottle of tequila nudged between their thighs. It was barely past lunch time.

“Don't ask.” Was all Derek said, wrapping Hotch in a hug that gave all of his insecurities a swift kick in the ass and sent them packing. “I missed you, you know that? I'm glad you're here.” Sean barely looked in his direction but he hollered at his brother anyway, like it was old news that he was there, like he lived there. “You look like hell.”

“I feel like it,” Hotch replied quietly. “Can we talk?” In private, he intended to say, but Derek understood and pulled him back toward his bedroom quickly, Clooney never leaving their sides. As they skirted the couch and slipped down the hallway, Emily made a whistling sound and Sean hollered something about keeping it quiet because he didn't feel like losing his breakfast. They rolled their eyes in unison and shut the door behind them.

“What's up, baby?” Derek asked, flopping down on his bed. Hotch followed, minus the flop, instead easing himself and his sore back down carefully.

“I have a consult with a surgeon this week for my ear...” he began, pressing his palms to his knees to stiffen and straighten his painful back. “Up here. I thought maybe if I had it done here, I could stay with you.”

“Only you would turn a medical procedure into what amounts to a vacation.”

Hotch smirked and let out the breath he'd been holding. “What do you think?”

“I think it's a sweet idea. We'll have a great time. I can't really take much time off from work, but I'll figure something out.”

The look on Hotch's face, amused and confused at Derek's response, made Derek erupt in laughter. “I mean after you're done being a miserable old grump about some ear pain. After that.”

Hotch didn't even worry about the procedure after that. He went to his consult and felt good about the surgeon, it was all going according to plan. The problem didn't arise until Lucy was involved. Haley had a girls trip planned and Hotch's surgery ended up scheduled for the same week. If he pushed it out, he'd be waiting months and his hearing could be permanently damaged. The likelihood of recurrent infections loomed over him. He was still suffering from swelling and pain from the last one. It was already dodgy and he had a constant headache, the kind that no medication touched so he didn't bother with any of that. His office lights hadn't been turned on in weeks, and Garcia had been printing all of his case information when everyone else had it sent to their PDAs, he couldn't look at the screen for any length of time without it making his head throb. The headache may have originated with the intense ringing in his ears, but now it just lived with him.

This wasn't just his best option, it was starting to feel like his only option.

(x)

“Surgery?! Are you freaking KIDDING me Aaron?” Haley nearly shrieked, nudging Lucy toward her bedroom so she didn't hear if an argument erupted. Lucy, a little too wise for her years, mumbled something about not being a baby before she stomped her feet down the hallway dramatically. Hotch had to stifle a little smile. “I made these plans months ago Aaron, I can't just change them because you got yourself blown up in the field. Your job can't keep affecting our lives like this. What am I supposed to do?”

He was trying to stay neutral and calm. It wasn't easy, considering that she was upset about a girls trip while he was talking about the aftermath of being in a very public explosion. (Thankfully, she hadn't seen the Post or the photo of him and so far his ever growing stack of mail was still a secret kept between he and JJ. He thought she'd dig in even harder if she had any idea.) She was upset and he really couldn't blame her completely, not with what little she knew (or, if he had it his way, what she would ever know) but he had tried to get another date it just wasn't possible. Not the way he wanted it to work...maybe he could see a surgeon closer to home but he wasn't willing to compromise on that. “I'm working it out,” was his only defense and she narrowed her eyes, folding her arms over her chest.

“What exactly does that mean?”

“It means I'm seeing a surgeon in New York so that Lucy and I can can stay with Derek for a week or two afterward.”

“And Derek is just okay with this? Derek is on board with becoming a full time parent in his fancy Brooklyn brownstone while you're healing from surgery?”

He bristled, even when he was trying not to. She'd always known which buttons to press and when to get the best reaction out of him, it was a special skill and one he had never appreciated. The only person who could get under his skin with more efficiency was Sean, but he held back more than she did. Sean had seen Hotch explode, Sean had seen more than Haley ever would and had more restraint because of it. He nearly took the bait but caught himself just in time. “The recovery period for this procedure is short. Derek is more than capable of helping me, and I don't think you're giving him nearly enough credit Haley.”

The blessing here was that she was raising her voice, just shy of yelling, he could hear her just fine. If she lowered her voice an octave or two they would both be worse off. And then she laughed at him. Nothing else to say, no response to that. It was cold and nervous, he could tell she was just worried about her child in New York more than anything but he was not going to let her take that out on Derek. “I promise, we'll be fine. You don't need to worry and you don't need to reschedule anything.”

“You two have never lived together,” she said quietly, leveling an icy glare at him. Now he was scrambling, trying to read lips. It was a skill he barely possessed, it was new and rudimentary at best. He wanted to tell her to yell again. “Spending the night a few times with someone, fucking in hotel rooms all over the country...that isn't the same as taking your child and moving in while you're...”

“Haley,” he started, feeling the way his heartbeat hammered behind his ears. She was really nudging him close to the edge, choosing her words carefully. “I'm aware of everything this entails. Believe me. If it doesn't work out, I'll be more than capable of driving after the first week, not to mention that Sean lives nearby. I will manage.”

“Oh, great. Yeah, Sean, a pillar of society. A marvel of adulthood.” Her voice wavered, and then she broke. She usually did, all that venom and all that anger melted into what the real problem was. All he had to do was wait it out. Be patient. “And what about Lucy? She adores Derek. If this goes bad, she loses big.”

“Haley, please. I'm handling it.”

Unsurprisingly, it was not resolved before Haley walked out the door, and Hotch was okay with that. He accepted it anyway. Sometimes with Haley it was better just to show her rather than tell her. He'd asked her out to prom and she laughed at him, told him there was no way he was going to a school dance, let alone a formal and yeah part of her was probably right it sounded like a nightmare but he still wanted to do it for her. So he rented a tux and showed up at her house for a trial run a month early. Just to prove it. His mom's friend gave them a private dance lesson, and Haley's mom took her out dress shopping the next day.

When she came by to pick up Lucy the next morning he gave her the information for his doctor, Derek's apartment, the post-op instructions. A full itinerary. “If you have any questions...” he said, hoping that his confidence would rub off on her. She blinked and looked away but not so fast that he couldn't see the tears in her eyes. She waved him off when he gave her that concerned doe eyed look. Everything had changed overnight, just like he'd expected. She hated being blindsided and he could respect that.

He did too. And he was dealing with this situation only slightly better than she was.

“You're an idiot, Aaron,” she said but she did it with a tear soaked smile and he accepted it as her apology and approval. “You really need this procedure?”

“I do,” he nodded. It's bad, he wanted to say. The pain, the hearing loss, it had gotten to a point that it was unmanageable and he was on the verge of losing the hearing in his right ear completely. They were going to trial run a hearing aid for the left side, avoiding surgery if it wasn't necessary but the right side was dire straits. She swiped at the tears and nodded.

“Okay. Do you need me to keep Lucy? I can figure it out. Maybe Jessica...” She was worried now. Her demeanor had shifted to something sweet and caring, she longed to reach out and touch him like she might have a year ago. Before everything fell apart. But she couldn't do that now, had no right to cross that line. She was the one who drew it after all.

Derek was where he drew his comfort now, and she was glad for both of them. She had her own new thing and they were all better off...didn't mean she wasn't sparking wildfire in her nerves over the idea that he was hurting. And had been for how long? Weeks? Months? This was the first she was hearing but that, in itself, wasn't surprising. He kept things from her. She never had had much of a stomach when it came to him being in pain, it made her ache right along beside him. Jessica always said the same thing...there was just something about him. It was terrible, really.

“No. Derek is looking forward to our stay. He turned his office into a bedroom for her and took the first week off of work. Last night he sent me a photo of his freezer stocked with mint chip ice cream.” Hotch didn't have the heart to mention that he wouldn't be able to chew solid food for a week after the surgery...they would cross that bridge later.

She rolled her eyes and blinked the tears back quickly. She'd long ago promised that she had cried her last tears over this stupid man, but here she was proving herself wrong. “Good. I'm glad. If you need anything...”

“Thank you Haley.”

[everyday88here]

Top 4 Diet Plan To Lose Weight Fast-According To Dieticians

Which weight loss program is best for you?

There is strong evidence that many different types of diets can help people lose weight

However, some diets can result in more dramatic weight changes than others. Some diet plans may also offer greater improvements in health indicators, such as blood sugar control and risk factors for heart disease, compared to other diets.

It's also important to find a diet that you like and can follow. When you view your diet as a long-term healthy lifestyle change rather than a quick fix, you're more likely to lose weight and keep it off.

Want to lose weight fast? Follow the tips from here: diet plan

We ranked the most popular weight loss plans by their effectiveness in weight loss and second by improvements in health indicators, based on the strength of the evidence to date.

Each diet was rated on a scale of 1 to 5 for its effects on weight loss and health changes, with a total combined score of 10. It's important to note that any rating system of this type may involve a degree of subjectivity, so exact values ​​may vary stand debate.

We also describe the diets with their advantages and disadvantages.

If you're ready to lose weight and keep it off, read our in-depth rundown of the 10 best weight loss programs and find out which one works best for you.

BREAKFAST

Visit everydayhere for more facts!

Coffee with skimmed milk.

A slice of wholemeal bread with a French omelette made from a whole egg and two egg whites from another egg with two slices of chopped Iberian ham.

A piece of fruit.

For men

Coffee with skimmed milk.

A slice of wholemeal bread with a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil.

Two slices of Iberian ham.

A piece of fruit (everything except banana, mango, and melon).

For women

A cheat meal can be done: Thalis

Coffee with skimmed milk.

Two toasted whole grain bread biscuits with a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil.

Two slices of Iberian ham.

A piece of fruit (everything except banana, mango, and melon).

MORNING

A piece of fruit (everything except banana, mango, and melon).

Two walnuts.

FOOD

Drink: A glass of red wine, approx. 150 ml. Option for men only.

Avoid: Bread.

Lunch: Aubergines (half beef, half chicken) stuffed with minced meat, sautéed with natural tomato passata and au gratin with a slice of white cheese.

For more updates visit: President of India 2022

[tennessoui]

i really am just so excited for part two of the roadtrip au and knowing it might be from obi-wan's perspective??? seeing obi-wan fawn over anakin while anakin dotes on him?? i'm losing my mind.

hey!!! bless!!!! i know i said it would be part 1, part 2, part 3, but i started writing part 2 and it's like already 2.2k long and they're just in Pennsylvania so i think we should all start thinking of this story as part 1 (finished, posted), ARC 2 (very long, is in segments, depending on what people wanna see and what road trip shenanigans i can think up), and part 3 (tbd)

anyway here's the 2.2k (squick: a/b/o, mpreg)

“Uh, sir? Are you...alright?”

That’s the gas station attendant. Obi-Wan barely resists the urge to thunk his head on the side of the bathroom stall. The only thing stopping him is how absolutely unsanitary it would be, and he already feels dirty enough. He pulls a few more squares of toilet paper from the dispenser and wipes at his mouth.

Of all the pregnancy symptoms he hates, he thinks morning sickness is the one he hates the most. And it’s the one that seems to be, for some reason, sticking around the longest.

He’d never even known how much of a misnomer morning sickness is, but it’s not like it’s only happening in the morning. He’ll feel nauseous halfway through the day, mid-afternoon, early evening.

His doctor and close friend at the hospital, Bant, had assured him this was normal and nothing to worry about. But it’s hard not to worry about it, especially when he lives with an Alpha who worries about everything.

“Just fine, thank you,” Obi-Wan says politely as he flushes the toilet and leaves before he can watch his breakfast spiral down and disappear. That’ll only make him feel even more sick.

The girl wrings her hands as she watches him wash his, and he has to take pity on her. She can’t be older than eighteen. “Morning sickness,” he tells her, placing a hand on the virtually unnoticeable swell of his belly.

“Oh!” she says. Obi-Wan fights the urge to grimace when he sees her eyes dart down to his unmarked neck. He knows how it looks. He knows how it sounds. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s quite alright,” he says. It’s not, but it is. Obi-Wan doesn’t want to have this conversation, doesn’t want to talk to this girl anymore. They’re passing through a small town in central Pennsylvania. He’s a pregnant, unmated, thirty-eight year old male omega. A rarity. A talking point. He doesn’t want to talk to her, he wants--

There’s a loud knock on the door to the bathroom. “Obi-Wan? Are you alright? Is there someone in there with you? I thought I heard voices. Obi-Wan? I’m coming in, Obi-Wan.”

Anakin.

Obi-Wan gets halfway through drying his hands before Anakin’s there, crowding him against the sink and nosing at his face and neck.

“Sir, this is a bathroom for omegas only!” the gas station attendant protests, but Anakin growls at her.

As much as the pregnancy has made Obi-Wan lose parts of himself to his Omegan side, it’s been ten times worse for Anakin for some reason. As far as Alphas go, Anakin’s always been a thoughtful, respectful one. Quick to anger, perhaps, but never violent or suspicious.

Now it’s like everyone in the world has done something to personally offend Anakin. Everyone but Obi-Wan.

If he didn’t feel such a burning, unignorable need to get to Seattle, Obi-Wan would have called the whole trip off weeks ago.

But he couldn’t then and he definitely can’t now, not when they’ve both taken the time off of work and Obi-Wan’s let his doctor know he’ll be out of the state and they’re already in Pennsylvania.

He’ll just let Anakin do whatever he needs to do to feel alright with taking a pregnant, unmated omega across the country. It’s not as if it’s a hardship to put up with all the scentings and hugs and looming and protectiveness.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Which just makes Obi-Wan feel even more guilty, the way he’s using Anakin like this. His dearest, closest friend, who is helping him in such an amazing way, and every time he touches him, it’s all Obi-Wan can do to not arch up into the touch.

He wishes he could blame it on the pregnancy hormones, the way his instincts are going haywire to keep an alpha--any alpha--close. But it’s not. It’s Anakin. It’s the fact that Obi-Wan is hopelessly, irreversibly in love with the alpha.

The touches and the scenting don’t mean what he wants them to. It doesn’t mean anything, the way Anakin pushes his shirts and sweaters to Obi-Wan’s chest and watches him put them on. He’s an observant man, his alpha. He knows Obi-Wan likes wearing his scent now that he’s pregnant. It’s comforting.

So even though it doesn’t mean anything at all, the way Anakin’s hands roam over his waist and stomach and hips as he growls at the poor gas station attendant, Obi-Wan has to fight to not push back into the touches, to not scent him in return.

He’s afraid once he does, he won’t be able to stop. The thought of it, of marking the beautiful, strong, virile alpha with his smell, is too addicting to ever risk trying.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s just a bit of morning sickness,” he says lightly, touching Anakin’s chest gently. “She was just checking up on me.”

Anakin glares at the girl and starts to herd Obi-Wan out of the bathroom. “Not hers to check up on,” he mutters, hands latching onto Anakin’s hips and guiding him through the aisles of brightly colored chips and candy.

Obi-Wan thinks that for both of their sakes he should remind Anakin that he’s not his to check up on either, but he doesn’t want to, not when he can pretend for a little bit longer.

“I think I would like to lie down in the back for a bit,” he says, holding his stomach. “Just until we get out of this state.”

Anakin agrees immediately, like he knew he would. “Okay, Obi,” he murmurs, opening the car door for him. They’d laid down their suitcases in the wells behind the two front seats, and Anakin had thrown a couple of blankets over the entire area to make a sort of makeshift nest for Obi-Wan to sleep in should he want to.

They’ve only been driving for four hours, but Obi-Wan already wants to. He’s painfully on edge.

He hadn’t understood how hard it would be to convince his hindbrain and body to leave the safety of their apartment, but all he wants now is to nest somewhere safe for him and the baby. It would have been impossible to do this without Anakin.

“Alright,” the alpha says. “Um. Wait. Here.”

He shucks off his sweatshirt, a faded college one that Obi-Wan’s been coveting with his eyes since Anakin had put it on this morning. “Oh, dear one, no,” he forces himself to say anyway. “It’s December. You need a sweatshirt.”

“I’ll turn up the heat,” Anakin holds it out insistently, stubbornly. “Take it, come on.”

Obi-wan can only make himself hesitate for a second more before he’s snatching the soft fabric that smells like sunlight linen honeydew out of his hands and holding it greedily to his chest. “Alright.”

Under the weight of the alpha’s watchful eyes, Obi-Wan crawls into the backseat and curls up with his head diagonal from the driver’s seat. He thinks it’ll be nice to wake up and see Anakin’s profile whenever he wants to without additional shifting.

“Oh shit,” Anakin curses suddenly. “I was going to buy a coffee.” The alpha pauses, clearly torn between going back inside and not wanting to leave the omega alone in the car. But Obi-Wan knows Anakin, and he needs his coffee.

“Oh,” he says as if he’s just remembering something himself, “can you get me one of those bananas on the counter? I think they’re good for babies.”

That, obviously, changes everything for Anakin who straightens instantly. “Bananas are good for babies,” he declares, nodding his head before narrowing his eyes. “Would you...can I lock the door? I won’t be long. Just for safety.”

Obi-Wan blinks and purses his lips to stop his little smile. His alpha can be so silly. Safety. In the middle of the afternoon in rural Pennsylvania. “Okay, alpha,” he agrees before he even realizes that he really shouldn’t be calling Anakin alpha. Especially not when the other man always reacts so strongly to it.

Case in point, he thinks to himself sadly as Anakin’s hand spasms on the car door handle before he slams it and hustles away, almost at a run.

With a long sigh, he flops back down into his nest and squirms until he gets comfortable. There’s a pillow close to his hand that he hugs to his chest when he realizes it’s Anakin’s pillow from his bed at home. It smells amazing, a mix of both of them together.

Ever since he’d told the alpha he was pregnant, Obi-Wan’s fallen asleep in Anakin’s bed more often than not. It’s a comfort thing, one that Obi-Wan feels intensely guilty about. Surely if he keeps being so clingy and whiny and Omegan, Anakin will get sick of him.

And this is just the beginning of the pregnancy. He knows rationally that Anakin loves him as a friend, a brother, but how long is that love going to last if Obi-Wan can’t get a handle on his goddamn hormones? Anakin hadn’t signed up for any of this. It’s not even his pup. How much is Obi-Wan willing to put him through just because he can’t imagine a life without the alpha in it?

Wouldn’t it be the best thing for the both of them to cut their losses now? Bail and Breha had told Obi-Wan he could move in with them for the duration of the pregnancy if he needed to. The only thing that stopped him from saying yes immediately had been the hope that Anakin would be willing to stay with him, keep living with him even after he’d fucked up so much.

And the alpha, by some miracle, hadn’t left, hadn’t moved out. But Obi-Wan can’t shake the thought that he will soon, that this will all get to be too much. Obi-Wan’s omega whimpers at the back of his mind at the idea that one day the alpha will be gone.

The scent of distressed omega fills the car as Obi-Wan feels his bottom lip start to wobble.

Alright, the influx of hormones that are wreaking havoc on his emotions is probably the pregnancy symptom he hates the most. But morning sickness is still up there, too.

He sniffs into Anakin’s college sweatshirt and tries to think happy thoughts. He shouldn’t make Anakin worry about his emotions when he’s already spending so much time worried about his physical health.

How much is Obi-Wan going to take advantage of Anakin’s kindness?

The doors unlock with a beep, signaling his alpha’s return to the car.

It doesn’t take Anakin even a second to catch onto Obi-Wan’s recent spiral of emotion, but at least he won’t know why unless Obi-Wan tells him.

“Obi?” he asks frantically, as soon as he opens the car door. “Obi, are you alright? Did something happen? Did someone see you--?”

“Put the coffee down before you spill it,” Obi-Wan instructs after peeking out of his sweatshirt haven. “I’m alright, Anakin. It’s just the hormones. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Anakin shakes his head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

The statement pulls a wry smile from Obi-Wan. “Oh, I can think of a few things,” he murmurs, touching his belly with a pointed, gentle hand. Before Anakin can say anything about that, he continues quickly. “I was just wondering about something, I’m fine, really. Really.”

And then, knowing he shouldn’t but also knowing it’ll distract Anakin enough from this line of questioning, he tilts his head back to expose his neck and says, “Can we drive, alpha?”

The coffee cup still clutched in Anakin’s hands bursts open under the force of his grip. He really should have put it down.

Anakin curses up a storm as he shakes the hot liquid off of his skin, and Obi-Wan sits up worriedly. Anakin was bothered so much by Obi-Wan calling him that that he accidentally hurt himself. No more, the omega resolves. He can take a hint.

“Are you alright?” he asks, grabbing at Anakin’s hand to examine the red skin.

“I’m fine!” Anakin yelps, jumping away. “I just--I’m just going to go wash this off. Um. And get more coffee.”

He slams the door shut, and Obi-Wan wilts as he watches him go. He can’t even follow after him because Anakin’s locked the doors with his car key. He’s done enough already.

“Oh baby,” he tells his stomach. “I don’t think I’m ever going to have that alpha figured out.”

The baby is still and, of course, silent, but Obi-Wan takes comfort in their presence anyway. They can’t leave him. Not yet, at least.

Gingerly, he maneuvers his way out of his nest so he can reach his messenger bag he’d left in the foot of his passenger seat. It takes some finangling, but finally he’s able to fish out his headphones. As he resettles into his nest, surrounded on all sides by Anakin’s scent, he notices the bunch of bananas thrown in the driver’s seat.

Obi-Wan snorts at his silly alpha, but can’t deny that he’s touched at the same time.

It’s extremely easy to find the track he wants to listen to, what with how often he listens to it these days. Sometimes, it’s the only thing that can get him to fall asleep.

He pulls up the downloaded homemade album Anakin had given him for Christmas four years back. When he presses play, his alpha’s deep melodic voice spills into his ears.

“Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote, the droghte of March hath perced to the roote…”

Of course he can’t be sure, but he’s fairly certain he’s asleep by the time Anakin comes back to the car.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Loved your tags on the Brenda Strong reblog! We need it as the new supercorp au!

Well, sOMEONE gave me an idea of OG!Lillian losing her memory and staying with Eliza for a while, and all day during work I was daydreaming of amnesia!Lillian slowly being told her life and being eager and excited to meet her daughter, only to find herself facing off against each member of the superfriends first as they try to suss out whether the memory loss is legit and/or whether she deserves to be in Lena’s presence. But finally she passes the final test (Kara) and when Lena still resists meeting her, Lillian overhears her trying to explain why it’s a bad idea. “None of you get it: she is a master manipulator. Lex didn’t exist in a vacuum-- he had to learn it from somewhere, and he learned it from our father and from her.”

But Kara ultimately talks her into it, and Lillian finally finds herself face to face with the woman who is her daughter. Her beautiful, beautiful daughter. Except her daughter doesn’t do anything except sit there-- no eye contact, no attempts at conversation. Lillian finally breaks the silence. “It’s so good to finally see you...”

She reaches over to take Lena’s hand, but Lena pulls away before she can make contact. Lillian instead lets her hand rest on the table between them. A peace offering. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you. About your work in National City.”

Lena doesn’t respond.

“They say you’re a such a force for good--”

“Just-- stop,” Lena says finally. “You might have fooled them, but I’m not.”

“What they’ve told you is true-- I don’t remember--”

“And even if that were true, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Finally, Lena meets her eye, but her gaze is cold. Cruel. “You are not a good person.”

Lillian’s heart falls, and only now does she realize how bad an idea this had been.

“I spent half of my life trying to earn your love and the other half trying to get away from you. Don’t think for a moment that I’m going to let you weasel your way into my life after I’ve finally gotten you out of it.”

So... it doesn’t go well. Ostensibly, Lena and Kara are in Midvale to visit Eliza over the fourth of July weekend. Kara planned to spend the night in her childhood home, but Lena refuses. 

“I won’t be under the same roof as her--”

“I’ll leave,” Lillian says. 

Eliza looks at her in sympathy, but doesn’t protest. “Perhaps it would be for the best. We can put you up in the local bed and breakfast for the weekend, and then after...”

After. After doesn’t matter to Lillian. Not when her only free and living child wants nothing to do with her. She lets Eliza make the plans, and collects her meager belongings into a borrowed suitcase. In a bout of stubborn refusal to quit, when Eliza invites her to the community cookout and fireworks display, Lillian accepts. If only to be in the vicinity of Lena, to observe her daughter and feel a part of her in even so distant a way, if only for the opportunity to show Lena that she is different than whoever she might have been.

But when she arrives the following afternoon, she learns that Lena remained behind alone. “To watch the house,” Eliza says, though the excuse is clear to everyone who hears it. Lillian also notices that her daughter’s partner Kara is also missing. 

“Called back to work in National City,” is the official party line, but Lillian isn’t sure she believes it any more than she believes Lena’s excuse. She tries to enjoy herself, but her thoughts are blocks away, with the woman who refuses to be her daughter.

The evening deepens to night, and as the fireworks display commences, Lillian tries to lose herself in the explosions that rock the very air. Soon though, the feeling of wrongness that’s been following Lillian all night catches up to her with a foggy sky and the scent of not sulphur, but woodsmoke.

“Fire!” a voice cries. “Fire! Fire!”

All heads snap towards the distant voice, and widen when they spot the glow of a building fire in the direction of Eliza’s cul-de-sac. The crowd on the beach move as one towards the scene, Lillian at the lead. Heart pounding against her ribs, she hears the wail of sirens approaching: too distant, too slow.

“Lena!” she screams as the burning house comes into view. “Lena!”

Lena isn’t on the street-- she isn’t anywhere to be seen. Realization hits like a bolt of lightning, and someone tries to hook an arm around her as she makes for the front door. Lillian wrenches herself free. “My daughter is in there!” 

 They aren’t strong enough or quick enough to stop her before she barrels through the front door. Lillian’s brain works rapidly to piece together that if the fire started on the ground floor, then the only reason Lena wouldn’t have made it out is if she were asleep on the top floor, where she would likely be unconscious from smoke inhalation. She thunders up the stairs, coughing as the smoke grows dense. Staying low, she sweeps through each room until she finds Lena in the attic room, unconscious on Kara’s bed. 

Lillian gathers her daughter up as best she can and drags her back downstairs, through the front door and out onto the grass of the front lawn, coughing all the way. Eliza and her daughter Alex look at her as though they’ve seen a ghost, but all Lillian can think of is that her daughter isn’t coughing.

“She isn’t breathing!” she cries, desperately. Tears spill down her cheeks, and not just from the smoke. Without hesitating, she lays Lena flat and begins to administer rescue breathing. Counting and breathing and crying, her world narrows to her task alone, until the hands of paramedics crowd her vision, moving her aside even as they reach for Lena.

“It’s all right ma’am,” one says gently. “We’ve got her from here.”

Lillian follows them to the hospital, and waits as her daughter is treated for smoke inhalation. Soon, she’s informed that Lena is comatose, and on a respirator. 

“I’d like to sit with her, please.”

No one thinks to tell her no. And so Lillian waits, for hours, over a day for her daughter to wake. Doctors come in and apprise her of Lena’s condition, but nothing prepares her for the fear that creeps into Lena’s eyes when they finally open, and she realizes there’s a tube down her throat. Nothing prepares Lillian for the way that fear amplifies the moment Lena lays eyes on her.

“Sweetheart, please,” she begs, “it’s okay, you’re okay. Please, calm down--”

But when Lillian reaches for her daughter’s hand Lena recoils again, and begins to thrash against the restraints that have kept her from pulling out her tube. Choked, muttering sobs emerge around the tube, and sickening gurgles chill Lillian to the core even as a new body inserts itself between them.

“Lena!” Kara says, taking Lena’s face between her hands. “It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe. I promise you’re safe. Please, calm down... come on, breathe with me. In... out... don’t fight the tube, Lena, okay? Breathe with it... in... out...”

Slowly the monitors cease their shrill screaming, and only then does Lillian realize that doctors have converged as well, only to hold back until Lena was calm again.

“It’s okay, Lena. She’s leaving. She’s leaving...”

And Lillian does. She leaves the room, and doesn’t look back.

---

She can’t leave the hospital. Lillian makes it as far as the emergency room doors before the pull of Lena draws her back. This time, she sits with the others, waiting with bated breath for Kara to come back with news. 

When she does, Kara sits next Lillian directly. 

“They’ve extubated her,” the girl says softly. Woman, really. Kara is young, comparatively, yet old beyond her years with a weight Lillian can’t quite place. She offers Lillian a tired smile. “She’ll be okay.”

“She was afraid of me.”

Kara nods, not bothering to deny the truth. “She thought.... well, it doesn’t matter what she thought.” She runs a hand across her eyes. “You saved her life.”

“She’s my daughter.” The words come soft, almost plaintive, as though Lillian herself can’t quite believe them. 

“Thank you,” is all Kara returns.

---

Lena’s released a few days later. Kara takes her home to National City, and Lillian believes it to be the end of anything she might have had with her daughter. She tries to banish it from her mind, and focuses instead on Eliza, who now has the unfortunate burden of having had her home burn to the ground. They, at least, are friends, and Eliza seems to appreciate her support, however meager it is. 

Two days later, Lillian gets a call she isn’t expecting. 

“She wants to see you,” Kara says.

Lillian leaves Midvale that very minute with Eliza’s blessing. She makes the drive in record time, and soon finds herself in an apartment that’s both lavish and cozy, full of a warm life she thus far hasn’t been privy to. 

In the bedroom, Lena sits propped up with pillows, a box of tissues on one side and a waste bin on the other. “Sorry for the mess,” Lena croaks, cracking open one eye as the door creaks shut behind Lillian. “What I’m coughing up hasn’t exactly been pretty.”

Lillian sits on the furthest end of the bed. She itches to reach for Lena, to care and to mother her, but folds her hands in her lap instead in deference to the undercurrent of wariness that still runs through her daughter’s voice. 

“You saved my life,” is all Lena says after a moment. “Usually you don’t do that unless you have an ulterior motive. Like murder.”

Lillian flinches, but then freezes when she catches the slight hint of a smile playing at Lena’s lips. 

“Joking,” comes the rasping assurance. “Old-you would’ve gotten it.”

Instead of jumping in on the joke, Lillian finds herself fighting tears. “I really haven’t been much of a mother to you, have I?”

“No, you haven’t.” But this time it comes without malice, without judgement. 

Lillian wipes her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Lena. I wish-- I wish I had been better to you. You-- you deserve--- every happiness.”

“I do,” Lena agrees again. “But the good news is, I finally have people who let me believe that.”

“Good,” Lillian says breathlessly. “That’s... good.”

A long moment of silence passes between them. 

“I believe you,” Lena admits finally. Her shoulders lift in a shrug. “I don’t know what that means for anything between us, but--- I believe that you’re not... yourself.”

Lillian nods carefully. “It’s hard to hear the things I did. It feels like some other person entirely. I know it’s not,” she says quickly, “not really. But... I want to be better than her. Than who I was.”

Lena looks at her carefully. This time, Lillian looks back, holding her daughter’s gaze. 

“Will you help me?”

[gtanddragons]

Caught

A companion piece to @hopemakesstuff‘s works “Protecting Assets” and “Role Reversal”, this one is tied into our friend group’s Shifter!Makoto AU! In which everyone’s favorite lucky boy can (somewhat) control his ability to change his size, and all the shenanigans that ensue as a result.

Warnings: Contains spoilers for chapter two of DR1.

(Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid—!)

He’s practically mumbling those words to himself in a feverish mantra as he forces himself to hurry down the tiled hallway of Hope’s Peak Academy. 

(Need to find somewhere to hide—!)

Makoto is trembling, panting from the effort of making his way through the school— although it would normally be a simple task, it was certainly anything but now that he was stuck at a meager three inches tall. Despair hung heavy over his head as what would ordinarily be a few minutes’ walk to the first floor classrooms had already taken him… what, twenty minutes at this brisk pace? Thirty? It felt like an eternity had passed, and yet he still had a ways to go.

The dining hall was closer, certainly, but it was also almost certain that everyone would be gathered there for the breakfast meeting.

He feels guilty for missing it. Just one more reason to scold himself— he should’ve eaten last night. Should have gotten some rest. Shouldn’t have worn himself ragged, because now he’s stuck at his most vulnerable in a school full of other students who could (and maybe even would) kill him without a second thought. Maybe even by accident, and that’s somehow an even more repulsive thought.

The only other student who even remotely knows about his… condition… is Kyoko Kirigiri. Not of his own volition, of course, but she’d figured it out a lot quicker than he’d expected.

…No, there was yet another person who knew. Had known, since they had gone to school together since they were children.

But there isn’t any point in making himself even more depressed by thinking about her. Not right now. Either way, she can’t help him now— and he can’t rely on finding Kyoko to help him, not when she’s likely still with the others in the dining hall. He can’t risk exposing himself to everyone else like this.

For a brief moment, his thoughts go quiet, having finally exhausted themselves. 

(It’s okay. I’m almost to the classroom. I can just… hide in there under the teacher’s desk or something, wait to be able to shift back up to normal. And it wouldn’t be a lie to say that my stomach was hurting this morning—)

“Puhuhu~! And wheeeere do you think you’re going, little mister lucky student?”

Makoto yelps as an all-too-familiar figure pops out from seemingly nowhere— but this time, Monokuma towers over him, making the already-terrifying headmaster seem even more like a horrible monster than a cute little bear plushie.

Monokuma leans down and crosses his stubby arms as best as he’s able, still chuckling all the while. “I’ll admit, it’s kiiiiinda cute watchin’ you scurry around like that.~”

Makoto winces and takes an involuntary step back, gulping as the headmaster’s sharp teeth come closer into view. “I— I, um. I’m… going to the classroom…”

The bear pats his cheek thoughtfully, that unsettling grin still a mere foot away. “Ahhh, don’t wanna go to the dining hall, huuuuh? Smart move! Don’t wanna accidentally make one of your classmates a murderer, ‘cause. Yooou know.~ It would be such a shame if someone were to step on ya, or— ohhhh, how horrid! If you wound up as someone’s lunch. How cruel! Gahahaha!”

A chill runs up Makoto’s spine, and it takes all of his willpower to not fall back in fear at that obnoxiously-loud laughter. Thankfully, though, Monokuma gets out of his face as he straightens up.

“Ahhh… I should proooobably let you go. After all, wellllll… just try not to get caught, eh? Puhuhu!”

And once again, the bear is taking off fast enough for Makoto’s head to spin, still left confused over what Monokuma had meant— until the sound of footsteps in the distance catches his attention. Coming from further down the hallway…

Makoto suddenly tenses, his face blanching. He recognizes the sound of the voices drawing ever closer, and even at this distance, it’s easy to see just who’s coming his way.

Byakuya… and, trailing behind him… Toko. 

...No. Judging from the obnoxious laughter resounding through the school hallway… that would be Genocide Jack. Great.

(Gghk--! How did I not hear them getting closer--?!)

Makoto furiously shakes his head-- he could take more time to curse Monokuma, and his awful luck, later. For now, he needs to find a place to hide, but staying out in the open hallway is practically a death wish. 

He desperately glances in the direction of classroom 1-A-- he’ll have to run towards Byakuya and Jill’s general direction, but if he hurries…!

(I-I’m already worn out, but just a little more--!)

Makoto takes off at a full-blown sprint to the classroom, all too aware of the potential consequences of getting caught. His heart hammers in his chest as the footsteps draw closer, his two classmates coming into view like towering buildings on the horizon.

--

“Ugh… if this turns out to be some kind of goose chase, I swear…” Byakuya complains, his nose crinkling in disgust. He’d been attempting to enjoy picking apart case files in the archive over a cup of coffee this morning, but apparently even that was too much to ask. First he’d been besieged by Genocide Jack-- his new apparent fangirl, even pushier than Toko-- and then that accursed bear had shown up and caused a ruckus, insisting on showing them something interesting. But as of yet, Byakuya had yet to see anything even remotely worthy of his attention, and he was starting to get even more frustrated.

“Kyahaha! Ohh, Master, you know I can’t resist that stormy, sullen face! This whole ‘goose chase’ is worth every step~!”

Byakuya lets out a world-weary sigh, gritting his teeth as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

(Just keep tuning her out or you’ll get an even worse headache, Byakuya. Why couldn’t she have been the guilty party in this most recent--)

A sudden yelp from Jill drags him out of his thoughts, the serial killer’s arm snapping up to point down the hall in front of them.

“Oh look at that!”

Byakuya’s gaze shifts to where she’s pointing fast enough to get the faintest glimpse of… something. Something small-- a blur of movement in the doorway of the classroom at the end of the hall.

“Oooh, what was that?! A mooouuusee? And it thinks it can run from meeee?”

Byakuya isn’t surprised when Jill suddenly tears off down the hallway towards the classroom, shrieking with laughter. But as he follows after her, he can’t resist the slight increase of speed in his steps-- had that thing really been a mouse? He’d only seen it for a split second, but the color and shape had seemed… off. Some kind of robot like Monokuma, perhaps? A new clue…?

Either way, perhaps this tedious distraction would prove to be fruitful in the end… 

--

Jill is on her hands and knees the moment after she rushes into the room, prowling the classroom and sniffing the air like some kind of wild animal. 

“Awww, think you can hide? From me? Cuuuuuute. Now…”

Jill grins madly even as she pokes her head under a nearby desk.

“Come out, come out, whereeeever you aaaaare~!”

—

It doesn’t take long for Byakuya to follow after Jill and reach the doorway to the classroom, but even then… by the time he gets there, he’s met with the sound of desks clattering to the floor in one chaotic sweep, a triumphant yell (“Gotcha!”), and… the sight of Jill huddled up with something clutched in her hands.

Something squirming and… crying out.

Byakuya’s brows dart sharply upwards. Although he can’t quite see, and the sound is so small… he recognizes that terrified squawking.

“Aw, boo,” Jill grumbles. “Tch, not even big enough for one of my scissors…”

Byakuya hardly has any time to react before Jill turns around and—

His hands instinctively snap outwards as something is tossed in his direction. Whatever it is hits squarely in the palms of his hands and his fingers curl tightly around it, a flailing, warm weight that could only belong to a living creature— the thought alone nearly makes him drop the thing in revulsion.

(Did she just throw a filthy mouse at—?!)

“Soooorry Master~!” Jill croons, before pouting and tapping the blade of her scissors against her cheek. “Hmph… here I was hoping for some real meat, or a full-size cute boy… not a bite-sized happy meal with a little Mac.”

(What on Earth is she prattling on about now—?)

Byakuya looks down to his hands, wincing at the feeling of the little creature in his hands struggling in his grip… but as soon as he looks down, he can hardly tear his eyes away.

Caught haphazardly in his fingers, struggling and whimpering… is none other than Makoto Naegi. For once, Byakuya is at a loss for words, blinking disbelievingly at the ridiculous sight.

“Speaaaaking of meat,” Jill interrupts, her sullen mood ending with a quick snip of her scissors. “Let’s keep looking around, Master! I’m sure that goose must be somewhere around here.~”

With an obnoxiously loud cackle, she’s already out the door again— momentarily leaving Byakuya alone with his ‘catch’.

His grip loosens considerably at not feeling any more resistance; for a second, he feels a sudden twinge of grim resignation, thinking that perhaps the tiny boy sprawled out in his hands had died from the impact… though that theory is quickly disproven as he leans his head in closer, noting the subtle rise and fall of Makoto’s chest.

Just unconscious, then. Though, just to make sure (and to satiate some of his burning curiosity), Byakuya cautiously runs his fingertips over Makoto’s limbs.

Nothing broken, and… after using the tip of his nail to lift up Makoto’s hoodie and shirt, he can safely say that his little classmate managed to escape the ordeal with minimal bruising.

“‘Ultimate Lucky Student’ indeed,” Byakuya mutters. He lifts his hands even higher, squinting to get a better look at Makoto’s face. 

The boy seems peaceful, at least, although…

…He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. The dark circles under Makoto’s eyes are none of his concern. What is his concern, however…

Byakuya gives the classroom one last, cursory glance before carefully slipping Makoto’s limp form into his blazer pocket. A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, even as he exits the classroom.

Finally, something interesting.

Very, very interesting.

[dilexit]

The Laundromat ~ IRL!Karl Jacobs

Summary: College isn't always exciting but even laundry days could make the front page

Pairing: Karl Jacobs x GN!Reader (preestablished relationship), College AU (kinda, basically Karl and the reader are in college but Karl is still a streamer because I wrote it then realized it didn't make sense later)

This is based on a story about my aunt that I find really cute

Warnings: Swearing, and I'm not sure if I need to TW this but like detergent and soap but it's just fluff

(R/m/n) = roommates name

Requested: Yes No

(Y/n) loved their apartment building, it had everything they needed low noise, affordable, close enough to the campus, their landlord wasn't creepy and most importantly their boyfriend, Karl, lived in the apartment complex across the street. The only thing that (Y/n) hated was that there wasn't an laundry room in the complex itself but there was one walking distance from the complex. (Y/n) couldn't wait to get a house where they didn't have to bring their laundry to a laundromat next to the best ice cream parlor in town especially during this hot summer. (Y/n) was laying in their bed late morning on their phone when they remembered they needed to go grocery shopping as they were out of cereal and that was basically what they and their roommate lived off of. Groaning (Y/n) pulled their self up off the comfort of their bed and headed to the chest of drawers across from them. Opening the middle door and reaching in to grab some black shorts only to find none of them were clean. (Y/n) bent down to grab a pair off of the floor but knew they worked out yesterday and really shouldn't re wear the sweaty shorts. They pulled on a pair of blue shorts that they couldn't wear to classes tomorrow as they were, well blue. That's when they made the decision to go to laundromat.

"Hey (R/m/n), I'm heading to the laundromat where's your laundry bag?" They shouted down the hall to the other bedroom

"Oh here let me grab it," Their roommate yelled back. Soon enough they were handed their roommates ridiculously bright orange laundry bag which was already super heavy. (Y/n) then went to get their navy blue bag adding to the weight.

"Bring me back a strawberry ice cream cone please," (R/m/n) said handing (Y/n) some cash and six quarters. (Y/n) rolled their eyes but was glad because quiet frankly they also wanted some ice cream. They went to grab their keys and the bottle of detergent and headed to their car. The drive was like 3 minutes and the ice cream parlor filled the parking lot as the early summer sun was beaming down on the little corner shops. They popped their trunk and headed into the laundromat just to be met with the hum of mechanics and the cool air conditioning. There were only a few people in the laundromat but it never was too busy as the other complexes near by had their own laundry machines. (Y/n) found two open machines and got out their quarters popping six into the first machine then emptying all the two bags darks and reds into one machine. Then six more quarters into the second machine adding the lights into the other machine. Adding detergent to both machines and starting them up. The low hum began and that left them an hour to get ice cream then throw the loads into dryers. They grabbed their bottle of detergent and headed to the ice cream parlor.

Karl was holding his grey laundry bag in front of the laundry room door that was locked with the words "OUT OF ORDER" in large red letters.

"At least I did my lights yesterday," he said to the emptiness. He threw his laundry bag over his shoulder glad he actually knew where a laundromat was due to his S/O. He sat in his car searching for some loss change to now avail. Deciding there had to be a ATM by a quarter only laundromat and went to the corner shops. The little hope he had to see his S/O faded when he didn't see their car. Karl pushed the door open and was met with the cool air conditioning. To Karl's luck there was an ATM and next to it was a little machine where he could get a one time thing of detergent. He got his coins and detergent and found an empty washing machine. He threw in his load of darks and stared at the machine watching it start to spin, giggling a little bit finding joy in the simple action. Seeing he had around 40 minutes for his clothes to be done he went back to his apartment working on some twitch things.

(Time Skip)

(Y/n) checked their phone seeing their hour was about up they headed back to the laundromat. The three minute drive felt so tedious as they had only been there an hour prior. Pulling into a random parking spot just trying to be in and out as quickly as possible. Pushing open the door and finding their machines done running and ready for them to switch them over to a dryer. Knowing they'd have to be back again anyway they find the need to stay around but as they were pulling out they could have sworn they saw Karl's car but shook it off knowing his apartment had its own laundry room.

As Karl was pulling into the laundromat's parking lot he noticed a familiar car driving past him but it was so fast he couldn't tell so he brushed it off and went to switch over his clothes from the washer to the dryer and headed home.

(Time Skip)

(Y/n) felt a small wave of relief when they got into their car for their last trip to the laundromat. The sun was still shinning and making the cars leather seats hot and damp. Although today felt way too long, it was only around 2:50pm they had enough time to be productive enough. The went into the laundromat noticing that no one was around. The dryers were done and the doors were unlocked and (Y/n) started separating their clothes from (R/m/n)'s clothes. The little bell atop the door rung but (Y/n) didn't look up until they felt hands on their back.

"I thought I saw your car," their boyfriends giggly voice says causing (Y/n) to turn around excitedly giving Karl a hug.

"You scared me Karl!" They shouted, "Wait why are you here?" they asked realizing that he shouldn't be here for his laundry

"Our laundry machines are broken so I had to come here," he said sliding to the machine next to (Y/n)'s machines to start unloading his laundry. Karl unloaded his things much faster than (Y/n) as he had only his lights while (Y/n) had their and their roommates lights and darks. While separating their socks from (R/m/n)'s socks, (Y/n) felt eyes burning holes into their head. They turned to meet eyes with Karl causing them to giggle,

"What are you looking at Karl?" they asked

"You," he responded as if it was not weird in anyway

"Ok," (Y/n) giggled again and before they knew it Karl was leaning in capturing their lips. It was only a quick kiss but sent sparks through their body anyway. PDA wasn't out of the ordinary for the couple so they went on not really giving it any second thought until the next morning when (Y/n)'s breakfast was interrupted by (R/m/n) slamming down that weeks little local college newspaper.

"Look at this!," (R/m/n) shouted "You made the paper!" (Y/n) looked over and low and behold there was a picture of the laundromat security footage when (Y/n) and Karl had kissed the title reading: "Karl Jacobs and (Y/n) (L/n) share a quick kiss in between loads". (Y/n) sent a quick picture of the paper to Karl who responded that he already sent the picture to his streamer friends who say he's got no game. They were ready from a long day of teasing from (R/m/n).

[ohhipstaplease]

Sunrise Salutations [AU]

One-Shot Modern AU - As the sunflowers bloom year after year, Naruto tends to the garden his childhood friend, Hinata Hyuga’s family left behind in hopes that his almost love returns one day.

Pining | slight angst | Modern AU | Rated T | 2K+ words | AO3

For Naruhina week 2021 @nhweek | April 12: Sunflowers / “Good morning!"

Having been somewhat of an early riser for the better part of his young life, Naruto Uzumaki always woke before his alarm went off. This wasn’t without reason, especially not as sunflower season rolled around once more.

Naruto sighed as he kicked off the tangled covers and stretched out his tired limbs. He could’ve used ten more minutes of sleep, but, he knew today was the day the flowers were finally going to bloom. It was the one day he looked forward to all year.

After his childhood friend, Hinata Hyuga, suddenly moved away years ago, he found that continuing to tend to the garden her family left behind helped him make some sort of sense of the unresolved feelings he had towards her. He was only seven when his friend had left his side, but still, it felt like it was yesterday that he realized that maybe girls weren’t gross and that perhaps holding Hinata’s hand wouldn’t be the worst thing he could do.

Back when they both fit into overalls and found fingerpainting fascinating, the pair used to wake up at the crack of dawn and watch the sunrise from the Hyuga garden under the watchful eye of her mother, Hitomi. Naruto’s mother was not a morning person, but his father always made sure to rouse him awake right before the sun rose so he could be out the door and right next to Hinata tending to the sunflowers as morning unfolded upon the city of Konoha.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Hitomi would say as she refilled her watering can.

The children would look at each other and smile, always in wonder of Hitomi. Whether it be as simple as a sunrise, or a perfectly shaped petal on a sunflower, the way she found beauty in everything around her was contagious. Every morning she had something new to show them, something to teach them. Every morning Naruto looked forward to the warm embrace of the sun as he learned what made the flowers he and his mother so adored thrive.

This was their routine, summer after summer, until Hitomi suddenly passed away one morning. Naruto remembered it well, the cries of his mother, when she received the call, the arms of his father, tightly wrapped around him as he tried to explain what had happened. But the one thing that always stood out to him the most? Hinata’s stoic stare as she held her younger sister’s hand at Hitomi’s funeral. He wanted to reach out and hug her like his father had embraced him. But she was too far away, always too damn out of reach.

Heartbroken, and unable to tend to two daughters alone, the head of the Hyuga household, Hiashi, decided to move his family closer to his brother’s home so he could grieve without the weight of having to take care of two young girls as a single father.

They disappeared the day after Hitomi’s funeral, without a single goodbye being said. If the fully bloomed sunflowers hadn't been left behind, you never would have guessed the Hyuga family had ever lived there.

Naruto’s mother, Kushina, woke at sunrise a few days after the Hyugas had gone. She paced the hallway leading to Naruto’s room until she decided it was an acceptable hour to get him out of bed without concerning him. Gently rousing her son awake she whispered, “Good morning, sweet boy. It’s time for sunrise salutations.”

He didn’t question why she was up so early, didn’t dare. Instead he let her wrap his hand in hers as they made their way into the backyard of the now deserted Hyuga home and quietly began watering the flowers. When the sun was fully out, and the flowers were completely watered, Kushina brought out a pair of gardening shears and cut one single sunflower from its thick stalk.

“For Hitomi,” She said, as she placed it in Naruto’s hand and smiled sadly. She already had a vase inside their home with a picture of Hitomi and her daughters from the previous winter when they had come over for the holidays. A makeshift altar.

“You know, Hitomi once told me this beautiful story about why sunflowers turned to face the sun on their own,” Kushina said as she brushed her son’s hair back.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” She nodded, “It was some sort of Greek myth. Like the one you learned about in school last year?”

“Oh.”

“Yes, let me see if I can remember,” She tapped her chin before pulling the wild strands of her fiery red hair up into a messy bun, “Ah yes. Well there was a nymph that was in love with the sun god Apollo. You know who Apollo is right?”

Naruto nodded.

“Good, well, Apollo didn’t love her back. The nymph was so sad at his rejection that she didn’t eat or drink anything, she would only stare at the sun and imagine a life where he too felt what she did.”

“Yikes,” Naruto said, tilting his head.

Kushina let out a laugh, the first one she had genuinely had since the funeral, “Stop it. Let me finish,” She took a breath before continuing, “Well, the gods took pity on the nymph and decided to turn her into a sunflower because it would always face the sun god’s path.”

“So the flower is a woman?”

“Metaphorically, yes.”

“Metaphorically?”

“It means it’s like a symbol. So the sunflower is a symbol for love and adoration, no matter what Apollo did, the nymph would always face towards him and follow his path until the day he realized her feelings for him.”

“That’s really sad. You said it was a beautiful story.”

Kushina tapped her chin, “I guess you’re right, it is kind of sad. But that’s life, buddy. Sometimes you fall in love with someone who barely knows you exist, but you’d follow them to the ends of the Earth anyways. Something beautiful can still blossom from the pain, you know? I think that was the best part about Hitomi...she always saw the beauty in everything.”

Kushina didn’t take the sunflower away from the makeshift altar until it completely wilted, and to this day, the framed picture still sits in the same place.

Naruto didn’t quite know how to feel, he was too young to understand loss, but old enough to understand that his best friend was gone, that she was sad. That this was something he couldn't fix. Eventually he moved on and made friends with kids at school, but he never once was able to look at a sunflower without remembering Hinata’s lavender eyes peering through her blinds, trying to make sure Naruto was up every morning to meet her in the garden.

He had asked her one day why she always peeped on him through her window, and she bashfully looked away, “I just want to make sure you’re up for our sunrise salutations.”

“Sunrise salutations?”

“That’s what momma calls them. Y-you know. When we say good morning to the plants.”

“Good morning? Why not just say that?”

She thought about it for a second before saying, “I think it just sounds better. Don’t you?”

He smiled to himself as he recalled how she went out of her way to say good morning to by waving to him through her slightly opened window everyday since they had that conversation. Their own little version of sunrise salutations. He especially missed her little quirks on days like today.

Naruto couldn’t help but wonder how she was, if she was still as painfully shy as she had been before, if her annoying cousin had finally stopped picking on her. He hoped she was happy, eating well, that she grew to love the hair she demanded her mother chop off because it was too heavy on her neck and too hot in the summer.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d venture he was in love with the Hyuga girl he barely even knew anymore. Just like the nymph from the Greek myth Kushina had shared with him, he had been left listless, simply trying to gather enough warmth from the sun to keep moving on, but never forgetting the girl who made his heart race a little faster for the first time.

For good measure he peeked out of his blinds and in the direction of Hinata’s former room just to feel something. But all he felt was a pang in his chest as he saw the blinds had been taken down and the room was barren.

The family that had lived there since the Hyugas moved away had also packed up and gone this past week. They were kind, that was without a doubt. An older couple with grandchildren who would visit over the summers. They’d been nice enough to let Naruto continue gardening on their property, claiming their arthritis would prevent them from keeping the garden as nice as it was.

In reality, though, the woman had known of the family who had lived there before and had a hunch the young blonde boy before her was smitten. How could she deny him the last connection he had to a first love he’d most likely never get to see unfold?

“Naruto! Breakfast!”

Naruto perked up at the sound of his mother’s voice. He knew she too wanted to see the blooms, although she'd leave the gardening to him. All she’d ask in return was that he cut one single sunflower for Hitomi.

“I think I’ll eat a little later, don’t want to miss the sunrise,” He said as he snagged the cup of coffee from her grasp, took a swig, and ran out the front door.

Kushina shook her head as she looked down at her mug, peering through the kitchen window to watch her son as he slipped on his favorite gardening gloves and began turning on the hose to fill the beat up watering can he had used since she could remember.

She waved at him through the window, a slightly devilish grin upon her face as she waited for him to notice her, and once he did, she took her mug and sat at the little table they kept in the kitchen, leaving Naruto to his sunrise salutations.

Naruto breathed in deeply as he saw the sun slowly rising in the horizon, felt that pang in his chest once more as he remembered how Hinata had fearlessly interlaced her fingers in his and led him through the garden when all the flowers were in full bloom. Hitomi’s laugh intermixed with the birds chirping and the wind whistling was the perfect soundtrack to summer.

Nonetheless, his music would have to do now. He popped in his headphones and blasted his latest favorite song to try to shake the melancholia he woke up with this morning.

His music was so loud that if anyone were to approach him, he surely would not have been able to hear them. And that, in fact, is exactly what happened.

As he turned to refill his watering can, he screamed out as he fell backwards. A hand reached out to grab him, only for him to pull the girl down with him.

Naruto, clearly startled, panicked as he felt her upon his chest. They were a tangle of limbs, he could almost feel her rapid heartbeat on his as she laid upon him.

“Holy shit, are you okay!?” He tried to sit up and pull her up with him, only to find inquisitive lavender eyes staring back at him.

He was at a loss for words, the eyes he had so missed, he didn’t think it could be real.

The girl rubbed her head, cheeks flushed and hair askew, she attempted to get up, but stumbled back onto the grass. Naruto quickly lept into action and helped her get back on her feet, leaving his headphones and watering can strewn upon the ground.

“This wasn’t how I planned for this to go...” She said as she dusted her dress, avoiding his gaze.

“W-what?”

She smiled at him, meeting his gaze for the second time that morning, “I just wanted to...um...to say good morning to you...like we used to.”

“H-hinata?”

She nodded, “We were told you kept up the sunrise salutations, I made papa drive us back in time to see the flowers bloom.”

“Y-you’re back?”

“Moving back in this week.”

“You’re back...” He whispered, taking her in. She was ethereal, the sunlight illuminating her like a halo. Her hair had grown past her waist, her face as beautiful as he had remembered it. Wherever she went, he wanted to face her, he had no doubt now.

“I’m back,” She said, shyly pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear.

Now he understood his mother’s sly smile as he slipped out the door that morning. She had not risen to see the flowers bloom, rather she had gotten up early to ensure her sunflower would be ready to face the sun when it rose.

Naruto reached for her hand, leaving Hinata a tad breathless. He had never been the one to initiate contact all those years ago, it was always her leading the way. The only time she had felt brave enough to assert her feelings was when she was around him.

“Good morning,” He said, interlacing his fingers in hers. His hands were large, callused. She noticed immediately the difference in size between them, both in the width of their hands and their heights.

She had to look up to meet his gaze, “Good morning, Naruto. Can I help you tend the garden today?”

He squeezed her hand and relished the light her shy smile exuded, “Hinata...that sounds perfect.”

From the window in the kitchen, Kushina Uzumaki peered towards the garden and saw her son reunited with the eldest Hyuga. She raised her mug in cheers towards the photo of her friend, and finally, decided to rejoin her husband in bed.

It was far too early for her to be up anyways, and she was sure her son would wake her when he was finished with his sunrise salutations anyways.

“We have a lot to catch up on,” Naruto said as he grabbed the shears to cut the single sunflower he had promised his mother.

“We certainly do,” Hinata nodded, “Wait are you cutting them already?”

He blushed, “It’s for your mother...for Hitomi. We always give her the first sunflower of the seaso-”

He was taken by surprise for the second time this morning as Hinata wrapped her arms around his waist tightly and pulled him into her embrace, “Thank you,” she murmured into his chest.

Naruto nearly melted as he took in her fragrance, he rested his chin upon the top of her head and breathed in deeply, “You’re welcome.”

She looked up at him and smiled through the tears that began falling from the rush of emotion of being back at her childhood home and reunited with Naruto. Her mother’s memory lived on in every inch of the garden, how could she not feel at peace when she was there? She wished she had never left.

“Do you have an extra pair of gloves?”

Naruto nearly whimpered as she unwrapped herself from him, but he knew that she was back. She wasn’t leaving him again. Her touch would be something he’d be reacquainted with day in and day out if he had his way. All he needed was patience, he had waited more than ten years after all. What was a little while longer?

“For you? Always,” He replied with a large grin.

He couldn’t wait to spend the summer with her in the garden. Just like they used to, but now, perhaps, a little different.

[jimlingss]

Sugar and Coffee [15]

Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 15.5 OR Chapter 16

➜ Words: 3.4k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

The white noise rings your ears.   It’s cramped — your legs are aching and you try to shift your other butt cheek off to alleviate the soreness of your bottom. There’s a baby crying a few rows away, the lavatory doors opening and closing, and not to mention, the constant whirring of the plane engine.    You look over to your left. The bitch Jeon Jungkook stole the window seat and now he’s oblivious to your suffering. His doe eyes are pinpointed on the small screen in front of him, headphones in, watching some kind of action movie. Your eyes stray to the screen for a second, but the flashing gets too much and you shut your lids.   You should’ve gotten one of those neck pillows to rest in, even if they were grossly overpriced at the airport.   But there’s no other choice. You put your elbow on the armrest, palm trying to hold up your heavy head and support the weight. As you doze off, your head bobs painfully. You lean back again, trying to find a spot, but to no avail. You nod off again and your neck nearly snaps.   Jungkook suddenly takes off his headphones. “Hey. You can use my shoulder, you know.”   “It’s fine,” you mumble, waving him off.   He stares at you for a second and then goes back to watching.   Though out of the corner of his eye a few minutes later, he notices your head lolling down, neck snapping again. He clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Tch.”   And Jungkook guides your head gently to his shoulder. Then, he flops his head on top of yours to keep it in place. Your breathing eventually steadies and he smiles, returning to his movie.   //   It’s a relief when you finally touch down and after several minutes, you’re finally able to grab your luggage and shuffle off the aircraft after hours of sitting there. Every bone in your body aches from the stiff seat, but you begin to feel a lot better when you step out of the airport.   The balmy weather hits you, the warm temperature embracing your being. You inhale the fresh air, able to see the blue ocean hugging the horizon, shimmering in the bright sunlight.    “Welcome to Tahiti, kids!” Namjoon looks over at the scenery with an equally satisfied expression as his wife. “Taxi ride is only six minutes away.”   “How was the flight for you two?” Sejeong asks.   “Not bad,” you answer, stepping on Jungkook’s foot when he mumbles something about his shoulder being sore and he laughs at your feigned ignorance.   The car drives all four of you to the resort and once you arrive, you’re overwhelmed by the warm welcome the people greet you with. The place is called the Intercontinental Tahiti Resort and Spa and it’s especially fancy for what you’re usually used to.   The lobby is grand, white pillars and high ceilings, bustling with tourists. There are people walking back and forth, flowers in their hair and around their necks, women’s dresses flowing, kids running about. The scent of the salted ocean fills your senses as the air conditioning cools your skin. You can’t believe you’re here.   “Feel free to get settled in today, you two. Take a look around and relax. We start baking tomorrow.” Sejeong hands you the confirmation forms to check yourselves in.    Both her and Namjoon are staying at one of the junior suite bungalows. They apologize for only being able to book the standard room for you and Jungkook, but you’re more than thankful already considering that this was a trip all-paid for.   You two are next in line at the lobby as Namjoon and Sejeong wave farewell, dragging their suitcases with them.    The woman behind the desk smiles. “Hello. How can I help you today?”   “We have a reservation.”   “Of course. Let’s take a look here.” She scans the paper and begins typing. “And your name is Jeon Jungkook?”   “That’s me.” He offers an ID and she nods, eyes skimming over it with a smile.   The woman hands over the key card and a booklet set with pamphlets. “Your room is two hundred twenty three on the second floor. Breakfast and lunch is included, this is also non-refundable. Your check out time will be at eleven a.m. There’s a few packages you can take advantage of during your time here. Room service is twenty four hours. If you ever need anything, feel free to call or come down to the lobby and we’ll help you out. Enjoy your stay!”   He nods slowly, but the woman looks off to the next people in line and you stop her before she can call them. “Wait. Is there….uh...my room?” You point to yourself.   She looks at you and then at her monitor. “It says two people are staying in this room. The standard room, correct?”   “Yes, but there’s supposed to be two rooms. One person in each, not one room.”   The woman takes the papers again, shuffling all of them. She types something into her computer and then shakes her head. “My apologies, it still says there’s two people staying in one room.”   “There must be some sort of mistake.”   “Should I call Namjoon?” Jungkook holds up his phone, brows knitted together.   “No, we shouldn’t bother them.” You don’t want to when it was clear they had plans to enjoy themselves for the rest of the day. With a sigh, you lean over the counter to the woman. “Umm...is there another room I can book?”   “Let me take a look here for you.” She clicks away. You wait with bated breath and yet again with your shittiest luck, she shakes her head. “I’m sorry. It looks like we’re fully booked here until the end of the month.”   You’re at a loss and you plead with the woman again as if it’ll somehow help. “Is there really nothing you can do?”   “My apologies. There aren’t any rooms available, so there’s nothing we can do at this time. We can give you free vouchers to the lounge area if you’d like for the trouble you’ve been through.” She takes something from underneath the front desk and slides it across the counter. “We get our wine from the famous winery here in French Polynesia.”   You don’t cry. Even if you want to.   But you take the vouchers since it’s still better than nothing.   When you’re off at the sidelines, Jungkook stands with you, suitcases by your side. “We can go talk to Sejeong and Namjoon.”   “Then what? They’re fully booked.”   “Then you can stay with Sejeong and I’ll stay with Namjoon.”   “They’re at a bungalow, Jungkook. This is practically their second honeymoon and I don’t want to bother them.” You take a deep breath and shrug. “It’s fine. It’s whatever. We’ll just stay together.”   “Are you sure?” Jungkook’s brows lift, eyeing you.   “Psh. Why not? We’re friends.” You bat your hand. “And I don't have germs or cooties like you think I do, Jeon. Promise I shower every day, so you don’t have to worry about it.”   The man scoffs with a small smile. “Fine by me then.”   But in spite of you the both trying to convince yourselves, it’s not a fantastic situation.   The room has a one king-sized bed, not two twins like you had hoped on your way up the elevator. It’s a whopping three hundred and seven square feet to share with Jungkook. One bathroom to your left as you enter, the bed taking up most of the space, a cabinet with a television and one table with two chairs.   You slide the glass doors open to let in fresh air. The private terrace is small too.   At any other time, you wouldn’t mind dorming with your best friend but considering the circumstances of your relationship lately, you can feel the tension in the air. It makes your palms sweaty.   “This is a really nice place,” you breathe out.   “Yeah.” Jungkook drops his duffle bag by the table. “There’s not even a sofa. Should we request one?”   “Where would we even fit it?”   “Right.”   You look around. Even if Jungkook would opt to sleep on the floor, there’s no spot for him unless he wants to lay underneath the table. Or in the hallway by the bathroom door where you could potentially step on him in the middle of the night during a trip to the toilet.   “We’ll make do,” you reassure. “We can sleep with our heads on opposite ends.”   “What if I kick you in the middle of the night?” he asks and when your expression washes over into impassivity, he grins. “Just saying. Can’t promise I won’t….”   “Fine. We’ll sleep normally. The bed is big anyway and sorry, Jeon, but your muscles aren’t as massive as you think they are.”   He laughs and falls back onto the soft mattress like it’s a pile of snow and he’s trying to make a snow angel. In one second, he’s ruined the fresh sheets and wrinkled them. “What do you think you’re doing?!”   Jungkook lifts his head. “What?”   “You’re lying on our bed with your dirty clothes.” You approach and try to push him off to no avail. “We were just on a plane for god knows how long.”   The boy grins and gets up. “God, you’re so uptight.”   “No, I’m clean,” you correct, glaring. “We’re not living like pigs. Try being neat for once. Just for a week.”   Jungkook sighs and as he brushes past you to the balcony, he ruffles your hair tenderly. “You’re lucky I like you.”   You scoff, trying to fix your hair while watching his broad backside, how he leans on the railing to soak in the view.   In the free time that you have, you get yourself cleaned up and take advantage of the bathtub for a bubble bath. You indulge as much as you can, trying to enjoy the resort before you have to start working hard on the cake.   You come out wearing one of your sun dresses and Jungkook looks up from his phone.   “Pretty,” he murmurs while a tiny, modest smile spreads into his cheeks.   You swallow hard, trying to keep your face from heating like a furnace. “Of course. What else would you expect of me?”   Jungkook laughs boyishly. “That’s true.”   You didn’t expect such a genuine response. But he doesn’t pay any mind to how caught off guard you are, merely getting up from his spot and grabbing clothes from his luggage. “My turn. You better wait for me. I don’t want to walk around by myself.”   “Or else what?” you taunt playfully.   Jungkook’s eyes darken right before he shuts the door. “Or else I’ll tackle you.”   Unfortunately for him, of all the things he was worried about, he didn’t consider the bathroom part. The moment the door closes, the scent of your shampoo and body wash surrounds him. It’s suffocating, thick in the air. He’s overwhelmed in your aroma and his pants unwillingly stir.   Jungkook rolls his tongue in his cheek, frustrated by his predicament and it hasn’t even been a full hour yet.   By the time he’s out of the bathroom, you're appalled.   “What took you so long?! Did you take three dumps?!”   “No,” he sharply answers and you don’t push when he’s surprisingly so defensive about it.   “Well, let’s go before it gets too late.” You grab the vouchers and swiftly exit your room.   Jungkook is decked out in a full tourist outfit — khaki shorts and a blue collared shirt. You’re in a floral print dress that would look perfect paired with your sun hat, but you’re saving the outfit for another day.   The two of you walk around, taking a peek at all the facilities they offer — the spa, swimming pool, tiki bar, restaurants, gift shops, and the venue where the wedding is being set up. You run into Chungha and her fiancé too. He introduces himself while she embraces you, thanking the both of you for coming and hoping the flight went well. But the pair of them only linger briefly to talk before they’re running off to take care of other things.   After grabbing a bite to eat, you and Jungkook decide to take advantage of your lounge vouchers.   “Are you sure this is alcohol?” You swirl the deep liquid inside your glass. Taking a sip and smacking your lips together, you try to decipher the taste on your tongue. “Tastes more like grape juice.”   Jungkook smells his own drink. “This one tastes like raspberries. They said it was alcohol though.”   “Huh. It’s pretty good then.”   He hums, taking another mouthful.   “Would you like another, miss and sir?” The waiter comes by with a kind smile and a cloth draped over his arm like a personal butler. “You still have credit on your voucher.”   You look at Jungkook who shrugs. “Might as well use it all.”   “What would you recommend?” You direct your attention to the waiter.    Between you and Jungkook, you both try nearly every kind of wine they offer.   You muse that the woman at the front desk must’ve felt really guilty to give you such a great deal. But you don't feel so upset anymore over having to share a room with Jungkook. At least not once you’ve gotten a taste of all the berry wines, another grape, fruit wine, dried cranberry, and one licorice flavored.    While you’re not a wine expert and there’s little you can comment on, aside from the fact that it’s very fruity and the acidity is high, you can tell it’s delicious. You actually forget it’s alcohol.   You give the beer a chance, but it’s disgusting enough for you to give the entire thing to Jungkook.   You don't keep count on how much you drink with him, but it’s enough that the waiter comes by with some glasses of water.   Your words slur together. “You know what I hate?”    “What?” Jungkook languidly grins, an easy smile on his features that has you feeling some kind of way.   “Everything. But also small spoons. I can’t eat out of a teaspoon! Why do they think I want to eat my ice-cream or crème brûlée with a—”   “Toothpick,” Jungkook finishes your sentence as laughter bubbles out his throat.   Your spine straightens and you look at him in surprise. Did he read your mind? “Yeah! How’d you know?”   “I think you’ve told me before.”   You wonder if you’ve really spent that much time with him that he knows such a small detail, but you’re baffled at how he can recall so easily. “How’d you remember?”   Jungkook shrugs and then burps. You wrinkle your nose until you hiccup too.   The boy is resting his head in his hand, elbow propped up on the table. His lids are seemingly heavy, every blink slow and gradual. But he stares at you intently like you’ve got something on your face. “Do you hate me?”   “Sometimes,” you answer truthfully without missing a beat. “But not really.”   “You don’t hate that I like you?” He leans in closer, but you don’t mind. If anything, he’s too far for your liking. You like it when he’s close.    You tap the tip of Jungkook’s nose like he often does to you. “I couldn’t hate you, hate you. You’re my best friend, silly.”   “I can’t be more than that?”   “I don’t know. I don’t really wanna talk about it.”   “I do.”   You pout, eyes straying off and then you gasp. “Look! The sun’s going down. You know what I’ve always wanted to do, Kookie? Walk on the beach to watch the sunset. We should go look!”   He follows after you, but not before stopping to ask for the bill until the waiter reminds him that it was all free of charge.    You and Jungkook happily hop across the resort with you leaning on his arm. “You think we’d get kicked out if they knew we were drunk?”   “Why?”   “Cause public intoxication. Is a resort public?”   “I think so. Just don’t make it obvious.”   “How do I not make it obvious?”   “Maybe stop giggling and whispering to me,” Jungkook says louder than what your voices have been and laughs at your reaction. The pair of you get onto the beach, stumbling together.   The sky is painted in orange and pink hues, the golden hour glowing on your skin. You can hear the sound of the waves lightly crashing against the shoreline, the spray of the salty mist in the air, the tide bubbling and fizzing away.   But it’s hard to enjoy it when you’re bumbling all over the place. “Ugh! I hate the sand!”   “Then why’d you wanna walk on it?” Jungkook giggles, holding onto you before you trip.   “I don’t know. Cause ‘s romantic, I guess.”   But at the moment, it isn’t romantic at all. There’s sand grating in between your toes, exfoliating your feet and hurting with every step you take. You swear it’s going to get in your underwear somehow.   You step towards the shore where the sand is flat and softer, wet by the water and where it’s more bearable. “Woah. The water’s so blue.”   Jungkook treads right up to where the tide kisses the beach. He quietly observes, watching the ocean and you come up behind him. When the timing is right, you shove the boy with all your might.   “Fuc—” He shouts, loses balance and puts his weight onto his knees, kneeling in the water.    You laugh hysterically, cackles coming from your stomach. You bend over, hugging your stomach. The boy stands up in dismay, shaking water from his hands. His khaki pants are completely soaked like he peed himself. “Why I oughta—”   “Stop! Jungkook!” You shriek with tipsy laughter as he starts chasing after you. “I’m sorry!”   “Too late!” He screams back and sprints after you as fast as he can with a dark vengeance. You obviously don’t make it far with sand flailing everywhere and his legs being longer than yours. Jungkook ends up grabbing you by the waist and pushing you into the sand. “Ha!”   He starts to laugh in absolute mirth, taking pleasure in your demise as sand gets into your underwear. Now it’s going to follow you around for the rest of your life.    “I just showered!” You laugh, getting up and trying to get rid of the tiny grains to no avail.   “How do you think I feel?” His grin is infectious and Jungkook tries to wring out his soaked khakis. Watching him makes you giggle. “It’s fine. We can shower together afterwards. It’ll be quick and painless.”   “Yeah? In your dreams, Jeon Jungkook!”   “Oh, it’ll be in my dreams alright,” he teases, astounding you with his outright shamelessness.   The both of you eventually calm down enough to realize you probably look crazy screaming at each other on the beach during the calm sunset. You slowly make your way back, still infected by drunken giggles that seem to be unable to stop.   Jungkook tries to walk without his wet shorts sticking to his skin and you take off your sandals altogether, attempting to clap them free of sand. On your way back, however, you’re interrupted by a cute lifeguard getting off her shift. She’s a beach blonde with a beautiful tan who boldly introduces herself to Jungkook. She even shakes his hand and invites him to a beach party happening tonight, leaving the two of you utterly stunned.   When she leaves, you wiggle your brows.   “What was all that?”   “You tell me.”   You grin at him. “Are you going to go to that party?”   “Nah.” Jungkook throws his arm over your shoulder, keeping you from losing your balance before you make it back to the hotel room. “I’d rather spend time with you.”   “Psh. Sorry to say, Jeon, but I’m pretty boring.”   “No, you’re not.” He looks down at you, an endeared smile gracing his features that makes you divert your vision elsewhere.   You feign nonchalance. “She was cute. You should totally go for it! Get it while you’re still young. You’re not always going to attract the ladies like this, you know! Gotta take advantage of it as it comes.”   Jungkook laughs in that boyish way that makes you feel funny. “Why would I need to when you’re the only person that actually matters.”   You almost choke on your own spit.   Jungkook laughs, lightly knocking his head against yours.   “I’d rather you’d be the one to notice me.”   Little does Jungkook know you do far more than notice him.

[jjungkookislife]

Morning Games

↬ pairing: bf!jungkook x gf!reader

↬ genre: non-idol au, established relationship, fluff, smut [18+]

↬ summary: Jungkook spends his morning playing video games until you join him, in which he then turns all his attention to you... his loving girlfriend.

↬ wc: 4k

↬ warnings: cursing, fingering (f. receiving), oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected sex, impregnation kink (tiny), spanking, creampie

↬ date: August 8, 2019

Jungkook yawned as he slowly opened his eyes, feeling a weight on his chest. He looked down to see your head on his bare chest. Your legs were tangled with his beneath the covers, and your warmth was becoming almost overwhelming.

Jungkook was able to free one of his arms from your hold, the other laid beneath your pillow where your body weighed it down. As he tried to free it, you squirmed, mumbling incoherently as he tried to free his arms.

“No, Kookie,” your soft, sleepy voice had him freezing as you nuzzle into his chest further, his eyes on you as he carefully slipped his arm free. You whimpered at the loss of comfort it provided as you wiggled further into your boyfriend's side.

“Baby,” Jungkook whispered, hoping not to wake you but knowing it was inevitable as he needed you to be conscious for him to free himself from your legs.

“Hmm,” you hummed in response, clinging to your sleep as much as possible.

“I need to get up, baby.”

“No, sleepy,” you murmur as you cling to him further, your body fully on his now. His hands move down to your hips, sighing as you nuzzle your face into his neck, deeply inhaling his scent.

“You can sleep some more, baby. I just need to get up,” Jungkook replies, his large hands running up and down your back, feeling the warmth and familiarity of your body.

You sigh, pushing yourself off him to lay on the bed instead. Jungkook grins, his hand reaching for his pillow for you to cuddle before he gets out of bed as to not get caught up in your hold once again. He stands at the foot of the bed, his chest warm with giddiness as he watches you bury your nose in his pillow, one of your legs under the covers, while the other rests above it. The shirt you’ve stolen from him has risen up over your hips, exposing your lower back as well as the cute panties you’ve decided to wear to bed. Jungkook walks over to the side of the bed, his fingers dancing across your back before he pulls the shirt down to cover you fully after admiring the curve of your ass hugged tightly in the thin, cotton material of your underwear. With a soft smile, he leans down to press a delicate kiss on the back of your thigh before he leaves your shared bedroom to head to the kitchen after putting on a shirt.

Jungkook hums softly to himself as he moves around the kitchen to make breakfast for himself, knowing you would probably sleep for another hour or two. He chuckled, remembering how you had begged him last night to let you finish the chapter you were reading in your new book, of course, one chapter led to two and then three until he woke in the middle of the night to see you asleep on your back with your book opened on your chest. He had smiled, kissed your cheek and grabbed the bookmark he kept on his bedside table for nights like these in which you were so captivated by a new book to care about anything else.

Jungkook makes some toast and grabs a cup of milk before heading to the living room, where he takes a seat on the plush couch. He’s careful to set his food on the glass coffee table as he turns the TV on and mutes it immediately before he can turn the sound down almost completely. He grabs his controller before grabbing his headset and entering the party, hearing his best friends greet him almost immediately.

“It’s about time you woke up, Sleeping Beauty.” Taehyung’s voice fills his ears; Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, we didn’t think you’d ever get on,” Jimin chimed in a moment later.

“It’s not even that late,” Jungkook scoffs before asking them what game they wanted to play. Taehyung is quick to decide, sending both of them invitations before they’re thrown into a match.

Jungkook does his best to focus on the game he’s playing but his eyes kept looking over his right shoulder to make sure you’re still fast asleep in the bedroom. He knows you’re tired, not knowing how long you had actually stayed up the previous night. He wanted to make sure you were well-rested and he didn’t want to be the reason why you were woken up.

“Jungkook! What the hell!” Jimin’s shout had him turning back to the screen, only for him to be obliterated immediately. Jungkook huffed in frustration, mumbling a haste apology to his group before he watched from the sidelines as he waited to respawn. However, he knew his head wasn’t entirely in the game, his thoughts kept wandering back to you, laying in bed sleeping peacefully hugging a pillow instead of him because he had chosen to play games with his friends instead. He knew you didn’t mind, often telling him to stop feeling guilty about playing games and spending time with his friends. You too liked your alone time as well as being able to stretch out freely on the bed without him complaining about you almost shoving him off during the night or hogging all the covers as you rolled around all night.

Jungkook was thrown back into the match, his hands gripping the controller harder than necessary as he murmured orders to his teammates and did his best to participate. It was obvious to everyone that his head wasn’t in it, although none bothered to mention it because even Jungkook on his worst day, he was still the best player on their team.

It must have been an hour later, after a curse escaped his lips, that he sat back on the couch, legs splayed open as he ran a hand through his thick, dark locks. His head lolled back onto the couch, his eyes shut as he took a second to calm himself after losing yet another round. He knew he should call it quits but with you fast asleep; he didn’t have much to keep him occupied.

“Kookie?” your soft voice startled him, his eyes opening as he looked over his shoulder to see you holding onto the door frame, one of your hands rubbing at your eyes. His eyes roamed over your figure, his eyes fixating on where his shirt ended mid-thigh and raised higher to expose your panties as you rubbed your eyes harder. Jungkook felt his mouth go dry. His cock stirred in his boxers as you raised your arms above your head to stretch, moaning as you went before you slowly padded over to him.

“Hi, baby. Did you sleep okay?” Jungkook was quick to ask as you sat beside him, his shirt rising over your thighs and he could see your panties peeking out.

“Yes, I missed you though,” you murmur as you rest your head on his shoulder, being mindful of his headset.

“I’m sorry, baby. I just didn’t want to wake you, you stayed up late.”

“I know,” you drag out the ‘w’ as you turn your attention to the screen before continuing, “but it got good. You can understand that, right?”

“Of course, baby,” Jungkook replies as the new game starts. He places a swift kiss on your forehead before he turns his attention to the screen. He can hear Taehyung shouting into his headset, his eyes rolling as he listens to his friend regardless just to keep from being the target of his shouting. Jungkook plays better with you at his side, he can feel your soft touch as you slide your hand under his white t-shirt, your hand caressing the ridges of his abs as he sinks in further into the couch, his legs moving yours as he spreads them further.

“I swear, you and Taehyung do nothing but manspread,” you grumble as you move to allow Jungkook more room.

“Is she talking shit?!” Taehyung asks Jungkook, who laughs, shaking you as his shoulders move. You giggle, knowing Tae must have heard you.

“Of course, she’s talking shit. When isn’t she?” Jungkook smirks, making you huff but smile, regardless.

“You should be used to it by now,” Jimin joins in and Taehyung quickly agrees as they all continue to play.

During a lull in the game, you manage to climb into Jungkook’s lap, your face on his chest as you straddle him. He has you place your head on his shoulder once the game picks up, his arms around you as he cages you in while he holds the controller in his hands. His jaw was clenched. His eyes focused on the screen as Jimin asks for his assistance. Jungkook is quick to help, muttering under his breath as he narrowly misses getting eliminated by a member of the opposite team; that’s when he feels you wiggle in his lap.

“Baby, what?” Jungkook whispers, but you remain silent for a moment before you press a delicate kiss to his neck that has him biting back a moan. He rubs your back softly before returning to his game, trying to ignore the trail of kisses you’re making from his neck to his earlobe, your teeth gently nibbling the lobe before releasing it once he sighs in content.

“Everything all right there, Kook?” Jimin asks as he faintly hears the younger man make a soft sound. Jungkook feels the tips of his ears burn red as he clears his throat gruffly before assuring his friends that he’s okay. You smile coyly, making Jungkook give you a small glare in warning before he turns his attention to the game.

For the most part, you behave. You place a few more kisses on his neck but you soon grow bored and decide to roll your hips against him, your hands on his broad shoulders to help keep your balance as your lips press a kiss to his ear before you moan softly. Jungkook stiffens immediately, his blood rushing in his ears at the dulcet sound of your voice moaning his name just for him.

“Fuck,” he curses, feeling himself begin to sweat as your hips continue to grind against him, stirring his cock awake until he’s at half-mast in moments. He raises his hips to move you off him, but all it does is put more pressure on you and that causes you to moan louder, muffling yourself by sinking your teeth into his shoulder. Jungkook hisses, curses as his eyes shut when his body is overwhelmed with pleasure. His controller falls from his hands as he grabs your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh almost painfully.

You moan again, feeling your panties grow damp from your actions and your boyfriend's. You grip his shirt tightly, tugging on it until you’re able to take it off him to expose his gorgeous chest. You lick your lips, moving to press your own chest against his as his hands ran up and down your back. His fingers play with the waistband of your panties, pulling it, only to let it snap back into place. You whine his name, annoyed, but he does nothing but smirk as his fingers dance across your hip to your ass, where he grabs a handful before spanking you. You keen, arching into him as his name rolls off your tongue in the most sinful way.

“Jungkook!” he groans, his hips grinding into you, feeling your warmth through your thin panties and his boxers, your hips moving in circles as you beg him for more.

“Jungkook!” He’s startled by his name being called by a much deeper voice, his eyes widening when he hears the shocked voices of his two best friends.

“Shit! Sorry,” he apologizes before turning off his mic and tossing the headset onto the floor before he gives you his -now- undivided attention.

You smile smugly, your hand caressing his cheek before your lips brush his in a featherlight kiss, “you didn’t have to stop playing, baby.”

Jungkook shakes his head with an incredulous smile on his gorgeous face. “I didn’t have to stop playing? Do you want everyone to hear the way you moan for me? Hear how fucked out I can make you sound when I’m balls deep inside you, fucking you until you’re begging me to stop? Do you want them to hear how loud you get when I’m filling you with cum and you’re begging me to knock you up? Is that what gets you off, baby? Hm? I’m sure Taehyung wouldn’t mind hearing it or maybe you’d prefer Jimin?”

Your eyes widen at his words, your cheeks flushing with heat as you bury your face in his neck, making him chuckle.

“So shy,” he coos as he rubs your back, his hands then moving down to your ass to give it a squeeze before his hands are gripping the shirt you’ve taken from him.

“You always look so beautiful wearing my clothes,” he compliments as his hands pull the fabric over your body to discard on the floor. You thank him meekly, your lips planting kisses on his chest as your hand moves down to grip his erection. He groans deeply, his eyes fluttering shut as he lets you rub him for a moment before your hands are slipping under the waistband to grip him.

Your name leaves his lips, his hands cupping your face as he smiles softly at you before he kisses you. The kiss is soft, loving as he holds you in his hands, his tongue pressing at the seam of your lips, asking for entrance that you gladly give. You both moaned into the kiss, your hand losing the rhythm it had built up but Jungkook doesn’t care as he kisses you passionately, loving the way you taste and the way you sound.

“You’re so beautiful.” his eyes shine as he looks at you, your gaze shifting to his chest to avoid meeting his eyes. His finger moves under your chin, pushing your chin up so that you’ll look at him, “you’re beautiful, please believe that.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, nodding in agreement before his lips are on yours again as his hands move down to your thighs, where his fingers squeeze your flesh before he presses his fingertips on your panties.

“You soaked through these, love.” he murmurs as he feels how wet your panties have become. He moves his hand, moving you until you’re laying on your back on the couch. He admires your body, he loves the way you’re biting your bottom lip, your eyes glistening with excitement as you await his next move while you clench your thighs in search of some relief. He bites his lip, spreading your legs open as he sees the wet patch on your panties. He leans down, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you from shutting them as he presses a kiss to your covered cunt. You moan, your back arching as you feel your body grow unbearably hot as his tongue licks at the material, further soaking it. Your hands cover your face, making your boyfriend chuckle before he gently moves your hands off your face.

“Always so shy,” he muses as he kisses your cheeks, feeling the heat that radiates off them. “So shy with me after years of being together. There’s no need for shyness around me, love. I love you so much, and I want you to enjoy yourself with me, okay?”

You nod, placing your hands on your stomach as Jungkook kisses his way down your body until he’s back between your legs. Only this time, he’s pulling your panties down your thighs and off your body completely. You resist the urge to close your legs, his brow raised as he watches you twitch but keep yourself spread for him. He smiles, making your heart race as his fingertips graze your skin before spreading your lips to admire how wet he’s made you.

“Mmm, fuck,” he curses, his free hand pushing his hair back before he slowly uses his index finger to slide up and down your slit, happy with how you’ve coated his finger with your arousal as he teasingly circles your clit.

“Jungkook,” his name tumbles from your lips at his teasing actions, your chest rising and falling heavily as you wait for him to make another move. He quirks his head, a smirk on his lips as he slowly sinks his finger into you at a slow pace. He’s in no rush today, and seeing you squirm beneath him is enough for him to keep his game going.

“Kookie, please,” you beg, your lip trembling as you bite it once again to hold back a moan as his finger curls inside you.

“How are you always so tight for me, love? So wet and warm and fucking tight just for me, huh?”

“Yes, yes, Jungkook,” you reply as you feel him add a second finger, your body aching for more as your arousal coats his fingers heavily. Jungkook groans as you clench around him, pulsating as he fucks you with his fingers. He loves the way you writhe beneath him, moaning his name as you beg him for more. He gets off on seeing you lying beneath him, breathless, asking him to give you more and knowing he would because you were irresistible to him.

“I love you,” he says, his shy smile making your heart melt as you repeat his words, his lips meeting yours, your fingers lacing in his hair as you pull him closer.

“You’re it for me, Jungkook,” you murmur as he presses a kiss to your nose. The wide smile that lights up his face makes your heart beat rapidly in your chest.

“You’ve always been it for me, baby. I’m going to marry you someday.” Jungkook’s voice is firm as he makes his announcement, tears pricking the corner of your eyes, but he kisses them away. “No tears, baby. I love you, let me make you feel good.”

You nod, allowing him to continue to finger you before you feel his warm, wet tongue lick your clit. His name is the only word you’re capable of saying, each syllable flowing off your tongue in a dulcet song that has Jungkook aching to hear it while he’s buried inside you.

Jungkook curses, his body covered in a sheen of sweat as his tongue teases your clit over and over before he’s circling it in small circles before you’re gripping his hair and begging him not to stop. Jungkook smirks, pressing a kiss on your clit as his fingers pump in and out of you, loving the way you’re dripping for him. Your fingers tug at his locks, the lewd noises he’s making turn the both of you on. Every moan you release goes straight to his throbbing cock that’s straining against his boxers. You know you’re close; you know he knows you’re close, and it’s not much longer until your back is arching, your pussy tightening around his fingers, your grip on his hair tightening as you beg him to keep going until your moans grow higher in octaves until your feel pleasure wash over you like a wave. You shiver, your body hot with sweat and arousal as you mumble Jungkook’s name, your eyes fluttering shut as you lay boneless on the couch. Jungkook is still between your thighs, licking at your slit until you plead with him to stop.

He chuckles, his chin and lips glistening with your essence before his tongue peeks from between his lips to lick up what he can, enjoying the taste on his tongue before he wipes his face clean with the back of his hand. He leans over you, his lips brushing yours before you’re reaching for his boxers, tugging them down his thighs to expose his hard cock. You lick your lips, your hand wrapped around it with the aid of his pre-cum. He hisses, his eyes shut for a moment as he revels in the feeling.

“That feels so good, baby.” You beam proudly at his words, your pace growing faster until you can’t take anymore.

“Jungkook…”

“Yeah, baby?” Jungkook asks, his hand stroking your cheek lovingly.

“I want you,” you admit bashfully, making Jungkook smile sweetly at you as he settles between your legs. Jungkook takes a hold of his thick cock. He rubs the head on your clit before rubbing it on your slit to coat it in your essence. You both moan loudly at the sensation, your body wanting more as you try to raise your hips to coax him into penetrating you.

“Please,” you plead as your hands grip his arms, making him chuckle.

“Can’t wait for me to fill you up, baby?” You nod eagerly, causing him to smile before he kisses your lips as he pushes the head of his cock into you. You keen at the delicious stretch, his tongue intertwining with yours the moment your lips part open to moan. He pushes into you fully, giving you a moment to adjust before he grips your hips and buries himself in you as deep as he could. His lips press kisses to your neck, whispering sweet nothings into your ear to relax you.

Your nails digging into his back as his hips begin to move. He holds himself up on his hands as he grinds his hips into you.

“Tease,” you manage to state in between moans. Jungkook’s hair falls over his eyes and he huffs to try to shake his hair out of the way, but it’s no use. He focuses on thrusting in and out of you, loving how wet you are and how easily you can take him. He can feel your wetness coating every inch of his cock and even his balls.

“So fucking wet.” his voice is strained as he focuses on fucking you the way you deserve, his abs clenching as he pushes deeper and you moan beneath him.

“Jung-Jungkook,” your voice is growing louder with each thrust, your hands grabbing at every inch of skin that you can before you wrap your legs around him to pull him closer.

“You feel so fucking good, baby.” Jungkook moans before he’s grabbing your hips and pulling you onto his lap as he sits on the couch. You squeal in surprise, holding onto his strong shoulders as you begin riding him, loving the way your chest rubs against his as you bounce on his cock. His large hands grip your ass, squeezing it and spanking it as his lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss.

“I love you,” Jungkook says as you moan for him, tightening around him as his finger makes contact with your clit.

“I love you, Jungkook!” You moan in return as you feel yourself growing close to your orgasm. Jungkook kisses your neck, sucking on the flesh before he moves back slightly to admire the way you looked so fucked out already. Your hair is disheveled, your body coated in sweat, your face displays every ounce of pleasure you’re feeling from riding his cock.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck, keep going,” he grunts, his own hips rising to meet yours as you cling to him, your lips parted as you moan, announcing your impending orgasm.

“Jungkook!” His name fills the room as you finally orgasm, tightening around him as he continues to thrust into you, your name falling from his lips as he fucks you. He curses, your name mixing with them as he feels himself cum. He groans, his head falling back onto the couch as he fills you with cum.

You fall on his chest, trying to catch your breath as his arms wrap around you to hold you close. You’re both sticky with sweat and cum, but you don’t care as you snuggle into him. His lips press kisses to your head and temple as he holds you. You’re not sure how long you remain wrapped up in each other, but the sound of his heartbeat is enough to keep you in his arms.

Jungkook rubs your back in slow circles, soft whispers of why he loves you fill your ear as you feel overwhelmed by the love you hold for him.

You sit up, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you take his hands in yours, “did you mean it?”

“Mean what, baby?” Jungkook is confused, his eyes soft as he holds your gaze.

“Did you mean what you said about marrying me?” you mumble, barely audible but Jungkook beams as he nods his head eagerly.

“Of course I did! I want you to be my wife!”

“I’d like that,” you admit bashfully, your gaze moving to his chest, where you slowly caress his torso. Jungkook smiles, kissing your head repeatedly before he pulls you back into his chest.

“There’s no one else I’d rather spend my life with.”

thank you for reading! ♡ if you liked it, please let me know! 💌

next

© jjungkookislife - I do not allow reposts or translations of my work on any platforms, this includes Youtube.

[starkeristheendgame]

I would love to read something about peter accidentally stealing a piece of Tony’s clothing without either of them noticing, but it’s something extremely valuable and everyone else (like maybe peters friends from collage or something) notice and are very confused. Would you write something like this? (It’s totally fine if not)

This was the actual cutest idea, and I loved writing this! I hope this is the kind of cute-awkward you were going for. Thank you sm for sending me this, honey! I’m an absolute sucker for clothes sharing. This begins as unest and is AU from AOU+. Peter is 18+

The first time it happened, it was a slate grey shirt with silver-leaf decor, the front brazenly depicting a boy with a wolf’s muzzle face. There was an oil stain on the right sleeve where it fluttered about his bicep, and a charred hole on the hem where Tony had skewered it with a soldering iron. Peter had just lost his own shirt to a grinding machine, and had accepted the shirt that Tony had offered him thoughtlessly, promising to bring it back on his next visit. 

Tony had waved him off and told him not to worry - The shirt was old and he had plenty others. Peter had thought nothing of it, not bothering to change as he collapsed into his bed. He had an early lecture in the coming morning, and he’d overstayed at Tony’s. Again.

He still lacked any thought on it when he awoke to his final alarm shrieking at him insistently, and he scrambled out of bed, nearly swallowing his toothbrush as he floundered to get ready. He skid to a halt in front of his bedroom mirror, eyed what he’d gone to sleep in, and deemed it acceptable. The shirt was clean - He’d only worn it to bed that night, and his jeans surprisingly matched it well. 

It was like any other morning, until he’d been in line at the lunch hall for a coffee, and the girl walking past had stuttered to a halt, eyes wide. “Oh, my, God. Is that a Yohji Yamamoto?!” She’d squealed, eyes wide and round, and Peter had blinked across at her, sleep-dead and at a loss. “That thing is like, a thousand dollars! Its limited edition!” She continued, and Peter glanced down, ready to defend his piece of shit shirt. 

Except. 

It wasn’t just a piece of shit, ratty old shirt, was it? No, because it had come from billionaire Tony Stark’s closet. He cringed, lip curling as he stared at the shimmering silver pattern. Ah, fuck. How could he explain this? Several people had noticed her loud speech and were staring, curiosity piqued. And, why wouldn’t they? Scruffy Peter Parker in a thousand dollar shirt. 

“I don’t think so” he barked nervously, before his brain had even come up with a plausible explanation. “I got this at a thrift store! Yeah. A thrift store, so. I mean, if it looks like some fancy shirt, its definitely a knock off” he laughed nervously, clamouring desperately for his coffee before he cast her an awkward smile and shuffled off, fleeing the lunch hall. 

Luckily, he had an old zip-up in his bag, and he tugged it on over the shirt. It meant he boiled in his last classes, but nobody else asked him about his thousand dollar shirt. He drove home with the windows down and the AC on, and when he pulled up outside his apartment, he paused, and rummaged for his phone. It took almost ten minutes to find the shirt he was wearing, but when he did, he sucked in air through his teeth and shoved his phone away. Yikes. A thousand? Closer to two thousand. 

The second time it happened, Peter had been to breakfast with Tony before classes. The older man had presented him with a beautiful custom Rolex, complete with deep, red rubies and rich blue kyanite. An early birthday present Tony had said, clasping it around his wrist with a warm, satisfied smirk. Peter’s birthday was months away, but Tony wouldn’t hear anything of it. 

He’d grown so used to the weight of it in between eating and talking that he’d completely forgotten about it by the time he arrived at his morning study session, sinking down at the library table and pulling out his books. MJ was already there, and Peter offered her a shy smile as he kicked his bag under the table. They were tentative friends after getting to know each other near the end of their final year, and though Peter had outgrown his initial crush, he was still glad she’d gone to the same college as him and Ned. 

He was just pulling out a pen from his case when MJ shifted. “Hey, nerd. What’s on your wrist?” And Peter’s heart seized then skipped when he cast a careless glance aside and watched the sharp halogen lights glint off the brand new gold and precious stones. His first thought was ‘aw, fuck. Not again’ and then his second was ‘how the fuck can I explain a Rolex that costs more than this building?’ 

“Fake!” He yelped, and ducked his head when a sprightly girl two tables across leaned forwards to glare at him. “I mean, y’know. My Aunt...Bought it for me. Thought she’d found a real Rolex on Ebay for $40, y’know? Ha. Some people” he coughed to clear his throat and to hide the fact that his voice had risen several pitches before he reached for his wrist, tugging his sleeve down over it. 

When he looked up, she levelled him with a flat, unimpressed look that clearly stated she thought he was a few marbles short. He spent the rest of the study session twitchy and tense, and she spent the rest of it reading and glancing at him now and then like she was afraid he might start frothing at the mouth. When the hour was finally over, Peter ran back to his car, wrapped the watch in several soft tissues from the restroom and hid it in the glove compartment. 

MJ didn’t mention the lack of watch, but she did pointedly stare at his arm for the rest of the day. It made him prickly and jumpy; a thousand worst-case scenarios running through his mind. Nobody knew he was Spiderman, and since joining college he’d done his best to keep the ‘Stark Industries Internship’ thing on the down-low. That was relatively easy, since most people hadn’t believed it in the first place. As for Spiderman - The only people who knew were May and Ned. He kind of intended to keep it that way for as long as possible. 

He was vigilant then, for the next few weeks. He inspected himself carefully before getting out of his car at college, and he always made sure to remind Ned to remind him any time he wore anything that a struggling college student wouldn’t. All in all, after three months had passed with only a few close calls, he felt pretty secure. 

That was, naturally, his doom. 

But! In his defence, Tony Stark had kissed him. On the mouth. And not by accident, either. One moment Peter was talking about his Chemistry class and how the next Tony Stark was kissing him, lips warm and a little chapped, stubble pricking at the corners of his mouth. 

They'd kissed for almost an hour after that, gripping onto each other, learning what made the other twitch and moan. Tony liked his lip sucked and Peter liked his hair pulled and it had led to eager grinding and groping. Peter had never been more loathe to leave, but he had dinner plans with Aunt May that night. 

Their first kiss had evolved into kissing every time they were together, chaste and shy or filthy and wet like teenagers. Groping turned into Mr. Stark jacking him off and sucking him down, to Peter sucking him in return and to slowly working their way towards Peter getting done up the ass for the first time (four times, actually. Peter was insatiable and Tony had been more than happy to oblige). 

It had been a Thursday night, though, and Peter had a mid-day lecture on Friday. His own shirt had been used as a rag from the first and third rounds, so he shyly accepted when Tony offered him an old, soft black one. It was ratty and stained and he thought nothing of wearing it to his lecture, scribbling notes furiously and paying attention because they had a test in two weeks time. 

Towards the end of the lecture, he felt something brush at itch at the back of his neck, and he twisted to find the girl from the lunch hall sat directly behind him, her arm retreating. He blinked in surprise; he hadn't even recognised that she was in his class at the time. 

"You had fluff caught on your shirt" she noted casually, though her eyes were narrowed suspiciously. Peter gave her a weak smile, mouthed 'thanks' and turned back around. 

It was relatively forgotten until he was done for the day, paused near the doors to try and find his power bank. Footsteps echoed through the hall, and he looked up they stopped near him. Standing there was the girl from his class, and he offered her a warm but puzzled smile. "Hi?" He asked after a pause where she simply stared at him with folded arms. 

"I know your secret" she announced, and he nearly dropped his bag, grumbling to catch it as his heart ticked up. That could mean anything - Tony? Spiderman? Even just the spider bite could be disastrous. He'd have scientists experimenting on him and then they'd know and- 

"Secret?" He barked out a little hysterically, straightening. "What secret? I don't have any. Not any worth exploiting, anyway. I mean, I peed in the pool once, but I was six and I-" 

"I know how you're getting such expensive clothes" she interrupted, arching a brow at him, though the corner of her mouth had ticked up into a smile. 

"What? Oh, the shirt the other month? I told you, it was a knockoff" Peter stuttered nervously, and she gestured. 

"You're wearing a Gucci shirt right now". 

"What? No I'm not. Have you seen this thing?" He asked, plucking at the hem, even as he died a little inside. Was it too much to ask for Tony to shop at Target once in a while? 

"Well, it's in horrible condition, but I looked at the tag in class. I know how you're getting all this expensive stuff" she repeated, and Peter twitched a little, glancing around the hall before shuffling out of the way a little. 

"I want in" she added, following him, and he paused, blinking across at her while his coherent thoughts stuttered to a stop. 

"Uh."

"I want you to teach me". 

"...Uh…"

She rolled her eyes at him and stepped closer, lowering her voice. "I know you're a Sugar Baby, Parker. There's no other way you could afford all this stuff, and nobody puts Gucci in a thrift store. I want you to teach me how to do it. Show me what website you used or whatever". 

Peter stared at the wall over her shoulder, his thoughts effectively flat-lined. Sugar Baby? Website? Teach her? 

"Listen, I don't know who your guy is or how you did it, but clearly, he's minted. And sharing. I'm only able to work part-time around my studies, and I want in. I'm not gonna tell anyone, I'm not a bitch, I just want to be able to afford stuff" her voice softened at the end, and Peter shuffled uncomfortably, trying to kick his brain into gear. 

On one hand, she thought he was fucking an old guy for ratty Gucci shirts. On the other, this was the perfect out for all his mishaps. He considered it, head tilting as the corners of his mouth dipped down, and then he nodded. 

"Sure, why not".