#it has been SHOULD he do the thing he does and can he do it without actually doing more harm than good

[zoi-no-miko]

It's not that Ben hates opera. He's firmly of the opinion that every genre of music contains its good and bad. The times they've taken Daniel to the Met have - with the exception of the appropriate-but-terrible atonal droning of The Handmaid's Tale - been a delightful evening of music and performance.

He just doesn't... love opera. It's too much drama and production to be soothing background music, and when he wants to sit down and listen to something, his heart almost always goes to rock 'n roll. Part of it also might have to do with too many winter Saturday afternoons at home as a child, cooped up while his mother listens to some weekly opera radio show. Too many times the sound quality of old recordings was too jarring to ignore in favor of the performance, grating against his nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

He doesn't love opera. But Daniel does, and he loves Daniel, so Ben has worked on quietly accepting the times when his lover chooses the music, or at least learning to vaguely tune it out.

What he doesn't expect is to come home from work to find both his husband and Daniel's sitting in front of their very expensive sound system, openly weeping as a soaring soprano trills from the speakers.

It's immediately obvious that it's a live recording, and Ben winces before he can school his expression, though neither notice. John smiles widely despite his tears and waves him over while Larry grabs another kleenex off the coffee table. "Ben! Isn't it exquisite?"

"She's amazing," Ben agrees, because despite the questionable recording quality, he can tell that the soprano has incredible skill, and the music is nice. "What... is it?"

"La Divina!" John flops into the back of the couch with a dramatic sigh of bliss, covering his forehead with the back of his hand.

"John asked me to help try and track down something special and rare for Daniel's birthday," Larry explains as Ben sits down beside him, handing him the CD case. "I have to admit... after watching that Angelina Jolie movie I'm kind of a fan."

Ah. Maria Callas. The CD he's holding is some kind of live performance of Nabucco in Mexico.

"She does things with her vocal chords that most people can't even do with - " John waves a hand in the air - "their pussy!"

Ben opens his mouth to question the statement, then thinks the better of it.

"We should watch that movie again," Larry muses. "At home this time, with the surround sound. The cinematography was exquisite."

"Oh yes," John agrees. "He'd love that. God, this is beautiful. We need to find more of this." He closes his eyes in pleasure as Callas's voice jumps an octave with effortless ease, soaring through notes faster and higher than should be humanly possible before the aria finishes with a triumphant flourish from the orchestra.

John gives a pleased hum, silent for a moment as the notes fade. Then he looks over at them. "Hey. Do you think we could ever figure out how to time travel?"

"No!" Ben says immediately, as Larry shakes his head wildly.

"Oh god don't do that. The implications - no. No."

John pouts. "But if I figured out some way to never - "

"Please do not fuck our timeline, kitten. Promise me."

"Okay, okay," John sighs, though Ben can see his mind still working.

"Maybe we can find some live video recordings? Or there must be a museum to her somewhere, right?" he offers weakly.

"Oh yes. In Athens? We haven't done Athens. We should do Athens."

"Alright," Ben agrees, and quietly resigns himself to a LOT more opera in his life going forward.

~~~

What most people think the challenges of polyamory are: jealousy, lack of commitment, insecurity.

What better-informed people think the challenges of polyamory are: calendar management, social stigma.

What the challenges of polyamory actually are: when your husband and your lover bond over classical music, and your lover suggests to your husband that he would really enjoy Stravinsky. And it turns out your husband does really enjoy Stravinsky, but unfortunately with the exception of the opening bit of Firebird, which is OK, you fucking hate Stravinsky. And the background music of your life is Stravinsky for months on end because your husband loves Stravinsky now. So even when the three of you meet up together it turns into Stravinsky Fan Club Time. Plus a third wheel of you.

[on-the-clear-blue]

What if Danny didn't die? He does open the portal but for the first time in their lives the Fentons followed OSHA regulations.

He doesn't have the powers, but he was right there when the portal opened, he saw the tear in reality and it...it did things.

It wasn't something that a humans mind was supposed to see, while the Infinite Realms are the in-between dimensions, and what is in-between the in-between?

Elder gods, slumbering calamities, fallen angels hid from their gods ever present eye, righteous spirits who reached nirvana, monsters beyond imagination...

The crack before the Realms snapped to his dimension was only open for a mere moment, a single millisecond but to the young boy it was eternity, and he could only watches as all those beings turned their attentions to him, they saw him, observed him as much as he did them.

He had fallen, screaming as he clutched his eyes, his eyes and ears were bleeding, his brain pounded so hard it felt as if it was going to knock out his eyeballs, Sam and Tucker, spared from it all as they had turned their heads when the lightning flashed and rent the portal open could only rush to the boy, trying to help him but all he could do was scream. Because what was beyond had saw him, and gave him a gift.

---

Far away, in a tall tower, a man with a gleaming gold helmet shuddered as the ankh of light in front of him shattered.

He fell to the floor, the minor magic he used failing as the more complex spell fizzled and broke, leaving him painfully wheezing on the ground, clutching at his chest.

"N-no...T-this can not be...T-The order...it...it failed...it can not fail!" Dragging himself across the Tower of Orders floor, Dr. Fate forced himself over to a lone summoning circle, falling onto it with an exhausted groan, the Gaurdian of Order muttered a soft word, and the circle flared, and in an instant he was gone, leaving the Tower shaking it it's wake.

---

On the couch of the House of Magic, John Constantine was feeling as if the world had fucked him so hard in the ass he would never be able to walk straight ever again.

And with the pounding in his skull from a truly deadly hangover wasn't helping either.

Nor was the half dead Dr. Fate puking up his guts in his living room.

"Argh" which translated to "What the bloody fuck are you doing in my house you daft shiny headed prick" but John didn't really have the strength to say that.

"Blugh" was what the ever regal Dr. Fate responded with, which obviously meant "The border between realities have been broken, the Beyond Dark knows of our existence and has seen our world, they have come to either eat upon our existence and reality or defend agaisnt the others that seek to only fill their own unexistance."

John of course, carefully and gracefully pissed himself.

---

In Faccuet City, a young Billy Batson screamed as his head exploded with noise, the gods and heros alike were all suddenly the strongest they had ever been, their powers flooded and overwhelmed his mortal form, and to save his life, the Champion of Magic forced itself into being.

Even in the Champions form the sudden influx of godly might was almost too much, steam charged with lightning billowed off him in great plooms, sparks zapped from his finger tips to the ground, and the air stunk of ozone all around him.

The gods were ranting, each talking over each other, debating in so many dead languages Billy's mind could keep up the translations.

It wasn't until Solomons voice boomed over the others that the voices fell quiet. "ENOUGH! NOW IS NOT THE TIME OF IN FIGHTING, THE BEYOND IS AT OUR DOOR..."

Taking a breath even if he didn't need it, the ancient king looked all the years he had lived and then some, "Young William...oh dear precious boy...our dear son. A great advent has begun, a door which should never been opened has been thrown wide...the beasts you face, the abominations of teeth and tentacles are just the mites that have slipped under the door...waht is to come will make all that you have faced look like mice...we will not have enough time to prepare you with what is to come..."

Solomons voice broke at the end, and he hung his head in the mental image in Billy's head "Seek out others, join forces with any. All those in touch with the arcane shall know of what just happened...as Champion you will be the spear head, the general of them all...you will lead them agaisnt the Beyond."

---

It took a week for Danny to come back to himself again, at least a little bit, he still had a haunted look in his eyes, and was far to quiet. He barely spoke at all, but when he did it was in ramblings of things not understood by any of them.

His parents assumed it had been a ghost that left in this state, their hatred for the ectoplasmic beings growing more and more as their son, their boy grew worse.

Jazz, unlike her parents listened to what Danny described, studied what she could and figured out what she couldn't, at each dead en she pushed, with Tuckers help she gained access to computer systems that held secrets of the occult, and with Sam's freely given credit card? Oh she dived deep into spell, trying desperately to find any kind of cure for Danny's predicament.

As time went on the boy only got worse, he had begun seeing the beings in the Beyond, some whispered wisdom, of long lost ways to calm the millions of mutterings in his gray matter and the pounding of his heart, while others screamed, in jubilation and rage, as it is only in being seen did they become real, and becoming real meant they had a foot hold in existence.

The wise figures, while helping had also steered him to their own goals, some told him to hate the jabbering hordes, others said that the only way to truly to be rid of them was to be nothing as well, to go far past being a person, into being one with the Byond.

Some of the mutterings lead to more questions, they spoke of Gods long forgotten and recent, of their betrayals and what they did to fall, others claimed that they were not fallen, that they were there to protect him from those that were.

The more and more he listened the more and more he saw of them, until Danny began to not understand what was real and what wasnt.

So he didn't even flinch when a group of imposing figures were in his room when he came up to his bed, hoping that the voices of Parathax the Unbeliever would be quiet enough for him to sleep.

Oh he did scream quite a bit when the sad trench coat man with a multi fractured sould reached out and touched him.

[fairyofshampgyu]

Now Live ! Stream: 9

Genre: camboy au, college au, smut, crack, ongoing series

Paring: camboy! Beomgyu x gn reader (afab when smut)

Warnings: emotional distress and regret following a consensual sexual encounter, sub! beomgyu, dom! reader, top! gyu, crying, hand job, dry humping, tit sucking, nipple play, possessiveness, overstimulation, use of butt plug, spanking, dacryphilia, strap sucking, beomgyu wears lip gloss, praise, degrading, use of pet names, dollification, choking, slut shaming,

Synopsis: Every Thursday night at 8pm, you tune into your favourite camboy: Angel313. What you don’t know is he goes to the same uni as you, is even in the same class as you and is Choi Beomgyu, the campus fuckboy but will you keep his secret?

Word count: 8.3k

You feel sick.

you've been pacing around your dorm relentlessly for 20 minutes now, gnawing at your fingernails, because right now, at this exact moment, beomgyu was streaming. Without you.

And not just without you, but with one of the biggest camgirls in the community: Winter01.

You tried to remain unbothered, unfazed, unaffected, at least, that’s how you acted when, beomgyu, unsure and sheepish, had asked you whether he should go for it. It made sense, she had specifically reached out only to beomgyu and had asked to collab, and that was a great opportunity since she was so well known. If he appeared on her channel, then you’d both gain more popularity and traction on your channel too and make even more money. He should totally go for it. It made perfect, rational sense. It shouldn't feel this serious. it's just a stream. Just a collab.

Except, the thought of beomgyu doing a stream with someone else, being fucked by someone else, someone else making him feel good…it just made this nasty, terrible, inexplainable feeling occur within you. That’s what you do with him. That’s your thing. No one else has ever touched him on stream, not ever, not until now.

You collapse onto your desk chair in frustration, only to shoot up a second later. You stand back up. You open your laptop. You close it. You go back to the tab of the website. You close that too. The endless back and forth, making you go insane.

The notification still glows at the top of your laptop screen like a slap to the face.

@Angel313 is now live with @Winter01 !

You battled with yourself, conflicting thoughts on whether you should click on the stream, see what’s going on. Because, a part of you was dying to know. What was she doing with him? Did he like it? Did the viewers like it? Were there even more views than normal? What if it becomes super trending? Was she better than you at fucking beomgyu? What if beomgyu likes her way more than you? It was genuinely eating away at you from the inside.

But at the same time, you didn’t want to see. It’s best to not know at all. What you can’t see can’t hurt you, ignorance is bliss, you know, all that stuff. Because once you click on the stream, there’s no going back. Did you really want to see all that? You could remain peacefully unaware, let the imagination torment you with glimpses only in your mind, not in high definition, in real time.

But, maybe it’s best to know actually.

Maybe the not knowing is worse. What if she’s touching beomgyu the way he likes? What if he likes it better? At least you’ll know and then you can be prepared if he decides he wants to switch partners and toss you aside because winter was way better.

But can you blame him? Winter is beautiful. And she’s popular for a reason. Even you’re familiar with her, you’ve watched some of her streams before. She’s good at what she does. You like her too. What if it does go viral? What if they have insane chemistry and the chat explodes and people beg for more and they're all like ''holy shit, this is the best collab ever" and they make so much money and everyone likes them both together so much and they collab even more in the future and then he just starts streaming with her altogether instead because she’s so much better? She is a professional camgirl, you were just a viewer, a fan for a faceless pretty camboy named angel313. Do you even know what you’re doing?

You suck in a breath. Alas, the curiosity gets the better of you though, and hesitantly, you click on the stream. It loads slowly and you can hear the imaginary countdown in your head, body buzzing with dread at what you might see.

You get what you went searching for. You’d opened the pandora’s box.

You see it as soon as it loads—Winter’s pretty manicured hand wrapped around beomgyu’s flushed cock, pumping him up and down as he stiffly sat on her pink gamer chair, she’s whispering things you can’t decipher, giggling and she looks so pretty, glossed lips brushing over his reddened ears, you see beomgyu who looks like he’s freaking out over all of this, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, embarrassed, cheeks all pink, shaking slightly, biting his lip. Then you hear it. His voice. He lets out a small quiet, shy whimper and a "P-please...!" That does it.

You switch the stream off instantly, slamming your laptop screen down like it had burned you. You don’t want to see anymore. You wished you hadn’t seen at all, but it’s too late to unsee, the image now fully engrained in your head. You feel even more sick than you did before.

Curiosity really does the kill cat, you guess.

You hate how your chest aches. And it feels far too much like the feeling of heartbreak for your liking. Which is dumb. Why did you care so much anyway? In the past when you didn’t know who Angel was, you would have absolutely loved to watch him get fucked on camera by someone else. He only ever used to do solo streams. Hell, if you knew it was Winter, you probably would have been even more overjoyed and excited to watch your favourite pretty camboy get ruined by another pretty camgirl. You probably would have lost your mind. A small part of you almost misses back when you were just a viewer, when you didn't know Choi Beomgyu, the supposed campus fuckboy was Angel313. When you used to just watch him unknowingly through a screen.

Your nerves are tripled as you wait and brace yourself for beomgyu to return.

You don’t know exactly what you expected when Beomgyu finally walks through the door, but it wasn’t this.

He’s quiet. Too quiet. No grinning, smug from ear to ear, enthusiastic and blushing. No giddy, boastful oversharing of how amazing everything was, like you’d thought. Like what he usually does when he finds something exciting or funny about his day and rambles about it to you for so long with shiny eyes because he can never really contain his emotions when he feels happy and it's always endearing and he always kind of resembles a puppy when he’s like that. Beomgyu doesn’t even meet your eyes.

You get off your bed with wide eyes immediately at the sight of him, standing straight in anticipation way too quickly. Your heart is hammering in your chest, all the questions you wanted to ask blowing up in your mind, but getting jumbled and stuck in your throat.

What was it like?

How did it go?

Was she good?

Do you want to stream with her again?

“Beomgyu—” You start frantically, “How did it—?”

But before you can finish the question, he wraps his arms around you. Tightly. Practically collapsing against you. He presses his entire body into you, hugging you like he’s desperate to melt into your skin and he buries his head deep into your shoulder.

You gasp and freeze, deeply confused, and brows furrowed. Beomgyu is tense, his breath is warm but shaky against your bare neck. Still, your arms move slowly, hugging him back. You hold him, gently at first, then a little tighter. That seems to ease him slightly. His shoulders loosen a fraction. But his grip on you stays firm.

“...Gyu?” you ask, quieter, softer now.

He doesn't answer. You try to pull back slightly to look at him, but he just clings tighter, arms winding more secure around your waist and burying his face impossibly deeper into your shoulder and neck, shakily inhaling and exhaling.

“Hey…what’s wrong? Did something happen?” You run your hand gently up and down his back. Could it be winter? Maybe something happened?

“No.” Beomgyu mumbles finally as if he could read your mind, voice muffled against your hoodie. “She was…really nice, actually. Nothing happened.”

You blink at him, even more lost. “Then…?”

Beomgyu sighs. “I don’t know. It just- It didn’t…feel right.”

He pulls back from your shoulder, facing you now and you see how glossy his brown eyes had become. He looks at you like he’s trying to explain something he doesn’t quite understand himself, like he can’t figure why it’s having such an affect on him either. “Thought it would be like all the other streams—but it didn’t feel the same. At all. I don’t know, maybe I’m being dramatic. But it made me feel... weird. Not like, bad. Just…sort of, empty? Dissociated? I couldn’t stop thinking about—” Beomgyu pauses, eyes squeezing shut for a second before opening again, unsure. “It-it wasn’t…” Beomgyu sighs again. “It wasn’t you.”

Beomgyu frowns at you with a pout, bottom lip almost wobbling as his mouth becomes heavily downturned, and then he hides his face into your shoulder once more, gripping onto you harder.

That stuns you into silence.

It wasn’t you.

“Sorry. It’s weird, I know.”

“It’s not.” You say firmly. You cup the side of his face without thinking, brushing your thumb over the soft skin beneath his eye. He leans into it immediately, almost instinctively, eyes fluttering shut, relieved.

Beomgyu continues to hug you silently in that spot for a while. After a long, moment, he gently nudges you backwards guiding you to the bed and lowering both of you down onto it. He flops on top of you, his cheek pressed right against your chest as if you’re his pillow, arms wound tightly around your waist, cuddling you. A content sigh escapes him when you start slowly carding your fingers through his soft hair, stroking through the strands. His body is warm and so are is slow breaths against your skin, legs tangled with yours and he’s soo clingy.

You don’t know how long you just lie there. But you wouldn’t have been able to get up even if you wanted. You’d attempted to get up earlier to go to the bathroom, but beomgyu hadn’t let you, furrowing his brows in offence and whining annoyed at you loudly, refusing and clinging to you somehow even more.

Despite him restricting you from pissing—it was quite sweet, the way he was acting right now, wanting to be close to you the whole time and latching his limbs onto you like an octopus that won’t let go, making your heart flutter.

And then, after what felt like hours, he moves. Beomgyu slowly lifts his head from your chest, eyes fluttering open and he blinks at you. His gaze roams your face, slow and searching, and his hand comes up, delicately brushing some hair away from your face. There’s something quietly desperate in the way he looks at you. And then he leans down, soft lips grazing yours and he kisses you.

It starts slow at first, his lips moving against yours gently. He pulls away a little, gazing at you again, then he surges forward, kissing you deeper this time, hands moving to cup your face. His lips are plush and hot, moving with increasing fervour, breath hitching as he starts to get needier as time goes on. His tongue slips past your lips and he groans softly into your mouth, kissing you deeper, messier, more desperately like he’s been starved of it.

His hands trail down, grabbing at your waist, your hips, pushing himself even closer to you until there’s no kind of space left between you. His eyes are half lidded by now, lips so swollen and parted. One hand pushes your hoodie up, exposing your tits, lips kissing the space in between your breasts, then kissing all over your chest eagerly and brushing his mouth over the expanse. And then his pouty lips wrap around your nipple, hand groping and kneading the other, moaning at that.

You gasp as he continues to suck your tits blissfully, flicking and swirling his tongue harshly around your nipple that has you squirming, mouthing at you hungrily. He’s drooling and your chest and his lips are all shiny and slick with spit and drool. Then he switches to the other nipple. You feel him humping you by now, rocking his hips against yours, muffled desperate whines eliciting from his stuffed mouth, continuing to rut against you like a dumb, dirty dog.

He looks up at you innocently through his pretty lashes and doe brown eyes, plump lips still latched and wrapped around your tits, sound of him avidly sucking and slurping and moaning, evident around your dorm. He finally lets go with a wet pop, so drooly and messy and then he kisses you again, sloppily making out all wet, still humping you, breath ragged, eyes half lidded.

“I need you.” Beomgyu says when he pulls away from your lips, looking at you so intensely, so gravely. He sounds so wrecked. And he’s not just turned on, although that’s apparent too, but so wrecked and frenzied and needy already. “Pleaseee. I need to be closer to you. Wanna feel you. Please, I wanna fuck you so bad right now, I can’t” He sounds like he’s going to cry. “Let me, let me, baby, please…” He keeps kissing you between every plea, your mouth, your neck, your collarbone, any part of you he can kiss.

You let him because after everything that’s happened today, you want him just as badly, you’re just as desperate for beomgyu. His hands are already fumbling to rid you of your clothes and then his own, desperate and shaky and clumsy with urgency.

You stroke him a few times his cock twitching in your palm as he lets out a broken, pretty moan, “You want it that badly, hmm?”

Beomgyu nods frantically, his hips twitching forward like he can’t help himself, pupils dilating just from thinking about it.

You laugh, “You're so needy.” You bring his dick closer to you, dragging his tip through your slick folds, moving yourself against him, watching the way beomgyu’s face scrunches up, and then beomgyu does too, sliding his cock against your folds up and down until you say he can fuck you.

“Y/n…” He whines, “please, please. Can I be inside?” Beomgyu begs and implores, like not being inside of you right now is the most unbearable thing ever possible for him, like it physically hurts him, shaking and trembling just at the feeling of his wet dick sliding on your folds.

“Go on, baby.”

Beomgyu does not need to be told twice, he wastes no time, lining himself up and burying his swollen fat tip and the rest of his length t the hilt inside your warm, wet pussy. “O-oh, god…” Beomgyu squeezes his eyes shut, not even being able to open them, he throws his head back, pathetically moaning out long and loud, gasping for breath, trying to calm himself down, he could cum already.

Just as he starts to move, you stop him with a palm to his chest. You suddenly get an idea, “Wait, gyu.” He stops, whining in confusion, just blinking at you, too dazed.

You bring your phone out and start a stream, filming beomgyu. There wasn’t supposed to be a stream but you feel the urge. You want everyone to see, you want them to know at the end of the day, he’s yours, feeling possessive. You want them to see how he acts when he’s with you.

All the comments are flooded with talk of the stream beomgyu had done with winter previously, but the general consensus seemed to be that most were confused and asking of your relationship with beomgyu, some also debating on who they liked seeing beomgyu more with.

@angelsfav: Wait so you guys aren’t dating ????

@luuvsubs: I always thought they were dating. From their dynamic and everything they did and acted, it seemed like they were.

@31333_fan: seeing angel’s dynamic with two different partners was really interesting and stark haha. I like both so much ! 🩷

@ilovewiinter: I preferred angel and winter. She’s my favourite camgirl!

@freakyyes : winter >>> sorry not sorry 😋

@heartgel: Nahhh he has so much more chemistry with who he usually streams with. He’s wayy more into this 😭 look at him 🫠

“Are we dating?” you repeat to the screen. “No. We’re not.”

You place the phone on your table so they can properly see you both. Beomgyu really doesnt care about anything at all at the moment, he just wants to fuck you. You tell him he can start again and beomgyu begins to move.

Beomgyu fucks into you slowly at first, trying to control himself with desperate, restrained, shaky rolls of his hips like he wants to feel everything, every inch of you, eyes focused and obsessed, entranced with the lewd sight of your pussy slowly swallowing him in. He moans every time he bottoms out, eyes fluttering shut, mouth slack and cute, deep, breathy little cries. You can’t tell if he’s going so slow, moving like this and holding back because he’s waiting for permission, to tell him he can go faster, or he’s desperately trying to savour it, but you want more.

You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him closer and deeper into you and hands sliding up his back, clutching at the muscles there, moving and rolling your own hips to meet his as well, guiding him to fuck into you more. Beomgyu yelps, his eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head at that, a choked moan slipping past his lips, hands placed on the mattress on either side of you, faltering, “S-sshit...!” 

"Does it feel good, puppy?" You coo at him, one of your hands coming to tangle and caress his messy, long hair, loving how he's already falling apart because of you.

Beomgyu nods like a brainless baby, eyelids drooping with pleasure, slurring his words, his tiny lisp becoming slightly more evident, drool dribbling down the corner of his mouth, watching your tits deliciously jiggle with every thrust, "Ss-so goood-ughh. Pussy feels s’ good, so perfect...mmm-ah."

It’s not long until beomgyu completely loses himself in the feeling of you, his thrusts quickly building up in speed, slamming his hips harder and deeper, erratically. “Wanna be inside you forever…wanna be—ahh this close t’you all thetime...” Beomgyu is just blabbering random shit by now, deliriously slamming his cock into your now soaked pussy repeatedly. Beomgyu holds onto you tightly, face falling into the crook of your neck, utterly wrecked, his drool all on your neck now, his moans and groans spilling into your ear.

“Yeah? You’re all mine aren’t you?” You coax him, your own eyes glazed up at this point, your puppy fucking you so well, such a good boy.

Beomgyu’s hands scramble for yours blindly and desperately, interlacing your fingers together, squeezing hard, holding your hands and refusing to let go. He’s still clinging so close to you like a lifeline, like he can’t bear not to, like he wants to dissolve into you completely, all so sticky and hot, you hold onto him tightly too.

“Yeah. Yours. ‘m yours…” He lifts his head from your neck, bringing his forehead to yours, looking at you like you hung the stars.

“Only I can make you feel this good right?” So maybe you are trying to stroke your own ego a bit by now, but you need him to say it, need everyone else to hear it too.

Beomgyu nods and hums, giving you a dreamy look, pathetically whimpering and whining, face contorted in overwhelming bliss, “mmh. Only you.” He squeezes your hand tight at that, nuzzling his nose with yours, forehead still touching yours, peppering sweet kisses all over your face. Your heart feels like it might give out.

Your pussy clenches tightly around him and beomgyu looks genuinely so far gone, so dumbed out, so fucked out from your pussy, his face the most debauched you’ve seen him, groaning, “baby…ah ‘m so close” Beomgyu’s cock plows into you so sloppily, squelchy wet slaps of skin when he fucks your hole feverishly and uncoordinated, continuous strangled moans leaving his mouth by now.

Beomgyu is so incredibly sweaty, messy hair wet and falling into his half lidded eyes, sweat dripping down his sharp jaw, nose and forehead, you’re probably just the same too, if not worse. But beomgyu just looks so good and so hot, so sweaty and so sexy. The sweat makes his whole body glow and shine under the dim light, and god, does he truly look like an angel right now. It’s ironic, so on-the-nose. Angel313. His username. It’s unfair how unreal, how ethereal beomgyu looks.

And beomgyu is so loud, unable to contain his noises of pleasure, he should probably keep it down but you don’t want him to, you adore hearing the sounds he makes because of you. The moans loud and relentless, tumbling out of him uncontrollably, reverberating around the room as well as the slick sounds of his cock moving inside you.

He’s shaking with the effort not to cum too soon, not to fall apart so fast that it embarrasses him. But it’s useless. You know him way too well by now, you’d watched all his streams before, streamed with him too much by now to know exactly when he’s close even when he tries not to, you know what makes him twitch, what makes his eyes roll back, what makes that pretty, loud mouth of his go slack and dumb.

“Cum for me, pretty angel. Show them how good you are for me.”

One of his hands goes down to your pretty folds, thumbing over your clit fast, rubbing in frantic little circles, desperate to have you cumming on his cock too, the other still interlocked with yours needily. Beomgyu ruts into you helplessly like a wild, panting dog, slamming his stuttering hips relentlessly with yours.

“I-I’m gonna c-cum—“ He chokes and stutters out. You bring your hand to thumb at his sensitive nipples, playing with the buds harshly and that brings him to the edge, “F-fuck, baby I-I’m cummingg I’m cumming…!” Beomgyu wails, crying out, he feels his orgasm build in his stomach and so do you, both of you letting go and cumming together, so intense, it almost feels spiritual.

You grab his face, smacking your lips with his, kissing him and swallowing down his moans so hungrily, kissing so deep it steals the air from both your lungs but neither of you pull away, his forehead still rests softly against yours, his sweat sweat dripping onto you. You feel so much of beomgyu’s hot, sticky cum spilling into you continuously, completely milking him and his body jerks, shaking violently. Beomgyu cums so hard he genuinely sees stars, just feeling pure ecstasy and fully, utterly spent.

When you both genuinely need to breathe, you pull away, lips parting with a wet, thin pull, a sllippery, slivery string of saliva still connecting your swollen mouths. Your breaths are ragged, chests heaving against each other, your skin damp and flushed. You reach out blindly, fingers fumbling over the desk until you finally manage to end the stream with a click, not really bothering to look at the donations or comments.

“Holy fuck…” Beomgyu shuts his eyes, breathing out, holding onto both of your hands.

“Quite literally.” You pant, dazed.

You both giggle at that, lightheaded, beomgyu shaking his head with a breathless laugh, grinning tiredly at you, forehead dropping to yours once more.

Beomgyu starts to pull out but you stop him, “keep fucking me, beomie. Isn’t that what you wanted? Said you want to stay in my pussy forever hmm?” Your voice teasing, brushing his sweaty bangs out his face, grinning wickedly. But he doesn’t complain.

“Y-yeah.” Beomgyu just nods, moaning weakly, already fucking and stuffing his cum back into you again with gasped whimpers and whines and wincing of overstimulation, trembling. You really don’t know how long you guys go at it for, all blurry and dizzy, just remembering beomgyu’s loud cries of your name and cumming again and again and again, clutching and grasping onto you.

Beomgyu🪽: did you want to hang out? me, tae and kai are gonna play tekken !! 😋

Y/n🎷: nah can’t sorry. I’m REVISING in the library with a friend. 🤓📚Which YOU should be doing too btw…🤨🧐🫵

Beomgyu🪽: but can’t you just come? Can’t you do that later? I need to beat you in tekken again. 👉👈 And I don’t need to revise, I’m naturally talented in mewsik >_< 🎤🎸🎶

Y/n🎷: what kind of spelling is that. Tell Kai he should be revising rn too wtf it’s literally exam season

Beomgyu🪽: Kai said you’re a neek. Are you really not coming ??☹️☹️🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Y/n 🎷: I’m literally at the library rn, no.

Beomgyu 🪽: who are you with anyway? Music practice room guy?

Y/n 🎷: yeah

Beomgyu🪽: cool, have fun revising.

Beomgyu’s stomach twists. He scowls at your message for a little longer, fingers lingering on the keyboard like he wants to type something else but then he doesn’t. With a little too much force, he places his phone on the table face-down, knitting his eyebrows in a frown, arms crossed, grumbling to himself.

He kinda hates that you’re not coming over. He kinda really hates that you’re hanging out with that other guy instead of him too. Do you not like his company anymore or something?

He really, really wanted to see you today. He’d even gotten extra snacks for you, the ones he knows are your favourite and cleared the space on the floor so you could sit next to him. He didn’t think you wouldn’t come. Is he being dramatic right now? You’re just studying in the library, it’s probably what he should be doing too. But, you’ve never said no to hanging out ever before…you’d still come, just for a bit even if you didn’t want to. Well, at least he still gets to see you today, because there is a stream later tonight.

“What? Y/n’s not coming?” Taehyun asks from where he sits, crosslegged on beomgyu’s bed, controller in hand, starting the game.

“No.” Beomgyu sulks, sounding very much like a kicked puppy. “They’re too busy studying with this guy they met in the music practice rooms. They’re always hanging out with him lately…” The last part is said with so much bitterness in his voice, muttering and complaining.

Taehyun raises an eyebrow. “Do you know who this guy is?”

“No.”

“Have you asked?” Huening Kai chimes in, sat on the floor, back slumped against the bed a controller also in his hand and munching on a packet of crisps.

“No.” Beomgyu huffs. “Anyway. As I was about to say before, I’ve had a really, really big revelation.”

Kai gasps, eyes wide. “You’re pregnant.”

“I’m not a fucking seahorse.” Beomgyu rolls his eyes, “I was going to say…” He closes his eyes, inhales and exhales dramatically and finally declares, “I think…I like y/n more than IU.”

They’re both silent for a second but neither of them seem particularly shocked to hear that. Then, kai resumes munching on the crisps loudly again, unfazed.

“That’s your big revelation?” Taehyun asks, incredulously.

Beomgyu takes offence. “I think it’s really shocking. Why are you not shocked? I’ve liked IU since I was nine! She’s my first love.”

Huening Kai gasps dramatically, mocking him. “Even more than Park Boyoung?!”

Beomgyu hesitates. He takes a moment to really think, deeply in thought, as if that was the hardest questions he’s ever had to answer. “Possibly… yes.”

“Okay wait, no.” Kai sits up, “This is serious.”

“I was saying this was serious before! So, like what should I do? Do you guys think I’m going insane? I’m going insane. I’ve lost it.” Beomgyu grabs a fistful of his own hair, pulling at it and groaning. “I feel like…i feel like the tragic second male lead in a kdrama right now who like, watches the main couple get together in the rain with an umbrella in his hand, smiling even though he’s dying inside.” He doesn’t know exactly when it happened but after he came back from doing that stream with winter, it all became so very clear to him, suddenly crashing down on him. He thinks it’s been happening for a while. And it’s very serious.

“No, I think it was just inevitable from the start.” Taehyun replies calmly, eyes focused on the menu screen, clicking a few buttons, “I think it’s hard not to catch feelings given your situation. It makes sense. I’m pretty sure y/n likes you too.”

“Just tell them bro.” Huening Kai adds, his mouth disgustingly full of crisps as he spoke.

Beomgyu’s head shot up. “Tell them? Ew. Gross. No. I’m not doing that.” He comes closer to where Kai sat, reaching for a crisp in the bag himself, eating it with a pout. “They don’t even like me. They like him. That annoying practice room guy, whoever he is. Ugh, whatever. Maybe I’m just getting really confused because of the nature of what we do. Maybe, I don’t even like y/n. Yeah…yeah.” Beomgyu nods conspicuously, agreeing with himself with narrowed eyes, stroking his chin slowly like an old, beared man, except, he doesn’t have a beard.

“You’re so full of shit.” Taehyun throws a pillow aggressively at beomgyu’s head.

“Oww!”

Taehyun and Kai exchange a pointed look, shaking their heads, maybe it wasn’t going to happen sooner than they both were beginning to think.

Beomgyu huff in defence, “Say if I did, even I did…tell them. It could jeopardise everything! We’re supposed to be professional partners. If I say something and it gets weird between us, what then?” His chest tightens a little at the thought. You could stop streaming with him, what was he supposed to do then? Continue solo again, find someone else? He already knows now he wouldn’t want to be streaming with anyone else if it wasn’t you. And if he went solo, it’d be boring again, he’d get less money. But it wasn’t even about the streaming anymore, he’d gotten so close to you in a matter of a few months. You’d become such an important person, a staple in his life so naturally, that he couldn’t remember what it was even like before you had entered it. He wants to be close to you all the time. Days without you are weird now. When you’re not around, he’s always missing you. He’d rather it stay how it is now than not have you in his life at all. So no, he’s not going to risk it.

“You should at least find out who this guy is.” Kai yawns, tossing the bag of crisps to the side, taking the controller in both his hands, ready to play now.

“Why?” Beomgyu asks suspiciously.

“To see if he’s way hotter than you.”

Beomgyu gasps, scandalised, beginning to spiral. “What if he is?”

You sat hunched in the computer lab of the library, all your notes and books and manuscript paper sprawled madly on the desk as you desperately tried to learn about advanced music theory and Schenkerian analysis, you have no idea how kai and beomgyu aren’t stressed out right now, your head beginning to hurt as you sat besides haechan who was also studying, a lot more calmly than you.

The library and computer lab was pretty packed and alive since it was exam season, being able to see other stressed out uni students fighting the same losing battle, and groups of friends who were gossiping about their latest traumatic situationship of the semester—very entertaining to eavesdrop on, though distracting as you were supposed to be revising, both you and haechan giggling at the outrageous things you hear.

Haechan glances at what you’re attempting to revise at the minute and pitifully shakes his head at your screen, “Man, I’m so glad I didn’t pick Music.”

You groan, head on the desk, “I can’t do it.”

“Wanna go for a walk around campus instead?” Haechan offers.

You laugh, “you know what, yeah.” Both of you leaving all your possessions on the desk with blind trust, wandering out the library into the late afternoon sun.

Before the walk properly began, you both made a detour to the campus cafe, purchasing a drink to cheer you up a bit more. You think you deserve a little sweet treat, having been at wits end to warrant one.

You laugh and walk around with haechan, drinks in hand and sipping on them, the campus golden and bathed in soft amber light, a pleasant breeze that wasn’t too hot or too cold. The cherry blossom trees lining the main path had all burst into full bloom by now, their pretty pink petals littering the ground you walked on, falling elegantly. Some students were already sitting on the grass, chatting away like it was summer already. It was so peaceful to see, and a great breath of fresh air from studying in the library.

You stop to stare at the cherry blossom trees, pointing excitedly, because no matter how many springs have come and how many cherry blossom trees bloomed when the time came every year, it never failed to always leave you in awe at just how beautiful they are. “Look at them. It’s so pretty!”

Haechan nods in agreement. The temptation of taking a picture overcomes you and you bring out your phone, taking a few shots of the cherry blossoms and the sunset behind, then holding your phone out to show him, proudly.

He leans closer, squinting at your screen, smiling. “Okayy, photographer. You should post those.”

PING !!

Suddenly, you get an extremely loud buzz on your phone.

@Angel313 going live soon !!

Shit.

The notification lights up your entire screen so obnoxiously.

You freeze for a second, trying not to visibly freak out or act suspiciously, yanking your phone away from him and fumbling to switch it off, putting it back in your pocket.

Obviously haechan saw it too, you saw how his eyebrows had creased in slight intrigue. But it’s not like it’s some promiscuous username, it wasn’t like it screamed ‘porn!’ it could be anything for all he knows. How would he know that was a camboy, that could literally be a youtuber, gamer or anything else? Yeah, It’s really not that deep, he wouldn’t think it was deep.

He doesn’t say anything about it, which means he probably didn’t think much of it, he just continues casually walking and talking again, changing the subject and you’re very thankful he never asks. Your heart still thudding in your ears for the rest of the stroll.

Beomgyu sat pliantly beside you on the bed, legs folded, hands resting in his lap, eyes following your movements with curiosity, your hand was on his chin, tilting it up, the other intimately applying coats of your lip gloss slowly onto his lips.

“Ow. It burns! What the fuck.” Beomgyu furrows his brows, hissing. He could feel the tingling sensation on his lips right now and it was uncomfortable.

You chuckle, amused. “Yeah, it’s a plumping lip gloss. And it doesn’t even burn that much. Why are you being so dramatic?” Dragging the applicator across his bottom lip in a deliberate motion.

Beomgyu wrinkles his nose. “Whatever that means.”

You roll your eyes, deadpan. “It’s in the name. It plumps your lips.”

“Well it feels really weird.”

“It’s alright, it’ll go away.” You, apply one more coat then pull back, looking satisfied. You take the phone in your hand, filming beomgyu’s lips up close, “Look at the pretty doll.” Needless to say, the chat is blowing up at the sight of angel in lip gloss, the comments lighting up with strings of hearts and emojis.

ANGEL IS TOO PRETTY WTF JDJDJ

LOOK AT THOSE LIPS ?!? 😩 he has the prettiest lips ever

RUIN HIM PLEASE 💕

You’d even done beomgyu’s hair, putting it into a half up poinytail and adding one of your clips in his hair.

Beomgyu looks so good with your lip gloss on, his lips tinted, glittery, sparkly and even plumper than they usually were. He looked so kissable. God, you wanted to kiss him immediately, ruin him, wreck him. But you stop yourself, you were going to ruin him in a different way.

“On your knees, pretty.” Your voice sweet but commanding. Beomgyu does what he’s told and moves immediately, dropping from the bed without hesitation. His knees hit the floor with a soft thud, looking up at you with his sparky brown, innocent, doe eyes, thick doll lashes fluttering like butterfly wings as he looks up at you.

You bring the strap you were wearing to his mouth, tapping his lips with it a few times, watching the strings of the thick sticky gloss connect to the top of the strap.

“Open your mouth, baby.”

Beomgyu slowly opens his mouth wider, still not breaking eye contact with you. You slowly push the silicone into beomgyu’s pretty mouth. He begins to suck soft and slow without even being told, rocking his head, wrapping his shiny lips around it.

“Yeah, that’s it,” you murmur at the sight, hand stroking over his cheek, “So pretty for me, babe.”

He moans at that, spurring him on, looking up at you desperately. Beomgyu’s hands move to eagerly hold onto your hips, but you swat them away, “No touching.” Beomgyu whines in protest but keeps his hands on his lap instead, balled into fists to stop himself from touching you. His poor dick, hard and leaking in his pants by now.

Beomgyu is so into it by now, focused, bobbing his head earnestly, trying to take more, wanting to please you like he’s really making you feel good as if it’s actually your real body, moaning loudly around the strap. When beomgyu moves further on the faux cock, the harness begins to bump against your clit and you try chasing the sensation by pushing more of your strap down beomgyu’s throat, grasping onto his hair and little ponytail to guide him more harshly. He softly gags, tears springing in his eyes as it hits the back of his throat but he doesn’t stop.

“God, you’re so hot like this pretty doll face, taking my cock so well.” You moan from the feeling of it hitting your clit but also at how pathetic beomgyu looks right now.

"Mmph—mmmghd.” Beomgyu garbles and moans around the silicone in response, drool slobbering all on his chin and wet mouth, spit mixed with the gloss, creating a slick shiny mess on his mouth and the toy, teary, pleading puppy eyes blinking up at you.

But you continue to ignore his gags, forcing him to deepthroat the strap, hands roughly pulling at his hair.

You then bring his face all the way down to the base of the dildo, his nose pressing into your lower abdomen and you hold him there. His body shakes, wide panicked eyes, muffled chokes and cries. But you still keep him there. There’s tears streaming down his face, helpless, cheeks hollowed.

After a while, you let go, he pulls himself completely off and splutters as thick strings of drool connect his lips and chin to the tip of the dildo. Beomgyu gasps for air, choking and coughing and crying, wiping at his chin.

You bring him up, seeing how you’d ruined the pretty doll, his cute hairstyle now all messy, clip half loose and slipping from his bangs, eyes glassy, lashes prettily clumped with tears, tears stream still evident on his rosy cheeks, his lips utterly wrecked, puffy, red, slick and wet and swollen, lip gloss and spit all around and smeared. It’s gorgeous.

You kiss him before he can even properly catch his breath, not giving him that much time for air but he melts into it, kissing you back desperately as if you were the air he needs to breathe, spit and gloss smearing onto your own mouth, all tongue and sloppy, whimpering in your mouth.

Pushing him onto the bed, you straddle him as he lays with breathless anticipation underneath you. You’d agreed to peg him today and he’d sucked your strap so well, with such dedication, being so good, you wanted to give it to him already, wanted to make him feel so good.

You throw his shirt off him, pierced belly comes into view. That iconic little hello kitty charm glinting at you from his navel, rising and falling with every shaky inhale as his tummy trembles underneath your touch. Placing your hand on his tiny waist, you marvel at how he is beneath you. You kiss him everywhere, down his neck, chest, tummy, marking him, sucking soft hickeys as he lets out soft little whines, tugging at the sheets.

You move further down, leaving him in his underwear, spreading his legs apart, kissing the soft unblemished skin of his pretty plush thighs, sucking his inner thighs as his breath hitches, so sensitive there, biting, licking, covering, littering and painting them in purpley and pink splotches. Beomgyu squirms and shivers, restless as your mouth gets so close, too close to his aching, hard cock but not enough. “Pleasee.” He’s breathless, legs spreading even wide for you, “just—touch me, already.” Beomgyu whines and pouts. “You’re teasing me. I’m dying over here.”

You roll your eyes but tug his underwear down and it’s like he suddenly remembers something, panicked, horrified. He shuts his legs, hands instantly flying to cover the area. Beomgyu is blushing furiously, face and ears flushed, his cheeks blooming a pretty shade of pink, pinker than the cherry blossoms you’d seen earlier today. He avoids your gaze, looking anywhere but you, so incredibly embarrassed, so shy.

That’s weird. Beomgyu was rarely ever this shy anymore. He hadn’t got this embarrassed since the first time he streamed in front of you.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously at him, opening his legs and pulling his hands away nonetheless.

That’s when you see it— a pretty little bedazzled heart shaped, pink gem, resting snugly in beomgyu’s hole, catching the light like treasure in a chest. What the hell.

You’d never seen it before and it was driving you crazy, in a good and bad way.

“Oh my god.” You gasp, dramatically, scandalised. “You whore! Have you been wearing this all day?”

“N-no! Just a few hours before you came!” Beomgyu squeaks and splutters, face buried in his hands, trying to explain himself as if he’d committed some atrocious, heinous crime. “Couldn’t help myself…and, and—I missed you.” Beomgyu mumbles, sulky, “You didn’t even come today! Too busy with that guy.” He suddenly furrows his brows at you, glaring, indignant, petulant, as if it was your fault.

You gape at him. “You couldn’t even wait? Didn’t ask me, didn’t even tell me, touching yourself without me there…you brat.” You spit out and tut, shaking your head at him. In hindsight, it wasn’t even that bad. You just wanted any kind of excuse to punish him now. In fact, you’re almost salivating at the sight of beomgyu wearing a pretty pink jewelled butt plug.

He lets out an offended noise, protesting. “I just warmed up a little. I was being…” He almost laughs, playing coy, then looks back up at you innocently, “…proactive.”

“You were being an impatient whore.”

Your eyes drag slowly over to the plug again, taking in how pink and sparkly it is, how snug it looks, how his cute tiny hole must’ve adjusted to it, gently stretched and waiting for you, squirming for hours. God. Beomgyu looked so good with it. It suited him so well.

Beomgyu studies your face, searching your eyes and his face slowly turns into a satisfied grin, regaining some of that usual bratty confidence. “You love it. I know you do.”

You ignore him, watching the screen on the phone, turning to the live chat, smiling cryptically. “What do guys think? Should we still fuck him? Or should we punish him?”

Beomgyu’s smug little smirk falters instantly replaced with a dreaded look. But the chat is already flooding in.

Punish him.

Spank him till he cries >_< 🌸

Slap him until he’s really sorry ! Make sure you don’t fuck him at all.

You grin. Almost everyone says to punish him, that he deserved a spanking instead.

Beomgyu’s eyes widen, shaking his head devastated, mortified. “No.” His voice breaks, “Don’t listen to them—please. Please fuck me.”

“They’re saying you should get spanked instead.” You shrug as if it’s all out of your control.

Beomgyu whines again, more pathetic this time, distressed, trying to bring your hand to his dick, grinding up against your hand. “Please—please, baby, I need it so bad, I-i’ve been good-”

You swat your hand away in disgust. Instead, You grip his face roughly, forcing him to look at you, “Do you want to get punished even more?”

Beomgyu recoils like a dejected helpless puppy, knowing he can’t do anything anymore. He slowly flips over onto his stomach and you bend him over your lap.

“You guys are evil.” Beomgyu comically mutters bitterly, casting a betrayed glare at the camera to the viewers before turning it on you. “And you—you’re so mean.” He pouts but accepts his fate.

SLAP !

Beomgyu opens his mouth to say more but his words dissolve into a loud, startled moan as your palm lands on the curve of his small ass with a sharp, echoing smack.

SLAP !

You strike again, spanking beomgyu continuously as he sucks in air loudly, biting his lip, gasping, back arching, trying to hold in the desperate pained whimpers, dick twitching uncontrollably with every smack, thighs quivering.

You spank him again, impossible harder this time, each hit ringing out obscenely, his cheeks painfully reddened and crimson and burning. Sight so pretty with his ass marked and red and the sparkly pink gem nuzzled in between. Your handprint is evident on his ass by now and beomgyu begins to let out muffled cries at your unrelenting slaps, his cock hurting so bad and leaking, rubbing against your thigh from your smacks, smearing his precum there.

“B-baby! Please! S-stop, please fuck me!” Beomgyu mewls and shudders as you still strike him violently, “I-it hurts!” You’re not sure whether he’s talking about his dick or his ass.

“You should’ve thought of that before you decided to be a needy little slut without permission.” You spank his angry scarlet skin again.

Slap !

Beomgyu full on sobs, tears spilling freely from his eyes, hiccuping, wailing loudly, legs thrashing and shaking his head, “S-sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m s-sorry!”

You gently knead the sore flesh of his ass, then let your fingers toy and play with the plug, slowly, teasingly, you ease it out until the widest part stretches him, then pushing it back in his pretty hole with a wet pop, taking it out and thrusting it fully back in his hole, doing that over and over again, fucking him with the little toy, moving it around in circles.

“Ah-ahh—fuck- baby—” Beomgyu gasps, and jolts at the little pleasure, desperate for anything. He lets out the loudest whorish, slutty moans, mewling high pitched, eyes half lidded. He’s such a terrible, weepy mess.

"Baby...you're so pretty like this,” you coo, sweetly, still continuing with your ministrations of moving the jewelled butt plug around in his ass, grinding it in circles and spanking him raw, “you’re such a slutty whore.”

“O-only for- ah! you.” Beomgyu weeps.

You giggle. “Not for your viewers? You’re so ungrateful, angel.”

“Can I cum? Please, please, please. I’ve been good. Pleaseplease” Beomgyu moans.

“Should we let the poor puppy cum?” You glance at the screen, checking what they’re saying, “…sorry baby, they’re saying no.” You tell beomgyu pitifully, feeling slightly sorry for him.

Beomgyu shakes his head wildly, whole body wracked with sobs, shedding so many tears, heart broken. “No! no no no ! I can’t-”

But he doesn’t even listen, it becomes too much and he can’t hold it in, doesn’t even care, in fact, he’s annoyed at you and viewers for being so cruel to him, defiant. The slapping and playing with his hole and the small rubs against his poor cock makes him lose it, spurting and splattering helpless thick hot creamy copious amount of cum all on your thighs as he shudders, whole body convulsing, still crying and sniffling, his pretty legs trembling delicately like a baby deer.

You blink at him. “Did you just cum anyway?You’re so disobedient!”

Beomgyu whimpers, nervous. And there goes the endless punishments beomgyu receives.

You give beomgyu the best aftercare you can after that, praising him and promising to actually peg him next time.

He doesn’t let go of you, insisting on you both showering together, holding onto each other as the warm water sprays on you both, steam rising around, beomgyu groans at the sensation, head looking dramatically on your shoulder, his hair all damp and the bangs attractively in his eyes as he clings to you even when you try to massage his scalp with shampoo, head hiding in your neck, kissing your shoulders and neck soft and tender, making your heart flutter.

Both of you now lay in his bed and you cuddle him, skin still warm and clean from the shower, wrapping your arm around him, bringing him close your side as you play with his damp hair, whispering sweet things in his hair as he sleepily hums, snuggling closer.

Then beomgyu speaks up suddenly, “Hey,” his voice low and soft.

You tilt your head to look at him. “Hmm?”

Beomgyu shifts to face you, head propped up on his elbow, brows slightly furrowed. “Who is he?”

You blink, confused. “What? Who?”

“Music practice room guy.”

You raise your brow, then answer casually. “Oh, his name is Haechan.”

Beomgyu’s eyes suddenly widen, entire body tensed, getting up instantly, “Haechan?! As in cello playing Haechan?”

You sit up too, utterly confused by now and nod then remembering, “Oh yeah, he actually said he knew you.”

“Y/n.” Beomgyu’s voice is sharp, incredulous. “Do you even know—”

But a loud buzz cuts through the room. His phone screen lights up on the nightstand. Beomgyu frowns and picks it up.

Haechan: I know you’re a camboy, beomgyu. I always knew you were a fucking whore. Just wait until I tell everyone 🤣🤣.

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys 😭 if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs ☹️ At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

A/n: yipppiiieee !! It’s finally 😭😭 sorry if the smut is just really badly written and messy I was lowkey not there when writing it. Also there’s probably only one chapter left ! So tell me if there’s certain scenes or stuff you wanted reader and beomgyu to do in terms of sex 🤔 Also you maybe confused about the plot twist but there was kinda a poorly excused hint in one of the earlier chapters on who haechan could be and why 🤔 also someone tell me if I need to add more warnings idk what I missed 😭😭

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[marzghost]

Ok so I know my two cents in the situation concerning skizz may not matter since I'm not trans but I still wanted to get this out there because if I'm being honest I hate how everything is going down right now. I am genderfluid so I can't say that him not saying trans rights didn't hurt a bit at the time but I got over it fairly quickly maybe because I feel like he's right in that he's shown that he supports the LGBTQ+ community time and time again by his actions or maybe because he'd worked so hard to create a place where people could be kind to each other and forget the harsh realities of our world and society. As much as we want our existence not to be "political" or "polarizing" the truth of the matter is that it is when it sure as fuck shouldn't be. I'm a hispanic afab genderfluid pansexual living in the USA south and the truth of the matter is that most 40+ year olds that support us don't even go as far to show their support like Skizz does. The fact that some of the fandom is calling to boycott him is just absolutely insane to me because why are you going to go out of your way to hurt someone who is a disabled ally, and yes he is disabled since he suffers from MS, and has expressed his fear over and over again about not making enough money for his family if he went full time content creator? He recently became a full-time content creator and just hit 200k subs on his main channel. You have a right to be mad, we all do, but to try and use tactics that are meant to be used on big time companies and such on someone like Skizzleman is absurd. By that logic Scar and other bigger more popular hermits should be boycotted because they love Disney and talk about Harry Potter. You can't pick and choose who you turn a blind eye too just because they're more popular or less known. If I'm not wrong Skizz lives in a red state so yeah he's a cis white male giving him more wiggle room than most but you guys have to realize he does have a family he has to protect and provide for. Skizz does not care what people think of him. He says this on multiple occasions but he sure as hell cares about his family and like it or not people have been killed for saying they support us.

As for the situation with his mods, we have to understand that those types of things take time. He's had those mods for a while with one being on his team for five years if I remember correctly, please correct me if I'm wrong, and can't be replaced overnight not to mention by now they're probably somewhat seen as friends. I don't think they've ever brought up their beliefs inside of streams or videos so maybe I'm crazy but I don't think that should be held against Skizz. He haired them to do a job and they did it pretty well despite their whack ass political beliefs. Yeah obviously he should fire them but damn give it a month or something don't go straight too killing the man before he can learn!

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 17. A deck of cards

PREV PART I've yet to completely decide on the route of the good ending so at the end there is a poll where you basically chose the plot, but I might make outtake chapters with the other routes in a condensed form trigger warnings: (past) violence, (past, kinda) medical + physical + emotional neglect, DRUGGING, delusional batfamily, anger, tell me if I missed any! main m.list    series m.list    bad ending m.list

Dick had never felt this anxiety, not when Jason was kidnapped by the Joker, not even on his various undercover missions. Jason and him smashed the head in of a civilian, one you care deeply about. Fuck, he never harmed a civilian to this extent and Jason didn’t even seem to care. He was just going through the day as if nothing happened.

When they told Bruce what he did, he seemed almost proud. Glad that his two eldest sons are finally taking matters in their own hands, especially since you aren’t coming around. Why can’t you just fall in line? If you had just fallen in line Dick wouldn’t have become all he fights against. Can’t you see?! This is all your fault!

But Duke’s reaction solidified that they fucked up.

“What the fuck have you done?!” He shouts at them, getting right up in their faces. Honestly, at this point this is the whole relationship they have with Duke. He barely tolerates them on the field and they might have even burned that bridge. “What did you think would happen if you went after (Name)’s friends?! That they wouldn’t realise it was you two?!”

Jason groans, he should have threatened them more. He should have made sure they couldn’t speak after that little confrontation. “What does it matter?!” Jason shouts throwing his hands up like he’s a toddler. “Those friends are a terrible influence on them!”

And Dick can’t help but agree, he truly wants to feel guilt for what he did but he just doesn’t. He doesn’t because all they have done is try and get the family back together. All they have done was to protect you and if you can’t see that that’s your fault. “Please,” Dick spat out as he takes in Duke’s expression. “I know you agree with us, you wince every time (Name) brings up your so called mutual friends. You grimace every time you need to see them when they aren’t looking!”

Duke laughs, he just can’t help it, Dick is trying to establish a connection to him. Sure, he doesn’t like your mutual friends as much as you do, but that’s because he has just joined the friend group. He just needs to warm up to them, right?

Still Duke doesn’t know what to say back, because Dick is right. He does grimace and winces every time you turn away after talking about your plans with them. So he turns to Bruce who looks obviously confused. “Good luck cleaning up your sons mess after you clean up your own,” he says in a mocking tone. “tampering with your own child’s medication, how low can you get?”

Bruce tampered with your medication. Your father tampered with your medication. You knew he was a piece of shit, you knew that he was starting to feel entitled to managing your health, but to do this? Is he a fool? He could have killed you had your doctor not been suspicious, you’re lucky he won’t report it to the police because if there is anything you don’t need it’s a police investigation. At least not for now.

You will need one eventually, but not until the court of public opinion is on your side. Bruce could easily pay of anyone he wants to, and everyone in Gotham seems obsessed with upholding the Wayne name (well almost everyone). If you do not have the public’s support nothing will happen even if you find some criminals that don’t care about the Wayne name.

You need to find someone to leak the files you have on your family without it being traced back to you or should Duke do it so that he stays out of the crossfire? No matter what you do your family will know, but the public shouldn’t. They need to feel as if you are the perfect victim even if there is no such thing, because otherwise they will put the blame onto you.

The only thing you wouldn’t destroy is the Bat-family’s reputation, not when Gotham still needs them. But that doesn’t mean you can’t make their life harder.

That’s the only mercy you’ll show them.

After you got permission to take photo’s of Willow’s and Warren’s injuries you started documenting everything, the test results that came back on your medication and the possible outcomes of Willow’s injuries. Your brothers are lucky she didn’t have a haemorrhage, because if Willow died you wouldn’t be this kind. You would have burned the manor down with all of them inside.

You would have askedthe Penguin to connect you to Slade, a terrible man who kills with no mercy, one of your favourite customers. Incredibly polite, just a tad bit too obsessed with Nightwing for your liking and most of importantly, he can be bought.

But you aren’t going down that route yet.

You just need to convince Penguin that it’s worth attacking your family with a social media bomb. That it’s worth to dismantle the Gotham Elite and to not ignore Bruce Wayne, even with all the ‘good’ he does as himself.

You don’t have a concrete plan yet, that much is obvious. You still need to figure out a way to get out of that house without Bruce being able to claim that you ran away or have been kidnapped….

Just look at the deck of cards in your hands, you might have to use them all or perhaps one bluff will be enough to burn that house of deceit down.

NEXT PART short for poll's sake

taglist (CLOSED): @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

[beanarie]

@bucktommywhumpweek day 5: numb, depression. this follows from previous parts. check on #my writing to catch up.

~

The surgeon looks closer to Buck's age than Tommy's. When he raises his hand, she steps right up to him and takes a seat so they're on the same level. Buck appreciates that. "Thomas was in the early stages of hypovolemic shock, but we found the bleed and repaired it in time to avoid a crisis. We'll be keeping a close eye. As of now, there's no sign of organ failure, and we don't expect this to change his prognosis."

"Which was?" Eddie asks, shattering the invisible barrier between them and her.

"Cautiously optimistic."

He asks another couple of questions that Buck does not absorb at all, but Eddie looks open and approving, indicating he likes what she said.

Buck swallows. "Can I see him?"

"It should be some time before he's out of recovery and settled back in ICU. I'll have one of the nurses find you here?"

Buck nods, not trusting his voice. His eyes follow her progress out of the room and he gets stuck on the display of pamphlets, his vision blurring, his ribs lined with thorns. He can't control his limbs. He's shaking all over.

"He's gonna be okay," Eddie says. He slides one arm across Buck's back and begins to pull him in.

Buck lifts his shoulders to his ears and pushes out with his elbows. "D-Don't touch me."

~

Eddie hasn't left. It doesn't make any sense, but Buck refuses to ask him again. Every once in a while, Eddie says something that hits his ear and dissipates like smoke, as though Buck's physiology has decided Eddie's got nothing to say worth listening to.

Buck's phone keeps ringing and ringing, at least every five minutes, until he finally thinks to power it down.

Shortly after Eddie's phone rings, he puts it in Buck's hand.

"Hi," Maddie says, with a relieved exhale. "I'm so sorry I can't be there, Bobby's still a little warm."

Buck chokes on a sob.

"Buck? Are you okay? Talk to me."

"Could you please call him something else? Anything else?"

"You know Athena started that. It helped her start to heal."

"Yeah," he says in a small voice.

"And now it's just his name. That's who he is to all of us."

"R-Right."

She hums thoughtfully. "You know, you can give him a nickname all your own. We're not Mom and Dad. He doesn't have to go by just one thing."

"Great idea. I'll use his middle name." Buck snaps his fingers. "Oh. Wait."

"Buck. You were there for the middle name wars. You saw how much trouble we had deciding. This was the best compromise."

"Five minutes after they put him in the ground, you r-replaced him c-completely."

"Please stop. Why are you being like this?"

"You weren't even close to Bobby. N-Not like I was. But I didn't get a say."

"We're talking about my son."

"Bobby was basically my dad!" Buck says, not realizing how loud he's being until the elderly couple nearby move to the other side of the room. "The one who actually wanted the job, who wanted me. I lost him and n-no one gives a shit."

Eddie is saying something again.

"Hey, Buck. I know you're having a rough time, but what the hell. Why is my wife crying? She's been fielding calls about you this whole time, making sure you're okay even though she can't be there, and this is how you thank her, by making her feel guilty about our baby's name? You're doing this now?"

Buck wrinkles his nose and gazes up at the buzzing lighting fixture. "You know what, Interim Captain Han. Don't talk to me for another... two- two months or so. It might m-mess up your promotion if you punch one of your firefighters while- while they're injured."

He ends the call and gives the phone back to Eddie. "Give that to me again a-and I'll smash it."

~

Hen stands before him with an old-fashioned thermos in red and black plaid. "It's not a cupcake. But yours are better than the bakery I usually get them from anyway."

"What is it," Buck asks, more because he feels like he should rather than out of curiosity.

"Cheddar-tomato soup. Karen perfected it during Covid. Little Miss Nia never gave us a hard time when this was on the menu. She used to try to steal Denny's bowl, actually."

"Okay." She holds it out, but he shakes his head. He had a granola bar today. Josh slipped it in his hand at some point. Maybe Eddie did, he can't remember.

She sits next to him. "Any news on Tommy?"

"W-What are you asking for," Buck says. "You don't like Tommy."

"Hey, Tommy and I were teammates for years and I only fantasized about shoving him into an open flame, like, twice. I like him fine." She crosses her legs at the knees, unbothered. "I simply got to see him at his worst and I wasn't sure he'd be good for you."

"Bobby said he was. In e-exactly those words."

"Hm," she says. "You've been thinking about Bobby a lot."

"I can't stop, and- and no one cares," he says, feeling stupid and tiny and young, but also weirdly okay about that. There's something cleansing about giving up the filter.

"Of course we care, Buck. You just can't expect us to care more than we do about our own shit. It's not realistic. People don't work like that."

"Sure," Buck says, nodding. "Here I go again, making it all about me."

"It's okay for things to be about you sometimes. Necessary, even." She bumps her shoulder against his. "I'm sorry we let you fall through the cracks. Honestly. It was not out of malice or lack of care. Just-"

"Me not being a priority."

"And bad luck slash bad timing. Maddie's baby, Chim surviving in Bobby's 'place', Eddie's... Eddie-ness. Who ever knows what that dickhead's problem is."

"Hey," Eddie says, half-heartedly.

Buck lays his head back and throws an arm across his eyes.

Hen squeezes his wrist. "We love you. Stop hurting yourself and let us help, okay? I'm genuinely worried. You don't look good."

The thorns along his ribs twist, bringing tears to his eyes. "I don't wanna stay on Eddie's couch."

"No one will make you sleep on a couch. You can take Denny's room if you want. He spends half his nights on Mara's floor anyway."

Buck meets her gaze. "R-Really?"

"You'd do it for me, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, but- but you wouldn't need me to. You've got-"

She shrugs. "Why does that matter? You would. You did, in the beginning of lockdown."

~

"Oh, God," Maddie says, her face dipping into a sad, sympathetic frown as she rushes towards him.

Buck gives a start and hands the mostly empty cup of soup back to Hen. "Oh, I..."

"Shh." She occupies the seat Hen just vacated and takes his hands in her own. "Get over here." She pulls him in and he lets her, confused and ashamed under a thin layer of shock. "Has it really been hurting you all this time, every time we say his name?"

"No," he mumbles, letting his too long arms settle around her. "Not- Not every t-time."

"We didn't do it to replace Bobby," she says, low and urgent. "He died to keep our family going. He would've done that for any of you, but he did that for us. We honor him so we'll always remember and be grateful."

"I know. I- I know, Maddie."

She pulls away and kisses his forehead. "You feel warm, too," she says, with a watery sound of distress.

"Sleep deprivation sometimes does that," Hen says, motioning behind Buck. "Gimme your keys. We're gonna go pack you a bag. Then Eddie will bring you over mine after you see Tommy, okay? Eat some more soup or I'll get you."

Buck hands over his keys and waves them off.

Maddie turns his face to look at her. "Listen. If you're up at three am with bad dreams multiple nights in a row, you call me."

"I- I won't do that," he admits, resting his head on her shoulder. "I won't wake you up on purpose."

"Okay, we'll figure something else out, then." She curls her arm so she can stroke his hair. "Building your giant muscles until you sometimes, maybe pass out for a couple hours isn't cutting it."

Buck doesn't say anything. His eyes are stinging once more. He's missed her so much.

"You remember my glow worm doll?" she says and he makes a surprised noise.

"It lit up when you hugged it," Buck says softly. "You never let me hold it for more than f-five minutes."

"Because it was mine," she says, for the thousandth time. "He looked like that, a little bit, don't you think? When he was born?"

"Yeah, when he was swaddled up tight so it looked like he didn't have legs? He really did."

"We could call him Bug, you and me."

"Jee would want in on that action," Chim says.

[criminalyapping]

due for trouble | you're mine

the pitt masterlist main masterlist

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader

a/n: i'm actually going to murder my keyboard i am so done with the extra letters and spaces you're gonna yell at me about the end but i'll pick up straight where this leaves off tomorrow :)

warnings: unplanned pregnancy, language, the girls are fighting!! he's big mad, they yell, etc. gets saucy near the end but no smut

< part 5 | part 7 >

Jack loves working on the night shift. He loves his coworkers, being able to watch the sun rise, and he loves the relative peace in his shift when compared to what he knows the day shift is like.

Lately, he's been thinking about the downsides, though.

When the baby is here, god, he's having a baby, but when it's here does that just mean that its your job to take care of it all night and then go to work all day? He can afford daycare no problem, but maybe he should look into nighttime nurse for you. He adds it to the mental list of things he needs to figure out.

There's approximately 4 million other things on his list as well.

It's another of his string og three days off, and he's seated on his couch trying to enjoy a movie that he put on. He'd much rather be with you, but you're out with your friends at some new country bar that popped up.

When you had first told him your plans for the night, he cringed. Thinking about the hot, sweaty environment you must be in, the opportunities for slips and falls on the sticky dance floor, and in his darkest thoughts, the possibility of you getting something put in your drink, regardless of if it was just water or a soda.

But be a controlling ass he will not, so he wished you and your friends a fun night and left it at that.

He's regretting that now as he looks at his phone and the message he got from your friend Emily. He scrambles for his reading glasses, slips them on, and inspects the text message thouroughly, trying to decipher it.

'miss girl fully eating with her fit'

She had sent along a photo as well, highlighting your cowgirl boots, your cute little sundress, and the intricate way that you had styled your hair for the evening. Jack, however, is focused on the tall cowboy character that you're talking to in the picture, smiling up at him as he looks down at you.

He puts his phone down, biting his lip and thinking about how hard he wants to take this. He's not taking it well overall.

'Do you guys need a ride home?'

He asks. It's about 11:30 now, so he would be able to get there at midnight, which he thinks is a perfect time to leave a country bar.

He's already up and changing out of his sweatpants before he gets a text back.

'uhhhh we were all going to get an uber home'

Emily had texted back.

Jack rolls his eyes.

'I'm on my way, be there in 30'

Jack has a white-knuckled grip on his steering wheel as he gets closer to the bar and finds a parking space.

He has to wait in line to get in and pay a $15 cover, which only sours his mood more. He's borderline seething as he enters, his eyes quickly scanning the open space.

He finally spies you, standing at the bar talking to someone.

Instead of being your friends, it's a tall, cowboy-hat wearing tool with a few too many buttons undone on his shirt.

He makes his way through the bar to you, and you don't even notice his presence until he has wormed his way into your conversation, standing directly in front of you.

Your eyes flick over, at first just preturbed about the man in your space, then your expression shifts to shock and a little bit of fear. The look on his face must be severe.

"Jack..." you trail off, "what are you doing here?" you ask.

"Emily texted me." he says, "I'm here to give you all a ride home." he says.

The man you've been talking to seems to think now is a good time to speak up.

"Hey, man, we're in the middle of talking," he argues.

"Not anymore," Jack says, grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him as he turns to go.

"Jack," you start to argue as he sucessfully pulls you away from the man, deeper into the bar and looking for the other three.

"Not right now." he cuts you off harshly, not letting go of your wrist.

You trail behind him as he finds the other three, and goes to leave with the four of you trailing behind him like ducklings. You give Emily a severe look, pointedly looking down at your wrist caught in his grasp and back to her.

She looks a little guilty, but the look she shares with Jada afterwards tells you that they're enjoying this.

Jack unlocks hiis truck, opening the passenger door for you and then shutting it hard after you're seated.

As he climbs in the drivers side, he opens his phone and gives it to the backseat.

"Where am I going first?' he asks. Jada lives closest, so she types in her address and Jack pulls out of his parking space.

The car is silent, an unseen tension filling the air as he makes his way around the city dropping off your friends.

As Jack pulls up to his home, you scoff.

"What?" he asks in a monotone voice.

"Can you take me home, too? I thought that was where we were going." you ask snidely.

"No," he disagrees, "we're going to go in and we're going to talk." he tells you.

"Oh, are we?" you argue.

"Yeah," he says, getting out of the car and rounding to the other side, opening your door. "Come on," he urges.

You roll your eyes and clilmb out of the truck gingerly. Jack keeps a hand on yoour shouder like you're about to run away as you walk to his door.

As soon as his door is shut behind him, you lay into him.

"What the fuck was that?" you ask, not quite yelling but definitely close.

"I was trying to have a good time with my friends," you complain.

"Your friends? Your friends who were halfway across the bar while you flirted with some guy?" he spits.

"Oh, fuck off," you scoff.

"No, no tell me." he insists, "Tell me about how much fun you were having."

You roll your eyes again and turn away from him. He grabs your shoulders and angles you towards him. He's standing close enough that your head has to be tilted back to look at him.

He looks pissed. His eyes are wide, a red tinge covering his whole face and neck, and his intense look is focused soley on you.

"I told you," you start, measured, "that I was going out out of courtesy," you spit, "I can do what I want, and it was not okay for you to show up and ruin our night-" you're interrputed when Jack cuts you off.

"Ruin your night?" he repeats.

"Yeah, ruin our night!" now you really are yelling. "You show up, make us all go home, and for what? For what, Jack, so stake some kind of claim?" you yell. "You're not my boyfriend, Jack!" you yell.

Jack chuckles wryly, looking up at the ceiling for a moment.

"You know," he starts, crowding into your space again, grasping the tops of your arms. "I don't have to stake any claim," he tells you lowly. "I don't have to, because I already fucking did," he says, pressing you against the length of his body. "I didn't think I had to spell it out for you, but I will." he continues.

"You're mine," he says, and you open your mouth to argue, but he stops you before you can.

"And don't argue, okay? I'm telling you." he's all but whispering now, his face a few milimeters from yours as he speaks with an intensity that has your toes curling in your boots.

"You're mine," he repeats. "I'm not just around because of the baby, but it gives me a damn good excuse." he tells you. "Call me your boyfriend, or your baby daddy, I don't give a shit. You want to call me your fiance and I'll go get a ring right now," he growls. "But whatever you want to call it, you're all mine, and you need to get that through your head."

Despite being 100% sober, his words give you a floaty feeling in your heads as you struggle to put together a string of words, intoxicated by his presence.

"And I get no say in this?" you finally ask.

"I think," he starts, "that if you really wanted to put up a fight, that I wouldn't have even gotten you out of that bar, let alone into my house." he argues. "I think you just wanted to put up a fight and be a little brat."

You don't say anything, but look up into his eyes and keep your gaze locked there.

"Am I right?" he asks.

You roll your eyes and try to move away, only to be stopped by his renewed grasp on you, pulling you into him as he presses a kiss to your cheek.

"You wanna be mine, baby," he says into your cheek, "that's okay," he assures. He drags his lips down the side of your face and presses his lips to yours in a messy kiss.

His tongue plunges into your mouth annd tangles with yours, overpowering any attempt you make at turning the tides of the kiss. He wrenches his lips from yours and skims them down your neck, leaving licks and kisses and at least one bite, for good measure.

"Yeah, I do," you agree breathily as his mouth works on your collarbone.

"Yeah, you do," he parrots around your skin, "good girl," he sighs.

tagging: @michasia24 @veggieburgerwrites @bruher @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @catmomstyles3 @qardasngan @fuckalrighty @rae4725 @beebeechaos @thatssomebadhat89 @cari87 @livingdeadblondequeen @wowitsafemale @neonpurplestars89-blog

let me know if you want a tag!

[bililyy]

Best friend!Billie - Pt2

This has a Drabble at the end that you guys will like lol

Warnings! Cheating, probably homophobic parents, Reader is a bit confused, Billie desperate for Reader's love, no use of Y/n

read the first part, so this one makes more sense.

Masterlist

"He's no good for you."

"You don't even know him!"

"No one is good enough for you."

Bestf!Billie who reluctantly agrees to meet you, but only because she needs to find flaws to show you.

"Billie, please smile."

"What? I don't want to smile at him, I want to smile at you."

Bestf!Billie ho almost rolls her eyes forever as soon as she sees him walk into the restaurant with a stupid smile.

She hates the fact that he just kissed the lips that should have been hers.

"I've heard so much about you."

"I wish I could say the same." She smiles innocently.

Yes, she thinks she's being tortured by being in this situation.

"Don't interrupt her!" She says as soon as your boyfriend interrupts you as you excitedly tell about your day.

"She talks too much."

"You talk too much!" She says pointing her finger in his face

Well, that left an awkward atmosphere for the rest of their night together.

"Can we kill him?" She says watching his back walk away.

"Billie!"

You already know that she showed you all of his possible "flaws", right?

"He has ugly hands."

"He interrupted you twice, damn it!"

"He didn't even bring you flowers."

"He didn't even offer to take you home."

"You didn't leave Billie."

"It doesn't matter, he should have tried harder."

But hey, a man wasn't going to stop her from being close to the love of her life, so it was okay.

Best friend Billie! who always puts on a lot of perfume when she comes to see you, so when your boyfriend asks:

"Is that perfume new?"

You'll always answer:

"No, I was with Billie before I came here."

He doesn't suspect you, but he finds it strange how attached to you she is.

"Does she... sleep in bed with you?"

"Yes, we're best friends!"

Best friend Billie! Who starts doing... not so friendly things to you.

She pulls you into her lap when you walk by and sits hugging your waist with her nose in your neck.

She keeps on like that.

Giving you little kisses on the mouth sometimes

Pulling you into her lap.

Sometimes even kissing your neck and leaving a soft mark.

You had to say something, you know you should but... it's such a good feeling.

Until one day...

Best friend Billie is lying on top of you (as always) and starts to caress your belly under your shirt.

"Billie, what are you doing?" You answer with your eyes closed.

She gets up a little and is inches from your face.

"I love you." She says seriously, those blue eyes staring at you as if you were her whole world.

"I love you too." She closes her eyes at that.

That's not what she meant.

"No... I love you much more than that, please break up with him."

"What? Billie that's-"

"I promise to treat you much better, I promise I'll take care of you." She says kissing your cheeks.

"Where does this come from?" You ask a little incredulously.

"My love for you? It's always been there." She smiles a little and gives a wet kiss on the corner of your mouth.

"Billie I can't... fuck, I can't break up with him like this now." She looks at you sadly.

"Why not?"

"Billie I don't know how I feel about liking a girl and... my parents like him." You say the last part quietly and Billie feels her head spin.

"It's okay you... you don't have to figure all this out right now just... let me have you."

"What?"

"I don't care that you're with him I just... yes, I really want to hold your hand and kiss you in front of everyone but... if you're not ready for that yet, I'll wait for you, but don't push me away."

"Billie, this is wrong."

"Let's solve this together, please give me a chance." She begs with her eyes, and damn you are so in love with those eyes.

"I don't know what to do."

"Let me love you, my love." She says, leaning down and kissing your neck, and you sigh, smelling her hair.

And wow, you've never felt so good having someone's hands on you like this.

She gets up from your neck, and speaks against your cheek.

"Please? I promise he won't find out." She approaches your mouth, and waits a while, giving you the chance to move away from her, but is surprised to feel you pressing your lips to hers in a kiss (which she returns immediately) full of sighs and longing.

Damn, where have you gotten yourself into, huh?

Maybe I'll do a part 3 with a one short lol

Thank you for your support and affection, please comment what you think 💕

[that-smallinjured-bowylamb]

Creepy!yuu and Victim!reader in TWST.

Summary: Okay, from where I left off, the reader had tried unaliving themselves (but guess who got transported the last second they were about to taste freedom?) In short, you and Yuu had gone to TWST not only that but Yuu still played as 'you' and ended up charming them to turn on you, spreading rumors, and making believable stories, horrifyingly enough, they knew how to act and turn the tables on to you. But, since this is non-yandere, they aren't THAT stupid.

...Unless your talking about their affection for Yuu after their overblot (depends)....

A/n: my motivation is so sloppy what the heck, I am going to church tmrw (Sunday) so the asks in my drafts will be postponed a little more (oh god, another preaching thing again....), oh and one more thinggg, I'm ending this part to Pomefiore, my lazy ass can't keep writing anymore my mind is so empty😔😔💔

Tags: @fancyhawk45

Idk, they requested it ig??? I mean like, fics are making me tired so I wanna try imagining with my anons.

How TWST Cast treats you.

Riddle:

Okay, maybe he wouldn't like, turn his whole dorm against you? Listen, he's not sure whether Yuu is telling the truth or not, but he'll make sure to keep an eye on you. A part of him thinks Yuu is strange, with the way they've constantly spoke about you. Don't they dislike you? Why do they keep talking about you so much? Then Yuu says, "They've been following me, forcing me to be with them, so all my entire life I had been constantly surrounded by them. It was an every day routine of mine to talk about them, since they liked that and pestered me into talking about them, and them only. Even going so far as to erase my 'self' so I could act like them a little more..." yeah, some stupid excuse Yuu came up with.

Did he believe it? Quite a bit. Don't get him wrong! He just doesn't know if this is some morbid excuse, until he saw Yuu flinching whenever your around.

He disliked you, but not so much. He has suspicions, but doesn't want to assume. So all he does is sternly scold you, but sometimes his words are so harsh you had assumed he was out to bully you like the rest. If he knew about your situation, he'd be sorry. But for now?

"[Name], Yuu isn't stalking you. You are just paranoid, they are not that kind of person at all. Yuu is a good person with morals, you shouldn't blame Yuu just because you are jealous of their popularity." But you never wanted popularity, you wanted someone to understand the situation you were in.

And most of them wouldn't help. Yuu saw you talking to Riddle... Come, let's talk privately after this, yes?

Trey:

He wouldn't get what was going on at first. When he met Yuu and you for the first time, something in his gut told him something was wrong. He didn't know what exactly. Maybe it was the way you glanced Yuu blankly or the way you looked like you were pleading for something to happen or, pleading for someone?

Either way, he was perceptive. He can say that there is something between the relationship with you and Yuu. It was creepy on how Yuu often looks at you whenever your around. This guy notices that you often avoid others whenever Yuu is around, so maybe he tries to talk to you through private means, and that'll also mean he'll avoid talking about this to Yuu, just in case. He suspects there's more to Yuu's character but from now on, he should be careful with who he speaks with. Yuu seems empty, their eyes, he meant.

But that doesn't mean he wouldn't talk to Yuu anymore. That'd make him suspicious to Yuu, so he'll sneak in a few treats for you every time there's an unbirthday party going on. He would seem like he wouldn't believe you, but trust me, he needs the evidence first before assumptions, and he can't talk to you since you seem afraid of him, and Yuu keeps blocking the way every time he tries.

"What do you mean 'Yuu is stalking you'? I'm sorry, I don't know whether your lying or not, but I'll find a way soon. For now, keep a low profile in front of Yuu, yeah?" Oops, Yuu caught 'you'.

What did they say last time? Guess they'll need to drill it in your head.

Cater:

Listen, as far as I know, especially when it had been shown and stated many times, Cater is perceptive. He hides his emotions well and often covers it with humor. Maybe emotionally depending on the internet as well? (I'm projecting on this part, ignore this) Either way, he's self-aware and he knows creepy vibes when he sees one.

When he first met Yuu, it was subtly obvious to him that something IS wrong with Yuu. The way they talk sounds rehearsed or copied in a way. Mimicry? But he sees the way Yuu acts. It never sits right with him. What for? He doesn't know, but he knows this is a lie. He won't fall for the act and would rather be a bit distant with Yuu, he'd even try to find reader, who is basically now scared shitless of what will happen if they talk to another person again, Yuu tries to convince him to leave Yuu alone, and when he does, Yuu even feeds him lies that he can clearly see through. He doesn't know the relationship you two have but whatever it is, it concerns him. Not much, but enough to feel quite bad for not helping. Sorry, he just doesn't know what to do.

Worse part is, he can't even talk to you without you scurrying off like he's some serial killer! How is he supposed to have any evidence on Yuu if the proof keeps running away??? Sigh, guess he'll come back for you later.

For now, he'll have his eyes and ears on the look out without telling anyone.

Ace:

Okay, for him... Ace isn't the smartest, but not the dumbest either. Humor is coping, and lying effortlessly is one of his many talents, I'm not saying he's lying to Yuu, but more like what he feels. So, at first he never felt suspicious about Yuu, it just felt off when Yuu looks so distant, yet acts so close.

So it was like Ace was talking to a stranger than a friend. Well, not really? Just Yuu feeling distant, to him, at least.

But he can't help but look at you, the person who's constantly behind Yuu's back. What good can you do? You've always ran away, even at the slightest interaction. Why? And you keep glancing at Yuu everytime they talk about your bad deeds while your in the distance. Yes, he noticed you were hiding behind the tree or right around the corners in the hallways whenever Yuu spoke about you. And it's annoying, really. Yuu only ever talks about you, and barely talks about themselves. What is the matter with Yuu and you? Both of you are so weird, to be honest, he wouldn't really be surprised if one of you was a serial killer. Haha! He's joking, but seriously, it is mad concerning that you run away from him whenever he tries to approach you,-

Why was Yuu looking at you like that?

Deuce:

Okay, Deuce isn't really the smartest in the shed, but he's got the spirit? I have not much to say about Deuce except for his confusion. The terror in your eyes reminds him of the times where he was still a delinquent and terrorizing others. Did he do something wrong? Yet, that didn't seem like the case, you've always done that when Yuu is near, and when Yuu isn't around, you'd look around twice to check if Yuu is no where to be seen before talking to him. Hey, why did you bully Yuu before? Did something happen between you two? Yet, when those questions came out of his mouth, you seemed scared in a way, not in a "I've been caught" way, but something more? It was then you quickly left as if sensing someone, not before warning him, "Yuu isn't the person that you see..." before running off, Yuu appears just in time to find Deuce standing akwardly,

What do you mean by that?

Leona:

Do you think he'll give two shits to you??? Nah, at least, not at first. He'd think your some paranoid freak that looks over their shoulders constantly. Yet, he can't help but feel unsettled as well. Whenever he looks or interacts with you, even just a little bit or unintentionally, either you avoid him and run off like a scared prey, or Yuu comes in to interrupt or block him. Seriously, what the fuck is going on with you two? Yuu explains that although you were their bully, you tend to run away from guilt. Leona sets it off and decides to leave you alone, not becaue what Yuu had said, but because it's disturbing. And he wants sleep, so there's that.

It wouldn't make sense in his head, why is Yuu protecting you if you were their bully? He knows there's something off-putting in Yuu's words, something reversed but he doesn't have any proof to say anything about it, nor will he care to lift a finger for it. But one day, he was walking past Ramshackle for whatever reason, and saw both of you talking, not in a pleasant way, though. Your eyes looked petrified and your body was shaking, like some weak prey in the jaws of a predator. Yuu was talking about something, but clearly, it wasn't a good one,

That is, until Yuu's eyes flicker at Leona's.

They close the curtains, Leona is surprised they even saw him.

Will he help? Depends.

Ruggie:

No doubt he couldn't help but feel like he shouldn't trust Yuu, at all. Despite being indebted to them, he felt off when Yuu was around him, it never felt right. It never felt 'them'. But after the overblot? He must say, he is quite impressed with their thinking, it's sharp, too sharp.

So this is where he is now, hanging with Yuu, and keeping a close eye on them. It would've felt right, until he saw you. At first glance he never said anything to you, not ever. But when the octavinelle deal struck in? You look visibly shaken. You didn't want to sleep with Yuu or anybody else. You wanted your own privacy, and the way you've emphasized on wanting privacy, he couldn't help but think that has something to do with Yuu. So he keeps a close eye on them too, because he's not sure what Yuu is capable of. And not like he needs to know about that.

He's concerned, rightfully so. But he doesn't know you and you keep running away. So, how will he help if he isn't a friend or an acquiantence of yours? Not like he'll think like this too much, after all, it's your business, not his.

Did he just fucking saw Yuu smelling your hair while you were asleep in broad daylight? What the fuck...

Jack:

Dilemma going hard fr.

He doesn't know why, but he feels as though, Yuu is lying. But, he won't give in, he thinks of Yuu as a good friend, but whenever Yuu brings up you as the topic to 'vent'. Jack can't help but feel a tinge of jealousy, and also a weird sense that tells him Yuu is wrong.

It's like your best friend tells you that your other best friend is bad and talking shit about you, but the thing is, is that its a close friend so you dont know whether to drop them or just bawl your eyes out and keep them at arms length. Yeah, Jack's dilemma about this btw.

So, whenever he tries to approach you? You just run, for the fear of losing someone again, or... those photos. But, Jack kept on persisting, thing is, Yuu caught on and blocks him, or distracts him whenever he thinks about talking to you.

Was that a knife behind them? He sure hopes not, else he'll apprehend them.

Azul:

He kinda relates to the bullying thing, but he doesn't know that you were the victim and assumes it was Yuu who went through it since they understood him so well. If anything, Yuu was the victim, but he can't help but suspect it as a lie. But since Yuu has so much influence on these people, it is best to stick around until the truth spills over.

He can't get proof without it being shown somewhere in here. So, he'll get Jade and Floyd to be his eyes and ears. He's still a shady business man, after all. But he feels like Yuu has something up their sleeves, like they have something he doesn't know or want to know about.

Whatever Yuu hides, he needs to find out, it's a fair trade, you see? He gets to know you and Yuu, while you and Yuu gets to know him, and sign a contract if things get serious.

Something bothers him, is the fact Yuu had once said something about your... body? Ah, Jade, he wishes that Jade would've said it in a lighter tone, instead of saying it in excruciating detail.

Wait... what the fuck do you mean by the prefect doing that?-

Jade:

I'd say... he knows something about Yuu stalking you. But it is just a gut feeling. He doesn't know the exact things Yuu does, but he does know that Yuu's fascinating behavior is driven with a more obsessive motive.

And all that motive leads to the elusive you. You, who barely been seen talking to anyone but Yuu, despite their claims of a toxic relationship, you seemed more meek than Yuu, is he really sure what Yuu had said was true? Hm. Then again, he never believed it, so it wasn't really a surprise.

He thinks this is amusing, with the fact Yuu uses a facade like any other students would. But that identity alone, something bothers him, is it really a personality Yuu created? Or did it belong to somebody else? What does Yuu gain out of this? What do they want, in order to do this? His bothersome doesn't mean he's off-put, more like a nagging questions are being thrown at him. When he had became Azul's ears and eyes, he had to take every mental note that there was something going on between the two of you.

And to be honest to himself, you do seem cute. A frightened little shrimp. Just as Floyd had said, you do curl up like one! He just thinks your fascinating.

A bit too fascinating than he anticipated, he doesn't know this feeling whenever Yuu blocks him from speaking to you, but even if he did evade Yuu, you would just run away.

Well, this will be an interesting chase.

Floyd:

You can't tell me he isn't smart, well not academically sure, but he can at least read the room (I hope so, my memory is just complete ass atp, helppp), he thinks Yuu is interesting, (hey, so what type of fish is cunning and sly?? I can't make a nickname for Yuu) as well as the scurrying shrimp! You both are so adorable, but obviously, Yuu is faking it while you, are genuine about it. Neh, neh~ is that all your traits? Are you just a scared shrimpy all the time?~ He's not stupid, he knows you wouldn't be scared for no reason.

Which is why, he wants to know more about you. He wants to chase you, and squeeze you. Your interesting, if only you'd stop running. Don't do that! He'll get bored!

Till' he sees Yuu getting reallll close to your space, and you look uncomfortable too.~

He holds his breath until the day the truths spills out.

Kalim:

Okay, he might catch on if the signs were obvious (which, it kinda is) so Kalim will catch up later. And maybe, he'll approach and want to help you, but Yuu, again. Keeps blocking, and honestly? He can't help but feel something that he had never felt before, it wasn't fear. It wasn't anything like that. But, imagine someone pestering you to do something else you clearly don't want to and they still insist.

Yes, that feeling. Annoyance? Maybe. But still, Kalim IS human so he can feel annoyed /gen. And he is most likely trying to evade Yuu so he could talk to you, but you've managed to slip away in the crowds a bit too easily. The people under Yuu's influence are a hassle as well, especially when they block his path to speak with you, akways huddled up or cornering you. He really is worried on what could happen to you.

He really wants to talk to you, but you kept avoiding him, and even begged him not to speak with you.

The threats about your life is getting worse.

What? Hey!- wait, what do you mean by that!?- wait! Come back, please! He really wants to help!

What is Yuu telling you!?

The fact that, he suspects that you're a hostage to Yuu, he doesn't want that to happen.

Trust him, he'll save you with anything he can. Just wait for him, okay? He's not scared of Yuu, he had seen worse.

Jamil:

It is getting disturbing by the day, the fact that Yuu always tends to somehow drag him away from you, it bothers him. Is something the matter with you? No, it couldn't be. He has other things to do, and he shouldn't care about this. But, why does it feel wrong? He knows nothing about you, and he won't do anything about it until he has permission to.

Kalim had taken notice as well, so now he knows how serious it might be in the future.

Clearly, something is going on in Yuu's head, but he surely doesn't want to know, whatever is happening at Ramshackle's.

One night, he decided to drop off some leftovers because he thought you two woukd starve without dinner.

Imagine to his surprise when he saw something he shouldn't. Does he back away? Of course. But he doesn't have his phone. Nor can he tell to anyone since he knows Yuu has more influence on others more than him. Where is this coming from? He hasn't seen this side of Yuu. Or, has Yuu even shown their true colors, yet? Or if they even had any.

He'll help, especially if Kalim is worried about you, he is sure Kalim's request would be about helping you. So he has no say in it.

Did he just see Yuu picturing you from behind? Huh...

Vil:

Okay, so as I've mentioned before, I had hc Vil having stalkers in the past, because you know??? Celebrities' life ain't all that without consequences of being famously known to the world. So, I would say, Vil knows Yuu's strange behavior??? But, let's say, it wasn't clear enough since yk it could be another Rook. But, this one is different, with the way you flinch at loud sounds, especially with the banging noises or fireworks, similar to guns, you'd jump at the sound of it. Why would you, though? Vil doesn't have enough evidence to file a report about Yuu, but especially if Yuu is his 'friend'. Remember, Yuu will always find a way to manipulate things for their own benefit. But Yuu is more cautious around Vil. Yuu isn't completely dumb running around with their mouth filled with bad rumors, since Vil is a well known acter and star, Yuu needs to be careful with how they word things, it needed to be reasonable.

It wouldn't take long before Vil caught on later in their friendship. The reader had been kept hidden for long, long enough to bump into Vil one day, with a menacing stare a celeb could have.

He didn't mean to, of course. He is just curious about you. Not really.

Rook:

Okay, so as you'd expect, he knows something, not all, but something. The thing is, maybe Rook would surpass Yuu's presence detection. So, depending on the scenario you choose, Rook will try to befriend you because your like some hidden star to him.

And actually, I'm not good with hc him but... I feel like he would want to help you without Yuu's knowledge? Like, he hangs around Yuu, sure, but in the background, he's like, giving you company, you know? [It feels like Neige and Vil all over again but in a different scenario...]

It wouldn't be surprising if he knew both Yuu and you were... swapped. Like, you used to be like Yuu and Yuu used to be like you, in a way. Maybe, if he helped you get back to 'yourself' again, you wouldn't feel that empty need to be something once more.

He wants to help, me thinks...

But the thing is, idk how though, so I want you guys to imagine with me 😔🪽.

Epel:

Okay, so his character... uhm, Epel would fall for Yuu, since Yuu is using an identity that doesn't belong to them. More like, they try to fit in as the peoples desired person (which is why I used 'you' for the plot to continue-). To be honest, probably Epel genuinely thinks your the bad person here, since I don't know??? Please for the love of plot my brain is so mushed every time I look at the drafts- anyway, Epel would be like those typical bullies (maybe with Ace if he fell for the tricks as well?)

Sooner or later if he finds the signs, he'll maybe start doubting himself, on who he should trust. If others are doing the same, surely Epel will be in a conflict, not because he doesn't know whether he bullied someone innocent unintentionally, but also was siding with someone much sinister than they appear to be.

And hey, so uhm, is it normal when Yuu sneaks into your room unknowingly?

He thinks he's hallucinating that night, maybe not...

The End.

A/n: hoiii I'm so tired naman... but if any of you have any ideas on how to add more to their emotions and conflicts with their relationship between Yuu and Reader please do so!! I am running out of creative fuel🥹

[strnilolover]

⌗ . . . I COULD NEVER HATE YOU

WARNINGS : ANGST. MANIPULATION. HURT NO COMFORT. and more?

you always come back when something’s wrong—after you upped and left right when you were better, not answering anyone.

it was like you only came back for the thrill of it—knowing you could get anything out of him if you gave him those big sad doe eyes. or if you stuck around long enough to whisper sweet words into his ears, knowing he couldn’t resist.

it doesn’t matter how long it’s been—three weeks, three months—your name always shows up on matt’s phone, like you never left. his heart always jumps before his brain can tell him to stop caring about you. before he can remind himself what happened the last time.

and the time before that.

and the time before that.

it was always “can i come over?”, “can you send me something for gas?”, “i just need a place to think, i promise i won’t stay long.”

it was never to text asking how he was or how he was doing. it was never to ask if he’d finally found himself someone or if he was sleeping okay at night. you never called.

it was never things he hoped you’d say.

and even though he knows he should say no to you every time—he can’t bring himself to. that’s not who he is. so instead he’ll give chance after chance, telling himself that one day you’ll change and maybe he’ll finally hear the words he wants to hear from you.

but you never change—it’s always the same—no matter how many times it’s happened.

and he always lets you.

matt doesn’t ever ask you questions about things. he doesn’t say, “why didn’t you text me?” or “how many times are you going to keep doing this?” he can’t ever bring himself to. maybe it’s because he cares for you—he does—or maybe it’s because he loves you.

so when you show up—he just hands you a hoodie and asks if you’ve eaten anything that day—every time.

he’ll let you crawl into his bed while he takes the floor.

he’ll give you money and never ask you when you’ll pay him back.

he’ll listen to you cry about other people who never showed up for you, like he isn’t sitting right there.

you never stopped for a moment to notice how tired he looked when you talk about people who aren’t him. never stopped to consider how draining it was for him to keep doing all of this—you never notice how much of him you take.

or maybe you do and it’s just easier to pretend you don’t.

the thing is—you’re not a bad person. you never did bad things—you were always so kind to everyone else around you. everyone portrayed you as an angel who just had a fun side.

you’re not a bad person—you’re just hurting.

and surely matt knew that with how opening and welcoming his arms always are for you, right?

you don’t mean to use him…you just—know that he’s safe. you know that he’ll answer. and you know that he’s not going anywhere, even if you do.

a lot of the time you seem to love him in the way people love blankets when they’re cold oddly enough—only when they’re cold and need something warm.

and then when you’re doing better, you vanish completely. no texting, calling, letters—nada.

you’d start going out again. posting again. and laughing at the things he doesn’t get to see. like you were mocking him—telling him he has to sit there and suffer while you go out and give all of your—his—happiness away to other people who aren’t him.

you don’t ever tell him when you’re leaving—you just up and leave and stop answering all together.

and matt? he never texts twice. he never wants to be the one who’s too much for you—because maybe too much of his love might just push you away for good. so he just watches your stories and double taps your selfies—because he’s still allowed to be proud of you, right?

not like he didn’t help pick you up off the floor two weeks ago. like you didn’t cry into his t-shirt at 2am and tell him, “i don’t know what I’d do without you.”

chris brings it up once to matt—he didn’t want to be too harsh to him about it. but he could see what was happening and didn’t like it. “do you ever think she only calls when she needs something?” he asked.

and matt just shrugs. “so?” but chris knew his brother better than that—could see the way matt’s expression wavered just the slightest when the thought of you using him came up.

so chris urged on. “so… maybe you should stop answering?” matt knew chris was right. that he shouldn’t answer your calls and texts when you needed his help. but every time he thought about it while laying in his bed at night—or even now. he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

��she needs me.” matt replied back quietly, his gaze now avoiding his brother completely so he wouldn’t have to see the look on chris’ face. it wasn’t disappointment—he was just worried for matt’s health.

but chris doesn’t argue after that.

because everyone who knows matt—would know he would rather break his own heart than let you sit with yours alone with no one to hold you.

you text him again eventually and he just stares at your name, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, and for a second—just a second—he thinks about ignoring it. just to see what it feels like to not have to bear your weight in his shoulders anymore.

but he doesn’t. of course he doesn’t.

so when his fingers type “hey, are you okay?” in reply to your simple “hey.” he knows you’re not. and of course he still cares even after people have told him to not—his own heart even.

you’ll show up at his door, looking tired and cold. and beautiful to him, somehow.

you’ll smile at him like you didn’t disappear for months on end. like you didn’t take whatever was left of his heart and crush it into a million little pieces. like none of it ever happened.

he’ll step aside to let you inside—because no matter how many times you leave, no matter how much of him you take, and no matter how much it hurts—

he could never hate you.

even if he should and even if part of him wants to. and that part—soon enough it’ll grow stronger and bigger. big enough to finally let his finger click the block button on your contact. big enough to finally end it all.

but for now you’ll stay for a little while.

and you’ll get better.

and then you’ll go.

and matt will wait for the next time you fall apart. because that’s what you do. and that’s what he does.

it’s a never ending cycle—because he could never hate you.

a/n : more angst :)

[trippinsorrows]

dreamland: what i've become

authors note: the conclusion to the mini story i've been writing within asks. i've combined those two shorts in this one for the sake of cohesion. if you don't want to reread part 1 and part 2, just skip to the second "-------" and that starts part 3.

words: 7k 

song inspo: 'monster' by skillet

warnings: angsttttttt.

Solana had a bad feeling about it from the get-go.

Something she couldn't shake in the weeks leading up to Roman leaving. The same way she couldn't shake something being off with her son. Something Roman noticed too, and it wasn't without effort from both parents to try and talk to him. But, beyond his father's looks, Tama also inherited the difficulty Roman experiences with opening up sometimes. And just as she did with her husband—still does occasionally—she gave him space. Roman gave him space, Solana briefly mentioning to her husband that he should try again when he returned from his latest trip. A trip that included their oldest twins tagging along.

A recent thing over the past year and some change, Roman taking turns bringing their older kids with him, providing him the chance to spend one on one time with them. On his last visit to Italy, he'd taken Tama with him, and they'd had such a nice time. Solana almost wishes they'd have said football be damned and allowed him to go again this round, Lina and Leya catching the next one.

Because in the days Roman's been absent, Solana feels like things have almost gotten worse. tremendously. Tama's irritation has spiked, his fuse shorter than she's ever seen in him. He has Roman's temper, yes. All of her boys do, but Tama has always been the type to only show it when provoked. He only shows just how much he's like his father when he has to. not lately. Lately, it feels like her baby boy lives in the valley of volatility.

He's just so angry.

"Baby?" Her voice is as soft as the two knocks her knuckles rap against his closed door. "Can I come in?"

She expects him to say no. Maybe even ignore her. That hurts the most. The ignoring part, because that's never been her dynamic with her son. None of her kids.

But, instead, she's met with a short, "yeah."

Solana doesn't waste any time, welcoming herself into his space, finding his back toward her. Tama's long hair is pulled into a messy bun atop his head, his focus on the tv and controller in hand.

Solana sits down on the edge of his messy bed, not bothering to comment on it. She's always expressed her desire for the kids to make up their beds, and he knows this, but alas, she's found that picking her battles with her suddenly temperamental fourteen year-old is the best route.

She smiles at him, glancing at the TV. "What are you playing?"

Another short, borderline irritated reply. "Call of Duty."

Solana nods, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. "Of course." She chuckles quietly. "You remember when you tried to teach me how—"

"Mom, I'm busy right now. What do you want?"

Slap. It feels like a slap in the face. An ironic thing considering some sort of physical impact would be preferred over the coldness and frosty reception from her son. Such unfamiliar, hurtful territory. So unlike her son.

"Tamasa...." The smile is gone, her voice weighed down with all the concern of a worried mother. "Baby, I'm worried about you." He scoffs, ripping his headset off, Solana continuing, reaching for his arm. "Please talk to me. what's going o—"

"Nothing," he cuts her off, still not looking at her. Refusing almost. "I already told you that."

She swallows, shaking her head. "And, I don't believe you." Because, she doesn't. Solana knows her family. knows her kids. Knows her son, and this....this isn't her baby boy. "Tamasa—"

He suddenly shoots up from his chair, finally looking at her, brown eyes burning with irritation that doesn't make sense. "Would you just leave me alone?"

Briefly taken back, it doesn't take long for her to stand up, remaining undeterred. "No, I won't, Tama. I’m your mother—" He groans, walking away from her to the other side of the room. Solana right behind him. "Tamasa, I'm talking to you."

"I don't care."

She stops in her tracks, her face dropping. "excuse me?" He continues to ignore her, clearly heading for the door. "Don't walk away from me when I'm speaking to you Tamasa Reigns," she reiterates, voice raised, switching to Spanish as she remains close on his heels, despite his continued disrespect. He scoffs, actually scoffs, ripping open the door. "Tamasa!"

"I said shut up!"

It all happens so fast, too fast, quicker than what she can compute and truly process. the words, his statement, is one thing. something that would normally garner the bulk of her shock and surprise and many other things, but it's easily outweighed by what accompanies said words.

It's the way he quickly turns around, hands lifted and placed against her, forceful, pushing. It's the way he shoves her down onto the ground, Solana stumbling back and on her ass, landing on her palms, her wide eyes never once leaving her son.

Her son who just put his hands on her.

Her son who just put his hands on her.

Her son.

Tamasa never takes his eyes off Solana either, expression similar to the one she wears, revealing and exposing all of the emotions. Shock. Surprise. Fear. The anger has all but melted away in the face of the unthinkable.

A situation made only worse by the appearance of two other faces in the doorway.

"Mom?" Koa is the first one to speak, both of her younger sons rushing over to her. "Mom, are you okay?" his voice is filled with concern, eyes scanning over her. "What happened?"

kai, however, is two steps ahead. standing in front of his twin and her, he asks his older brother, hand formed into a fist. "Did you push her?"

He did. Tamasa pushed her. her sweet baby boy who would cry and whine as a baby and toddler whenever she put him down, who's always given her the best, most wholesome hugs, who's always looked at her like she hung the moon in the sky, pushed her.

Kai growls, rushing towards Tama, pushing him back. "get away from her!"

"No....." Solana murmurs, finally breaking her silence, the reality of what's occurred settling in and pushing back an emotion she hasn't felt towards the opposite sex in years. Fear. She felt afraid. "D—don't—"

But, it's a sentiment expressed too late, because the last thing she sees is the devastated expression of her oldest son before he turns on his heel and rushes out of the room.

—-------

"Is he by you?"

A frantic question from a frantic woman. A woman still living in between the valley of disbelief and concern, a permanent residence for over the past hour and a half. The scene replaying in her head like a form of torture. Unthinkable. Unimaginable. Unbelievable.

He pushed me

Dwayne sighs on the other end. "Yeah, he's here."

At that, Solana's eyes shut, her emotions settling just the slightest. not knowing where her children are has always been one of her greatest fears. Among other things. and tonight, that's exactly what happened. Tamasa not only left the house, but he left the house without his phone, leaving Solana with no way to contact him.

how he managed to leave without security following him, she hasn't a clue, but that's an issue for another day. She has much more important, heavier things to tackle.

"Sol, what the hell happened over there?" Dwayne's question brings her back to the conversation at hand. "Kid has barely said a word and looks like he saw a fucking ghost." For some reason, that makes the weight sitting at the bottom of her stomach sink even deeper. No mother wants to know or see their child upset, and knowing Tamasa must be all over the place and her not being there to help him is crushing. "I know Roman said the boy's been off lately, but this...."

She closes her eyes. He has no idea.

"We, umm—" She sniffles, wiping at her nose as she paces Tamasa's room. "we got into....an argument."

A pause on the other end. "What kind of argument, Solana?"

Right then and there, she knows, knows that there's no use in lying to him. in trying to downplay what occurred. doesn't stop her from trying though. "It's nothing."

"Solana, my nephew is sitting in my guest room just staring at the wall, and you're holding back tears." failing to hold back tears, Solana unable to stop them from cascading down her face. "What happened?"

She doesn't want to. doesn't want to tell him. doesn't want to have to deal with any of this, but she also knows that delaying the inevitable has never helped anyone in life. Especially her.

"Please don't tell Roman," she croaks.

"Solana, I'm getting conc—"

"He pushed me."

A pause. Long. Longer. And, then—

"What?"

And right away, despite her own mixed bag of emotions regarding what occurred, she slips right back into mama mode. "Don't say anything to him. Don't even tell him I told you."

"He pushed you?" Disbelief forms a marriage with anger that seeps through his tone. "Has he lost—"

"Something's going on with him. I know it. I just....." she stops herself, blowing out a breath, hand over her chest, regulating her emotions.

"You have to tell Rom—"

"I know, I will. I just..." Another sniffle. "I had to make sure my baby was okay first." Because what happened doesn't change the fact that her children's safety will always come first, hence why she's been on the phone with several family members trying to track down and see where her eldest son is. "And, Dwayne, I mean it, don't say anything to him."

Another loud sigh. "You know we don't play that shit in this family, Solana."

She knows that very well. "And, so does he." Even if she, for the life of her, can't understand just what made him do it. "Let me....let me talk to Roman first."

"You gon call him now?"

I don't want to. "yeah."

And finally, the question she was both waiting and dreading. "You're okay though, right? Physically, I mean? He didn't hu—"

"No." There's something about him even asking that that upsets her. Her son would never hurt her.

And yet...

"Please just keep him there with you. For....for now." Because Solana still needs to sit down and talk with Koa and Kai, her younger boys who are somewhere in the house blowing off steam from what occurred.

"I will," he promises. "Just let me know when you want me to bring him back home."

"Thank you," she murmurs, voice dipping once more from the heaviness of it all. "And, Dwayne?"

"Yeah?"

A broken gasp. "Tell him I love him."

Because nothing, nothing at all in the entire universe could ever change that. Period.

"I will, Sol," he agrees, offering with all the sincerity, "let me know if you need anything."

She nods. "okay." Disconnecting the call reminds Solana of where she stands, still in her son's room, the tv still on revealing a paused game. The bed still unmade and unkempt, an empty water bottle on the floor beside his desk. She closes her eyes and places her hands over her heart, taking another deep, shaky breath.

That was difficult.

This will be devastating.

Solana lifts up the phone, shaking fingers ready to navigate to Roman's contact when something catches the corner of her eye. something on Tama's dresser, another place and space of unorganized mess.

How she sees it, she hasn't a clue, but she does, and it makes her frown.

Solana places her cell phone in her back pocket and walks over to the dresser, reaching for the manilla envelope with a strange bulge. Shaped like something familiar. Like a bottle.

And, that's exactly what she pulls out. A pill bottle. A large one, too.

But, it's when she pulls out said bottle, reads the label of said bottle that an already dire situation skyrockets from bad to horrific.

Tears brew in her eyes, her hand over her mouth. "Oh my God...." She can't stop reading it, not the description or the other writing, but the name. Something most familiar to her given her profession. Something she knows all about through various teachings and experience in her field. But, something she never would have thought to find in her fourteen year-old son's room.

Trenbolone.

A name that might mean nothing to some but everything to her, because she recognizes it for what it is.

An anabolic-androgenic steroid

Tama is using steroids.

—--------

“Where is he!”

Solana has just rounded the corner, barely made it in the entryway of their home when she’s met with both a concerning, yet expected, sight. Roman stands in front of the door. Dressed in dark joggers, a black hoodie, the darkness under his eyes confirmation of the sleep deprivation he’s no doubt battling after boarding the jet as soon as she called and told him what happened. 

The sound of Lina and Leya talking amongst themselves, giggling, clearly merry and happy, is a stark contrast to Solana who sits on the floor of her son’s room. Leaned up against his bed, her eyes, red and puffy.

She feels anything but merry.

Shuffling on the other end. “Give me a second, baby.” Roman says something to the girls in Italian, Solana muting the phone to sniffle without him hearing. The noise soon dwindles down into almost silence as he devotes his focus solely on her. “What’s wrong?”

Solana unmutes the phone, taking a deep breath. “I—I—”

“Solana.” His deep voice reeks of concern, Solana able to visualize the deep scowl on his face. “What happened?” The concern jumps to level ten as he asks almost anxiously. “Are the kids—”

“They’re fine,” she answers. Not entirely true, but the least she can do is wane his concern about something serious having happened with the kids. “It’s—it’s Tama.”

A pause. “What happened, Solana?”

Her eyes shut. Solana realizes the longer she goes without answering, the more his concern will grow. She has to rip the band-aid off. 

“I tried to talk to him again, and he–he got upset with me.”

“Solana.”

The most heartbreaking words to leave her mouth in some time. “He pushed me, Roman.” And finally, the tears. Solana can't hold back her sobs anymore. Can't act like she's never felt so utterly hopeless and lost regarding her babies.

She feels so helpless.

Silence. Prolonged, continued, hefty silence.

And finally, a steel, cold, borderline stoic. “I’m on my way to the airport”

As relieved as Solana is to see Roman, she can’t deny that her husband looks the way she feels. Tired, confused, concerned and something extra, something evident in the way he walks into their home.

Angry.

It’s an emotion that melts away—temporarily—when he lays eyes on her. An instant shift. “Sol…”

Solana doesn’t waste a second in moving so that she’s in front of him, his arms around her, holding and comforting her. 

Naturally, she melts into him, gripping the material of his shirt as he cradles the back of her head. She sniffles quietly, allowing the embrace to comfort her in a way she’s needed so desperately over the past few hours. Needed him.

Roman just holds her, letting her hold onto him before stepping back just enough to assess her, his eyes scanning over every inch of her, searching. 

“I’m—I’m okay,” she assures. Partially true. Partially untrue. It’s hard, nearly impossible, for her to be even remotely okay considering what’s occurred. 

Her words seem to settle him but only slightly, Roman’s eyes quickly darkening as he eases back into the space that had his jaw tight and his hand flexing.

Anger.

He’s angry.

“Where is he?” He repeats, Solana’s stomach dropping realizing just how upset he is. She knew he would be, expected him to be, but actually experiencing it in the moment is something different.

“Roman—”

“Naw, where the hell are you?” Roman moves past Solana, stalking up the steps, his wife right behind him. “Get the fuck out here now, Tamasa!”

She stops in the middle of the steps, eyes shutting as the gravity of the situation overcomes her once more. Never in a million years did she imagine hearing her husband speak of and to their son in such a tone. It’s painful, hurtful, and devastating in all the ways imaginable. 

She hates every bit of it. 

“You wanna put your fucking hands on your mom and think I won’t fuck you up for it?”

“Roman, please—”

But, he’s not listening, not even truly, mentally present. His focus, emotions, and everything else are too grounded and situated in the bulk of his anger. And, hurt. Because Solana has no doubt he’s just as torn up about this as she is. He just, in true Roman fashion, expresses his with more volatility. 

With anger. 

“Tamasa!” 

Solana winces at the harshness, the way he stomps through the house, headed for the boy's wing. A part of her even more grateful that she made the call to send the younger kids over to Afia’s. Happy Roman agreed to leave Lina and Leya in Italy with Matteo, as he hopped on the jet straight home as soon as she told him what happened.

She didn’t want them to be around for any of this, especially this side of Roman, a side he’s never presented around them unless the occasion called for it. 

And as much as she hates to admit it, if there was an occasion for Roman to tap more into the side of the Tribal Chief, it would be now.

Solana jumps when he kicks down their son’s door.

“Roman!”

“I want it all out of here,” he shouts, hands on his hip, motioning around their eldest son’s bedroom. “Every game, every piece of equipment, everything but his fucking bed is gone!”

“You need to calm down,” she advises, stepping toward him, moving her hands up and down his chest. “Please.”

Roman’s eyes shut at the contact, his jaw flexing and jerking in the way that it does when he’s trying to do just what she’s trying to do.

Calming the fuck down.

“He’s not here,” she finally informs, Roman’s eyes snapping open at the news.

“Where—”

“He’s on his way. Dwayne is bringing him,” she continues, jumping in before he can cut her off. “But, Roman, you need to calm down before he gets here. He doesn’t need this—”

Still, he remains too far embedded in his ire to hear her out. “He needs his ass whooped, Solana. That’s what he needs.”

“And, that’s why I need you to calm down.” Because she understands her husband being upset, knows how fiercely protective he is of her, and rightfully so given what happened. But, all this rage won’t help the situation. It’s only going to make things worse. “Ro….” 

She steps away, past him, to the dresser where she found it. Where she left it, knowing Tama wouldn’t be home until Roman’s jet landed and he was home, so there was no way for their son to grab it again.

And especially to take anymore.

The tears begin brewing once more as she picks up the bottle and turns toward Roman, hand outstretched. “Look.”

He frowns, stepping closer, taking said bottle. Thick brows cave downward as a deep scowl forms on his face. His eyes dart up. “Are these—”

“Yes,” she answers, stomach in every sort of knot imaginable. “Steroids.”

Roman’s jaw tightens. “He’s been taking steroids?"

Solana nods, just hearing it aloud feels so wrong. “Yes.”

Roman scoffs, shaking his head. Disbelief dances between the two of them. “Jesus Christ…how did….how the hell did he even get these?”

She crosses her arms. “You and I both know how easy and accessible these things are to kids these days.” Far too accessible. “I don’t—I don’t know how I missed the signs.” One, in particular. Tama’s sudden irritability and outbursts should have keyed her into something being off. Maybe not steroid use but something.

She's a nurse for crying out loud.

Roman, however, sees the trajectory of the path his wife is on and moves quickly to deviate. “Baby, don’t do that.” He steps forward, pulling her into him, bottle tossed onto the bed. “Don’t blame yourself.”

He knows her well. Too well. “I just wish we would have—”

“I know.” Nothing more. It doesn’t need to be stated. Doesn’t need to be said aloud. Not with everything else that needs to be expressed, but not to her. Roman just needs to make sure his wife is good before he tackles the bigger issue at hand. Tama. 

It’s Tama he needs to talk to. 

—----

Uncle Dwayne doesn’t come in the house, doesn’t accompany Tama into what might be the scariest situation he’s ever walked into. He’s thought about this a lot, laid and twisted in bed thinking about it, fearing it, knowing what’s coming but also not being able to do anything to stop it.

Not that he necessarily would if he could, because deep down he knows what this really is. Consequences. They’re the consequences of his actions.

Actions that led up to this very moment.

He’s slightly disappointed to not be able to see his mother, but also not sure if he’s ready to see her, either.

Truth be told, he doesn’t feel ready for any of it, especially once he finds himself in front of his room. A room that no longer has a door, the large hole in the middle, the way it leans against the wall, very visibly off the hinges, all the story he needs.

It also makes his nerves just three levels higher. Five when he finds his father sitting on the edge of his bed.

Tama doesn't say anything, doesn’t know just what to say, what can be said at this point. 

So, he goes with what’s undeniable and indisputable. 

“Dad—"

“Tamasa.”

Silence. A frosty chill that channels across the room, embedding in the walls and settling in the cracks. A sort of tension that can’t be cut, dismissed, or ignored. The type that dances up the skin and pricks, imbuing itself within the soul. 

“You know that I’ve always worked hard to control my temper in front of you and your siblings. That I’ve never wanted to show you that side of me.” Tama says nothing, continuing to look at his father who sits on the edge of his bed, closed, clasped fists holding up his chin, gaze finally lifting from the floor and settling on his son.

Tama swallows. He’s never heard his dad speak to him with such….coldness. 

Roman gestures to the side of them, the wall lined with countless trophies, ribbons, and other sports-related accolades. “But, it’s taking everything in me not to put your ass through the fucking wall right now.”

Tama doesn’t doubt it. Doesn’t doubt it one bit.

“I asked you what was going on. I tried to talk with you before I left. I’ve been trying to talk to you, and you’ve shut me out. And even with that, I respected your space, because you deserve that.” Roman shakes his head, expression and voice remaining even and sharp. “But, you lost the right to that space the minute you put your hands on your mother.” 

Another sentiment the teenager can’t deny or disagree with. He’s just grateful to be upright and vertical, because Tama knows if there’s one thing his dad has never played around with, it’s his mom. Tama knows for a fact anyone who’s ever disrespected his mother has been dealt with.

In the most brutal of ways.

“So, I’m only going to ask you one time and one time only, what the fuck is going on with you?” A pointed question, the acrid tone making the eldest Reigns boy wince. This side of his father is uncomfortable and unfamiliar, but it’s also well deserved.

Tama knows he deserves this.

“I—”

“Or, better yet—” Roman cuts him off, reaching behind him and tossing something in Tama’s diffraction. Naturally, the teenager catches it. “Why don’t you start with telling me about that?”

Tama looks down, his stomach dropping as his hands tighten around the now empty bottle of pills.

His mouth is suddenly drier, tongue dipping out to run over chapped lips. “Dad—”

“You taking roids now?” Is Roman’s rough, abrasive question. Tama wincing once more. This is brutal. “Answer me when I’m talking to you, boy.”

“It’s not….I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care what you meant, Tamasa.” Another harsh cut-off, Roman reiterating once more, “you know better than to bring drugs up in my house. The same way you know better than to even be taking that shit in the first damn place!” 

Tama shakes his head, eyes dropping to the floor, fingers tightening once more over the object in hand. “I—I know.”

“You know?” Roman’s voice is slightly mocking, his eyes flashing with something dark and intense. “Tama—” He stops, Tama watching how his father shifts his gaze from him to the window adjacent to them. The way his eyes close, and he takes a deep breath, gaze returning him with an almost 180. There’s still anger, still frustration, but also something else. 

There’s concern.

“Talk to me, son.” Another audible shift evident in his tone. Softer, almost. Less abrasive and aggressive. Perhaps a bit desperate, even. “Help…help me understand this, cause for the life of me, I can’t. This isn’t like you. This isn’t the son that your mom and I raised.”

Hurtful words, but words that need to be shared. Truth be told, Tama doesn’t entirely recognize himself, either.

And, he shares as such.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, walking to his desk, plopping down in the seat, allowing the bottle to fall onto the floor. “I just—” He leans over, hands on either side of his head. “It became too much.”

A frown settles on Roman’s face. “What became too much?”

Tama swallows, voice tight. “The pressure.” 

Roman sighs, not from frustration or agitation but something else. Something heavy. Something almost sorrowful. “What pressure, Tamasa?”

The words swim around in Tama’s head. A vulnerable truth he’s been too scared to discuss and speak aloud because doing so makes it real. Makes it something he can’t avoid anymore. Something he doesn’t want to say aloud. But, then the thought of his mom’s expression, the fear in her face after he shoved her smacks away that resistance, reminds him that perhaps avoiding it is exactly what brought them to this very point. 

So, despite the trepidation that eats him up on the inside, Tama lifts his head, looking his father dead in the eye. “The pressure to be like you.”

Roman’s shoulders drop. “What?”

Tama continues, pushing and powering through his discomfort. “I’m not like you, dad.” He shakes his head, scowling, deep in thought, submersed in the throes of insecurity. “At school, all I see is Roman Reigns holds the record for this, broke the record for that.” His jaw clenched, hand moving nervously up and down his thigh. “I go to the Warehouse, and all I hear about is how epic a fighter you were, you still are.”

“Tamasa—”

But, Tamasa is too deep in his thoughts, finally freeing them from the suffocating confines of his mind. He’s struggled silently with this for long enough. “You lead the Bloodline and the Cosa Nostra, and everyone either fears or respects you—or both. And, I’m just….I’m just me.” Tama’s voice takes on a hint of disappointment. Of shame. He motions to his body. “Just your can barely put on muscle son, but even worse, one of the first in line to be your heir…. and I….I don’t want to disappoint everyone.” He swallows, finally looking back over at his dad. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

Of all the things his son could say, of all the things going on, Roman could have never guessed this is what’s been behind Tama’s strange behavior. Not even the steroids. The reason behind him using the steroids.

Roman wouldn’t consider Tama small whatsoever. Is he as “big” as Roman was at his age? No, but Roman was also a late bloomer, not hitting puberty until he was almost thirteen years old, so Tama being a little behind just makes sense. 

And, he knew that it bothered his son somewhat. Just not this much. 

Not nearly this much.

More than the Tribal Chief could have ever guessed.

Roman’s tone has shifted once more, barely above a whisper. “Son—”

“I just wanted you to be proud of me.” 

And just like that, any trace and hint of anger and frustration is whisked away by a crushing, devastating admission of vulnerability and insecurity. 

“I’m sorry, dad,” he whispers. Roman looks over to see Tama’s gaze back on the ground, the light shining from the window behind reflecting off his face, highlighting the watering of his eyes. “I didn’t mean—I never—I never meant to hurt her—I’m sor—”

Mere seconds are all that pass between the time Roman stands up from Tama’s bed and closes the distance between them. “Come here.” Without word or warning, he pulls his son into him, hugging him, eyes shutting as Tama tenses momentarily only to quickly ease into a sigh of relief and emotion.

“Tamasa, you listen to me, and you listen to me good,” Roman speaks, holding the back of his son's head. “I don’t want you to be like me. I want…I want you to be better than me.” Words from the heart and deepest part of him. “And the truth is you already are better than me, because you’re half your mother, and we both know there’s no better person than her.” An undeniable truth. “I don’t want you feeling like you’re not good enough or big enough or strong enough or anything fucking else. You don’t have to be me or live up to any record or anything else I’ve set. I just want you to be you. I’ve always just wanted all of you kids to just be whoever you are and know that whoever that is, I’ll always support and love. No matter what.”

Truer words have never been spoken, because two things can coexist in the same universe where Roman is upset with his son, disappointed with his son’s actions, but nothing could ever stop him from loving and being overall proud of Tamasa. Is he perfect? Hardly. And, Roman doesn’t want him to be. Doesn’t expect him to be. He just expects and wants him to be—exactly as he’s told him—himself. 

“I’m sorry, dad,” Tama whispers, voice tight, the emotion and profundity of it all settling in, the haze and blinders caused by the steroids dissipating in the face of reality. “I don’t know what came over me—”

Roman already knows what he’s referring to. “It was the steroids.” No doubt about that. No doubt that majority of Tama’s behavior have been caused by the substances he’s been taking in order to feel better about himself, to feel like he’s “bettering” himself, an ironic thing considering what’s occurred. “You gotta stop taking them.”

It’s deeper than that, Solana already scheduling an appointment with his doctor to oversee the proper process of weaning Tama off the pills. And more than that, to run blood work, because no telling what the hell he’s been putting in his system. 

“I will,” Tama sniffles, pulling back and quickly wiping at his eyes. “I–I promise.”

Roman nods, asking. “Where’d you get them?”

“Some guys on the team,” he answers. Roman makes a mental note to talk to the coach and find out who the fuck is on the team spreading fucking drugs like it’s fucking candy.  

“Tama….” Roman lowers his hand to the back of his son's neck. “I meant every word I said. I am proud of you, and I don’t want you feeling like you’re not good enough or need to compete. I just want you to be yourself, to enjoy your childhood. Don’t worry about living up to shit. You should be in competition with nobody but yourself,” Roman releases a low, quiet chuckle. “Let alone an old man like me.”

The smallest smile on Tama’s face, his eyes twinkling with that light Roman hasn’t seen in his son in weeks. “You are really old.”

“Shut up.”

Tama’s smile deepens slightly, gaze dipping and rising back to his father. “I love you, dad.”

“I love you, too, son. Always.” Roman’s gaze darkens, his tone transitioning from almost lighthearted to serious. “But, Tamasa.” A beat. “You ever put your fucking hands on your mother again, and it’s me and you….you understand me?” Roman threatens, reminding his son the natural, respectful order of things. A one and only reminder he’ll ever again in life receive. “She may be your mother, but she’s my wife, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone lay a hand on her. Even you.”

Tama nods. “Yes, sir.” His shoulders drop as Roman lowers his hand back to his side. “Is she….”

“In her art room,” Roman answers, already knowing what his son is asking. “She’s waiting for you.”

Words that Tamasa continues to replay in his head as he makes his way through the house to his mother’s art room. A place of peace and tranquility. A room where he’s spent countless afternoons over the years, sometimes helping, sometimes watching, as she turns a blank slate into something beautiful and special. It’s always been one of his favorite things to do with her, even if he himself has never really been good at such things. She’s never made him feel that way, always been supportive and encouraging. Always been the best. She is the best, and that’s why it tears him up thinking about it. 

Thinking about how he could do that to her. She didn’t deserve it. No one does, but especially her. He only knows a fraction of what she’s been through in life but enough to know the trauma she endured at the hands of men. Men who put their hands on her.

The same thing he’s now done.

It’s the worst fucking feeling in the world. The worst possible imaginable pain knowing the one woman he loves most in this world was hurt at his hands. His mother’s expression of fear, fear toward him, something he’ll never be able to rid himself of as long as he lives. 

Good. He deserves it. He deserves a lot more than that. 

But, it’s when he finally arrives to his mother’s sanctuary, sees her standing in front of an easel, a frown upon her beautiful face, her focus clearly on anything but the canvas before her, that something clicks. Something shifts that has all of the emotions he’s experienced over the past 24 hours—even longer—come to a head. 

Especially when she turns to look at him. Her frown deepens, her shoulders dropping, the last thing he hears being his name, soft and sympathetic, on her lips. “Tama…”

Any resolve crumbles and breaks as Tama closes the distance between them. One minute he’s in the doorway, the next he’s in front of her, on his knees, holding her, tears streaming down his face.

“I’m sorry, mama,” he whispers, holding her a little tighter, like he has to, like it’s the only thing he can do to make this right. A gentle, loving touch to counteract what was anything but. “I’m so—so sorry.” 

For a second, he freezes, realizes that perhaps the way to undo is not to rewrite. That a kind touch does not strip away the scars of unkind. That he’s out of line. That just as he doesn’t deserve to forget what he did, he doesn’t get to try to make things right. A horrifying, debilitating feeling. But, one that is washed away the minute he feels his mom’s arms around him, her mouth pressing the longest, lingering kiss to the top of his head. 

“Oh, Tamasa.” His eyes clench shut. Love. All he hears—all he feels—is love. The type of maternal, unconditional love that only a mother can provide. “I know, baby. I know.” 

“I would never hurt you,” he vows, a promise to never be broken or made to be a lie from this day forward. “I love you—I love you too much. You’re my mom.” He looks up, sniffling as Solana cups his cheeks, offering a small, sad smile. “I’m sorry for—for all of it—for being so mean to you–for—”

“Tamasa.” She lifts a hand to stroke his hair. “I know exactly who you are and who you aren’t. You’re my son, and my son is the kindest, smartest, funniest young man I know. That is who you are, and that person is perfect just the way he is.” Words aimed towards what she won’t specifically say but he knows. The pills. The pills he’d been taking in the hopes of becoming someone he thought he needed to be. Bigger, stronger, everything just more. More like his taller, stronger teammates. 

More like his dad. 

“But, baby, your father and I are so proud of you.” He swallows, struggling to understand how that could still stand. “We always have been, and we always will be.”

“Even—even after—”

At that, Solana’s expression drops, her eyes widening slightly. “Tamasa Reigns, you listen to me. There is nothing—nothing—you could ever say or do to make your dad and I not love you. Nothing.” He hadn’t said it. Not verbalized it. Not allowed himself to say aloud the other fear, something that would have felt impossible before but a reality now.

The possibility of his mistakes being too great for even his mother’s infinite grace. The chance that he’d ended not only losing her trust and respect but her love.

“I love you.” She kisses his forehead, eyes closing, mouth shifting to place another kiss on his temple. “I love you so much. Don’t you ever forget or question that, okay?”

Tamasa nods, leaning in to hug his mom once more. “I love you, too, mama.” 

She holds him, allows that reassurance and love to flow through the both of them. And, they stay like that for a good five minutes—maybe longer—before Solana reaches for his hand, helping him to his feet. “Tamasa….” He looks down at her, Solana bringing her palm back to his cheek. “I meant everything I said, but I also mean this as well.” She swallows, shaking her head. “I made a promise to myself a long time ago that I would never let another man put his hands on me—”

“Mama—”

“And, I meant that.” He swallows, wanting to interrupt but also knowing better. “So, if you ever in your life make the mistake to do anything like that again, it’s not your dad you need to worry about. It’s me.” He presses his lips together, Solana seeking confirmation of his comprehension. “Do you understand?”

He nods. “Yes ma’am.”

A warning that feels almost unnecessary. Tama would rather be raked over the coals than be in this sort of situation again. To put his parents through this again.

Solana smiles, moving to hold onto his arm. There’s still so much to cover, so much to process, so much to figure out. Roman and Solana already agreed to put Tama back in therapy. He’d done it when he was younger, all the kids, especially when Leya’s OCD was severe enough to where it was impacting all of them. But, once they felt the kids were “okay,” they stopped for the time being. However, given what’s happened, she thinks it’s best for him to restart.

They also discussed talking with him about family therapy. Just the three of them. Making sure they’re doing what they can and need to in order to support him. 

And, though he didn’t say it, Solana has no doubt in her mind that Roman will be working to spend more one-on-one time with their oldest son. Time to talk, to support, to listen, whatever Tamasa needs. Personally, she already thinks he does such a great job doing that already, but clearly, more is needed. 

So, that’s what will happen. 

“Tama.”

The eldest Reigns’ boy turns around to see his father standing in the doorway, leaning, arms crossed. Tama wonders how long he’s been there, how much he heard. All of it, preferably. 

“We need to talk to your brothers when they get home,” Roman informs. “We don’t have to tell them everything, but they need to know what happened isn’t acceptable.”

Tama agrees. He’s always considered himself, as the oldest boy, responsible for leading by example for his younger siblings, especially his brothers. They deserve a conversation. 

And an apology.

He nods, “yes, sir.”

Roman kicks off the door, motioning with his hand. “Come on.”

Tama frowns, asking, “where are we going?”

Roman gives him a pointed look. “You want a damn door, don’t you? Well, now we gotta go fucking buy one.”

The smallest smile, Tama walking over to his dad when he thinks of something. Turning around, hand extended, he asks, hopeful. “Come with us, mom?”

Solana’s eyes water. She sees it. Sees the sweet little boy who always held onto her as a toddler, whined when she put him down for too long, gave her the biggest, best, tightest hugs whenever he had to leave her. 

She sees him. 

Sees her son.

Solana toward him, taking his hand, gently squeezing. “Always, baby. Always."

------

and, here we go. i've been wanting to write something to show more of the close relationship/connection roman has with tama, and this felt like a good storyline to do so. shoutout to my lovely, amazing moot @jayjayem1999 for giving me the idea forever ago about tama feeling the pressure of living in roman's shadow and resorting to supplements.

curious if you agree with how roso handled this situation, especially roman. lemme knowwww.

[cakypa120]

About Billy keeps dying au

Is it crazy to think that if an interdimensional portal were opened, Marvel who was reborn after being killed could meet up with fellow Leaguers from his past lives?

Like, is he reborn directly when he died, or does he kind of break through space and time and always be born in the same year he was supposed to be born? So does he generally have a standard age in relation to the infinite possibilities of Leagues?

Billy sighed. This wasn't how he'd pictured his long-awaited mission with the Flash of the new world. They were currently standing in the middle of another dimension's goddamn Gotham. And their home dimension was three dimensions away.

Flash: Where are we?

Marvel: Gotham. And also in another dimension.

Flash: Dude, when you said that mage could send you to other dimensions, I thought you were kidding.

Marvel: Well, now you're going to listen to everything about magic. That's the lesson.

Flash: Right. Shit, are we stuck here forever?

Marvel: No, we're just a long way from our home world. But I guarantee if we hurry, we'll make it in time for the free food giveaway at the Watchtower.

Flash: Then what are we waiting for? We gotta hurry!

Billy laughs. The Flash of the new world was young. And he had only recently been accepted into the Justice League. Barry was even different from his versions. Black-haired, blue-eyed, and curious to the point of insanity. The Bruce of the new world denies that he mentally adopted the guy, but Billy knows otherwise, Clark knows, and Diana knows too. No matter how much Bruce denies it, it is obvious that he has become attached to Barry. Billy is now eagerly awaiting Dick's arrival.

Flash: Do you have any ideas on how to get back to our home world, Gandalf?

Marvel: Did you just call me Gandalf?

Flash: Dumbledore?

Marvel: *pinches the speedster's cheek* Yes, I do, now calm down. We need to get to Fawcett. There should definitely be a portal there.

Flash: Why is there a portal in your town?

Marvel: Precautionary measure. Let's go quickly.

Flash: Race?

A shot rings out next to them. They turn around and see Red Hood. Billy quickly raises his hands up. Jason standing in front of them was the one who personally slit Marvel's throat when Billy was poisoned by magic and seriously damaged. Everyone wanted to save him then, to cure him, but it was impossible. Then Jason ended his suffering.

Jason froze when he saw Marvel. Just as bright, and just as big. He knew that Marvel would be reborn again. He knew, but doubts penetrated his heart. But now Marvel stood before him. A lump in his throat prevents him from breathing normally. Jason takes off his helmet and puts away his gun.

Jason: Holy shit, old man, you're really alive, huh?

Marvel: Alive as can be. Thanks for last time.

Jason: No thanks.

Flash: Guys? Anyone got something to tell me?

Marvel: Flash, meet Red Hood, he might show up, but we're not sure. Hood, this is Flash. Go easy on him, he's new to the hero business.

Flash: Hey!

Jason: Trying to mentor the new guys, huh, Cap?

Marvel: Sort of. Sorry, but we need to get to Fawcett fast so we can teleport back to our home dimension.

Jason: Try to stay out of sight of the other heroes. They didn't take your death very well.

Marvel: Got it, thanks for the warning.

Flash: Wait, you're dead?!

Marvel: Yeah, that happens sometimes. Now let's go, we need to get to the city quickly.

Superman: I don't think there's any need to hurry.

The three of them freeze and look up. Superman is hovering in the air, watching them like a hawk. Jason lets out a guttural growl and points his gun at the Kryptonian.

Superman: No need for violence, Red.

Jason: I wanted to tell you the same thing, asshole. I told you not to come to Gotham.

Superman: Sorry, but I couldn't ignore such a familiar voice.

Marvel steps in front of Barry. Clark has changed. A lot. This universe was especially violent. Rarely, but it happens. But Billy remembered a different hero. What else happened after he died? Now, the most important thing is not to lose control.

Marvel: Supes, how old are you? How is Lois?

Superman: She's okay. How are you? Still playing superhero?

Marvel: Of course, I'm not going to be thrown out of this job that easily. Well, Flash and I need to get back to our world, so we need to hurry.

Superman: Your world is here, Captain. You're staying here.

Billy didn't like the man's tone. Superman suddenly lunges at him, but Billy ducks just in time.

Superman: Marvel, don't make this difficult.

Marvel: What's wrong with you? Flash, run to Fawcett. I'll hold him off.

Flash: I don't want to leave you here!

Marvel: Flash. Run. That's an order.

Barry flinches at the hero's voice. Marvel rarely gave orders. He glances at the strange Superman, who was looking at Marvel like a dog looks at a bone. But an order is an order. Barry turns and runs.

Marvel: Clark, what happened.

Superman: A lot has changed since you died. Oliver's disability, Barry's coma. This world is losing its light. I just want to keep the light in the world. Will you help me?

Marvel: I don't belong in this world anymore.

Superman: You've already been killed here. Not there. You're safer here. Marvel, stay.

Marvel: Again, the answer is no.

Clark sighs, Jason tenses.

Superman: Then I have no choice.

Jason: Don't even think about it, son of a bitch!!

Clark attacks and pins Marvel to the ground. Billy watches in horror as the hero's eyes begin to light up. Jason points his gun, ready to fire. A sudden flash of light knocks Superman down. The Kryptonian flies away. And Billy looks at Barry.

Flash: Your hobbit saves the day!

Billy looks at Clark. Then he grabs Barry and teleports away, ignoring how loudly Clark screamed. His insides are burning from teleporting to Fawcett. He didn't like teleporting to other universes.

Flash: Dude, I don't like it here. Let's go home.

Billy nods and runs toward the old subway. Barry runs after him. There were many questions in his head, but he decided that he would ask them later. Now they needed to get home.

[thedonswife13]

I’m with the girls! I vote we scare her and see what happens. Hehehe these girls and their schemes but, oh what I wouldn’t give to be a fly on that trail/trip!

Glad Buttercup and Rooster are finally get to talk. He knows what it was like having been on that side of things. He’s been in the girls places and can at least understand why it had to happen even if he doesn’t like it. Bradley saying that Jake should’ve put his family first after saying that Jake should’ve been able to handle it in response to what Buttercup said is nice to hear. Knowing what we do, Jake has put Charlie and now Abby first in everything he does, except the midlife crisis 🙄🙄

Oh I love their pranks on Savannah! I’m over here giggling imagining the screams.

I have no doubt in my mind that Jake Seresin is a fantastic father. No doubts at all. Yes they were both hurt by the things said and done in the past…however they’ve both had time to grow and there’s nothing more powerful in this world than love! Jake still loves her, there’s no way Buttercup isn’t still in love with Jake

Nat being dramatic thinking it was Javy at the door again 🤣🤣 I can understand why she and Javy fought so much when he wanted more and she was hesitant; she didn’t want to go through the same heartbreak her best friend did. I think she should’ve taken the jump then and now. I think those two just need to be locked in a room or something and figure out their issues. Natasha calling the guys idiots makes me think of a sister talking about her brothers. 🤣

“…your girls and your man?” “He’s not my man, and you know it” “does he know that?” That’s a darn good question Phoenix, also does she know since I feel she’s started to fall for him again

I forgot all about the itching powder! If Jake ever finds out Rooster gave it to the girls he’s more than likely goin to get an earful! Now everything is coming out! Jake wouldn’t even be with her if she’d be truthful in the beginning which is why she lied! Grrrr I’m so over her

Jake fell hard and fast for Buttercup! Literally the perfect first date! I’ve only been to that zoo once but, it was incredible! Savanah can be mad all she wants, Jake is putting his girls first as it should be.

YES! YES!YES! FINALLY! 🥳🥳 Literally screaming over here!

As You Wish, Chapter 13

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, drinking, reference to divorce, kids doing sneaky things, references to pregnancy, swearing, references to the hospital, references to an accident

South Trail, Seresin Ranch, Clifton, Texas, Now

Charlie felt a chill run down her spine as their trail group walked steadily down the beaten dirt path. Dad was in the lead, as per usual, and Abby had beaten her in a game of rock, paper, scissors in order to come second. That left Charlie third, close enough to Savannah to hear every muttered complaint and snap of her camera as she took selfies.

“Jakey!!!” Savannah cried out as they emerged from the trees onto a lookout, the ledge watching over a field full of wildflowers. “We need to stop! I need photos of this for my followers!”

Charlie stifled a giggle as she saw her dad’s head slump forwards. This was the fifth time Savannah had whined about needed a photo opportunity since they had left the ranch, approximately five hours ago.

“Savannah, I—”

“This is the last one, I promise!” she squealed, clumsily pulling her horse to a stop and sliding down her side until her suede boots touched the ground. She practically threw her phone to Jake and went to stand on the edge of the cliff.

Jake grunted as he neatly dismounted and patted Firewall on the flank. “It has to be the last one or we won’t make it to the campground before nightfall.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine, whatever,” Savannah chirped as she struck pose after pose.

Charlie and Abby both dismounted and moved off the trail to stand in the shade of the trees.

“It would be mean to scare her and hope that she falls, right?” Charlie muttered under her breath.

“Charlie!” Abby let out a scandalized gasp. “She may be awful, but we can’t wish death upon her…though I would be lying if I said that the same thought hadn’t occurred to me as well.”

Charlie slumped against the tree, watching the horses drag their reins on the ground as they stood on the trail, waiting for their riders to be done. “She’s just…the worst.”

“I know. Why would Mum insist that she come with us instead?”

“She said that she wanted Savannah to have a chance to get to know us.”

Charlie smirked. “Alright then. Let’s let her get to know us. Then maybe she’ll wish she had never met us.”

“We’re not that awful,” Abby rolled her eyes.

“I know that, and you know that, but Savannah doesn’t know that. So, let’s make her think we’re the worst. Then she won’t want to marry Dad because it would mean having to spend time with us.”

Abby grinned, her eyes trained on a spot on the ground. “I think I know exactly how to start.”

Crouching to the ground, Abby scooped up a tiny chipmunk from where it was nestled in the roots of a tree.

“Hey buddy…” she whispered. “I bet you want to see what’s in our saddlebags.”

Charlie covered her mouth to muffle the sound of her giggles as they approached Angel.

“Do it now! Savannah’s got her back to us!”

Quiet as a mouse, Abby slid open the saddlebag and slipped the chipmunk inside. “And now we wait.”

Around noon, Buttercup wandered into the kitchen from the guest bedroom. She hadn’t been lying about having to work. Her deadline was rapidly approaching, and she had been struggling quite a bit with writer’s block, so she had taken advantage of the silence of the ranch house and the beauty of the view and spent the morning writing her heart out. Twenty pages later, and her groove had been interrupted by the grumble of her stomach. So, she saved her work and, slowly as to admire the pictures and paintings on the walls of her ex-husband’s home, she wandered out of her writing cave and into the kitchen, where she was faced with a sweaty Rooster.

“Oh…hey.”

He grunted at her as he dug through the fridge. “I’ll be out of your way in a minute.”

“Technically, I’m in your way, since this is your home so…don’t worry about it.” All she received in return was another grunt, and she sighed. “I know you’re mad at me. I know you were against our divorce since the beginning, I know you hated the custody arrangement, and I know you blame me for moving to a different continent, but Rooster…” she sniffled. “Thank you. Thank you for taking care of them for me, when I wasn’t here…when I wasn’t strong enough to do it myself.”

She watched as Rooster sighed, his head hanging between his shoulders before he slammed the fridge door shut and turned towards her.

“Listen, it isn’t your fault. You were sick. I remember my mom talking about how she got sick after havin’ me, and…and shit, Buttercup, I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. And it didn’t help that we kept getting deployed. You were goin’ through it and none of us could see it. I know you fought like hell, and so does he. I just—”

“You know what its like to not have a dad around, so you wish things had been different for Abby. And you know what its like to not have a mom around, so you wish things had been different for Charlie. Right?”

He blinked at her. “Get your ass outta my head.”

She chuckled before the mood settled around them, still slightly somber.

“I should’ve been able to handle it,” she whispered, and Rooster sighed, leaning back against the fridge.

“Hangman should’ve been able to handle it too,” he shrugged. “I know I was pissed off at you for putting yourself first, and it wasn’t fair. I was more worried about how the divorce would affect the team dynamic, instead of worrying about how the divorce would affect you. But he screwed up too. He should’ve put you first, not the team. That’s how it’s supposed to be.” Buttercup blinked up at him and he shrugged. “I started going to therapy after a bar fight when Charlie was like 2. Court mandated, but it helped. I let a lot of shit go.”

“Good for you,” she smiled. “I am grateful that they had you and Javy to lean on, you know. I’m not just trying to get back on your good side.”

“I know,” he shrugged and turned his back to her. “What do you want for lunch? I could hear your stomach grumbling from my room.”

She grinned and sat at the counter. “I imagine asking you for a salad wouldn’t fly?”

He scoffed without turning his back. “We eat healthy in this house, but we don’t eat rabbit food. What do you really want for lunch?”

She giggled. “What about taco salad?”

He turned and pointed at her. “Now that’s a damn good idea.”

It couldn’t have gone better if they had trained the chipmunk themselves. They had remounted and strolled along the trail for another fifteen minutes before Savannah started pawing at the saddlebag, looking for her oversized, bright pink water bottle. She was able to pry open the clasp of the bag and stick her hand inside. And then it happened…

The chipmunk launched into action, racing up her arm before Savannah could even realize what was happening and landed on her shoulder. Savannah freaked out, screaming and shaking her arm to try to dislodge it. Sweet Angel picked up on her rider’s anxious movements and started trotting down the trail, shaking her head this way and that.

Charlie and Abby watched from the rear as the chipmunk disappeared under the hem of Savannah’s designer t-shirt, Savannah screaming as the rodent searched for an escape. Angel reared up and Savannah clung to her neck. Both girls turned their heads to hide their giggles as their dad scooped the reins out of Savannah’s hands and gently pulled Angel back to the ground, soothing her in a calm voice. The chipmunk finally found an escape through the arm of her flannel, and leapt from Angel’s back to a nearby tree.

“Oh my goodness, Savannah!” Abby called, urging her horse forward. “Are you alright?”

“That was crazy!” Charlie gasped, hiding her laughter behind her hand.

She glared suspiciously at them but said, “I’m fine. Thank you.”

Jake tied Angel’s reins to Firewall’s saddle and turned back to look at them. “We’re going to head to the campground now, okay, Charlie?”

Both girls gave him a thumbs up and he rolled his eyes. When he turned back to face forward, they leaned over and high-fived each other. Neither the chipmunk nor Angel had been hurt, but Savannah screams had been absolutely hilarious. Perhaps their dad suspected them (he knew enough about the great outdoors to know that a chipmunk wouldn’t just materialize inside a closed saddlebag), but perhaps their little prank had allowed their father to see a different side of Savannah.

Lunch with Rooster had been good. The taco salad he had whipped up had been absolutely delicious, the ground beef perfectly spiced, and the spinach base had been simple but brilliant. More than that though had been their conversation. He had filled her in on so much of Charlie’s life (and Jake’s life as well, since it was so tightly woven with Charlie’s). She had always known that Jake would be a brilliant father, but some of the stories that Rooster had shared with her had her torn between laughter and tears. The antics her husband and her youngest daughter had gotten up to were bittersweet to hear about. In her mind’s eye, she could see them happening. She could see Jake flying toddler Charlie over his head, could hear her phantom cries as he gathered her 8-year-old body in his arms and carried her to the car, her arm bent at a painful angle.

As she strolled along the gravel path towards the dude cabins, she could practically see the phantom figures of her family as they lived and grew here. Knowing she had missed so much of Charlie’s life here, she regretted her decision to stay behind on the trail ride, but she hoped that Savannah would be able to make a better impression on her daughters than she had made on her.

“Honestly…” she muttered as she approached Cabin 1, where her brother and Natasha were staying. “What kind of woman doesn’t want to write her own wedding vows?” She sighed and climbed up the few stairs to the porch. “And what kind of sadistic bullshit is it to ask your future husband’s ex-wife to write the vows for you?”

She shook off the question as she knocked on the door. It had obviously been some sort of territorial claim from Savannah, trying to show Buttercup that he was hers now, but Buttercup had no doubt about that. She’d hurt Jake too badly for things to ever go back to the simple, fun, and loving way it had been before.

Natasha threw open the door and groaned. “Thank god it’s you.”

She chuckled and entered the cozy, modern cabin. “Who did you think it was?”

Natasha rolled her eyes and collapsed onto the comfy leather couch. “Javy. He keeps trying to come and talk to me.” Her friend shuddered dramatically.

Buttercup considered her carefully as she lowered onto the other side of the couch. “What’s the deal with you two? I thought Jake was the one you hated.”

Nat sighed and buried the scarred side of her face in the couch. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Buttercup took the pillow from behind her and whacked her friend with it. “C’mon! You’re acting like he killed your dog or something!”

Nat snatched the pillow and tossed it back at her. “Why’re you being so pushy, bitch?”

“Because you and Javy have been at each other’s throats since we got here, and I had to kick you out of dinner last night before either of you said or did something inappropriate in front of my children. And I hated doing that.”

Natasha let out a low whine as she tried to bury herself deeper in the couch. “Sorry…I promise I won’t call him a self-important bastard in front of your children.”

Buttercup barked a laugh and cuddled down into her seat. “But why would you call him that? It’s so weird! I honestly thought you two were into each other back in the day.” Natasha shifted so that her back was towards her friend, and Buttercup read it all in the tense line of her back. “Oh my god, you were into him!”

“Shut up…” Natasha grumbled. “He was into me too.”

“Were you two hooking up?”

Natasha rolled to look at her again. “Yeah. For a couple of months. Whenever we were both at Top Gun.”

Buttercup squealed and crawled across the couch so that she was right next to Natasha. “I knew it!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Natasha grumbled, pushing her off.

“So, what happened? Bad breakup? You act like you want to kill him.”

Natasha groaned. “No, it wasn’t a bad breakup. It wasn’t a real relationship.”

“Did he want it to be?”

Natasha buried her head in the pillow. “Yeah…he wanted to make it official after that last deployment. We fought about it a lot. I didn’t want to risk it because…” Natasha paused and looked guiltily over at her.

“Because?” Buttercup prompted gently, having a sneaking suspicion that she knew where this was going.

“Because I saw how messed up you were after the divorce,” Natasha admitted. “Our jobs are–were–risky enough without being in a relationship. And if our relationship fell apart the way yours and Jake’s did?” She sighed. “I told him no, but he wouldn’t let it go. Then there was the crash, and he came to visit me in the hospital and…” Natasha’s fingers clenched into fists. “He told me he would ‘take care of me’. That he felt like it was time to retire and that he would stay with me and that it would all be okay.”

“And that’s…bad?” Buttercup leaned back, confused. “He cared and wanted to help you? Why is that a bad thing?”

Natasha shuddered. “I couldn’t stand him looking at me with all that pity. And besides, why did he retire? He had the best job in the whole damn world and he willingly gave it up? Are you kidding me? They all gave it up! I mean, okay, Bob makes sense because he wanted to help you but why the hell would the rest of them give it up? Fucking idiots.”

Buttercup bit her lip. A decade of living with the other woman told her that trying to talk to Natasha when she was this fired up would be like trying to draw blood from a stone. So instead, she said, “Where is Bob, anyway?”

Natasha shrugged. “He got a phone call and went for a walk.”

“What is up with him and these phone calls?” Buttercup mused as she folded her legs beneath her.

“No clue. But what is with you deciding to stay back and let Cowgirl Barbie go on the trail ride with your girls and your man?”

Buttercup grumbled at her. “He’s not my man, and you know it.”

“Does he know that?”

Buttercup rolled her eyes. “Of course he does! He’s marrying Savannah, remember?”

Nat rolled her eyes and rolled off the couch before padding into the kitchen. “Of course I remember. That’s why I’m going to get wine. We’re going to need it.”

By the time they reached the campground, Abby was half convinced that Savannah had never been on a horse before. Even though she kept telling stories about her championship barrel racer back on her own ranch, poor Angel kept tossing her head at the confusing signals that her rider kept giving her. Charlie was fully confused. She’d done barrel racing before and the way Savannah was describing it, she knew she had never done it in her life. Her stories about shopping, drinking wine, and winning Miss Texas however, Charlie completely believed. No one could sound so excited about boring adult things if they hadn’t actually done them.

Luckily, they wouldn’t have to share a tent with her. That had been a stipulation of her joining them. Her own tent. Not even shared with their father, just her. Luckily, Jake had packed a hammock that he had already strung up between two sturdy trees for himself, leaving the other tent for his daughters.

All three Seresin’s watched Savannah as she primped in front of her cellphone camera, taking selfies of herself near the lake they were camping by. Jake shook his head with a sigh as he finished setting up her tent and stretched.

“What do we think about a dip in the lake before dinner?” he asked the girls, a wild grin on his face.

Both nodded eagerly and bolted into their tent to pull their swimsuits on.

“Did you bring it?” Charlie whispered, and Abby nodded, pulling out a packet from her backpack.

“Uncle Roo gave it to me and I tucked it away for safe keeping,” Abby replied. “You distract Dad, and I’ll make sure it reaches our target.”

“Deal.”

Both girls quickly changed and headed out of the tent.

“Dad!” Charlie called. Jake turned from where he was talking to Savannah, his hands soothingly rubbing her shoulders as she scowled at him. “Can you help me put sun block on my shoulders? Mom would kill me if I came back burned.”

Jake grinned. “She’d kill me first,” he called back, turning from Savannah and strolling over to Charlie.

Jake sufficiently distracted, Abby snuck into Savannah’s tent and ripped open her packet. She sprinkled the contents everywhere. In her sleeping bag, in her clothes, on her hairbrush, in her shoes, and definitely on the inside of her hat.

With a wicked grin, Abby crumpled up the evidence and crept back to her tent to hide it in her backpack. She emerged just in time for Jake to finish lathering her sister with sun block, the two of them turning to her.

“My turn?” she smiled at him sweetly.

“Yeah, baby, c’mere.”

Charlie turned to Savannah, who was still trying to find the just right angle for her selfie. “Will you be joining us in the water, Savannah?”

The petite blond couldn’t hide her sneer. “I think I’ll pass, sugar, but thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” Charlie shrugged. “You might want to get changed then. It’s going to start cooling off soon.”

Savannah smiled, the pull of her lips a touch too saccharine to be sincere, and said, “Thanks, honey. I’ll do that.”

As Savannah strutted into her tent, Jake joined his daughters and mussed their hair. “Last one in is a rotten egg!”

He took off running, his long legs eating up the ground as his daughters squealed and sprinted after him.

By the time they emerged from the chilly water, the sun was hanging low in the Texan sky and the air had adopted a slight nip that spoke of the coming autumn. Charlie and Abby raced to get dressed in their flannel pyjamas and their thick socks. As they pulled on their matching PJs, they heard Savannah whine and swapped grins.

“I HATE THE OUTDOORS!” she shrieked. “Everything hurts, I have bruises everywhere, my hair is so frizzy, and I must’ve been bitten a thousand times because I can’t. Stop. ITCHING!”

The girls could practically hear the frustrated look on their father’s face as he faced her. “I thought you said you’d been camping before?” he asked, his voice cool under pressure.

Savannah scoffed. “Yeah, in a cabin like civilized human beings. You know, electricity and indoor plumbing? And we never rode to the cabin! We drove there.”

“Who took care of that prize winning mare of yours while you were gone?”

“The staff, as usual,” she replied as though she were talking to a small child. “They do everything for her.”

The twins could feel the rising tension even from inside the shelter of their tent. “Even ride her?”

“Duh,” Savannah giggled. “Daddy paid top dollar for her because I wanted to try barrel racing, but I hate riding, so now she just has babies that we sell. Daddy lets me keep the profit since she’s mine and all. Two of her babies paid for my month-long trip to Paris.”

Jake huffed a sigh. “And you didn’t tell me this because?”

“What does it matter?” she replied coyly, a branch cracking under her foot as she moved closer to him. “We have loads of other things in common, sugar.”

Charlie rolled her eyes at Abby before leaping out of their tent. “Dad! We’re starving! Can we get the fire going so we can eat?”

Jake nodded, his eyes still fixed on Savannah. “You two go collect some firewood, and I’ll get everything ready.”

“Savannah, you want to come?” Abby called sweetly.

Savannah grumbled, her hands scrabbling against her chest and stomach. “Why am I so damn itchy!” she shouted, stomping her foot.

Jake huffed and turned to her. “You’re probably having an allergic reaction to something. Go wash off in the lake while the girls are gone. Take the calamine lotion from in my bag and make sure you cover all your itchy areas. I’ll get you some of my clothes to wear.”

“An allergic reaction to what?” she seethed, glaring at the twins as though she knew it was their fault.

“I think Uncle Rooster might have changed our laundry detergent,” Charlie supplied, grinning at her. “Maybe that’s it.”

“Maybe…” Savannah snarled before stalking off, the sound of her complaining drowning out the twin’s peals of laughter.

Savannah complained that the hot dogs and smores they were eating weren’t on her diet plan for the wedding, but Jake promptly shut it all down by telling her they were her only choice. Grumpy and painted pink from the calamine lotion, she slowly munched on a hot dog, grimacing with every bite.

“Dad?”

Jake grinned at Abby and nodded. “What’s up, kiddo?”

“I know you’re supposed to tell us stories around the campfire…” Jake’s confirming nod gave her the courage to finish. “Could you tell us about your first date with Mom?”

Savannah’s eyes went wide, and she looked as if she was about to complain again, but Jake cut her a look and she quieted.

“Sure, darlin’. If that’s what you want to hear…” Jake grunted as he settled himself further into his chair, his daughters watching him from a log across the crackling fire. “Let’s see…”

The San Diego Zoo, almost 13 years ago

Jake’s palms were sweating, which was saying something. He was the only pilot of his generation who had not one, but two air to air confirmed kills under his belt. He was ice cold under pressure. Nothing made him flinch. But strolling amongst the different animal exhibits with Buttercup had his hands damp and gross, no matter how many times he wiped them on his jeans.

My god, how he had fallen for her. Her spark, her sass, that fire in her eyes that challenged him in all the right ways. She was brilliant. She was perfect. And he had to make sure she didn’t wise up and take her brother's advice. There was no denying that Bob Floyd still didn't like him very much, and who could blame him? He'd been a dick to everyone when they had all arrived at Top Gun for the Uranium Mission. Now, Jake was still a dick, but he wasn't 100% an asshole anymore. He needled his teammates, pushed them to be better, aggravated them until they were achieving their full potential. It's what he did. What he had always done, even as the captain and quarterback of the high school football team. His methods didn't earn him many friends, but they earned him a shitload of respect.

It had taken him three weeks to work up the courage to ask out Bob Floyd's little sister. Three weeks of hanging out with her at the Hard Deck, three weeks of getting his ass kicked by her at pool, three weeks of feeling like a fucking freshman again, drooling over the girl that was so out of his league.

It was Phoenix who had finally given him the push to ask her out. A gruff "She likes you too, dumbass, so don't miss your fucking chance" was all that he needed to ask her to go to the zoo of all places. He'd heard her mention it a couple of times and wanted to make their first date memorable, because he had a sneaky feeling that it was one he would be talking about for a while.

“Giraffes are this way, darlin’,” he chuckled as he gently tugged her arm down the correct path.

Buttercup squealed and swung their hands between them. “I freaking love giraffes!”

He shook his head playfully. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“What?” she pouted. “The hot aviator my brother has been bitching about for like a year takes me to the zoo to meet the giraffes and I’m not allowed to be excited about it?”

“No, you are,” he smiled, squeezing her hand. “It’s cute.”

“You just said it was weird,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, but a good weird. I like your weird.”

“I like your weird too.”

He blinked. “I’m not weird.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re the only person I know who can name every type of military jet. In order of the year they were made.”

“Lots of pilots can do that,” he blushed.

“No they can’t, and you know it.”

“Fine, whatever,” he teased. “The giraffes are here, you weirdo.”

She squealed again and tugged him along to the meeting area, where the tour guide was waiting for them.

The whole tour of the giraffe enclosure, Jake kept a close eye on Buttercup, who was drinking in all the information. She was incredible. The way her eyes lit up with excitement, the way she quietly squealed as the giraffes strolled over to look at her. It made a funny pit grow in his stomach. He could watch her facial expressions forever. It made him feel like a fucking superhero to know that he was the one who made her smile like that, that he had been the one to make this happen.

Finally, the tour guide led them up close to the giraffes, who were milling about the wide paddock.

“I’m going to fill their food buckets so that they’ll come closer, and you can say hi, okay?” she grinned at them and Jake pulled out his phone. He wanted to capture the smile on her face as she met her favourite animal for the first time. He wanted to be able to look down at that smile the next time he was out in the middle of the Atlantic and remember how good she had made him feel just by standing beside him.

Buttercup squealed softly as the giraffes came close, and Jake chuckled. "Excited?"

"I still can't believe you set this up," she murmured, glancing up at him with stars in her eyes. "This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me."

"You're welcome." His smile was almost shy as he watched her interact with the gentle giants. "Would you maybe want to grab dinner on the way back? I know a great place for Italian."

Her responding grin was just as bright as it was when she started feeding the giraffes, and Jake gulped. He knew in his heart that this was the start of something special.

As Charlie listened to the story, her misty eyes watched Savannah stomp away to her tent in a huff.

Morning broke, and with it, so did the silence.

Savannah shrieked and, based on the racket she was making, her tent was probably about to fall down too, if it hadn’t already.

Abby and Charlie shared a startled look and bolted from their tent. They hadn’t done anything. They figured having to listen to a romantic zoo proposal story had been enough torture for one night. But there Savannah was, screaming and shoving at her tent, which had seemingly collapsed on her.

“What the hell is going on here?” Jake shouted, his boots hitting the ground as he took in the sight. “Savannah, what is wrong with you?”

“They did this!” she screamed, a pink painted nail stabbing at Abby and Charlie. “I know they did!”

“Savannah—”

“No!” she shouted, whirling on him. “I know they put that chipmunk in my saddle bag. I know they put something itchy in my clothes. And I know that they made my tent fall down on top of me!”

Abby turned to her father. “We didn’t make the tent fall, Dad. I swear!”

“You see!” Savannah shrieked. “The little demon admits it!”

“Watch it!” Jake growled, stepping in front of Abby.

Charlie bent to look at the ground in front of Savannah’s collapsed tent. “There’s hoofprints here, Dad.” She followed the tracks over to where Angel stood, her reins dragging on the ground. A thin black fiber hung out of her mouth. The exact same colour as Savannah’s tent.

“You expect me to believe that a horse collapsed my tent?” Savannah seethed.

“It looks to be that way,” Jake replied icily. “Now, you owe my girls an apology.”

“An apology?” she laughed coldly. “You heard the little brat. She only denied collapsing my tent, which means she did the other things!” Savannah sneered at her. “I know you’re the British one. I can tell a fake accent a mile away. And let me tell you this. You showing up here was the worst day of my life. I never wanted to be a stepmother! I thought maybe I could handle one kid until I could convince you to send her to boarding school, but two? No one in their right mind would want to be a stepmother to two little brats!”

Jake stepped smoothly in between them, both Abby and Charlie huddled behind him as he faced his fiancée. “Who says I would’ve sent them to boarding school? They’re my girls.”

“I am your girl!” she shrieked. “ME! M.E.! And if you want to marry me, then you have to choose! Because I’m not playing second fiddle to two little she devils anymore! Got it?”

“Then…” Jake chuckled. “I choose them.”

“Excuse me?”

“T.H.E.M? Them. I choose my girls. Got it?”

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[emerald9d]

Kris specifically intended to start weird route to get the thorn ring, but abort before the Berdly fight.

Lemme explain. This does pertain to the new chapters.

Even before these latest chapters came out, I’ve noticed… things. Firstly, the fact that you could get the thorn ring and abort weird route before bringing it to fruition was already suspect. Secondly… there’s something about the dialog prompts in Deltarune. Specifically the ones with two responses. And it’s this:

The right side choice is Kris’ intended response. The left side choice… I guess we’ll call that the soul’s choice. Kind of a wild thing to just claim in brief, I know, but bear with me.

At first in weird route its like, we’re just beboppin’ along, picking the dick responses cuz its fun/interesting to see what happens with them.

But then we get to this prompt after the electric barrier button puzzle thing.

Now, the right side choice is the correct one to continue the route. Kris now has input in the route.

From there, it’s the “Proceed” prompts.

Interesting how this is where the soul responses suddenly get really apologetic. But that’s beside the point. Kris is hitting the gas hard on weird route here, all of a sudden.

After this is when you get the rest of the darkner freezing done, and then get the thorn ring, and then face Berdly. But here’s what’s always bothered me, and part of why I’m saying left vs right matters:

Why is “proceed” inconsistently on the left side all of a sudden? Also, what is up with “I’m protecting her from you!” When was that established? To me that’s always felt like a weak justification for… whatever is actually happening here in Kris’ brain. Being on the right side, it’s Kris saying it. And it’s the option that aborts the route, with the thorn ring still in your possession.

Weird route is, in it’s totality, basically DR’s genocide route equivalent, I think we can agree on that. But if that’s the case… then why is there currently at least TWO instances of the regular playthrough having a character say something that actually directs you to do weird route? Spamton in chapter 2, if you beat his first fight with violence, he says

"WHEN KIDS LIKE YOU ARE [Beating People Up],

[Spitting] IN THEIR EYES, THROWING SAND IN THEIR [Face],

[Stomping] ON THEIR TOES, YANKING THEIR [Noses],

AND NOT EVEN GIVING THEM A SINGLE CENT FOR IT!?

YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE ALL THAT EARLIER!

AND BEEN THE FIRST TO OWN MY [Commemorative Ring]

TOO BAD! SEE YOU KID!"

And then in the chapter 3 shadow mantle side quest, in the ice dungeon, there’s that one room with text that says

If weird route was intended as a “you’re supposed to choose not to do this” kind of option like genocide was, you’d think the game wouldn’t outright encourage it, right? The only way I can really square that is that the game DOES want you to start weird route, but only to a point.

The egg room in chapter 4 interests me in this. Namely in this part while Kris is drawing:

Why does Kris seem okay with doing weird route up to a point, but then seem absolutely infuriated about it in chapter 4? Why do they seem… not necessarily evil, but quite jaded and not really interested in darkners?

This game is moving in a direction of asking us to find a particular sequence of chapter save files that are completed in a particular manner, in order to accomplish… something, we can’t really know yet. But it’s something.

And Kris knows the proper sequence already, and knows what the end goal is. And god knows how long they’ve been fucking around with all this to figure that out. It’s no wonder they’d cease caring about peripheral details.

[catsoupki]

I’LL BE HERE (WAITING) (8.0K) AO3

pairing - katsuki bakugou x reader

synopsis - you first meet ground zero when he needs a place to be alone. now, coffee, for bakugou, becomes less a necessity and more of an excuse to see you, maybe.

cw - FLUFFY !!!!! WHOLESOME !!!!! pro!hero bakugou, coffee shop AU, hurt/comfort but the hurt is very brief, canon-typical violence, reader has no specified quirk, typos

a/n - inspired by “sunflowers don’t grow in the city” but i can no longer find that work on ao3 :( finally decided to cross-post this ancient relic from ao3 after editing a bit

taglist - @cashmoneyyysstuff @staraxiaa @hatsukeii

wednesday

You swear that when you catch feelings, which you will as much as you promise you won’t, you’ll keep quiet, you won’t tell your closest friends, you won’t even have the chance to deny the guess even if it were correct because your friends wouldn’t know that you have a crush to begin with. You’ll watch, you’ll listen, and you’ll do those in silence too; they won’t confess because people just don’t do that nowadays, and you sure as hell won’t either because everything eventually falls apart, and you’re already busy from picking up the pieces from before.

Maybe you’re still making yourself more likeable, paying too much attention to details nobody cares about, maybe you’re still making people fall for you intentionally, maybe you’re not, who knows? But what you do know is that you won’t fuss over having a crush anymore, because people grow aloof, they turn selfish, and things get messy, and more so, they get too tiring to be cared for.

thursday

You find that you often attach your emotions to songs; right now, before closing, you’re feeling the same exact feeling you felt all those years ago, back when you were 16 years old, after school, giggling with your friends, drawing little hearts next to your crushes’ names, all huddled up around your desk talking about boys, the homework that was originally the whole entire reason why you got together in the first place laid ignored on it too; back then, it felt like you were eternity.

And back then, never have you imagined that by the time you were at the age of twenty three, you’d be working at your own cafe, well, sort of, half cafe half library.

friday

It’s getting cold, again. Right after the A/C gets fixed when it hasn’t been working the entire summer. The sun is starting to reach the counter earlier again. You’ve missed this. You hope you’re not being basic, but you love autumn so much, and the amount of mochas you can get without being judged since you are the boss at a fucking cafe after all. You’re being basic. Fuck it. Cause you love being basic.

The moon really does offer solace, to the ones drowning in their own thoughts, to the ones that are bored out of their minds. Never moving, just, there. The crickets.. quacking? (You laughed at that, your own joke) Cricketing? They’re behind your ears, you feel like you are out of place somehow, wherein you should be in a movie instead. The city lights, the blurring ones, they’re so pretty: the red, white, and blueish ones? Flashing flashlights on faraway mountains, on the tips of airplanes, I guess you never really realise how fast they’re flying until you’re on the ground and looking up, standing still. You think you can close the cafe early today, you have to open at six tomorrow, God please let me get a good night of sleep. It’ll be fine though. It always is.

saturday

Today, the Number Two Hero visited your cafe. I know. Crazy right? You couldn’t really freak out over it though, since this is a place supposedly made for people to find the quietness that they need. You don’t know why you’re so surprised that Ground Zero (number two hero!) does in fact wear normal clothes. He is still human after all, you sometimes forget that, that they’re mortal. Anyway, he looks totally different compared to what he does on billboards, where he’d either be in his hero costume or some high end fashion suits that probably cost more than this cafe. He’s just wearing that. Sweatpants and a tank top. I mean, boring but definitely flattering. He isn’t a hero for nothing, his job is literally to stay in tip-top shape. To fight bad guys or whatever.

Okay that’s a bit mean, he does keep the streets safe, but he’s kinda rude, yeah you get it, you’re exhausted from the constant flashes surrounding you, but really no need to scream at everything and everyone you see. He hasn’t screamed here today, though.

Maybe you don’t get it, after all.

Other than him, nothing interesting has happened. All the same, teenagers that either bring other teenagers here to take aesthetic pictures and look at books or they bring their very reluctant significant others here. It’s always a victory to see said partners grow fonder of this place as they spend time here. Small wins. You know its charm, that was the whole reason why you bought it.

Blondie left after a few hours, right when the sun was setting, it’s a shame that he didn’t stay, the view there is always the best out of the entire harbour. It’s also a shame you didn’t ask for his autograph, you could have sold it for something, that’s a certain.

ᝰ

He scoffs as he reads that line, of course you only want his autograph to sell it for money.

ᝰ

sunday

On again, off again, love you like oxygen

You heard that on the radio today when you were driving to the grocery store, and fell into one of your melancholic episodes again. You wanna be in love, can someone love you? Please? You know it’s stupid and selfish and just ridiculously not right to wait and do nothing until someone finally makes the move, and expect them to be the perfect match to all your standards, but can’t a girl dream?

6:47 pm, Ground Zero comes in again. At the spot he sat last time too. Near the window, at the corner on your left. All depressed and quiet and stuff. So for the entire day, he was at the corner of your eye, grumbling under his breath for whatever worries he has, or had, you hope the cafe eases at least one away.

monday

The weekend is over, for five days you’ll be writing in this journal for ninety percent of your work day, which is actually very fine with you. In the morning, you had the biggest order of this month come in, five new york cheesecakes, five iced americanos, six iced bubble teas, and one matcha muffin. You hope their party is going well. You wonder whether they’re having a farewell party, but this early in the morning and on a Monday? They’re definitely living the good life.

He comes in, again. It’s the third time this week, the atmosphere was kinda nice before he came in, I mean, it couldn’t really be bad since you were the only person there. He sits in front of you this time. The table that is closest to you, which happens to be in front of you too. He also orders a black coffee besides the usual chocolate chip muffin. Of course Dynamight would drink coffee as dark as his soul, straight, bitter, like him.

tuesday

You’ll have to stay till late to clean up. A typhoon without prior notice hit the harbour so everybody came in here to hide from the rain, so the floor is wet as hell. Hopefully you don’t fall, you don’t want an ass print on your pants.

The cafe is crowded today, a lot of tired workers came in after they got released early to go home, only to get hit by the heavy rain on their way back; and also you had a lot, a lot, of students. Reminds you of the days where you’d make plans with your friends without checking the weather forecast first, but today there was only one hero, though.

And who would have guessed that he’d be the one for small talk?

ᝰ

“Why do you have so many romance novels in this shithole?” He mumbles as he looks around at the books as if they were gonna attack him.

“First, it isn’t a shithole. And second, I’m a sucker for love.” You smile. His heart skips a beat.

ᝰ

“You’re always writing in that journal, what could possibly be interesting enough here to fill that many pages?” He asks you, laying his forearm on the counter, while you’re tapping away at the screen at the drink he just ordered. With a frown on his face, of course.

Villains are humans too, and apparently they don’t like wreaking havoc in the rain either.

He’s grown to like you more. Or maybe just the cafe. Maybe. He doesn’t have to deal with the press or any obnoxious fans or anything here, really. You didn’t react, like at all, when he first came in. He skipped breakfast that day since he woke up late, he got home later than usual the previous night, and fell asleep on the couch immediately, so he didn’t get the chance to set an alarm either. Luckily he still made it to his patrol the next day on time though, he just gave up his precious food for it.

“It isn’t interesting, but wouldn’t you want to know, maybe a few years later, exactly what you were thinking on this particular day?” His answer is no, no he would not like to know what he was thinking back in his UA days.

Read: no he would not like to know what he was thinking back in his horny puberty days.

The rest of the customers have left already, since the downpour had calmed to a quiet drizzle by then, but Bakugou hasn’t gotten his order yet. He’ll tell you to hurry up, that he has somewhere to be, but he doesn’t, because he didn’t have anywhere to be at all. Even if he does, if he had the choice, he’d stay here, with you maybe.

ᝰ

wednesday

It’s becoming a routine at this point. Between six thirty pm to seven o’clock, he comes in and orders his coffee, then he leans against the wall and watches me clean up the tables and prepare for closing.

Sometimes he’ll help you open the rubbish bin when you’re walking there with the broom and tray already taking up space in your hands, but most of the time he just watches you, like a hawk. Though he still washes his own glass, the glass that holds his bad choice in drinks, (black coffee is disgusting, you stand by it) you don’t think he knows that you still have to wash it again after he leaves.

When he does, you flip the sign from open to close, you shut off the lights, then you take the glass along with your bag and walk upstairs to your apartment and wash it there.

You hope you’ll see him again tomorrow.

thursday

Sales have been going down. The rest of your income that usually goes to your savings is going down. The bills stay the same, the rent stays the same, but income is going down.

You sold three more vanilla cupcakes when you were waiting for him at 7:01 pm. You hope you’ll see him tomorrow, you didn’t today.

friday

ᝰ

(His heart is pumping: You hoped to see him again today.)

Friday is still empty, but he looks at it anyway. He knows he shouldn’t be here reading your private thoughts, now that his head is flooding with them, but the thing that you’ve been writing in since the day he first visited the cafe was right there in front of him, exposed and naked on the counter, inches away from his tapping pointer finger when you were in the back readying the batch of muffins needed for tomorrow’s early baking.

Now, he’s thinking that maybe he should treat the agency to a pastry or two, or thirty, or more, tomorrow, from his favourite half cafe half library, sort of, anyway.

ᝰ

“What?” His assistant asks him, eyes unblinking, what did her boss just request?

“It’s not that fucking difficult to understand, order a drink and a snack of everybody’s choice from the corner street cafe down the harbour. I’ll put the extra money in your November paycheck.”

“From Espresso Express?”

“..yes.”

The agency is in a better mood after that, chirpy, despite all the calls coming in to report villains causing trouble, people going in and out, in and out to stop the trouble, and some needing the many, many first-aid kits in the building, everyone is chirpy, and so are you.

ᝰ

friday

Today, the biggest fucking order came in, since the entirety of the cafe’s history, shit you not. Twenty iced bubble teas, eleven hot ones, two lattes, two caramel shakes, ten new york cheesecakes, ten matcha muffins, ten chocolate chip muffins, and five vanilla cupcakes. Bless whoever made that order. This month’s income just jumped ¥36000. That’s enough to pay two and a half months worth of bills, mind you.

ᝰ

The door swings open, making the tiny bell on the door ring a few times, zephyrs running through the strings of his hair, making him even more attractive than he already was in his matching tracksuit.

“How was today’s sales?” the first thing he asks after walking into the cafe. And when he looks up, he sees the tiniest smile decorating your face. Then what the fuck does it take for this shitty woman to laugh?

“Well, very, very well. Your patrol?”

The question definitely shocked him a bit, not really, so you do know that he’s a pro hero, how come you’ve never made a reaction before? He is the number two hero after all, it didn’t phase him that you knew who he was, right?

“More villains, nothing I couldn’t handle though, some stupid shitty pickpocketing gangs that didn’t even put any thought into the whole process, if you’re gonna wreak havoc at least do it well.”

And you laugh. So that’s what it takes?

He notices that you are placing two plates down on the table he is sitting at, hm you look cute in that apron.

“Don’t you dare waste my food, I’ll fucking kill you, pro hero or not.” He takes it back.

ᝰ

saturday

I saved her today.

ᝰ

The sound of glass shattering makes you jump, looking up immediately you are met with the sight of civilians running, almost over each other. You grab your bag at once and dash outside, the stupidest decision you could make.

Running while carrying a tote bag is more difficult than you imagined. It bumps into everything, flipped over cars and other running people mostly, but never mind because your tote bag is knocked out of your hands when a blast of water is shot at your back so hard that you fall to your knees. You immediately feel the skin tearing from the rough asphalt road and your muscles bruising from the impact, you get up immediately though, it doesn’t matter if you lose your phone, or your wallet, or your entire bag, just not your life.

Then your ear drums almost burst from the sound of explosions, but you couldn’t be happier, to see him.

Him— he looks oddly handsome. In his hero costume, he’s shooting explosions from his palms, simultaneously yelling at people to run, but you can’t, couldn’t, your legs are glued to the ground, you’ fucking stuck.

“Dumbass hide!” And you can only assume ‘dumbass’ to be you, as there is only you on the street.

So as much as you don’t want to, you run as quickly as your legs would allow you to hide behind an alleyway, you hear sirens coming from afar, the cops are here, he wouldn’t need to face the stupid fuck face lowly shit villain alone anymore.

Never mind, ducking your head to peek at the fight is the stupidest decision you’ve made so far, as your face becomes the big red target of both a water blast and an explosion, your head shoots backwards and it bashes into the concrete wall, you grow dizzy, your line of vision is slipping, or are you the one slipping? You couldn’t tell. At least you got to see him once. His eyes grow wide.

Fuck you and you villains, you stupid fuck face.

He quickly finishes the fight, letting the police handle the rest (mostly damage control) as he is hurrying to you, the paramedics couldn’t see you, so there is only him.

He knows where you live, from the times you head upstairs. He tells you that’s he’s leaving, but in reality, he flies to the rooftop next door, and for the first half an hour of his night patrols, he listens to your dragging footsteps up the staircase, to the tired door click, to your record player, to you singing along, to the sounds of you washing his glass, to the sounds of your muffled singing in the shower, while he finishes the muffin you gave him. And at around one o’clock, he’ll go home, when his limbs become laden with a satisfying exhaustion, when he knows you’re safely tucked in bed, dreaming, maybe of him, hopefully him.

Now, as you’re slung over his shoulder with his hand on your calves making sure you don’t fall off, he searches for the tote bag he knows you have, dirty on the side of the road, no doubt it got stepped on as people were evacuating. He picks it up with his other hand, trying to search for the key in it, and he walks to your apartment door.

ᝰ

Your head is pounding, that’s for sure. You also hear the sound of your record player playing, the lights from your living room almost blinding you. Woah, sensory overload.

“Good, you’re finally awake, dumbass.” That’s the first thing you hear, great. “I need to change the bandages around your head, they’re already fucking bleeding through, it’s barely been two hours, fucking Christ.” He cursed how many times? While you’re still trying to register everything around you.

Why is he in your apartment? Why do you have bandages around your— Oh. Right.

“Sit up, woman! I don’t have all day!”

That is a lie, he does have all day, in fact he could stay here all week if he wanted to, if you wanted him to.

So you do, you sit up, and immediately your center of gravity is somehow all down at your back and you’re falling again, not as bad as last time certainly, your house doesn’t have a concrete alleyway nor does it have a villain whose superpower is blasting water that is fighting with the number two hero—

But your head almost hits the armrest on your couch, though it doesn’t, because his hand is placed on your upper back to stop that.

“Be a bit more careful, will you? You already have a mild concussion.” He growled before rolling his eyes, without real malice behind it, but he doesn’t know if you know that.

Your hand grasps his shirt, then onto the back of the couch. Since you have your eyes closed — it’s still taking you a bit to get used to the strong lights, your head is already tight as shit — and thank God you have your eyes closed, because the tips of his ears are so fucking red. You basically just unintentionally face-planted into his chest (with your eyes closed), what the fuck.

He unwraps the tight bandages on your head and replaces them with new ones, trying to calm himself down. (“Can you make them looser please? I’ll have a severe concussion and not just a mild one if you don’t.” you ask, very politely too, which he responds to with: “Fuck’s sakes woman they’re supposed to be tight so it’ll stop the bleeding.”)

He orders you to sleep (“You need a lot of rest and drink a lot of water, eat more things that contain iron since you lost a lot of blood.” “Sure doc.” “Shut the fuck up or I’ll kill you.” “Sure doc.” And he hears you laugh the second time, so he lets you go) He screams at you to sleep once more, so you request him to support you and offer balance while you walk to the bed. And as he leaves, “Come back tomorrow.”

So he does.

ᝰ

You wake up to the sounds of knocking, you didn’t close the curtains last night, which is fine since right now it wakes you up more to greet the door. Right before you do that though, you do try and fix your bed hair a bit more, and splash some cold water on your face to wake your swollen face up, maybe you would do something else too but his knocks (bangs) are gonna break the door soon so you open it first.

“Go back to sleep.”

“You woke me up.”

“Jesus okay! Suit yourself, fuck’s sakes.”

You wobble to the bathroom, as you shut the door you hear the clicks of the gas stove being turned on. At least he’s cooking breakfast for you when he so rudely woke you up from your slumber.

“They’re doing damage control right now, since your cafe is included in the area, they’ll fix it, and pay for it as well so you don’t have to spend a penny, they’re gonna buy you all the books too; you have to close the shop anyway, even if it weren’t damaged,” he stops you when he sees your eye twinkle. “you’re fucking damaged so don’t even think about it until you’re completely healed.”

“Rude.”

After that, you guys don’t talk for the rest of breakfast. Basic eggs and bacon and some leftover days old muffins from the cafe that you took home: a western breakfast.

He does the dishes too, guess it makes up for the times you did his. (“IT’S ONE SINGLE GLASS HOW FUCKING HARD CAN IT BE! LOOK AT THIS! TWO PLATES, FOUR UTENSILS AND A FRYING PAN-“ “Yes okay, okay you’re giving me brain damage again.” “SHUT UP YOU-“)

He doesn’t leave, even after the dishes are done, he joins you on the couch, you’re reading, and he turns on the news next to you. You can feel his smirk as he listens to the report talk about him, saving your day.

ᝰ

sunday

You got attacked by a villain yesterday, haha, you were saved by him though, so it’s okay. He cooked me breakfast, I guess that was to make up for waking you up at seven in the morning by banging on your door until the hinges were about to fall off.

Today’s fine, he’s here after all.

ᝰ

A bump has formed on the inner side of your middle finger from holding the same ballpoint pen for a few hours every day, the resting foam on the pen has thinned into a layer that you could barely call a layer. It’s still a very pretty pen so you keep it anyway.

ᝰ

As days go on, things start to return to normal, you go back to taking care of the cafe, and as an apology his agency sent you a fair share of money to make up for the income you would have gotten in the week of repairing. However, there’s one thing that didn’t go back to its state prior to the attack: Bakugou.

Katsuki, you mean. He’s been making you call him by his first name since the day you got home from getting groceries, and you were looking for him, so you were shouting his name around the house, before you could finish the third shout though, he cut you off and told you to call him Katsuki. For whatever reason, not that you care.

When the day starts, hours before patrol, he goes to the cafe and helps you set up everything, he only stays in the back though, his reason being he doesn’t want stalkers seeing him there, nor the press, he doesn’t want to end up on the front page from rumours again.

Two hours before patrol, you cook him a meal, and not just muffins and cupcakes, you cook him something filled with all the nutrients he’ll need for the day of fighting bad guys (he whacked you over the head for that one) curry with rice, spaghetti with meatballs, depends on the day and also the leftover groceries from the dinner of previous nights; he sits at the place behind the counter that’s covered by the largest menu, so he could eat without people staring at him.

Correction: he could eat with nobody but you staring at him.

And during patrol, he tries his best to not let you infiltrate his mind: your smile, your laugh, your voice, your scent, (it’s actually just the scent of freshly baked chocolate chip muffins, when it’s still warm, its best state he often claims) the creases next to your eyes when you grin—

He’s getting carried away, again.

After patrol, he hurries the shower that he’s been taking since the first day he became a pro hero at the agency and hurries even more to Espresso Express. He helps you do the dishes, he helps you clean up; and when the cafe closes (which means when the curtains are down) he leaves the back room like some animal that just finished hibernating in the winter (he also whacked you over the head for that one) and he lifts the chairs, flips them onto the tables, so you can vacuum the floor.

Then the day is over. You invite him up for dinner, which he declines, then you insist, then he declines, then you insist, then he declines— Never mind he’s too tired to argue, is what he tells himself when he finally agrees.

He cooks you dinner. Romantic, right? Wrong. He shouts at you to turn down the volume of the music played by your record player so he can hear when the oven is done. He shouts at you to get the heatproof mat ready because he’s already carrying the burning pot to the table and it’s really burning his fingers but you were still laughing at the show you were watching.

He just looks at you, and sometimes when you do notice, you cock your head to the side and he’s cursing at you in his head to stop being this fucking cute because he’s already blonde and the pink blush will show up extra overtly and he does not want you to see that.

You ask him ‘What?’ even when the pause of silence is barely noticeable to the third person, but with that, he knows you’re listening, you don’t just block him out and ignore the name calling like the rest (most) of the world does, but—

Never mind, no buts. He’s thankful. That’s it. Just really fucking thankful.

For you, maybe.

ᝰ

“Good morning sir, what could I help you with today?” You smile knowingly— knowing that it’s him, despite the cap and sunglasses. “You know what.” He grunted out, hey at least he got you to smile.

“Coming right up!” As you whisk away to the back to make his au lait, (no longer black coffees because you claim that those are what makes him so grumpy all the time) and you swear you see the difference, he certainly doesn’t.

ᝰ

“Hey— oh what the fuck.” Kirishima stands at the door frozen, he had just rung up Bakugou, wanting to hang out since they’ve both been so busy cause of the increase in crime.

When Bakugou sent him a new address that he didn’t recognise, he just thought his best friend got another house that would be closer to his agency and his patrol route, but when he’s met by a girl that certainly doesn’t look like Bakugou after he rings the bell, he thinks he has gotten the wrong address, maybe this is his neighbour, his cute neighbour.

“I sent Katsuki down to get groceries, he’ll probably be back in a few, please come in and wait for him if you’d like.”

Damn they’re on first name basis? Bakugou and a cute girl are on first name basis—

“Yeah sure thing! Thank you—” Before he can even finish the sentence, he’s already pulling out his phone to text Kaminari.

SHITTY HAIR: BAKUSQUAD GUYS GUESS WHAT

DUNCEFACE: did bakubro blow up something again

RACCOON EYES: denki got bitches?

SHITTY HAIR: NO YOU WOULDN’T HAVE GUESSED BROS HE’S ON FIRST NAME BASIS WITH A CUTE GIRL

SHITTY HAIR: SHE EVEN SAID SHE SENT HIM DOWN TO GET GROCERIES SO MANLY

FLAT FACE: he’s whipped.

Yes. Yes he is.

ᝰ

Katsuki’s brow is twitching, actually his entire face is twitching, because why the fuck is Dunce Face standing outside your door along with Shitty hair asking you a bunch of questions that all involve his name!

He’s sitting so stiffly at the kitchen island that you’re afraid his back will snap. Red Riot, or Eijiro Kirishima as he insists, and Chargebolt, ’My name’s Denki but you can call me yours anytime— BAKUBRO!’ are talking about you like you’re not there. Which is kind of funny, seeing Katsuki’s reaction.

You prepare tea for the four of you, which manages to calm him down a bit, and after a trip to the bathroom, you come out to the three of them having a very enthusiastic chat. Denki pointing fingers at Bakugou, which he seems like he might just snap them off, and Kirishima trying to stop Bakugou from actually cutting them off.

The day rushes away when you’re happy. And soon, it was already night time, ten o’clock night time. As you two bid them goodbye, you can still see the faint dusting of a flush on his face. Is he embarrassed of you?

“Uh.. sorry about that.” You apologise, trying to see where to step and where to not on this field filled with anger landmines.

“What?” It’s almost like a magic trick to you, to see his face soften before you can even blink, compared to his usual frown, and the extra frown he had on before they left.

“I didn’t clean up the house properly since I didn’t know there’d be guests.. I only figured out they’re your friends since they are Red Riot and Chargebolt after all. So, uh, sorry about the messy place, you must be embarrassed—“ You’re in the middle of talking when he cuts you off.

“What?” He repeats, but you know he heard you fine both times.

“I, uh,” He looks cute scratching his neck like that.

“No, uh, the house is fine, I’m not embarrassed, why would I be? It’s fine, I should be apologising for not telling you earlier that somebody would be coming over. Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He tries his best to not look like an injured animal and to actually look like he’s smiling when he turns his back, fuck, his blush is back again (stronger too). He’ll blame the way your eyes widen, pink covers your cheeks as it does to his, because how can anyone not blush at that? He’ll blame how cute you look, his heart pumping, faster, and faster, and faster and faster—

Fucking traitor.

After he turns the corner at the staircase, you slam the door shut. Like slam slam. He can’t help but let out a small chuckle at the way you reacted. It’s good to know he has the same effect you have on him, do you know you have this effect on him? Probably not, you’re a dumbass.

(His dumbass.)

After the door is shut, you get up immediately and scramble to find your journal because you absolutely do not trust your voice right now.

12/12

Help help help help help help help help help help help—

Okay you get it. You think. Nevermind. Wait. Fuck. You think you might just be doing the one thing you said you won’t.

13/12

Okay yeah you definitely do.

And quite frankly (ironically too) you don’t know what to do about it. He’s so pretty, he’s so, so, so, pretty. Sometimes you think you’re looking at some kind of Greek God when you see him. Then yoi register that, oh, he is one. Or I guess more specifically: King Murder Explosion God Dynamight.

Or something along those lines, but at times you really can’t understand how can someone be this perfect? You hope it’s just a crush, it probably is. He’s leaving soon anyway. Some, transfer? Few years away should be more than enough for you to get over him.

ᝰ

Maybe he should do this diary bullshit too.

ᝰ

Why is this so awkward?

He’s scratching the back of his neck again, he does that when he doesn’t know how to communicate in words, you’ve noticed.

“I’ll—“ You gulp. You don’t know. “—have food ready when you get back. Please shower first though, I don’t want this place to smell like sweat.”

He smiles. He doesn’t try to hide it, for the first time. “Yeah, don’t worry about—“

“Don’t hurt yourself.” You’re not looking at him, too scared, too afraid. And he smiles again, you don’t think you’ll ever grow tired of that sight.

“Okay enough of that shitty stuff, let’s eat I’m hungry as fuck.” He whisks you away to the kitchen, and this time you’re the one who cooks, but not really, you’re too busy worrying.

Tonight, you two sleep on the same bed, for the first time, but when you wake up, you don’t see him. You know why, he’s been telling you for a week, but you’re gonna get up, get out of bed, and go around the house calling for him.

“Katsuki?” Not in the kitchen. “Katsuki?” Not the living room either. “Katsuki?” You give up finally after ten minutes, calling out to no one, and no one answered.

ᝰ

monday

He left today.

ᝰ

When you get back to your bed again, you notice the notebook that has been lying on your bed for a couple of hours.

So you read.

ᝰ

saturday

I saved you today.

monday

I still like you. That hasn’t changed one bit. Or it has, this fucking thing in my heart is only growing and growing and sometimes I worry it’ll make me explode. Ironic.

wednesday

The au laits you make are the best. Better than black coffees, I don’t know how, but you make them just right, they always taste a bit fucked when I try them at other cafes, but never here, or maybe that’s just you. Probably, but I’m fine with that.

I think you know that your chocolate chip muffins are my favourite. I don’t believe you when you say there’s always one, literally only one every day, muffin left, and that you’re full, (even when you always down two bowls of rice every time I cook) so that I should eat the remaining muffin. Do you always just save a muffin for me? Or am I lying to myself? The lie tastes too sweet to care anyway. I’ll never get tired of chocolate chip muffins.

Correction: I’ll never get tired of your chocolate chip muffins.

thursday

I’m leaving soon, you know that. I know that you pretend you don’t.

sunday

Let’s go on a date. I’ll buy you tickets to the concert of the singer you love. Let’s go.

monday

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

tuesday

You look so pretty all the time. You’re fucking adorable. I don’t think you realise just how much power you hold over me. Tell me to die and I will. For you.

wednesday

How do you do this shit for so long? Everytime I put my pen down and write, I write about you.

saturday

I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t know.

sunday

I know what I didn’t know yesterday. I just don’t know how to tell you. You shine brighter than the stars. That’s what. You’re the brightest, most radiant thing in the universe. So when you’re out of my sight, it’s so fucking cold.

I hate winter, you know that, I’ve forced you to listen to me go on about how much I hate it a fucking ton, but this December, somehow winter is warmer than summer. And I don’t think it’s climate change. You’re so warm. You’re the warm one. You’re the warmest person I know, and you know what, love? I didn’t meet you last summer, but I should have phrased it nicely enough for you to know that winter is warm here because you’re beside me.

For the first time in my life, I don’t want to be a hero.

I hate the HPSC. They’re hypocrites who specialise in the marketing of their image. “Reformed”, they said, but my hero license will be revoked if I said no.

But darling, please know that even when I can’t reach you, I’ll be looking at the same moon for solace, alright?

People only learn to cherish people when they’re gone, I only knew how much I needed to say I love you to my mom until she was gone. And I don’t want to lose you to finally know how to love you out loud.

Love me. Is that okay? I want you to love me half as much as I love you. I love you, so fucking much. If you still don’t know that, then I must’ve done something terribly wrong.

Hold your breath until I’m back, and there, and with you. Then, I’ll never let you go. Will you do that for me, my pretty girl?

ᝰ

ᝰ

katsuki:

you’re the leaves below brushed autumn wind, meek with kisses, fresh with love. you’re like the clouds that shift across the blue, blue sky, the beaver moon lighting my way. i’ll walk miles of mountains, cross bridges of rivers to see you again, my love. let me write letters full of my dreams, i’ll let doves deliver them your way. for however long it may take, can i be the person you’re missing at three, darling?

ᝰ

thursday. 26th january 2168

Maybe the stars will listen if you pray.

ᝰ

monday

You swore that if you caught feelings, you’d stay quiet. You said you’d rather keep it to yourself because everything eventually falls apart.

Now, you see the ghost of your past haunting you. When you pass by the harbour, you hear the blooming noises of explosions. You hear the insults he throws and you smell the stench of nitroglycerin. The last time you had seen Katsuki Bakugou was this morning, when you were making dough in the kitchen with the television turned on. The bleed of morning sun fluttering into your shop windows while the news channel broadcasted an accident from last night, in which pro hero Dynamight was able to catch and arrest two villains by himself during his night patrol, but still left destruction in his wake.

It’s the collapse of scaffolding, the uprooting of walkways, with soot and burn scars scalded into the walls of concrete. It’s the name of the void he left behind plastered over every single surface that exists.

The last time you had seen Katsuki Bakugou, he was saying goodbye.

He had looked at you with guilt in his eyes. Head held high with the kind of dignity that’s forced upon the pillars of society, the dignity that comes with no other choice.

Since the day that god awful notebook was left on your bed, you see the ghost of your past everywhere. When you walk past the convenience store on the way to work, only to be greeted by the face of Dynamight on the package of onigiris. When you go shopping with friends, you'll be reminded of his face on the commercial district billboard for Calvin Klein.

The last time he saw you, you were breathing peacefully next to him, hair messy from slumber, his heart beating, and beating, before it shattered.

ᝰ

The winds that are whistling outside suddenly become all too clear as the door is pushed open, the heavy thumping of shoes against the freezing floor.

“Sorry, but we’re no longer open—“

“Hey,” Before you can even say anything, he’s right in front of you already. His face inches away from yours, and then it’s like the ever-growing distance between the two of you before has never existed.

You’re positive that you’re dreaming. You’re so scared, too, because you’ve had way too many hallucinations to not believe that this isn’t one of them. What if your broken voice chases away this delusion?

“Katsuki?” He lifts your head with his two calloused fingers, slowly caressing your strawberry-tinted cheeks, are they the same as the ones he’s been dreaming of since the day he’s left? “I’m here, darling, I’m here. I’m here with you.”

ᝰ

With Katsuki Bakugou, there are first glances. When he catches you staring.

Then, there are second dates. Less fidgeting taps beneath the table, less of a blush that could literally settle on any cheeks in that cafe yet they always decide to take home on yours, and what could you do about it except to cover your face for a few moments with your already cold mocha?

Third kisses are the best. Awkwardness put aside, tentativeness chased away, they’re familiar in their own comfort.

Your forehead that once upon a time used to foster creases whenever the memory of him leaving pops up, would be littered with kisses all over by him, his words ringing in your ears instead of your own crying as you begged for him to just come back, memories of that heart-felt abandonment long forgotten.

Your nose that used to stifle for hours on end during the nights where the over-analysing of his actions finally got to you, because just why couldn’t he stay? It would be dusted with the tingly feeling for the rest of the day because he presses his lips against it in the bright and early morning after he wakes up.

You like being kissed on your lips the most. When the plushness of his lips envelops yours, his breath slowly mixing with the aftertaste of chocolate chip cookies, and you can no longer tell the difference between his body and yours. You’re drowning and drowning and drowning but it just feels so good, so it’s okay.

You decide that it is indeed worth it to go through all the late nights of staying up late, worrying that because you weren’t good enough, he left, and what if you’ll never be enough to hold onto him? Because now you are, and you know that, after the countless times he’s made it clear, (“HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I FUCKING TOLD YOU? YOU’RE MORE THAN ENOUGH FOR ME DUMBASS!”) you know that you are enough, you always will be.

After all, he’ll always be here, waiting.

[thepinkpanther83]

Hiya, I’ve come w a request lol I’m sucker for bully eddie. Lol like he and reader are in college or work w each other and he’s constantly just being a menace and she thinks he genuinely hates her but he’s flirting w her lol maybe he sees some guy trying to chat her up and he finally tells her he does like her and smut

Mean Streak

One-Shot Request: “Mean Streak”

Eddie Munson x Female Reader

💌 Author’s Note: To my dearest Anony, Thank you from the bottom of my heart for trusting me with this idea. The moment I read your request, I felt it- every teasing smirk, every loaded silence, every glance that says more than it should. You planted the perfect seed for something chaotic, sharp, and surprisingly tender… and I had way too much fun making it grow.

This story quickly became a small passion project, and it wouldn’t exist without your nudge. Whether you’re new here or a longtime lurker, know that you’ve inspired something special, and I hope it makes you smile, gasp, and maybe even groan (in all the right ways). Thank you for being brave enough to ask!

To everyone else: if you’ve ever thought someone hated you when they were actually just obsessed with you… this one’s for you, too. 💋 ~Pinkie 🍒

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

Summary: You’re convinced Eddie Munson hates your guts. He’s loud, smug, always in your space, throwing jabs and cracking jokes that leave you flushed for all the wrong reasons. Or so you think. But when jealousy sparks, tensions ignite, and feelings start slipping through the cracks… You might have to admit that hate and heat aren’t so different after all. Enemies? Rivals? Or just two idiots flirting badly? One thing’s for certain: things are about to get messy.

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

“Mean Streak”

You’re halfway through highlighting an entire paragraph when your marker vanishes.

Literally- gone. One blink and it’s disappeared from your fingers, right as you're about to underline the one godforsaken sentence that actually made sense in this sea of academic jargon.

You turn. You already know.

Eddie Munson is standing there. Smirking. Holding your highlighter like it personally offended him.

“Do you mind?” you ask, reaching for it.

He lifts it out of reach, eyes twinkling. “Just doing my civic duty, Princess. You highlight everything. At some point, the words lose all meaning.”

You blink at him. “Are you stalking my notes?”

“I’m saving your GPA.”

You grit your teeth and go for it again, but he pivots easily, keeping it just out of reach with his absurd wingspan. You consider lunging. Maybe throwing your iced coffee in his face. Or yourself, just to knock him down. But then his eyes flick to your notebook again, the smirk morphing into something a little darker. “Also… your handwriting? Offensively cute. Are those little hearts on your i’s?”

Heat crawls up your neck. You slam the notebook shut.

“Do you need something, Munson, or are you just here to be annoying on purpose?”

He leans a forearm on the study table, close enough that you can smell him- leather jacket, cheap cologne, and some vague cinnamon warmth like a damn Red Hot. The nerve of him.

His voice drops just enough to make you hate your heartbeat. “I dunno. Do you like being annoyed?”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

He grins again, all teeth and mischief, and then- boop, taps your nose with the stolen highlighter before setting it down in front of you like a gift.

Then he walks away.

You stare after him, your mouth open, a single bold phrase looping in your head like a cursed mantra: What. The. Hell.

This has been your week. Your month. Your semester.

Eddie Munson has made a game out of ruining your peace. He steals your pens. He critiques your music. He once swapped the keyboard on your computer to Dvorak and grinned when you found out.

And he always- always, calls you things like Honor Student and Princess, said with the kind of condescending tone that feels two steps from a hate crime.

You hate him.

...You think.

You just wanted peanut M&M’s.

That’s all it was. That’s all you were trying to do. Five minutes to breathe between back-to-back lectures, a vending machine on its last mechanical legs humming like it’s preparing for death, and you- tired, over-caffeinated, toeing the line between a B+ and a nervous breakdown.

And then, of course- Eddie Munson, again.

You catch the whiff of cheap cologne and cigarette smoke just before his voice slinks in beside you.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Miss Honor Student herself. Treating yourself today?”

He’s right beside you. Close enough that you can feel the heat from him. He’s leaned on the vending machine like he owns it, like it’s just another extension of his usual bullshit territory, and you already feel your pulse stuttering from sheer proximity.

You sigh. “Can I help you with something, Munson?”

He tilts his head and eyes your snack choice like it personally offends him. “M&M’s? Wow. Real rebellious.”

You press the buttons harder than you need to. “Not everything’s a personality contest.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he says, eyes skimming you from head to toe. There’s a curl to his lip. Mean. Appreciative. Annoyingly unreadable. "You wear those leggings on purpose, or do you just like making campus a dangerous place for the rest of us?"

You feel heat crawl up your neck. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying-” he lifts both hands like he’s innocent, which is a goddamn lie, “-those pants are against the dress code. And basic decency. If I walk into traffic, it’s your fault.”

You scowl, snatching your M&M’s when they finally clatter into the tray. “You’re so weird.”

“And yet, here we are. You. Me. One sad vending machine. Fate’s got jokes.”

You spin on your heel and storm off without another word, but he follows. Of course he does.

Because Eddie Munson isn’t done until he’s thoroughly gotten under your skin, and this? This is his favorite game.

“Hey, Princess,” he calls after you, all mock-affection. “You dropped something!”

You glance back- and realize too late he’s holding up a pink mechanical pencil. Yours. Your favorite. From your pencil pouch.

Which means-

“You absolute thief-”

His grin is infuriating. “Guess you’ll have to say please.”

God help you.

You’re going to kill him. Or kiss him. You haven’t decided which yet.

“You think you’re so clever,” you mutter, stomping toward him, palm out.

“I know I am.” He wiggles the pencil just out of reach. “Say the magic word.”

“I will throw you down a stairwell.”

“Oh, Princess,” he coos, “don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You lunge. He steps back. It becomes a weird little hallway dance- your hand swiping, his hips dodging, until you nearly crash into a bulletin board. He finally lets you snatch it back, but not before dragging his fingers down your wrist in a lingering, teasing glide.

You ignore the shiver that snakes down your spine. Or try to.

He grins like he knows.

“Ever consider therapy?” you snap.

“Ever consider dating someone who doesn’t bore you to death?” he fires back, and somehow, somehow, that flusters you more than anything else he’s said all day.

You hate that your heart’s pounding. You hate that it feels like he’s flirting. You really hate that you don’t know for sure.

“Oh my god,” you say, exasperated, “do you treat everyone like this?”

“Nah,” Eddie says, slouching against the wall, thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his ripped jeans. “Just you.”

That... actually stuns you. Just a little.

He sees it. Smirks. Doubles down.

“Guess I’ve got a mean streak for good girls.”

You open your mouth to reply, but nothing comes out.

Because that?

That sounded an awful lot like a confession.

Later that night, at a campus party…

It’s already too hot inside, and someone’s aux cord privileges should’ve been revoked three songs ago. There’s no real theme, just sticky floors, half-assed fairy lights, and a keg cup that you’re pretty sure tastes like floor cleaner.

You spot Eddie across the room before he sees you. He's in his usual uniform: ripped jeans, black band tee, a red and black flannel tied low around his waist, all devil-may-care smirk and feral curls. He’s laughing at something a guy says, but he barely looks engaged- until he notices you with a double-take.

Then he lights up like it’s his birthday.

“Honor Student,” he purrs, suddenly beside you like he teleported. “Didn’t expect to see you at a den of sin like this.”

You raise a brow. “Didn’t expect you to look like you’ve showered recently.”

“Ouch,” he says, a hand over his heart. “Why so cruel?”

“Why so here?”

“Maybe I was hoping to run into you.”

You snort. “Sure you were.”

He leans closer, voice dipped in that rough, teasing edge. “You always wear leggings to parties too, or did I just get lucky?”

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts, but the heat in your face betrays you. And Eddie- being Eddie, notices.

“Careful,” he says, mouth brushing your ear with the next words. “You’re gonna make a guy think you like being teased.”

You elbow him. He laughs. Loud. Unapologetic.

And when some overly confident frat guy stumbles over to talk to you a few minutes later, Eddie doesn’t leave.

He looms.

Not subtle. Not polite. Definitely not quiet.

The guy’s name was something like Trevor or Travis- someone with a rich-kid watch and too much cologne. He’s nice enough. Smiles at you like you’re the only girl in the room. Asks what you’re studying. Laughs when you make a joke.

But Eddie doesn’t laugh. Eddie stands there, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes flicking between you and Fratboy like he’s calculating the most efficient way to bury a body.

“Hey, bro,” Eddie says, voice as fake-sweet as poison. “You lost or something?”

Travis blinks. “Sorry- do you two know each other?”

Eddie grins, wide and sharp. “Oh yeah. She’s my favorite honor student.”

You shoot him a warning look. “Eddie-”

He doesn’t take the hint.

“She tutors me,” he says, smirking now. “Real smart. Good with her hands.” He says suggestively.

Your mouth drops open. Travis looks between you both, visibly weirded out.

“I… uh- I’m gonna go get a drink,” he says and quickly bails.

You round on Eddie, fuming. “What the hell was that?”

Eddie shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Didn’t like how he was looking at you.”

“And you care why?”

You expect more snark, some bullshit comebacks- but what you get instead is him blinking, caught off guard by the question.

He hesitates. Just long enough.

Then his voice drops, rough and low, barely audible over the music.

“‘Cause I saw you first.”

Your stomach flips. Your breath catches.

And for once- you don’t have a comeback.

​​You blink at him. Once. Twice.

The music warps around you, thudding louder somehow, but it’s all white noise now. You’re too focused on the smug tilt of his mouth, the flicker of something not smug in his eyes.

“Do you even hear yourself?” you say, laughless. “You treat me like crap every time we talk and now suddenly you’re- what? Jealous?”

Eddie’s expression shifts. Barely. But enough.

“You’re always messing with me, Munson. Always.” Your voice rises before you can stop it. “If you hate me so much, why do you even bother?”

His mouth parts. Nothing comes out.

You shake your head, heat prickling at your cheeks. “Seriously- why do you care who I talk to or what I wear or what I’m doing if I’m just some joke to you?”

A moment of silence passes.

And then- quiet. Uncharacteristically raw.

“Hate you?”

It’s not mocking. It’s not amused.

He huffs a breath, rubs the back of his neck like he’s trying to physically scrape the tension off himself.

“Sweetheart,” he says, and for once, there’s no irony in it. “I’ve been flirting with you since the first day you wore those fucking strawberry earrings.”

You freeze.

“What?” you ask, but it’s barely a whisper.

He looks pained- like the words hurt on the way out. “Yeah. Those stupid earrings. The ones with the little green leaves. You sat next to me in Lit 203 and kept twirling them while you took notes. I couldn’t focus on a damn thing.”

He shrugs, half-defeated, half-defensive. “So I started being an asshole. Because it was easier than- y’know. Admitting I kinda wanted to lick fruit-scented lip gloss off your lips.”

You stare at him, breath caught somewhere between your ribs, and disbelief.

Eddie looks back. Waiting. Bracing.

Like he just handed you a knife and isn’t sure whether you’ll cut him open or carve your initials next to his.

You blink again. “You’ve been flirting with me?”

“Yeah.” His voice is rougher now, almost sheepish. “Terribly. Obviously.”

You both stare at each other. The party noise around you fades into meaningless static. Adrenaline and confusion melt into something warmer. Sharper.

“You could’ve just asked me out,” you breathe.

He licks his lips. Nervous. “Yeah? Would you have said yes?”

“Maybe.”

He steps closer. Inches away now. “Let’s find out.”

He tugs your hand without asking, threading your fingers through his like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like you haven’t spent months bickering.

The night air hits your face the second you’re outside- cool and biting, like a slap that wakes you all the way up. Or maybe it’s just the way Eddie looks back at you as he leads you toward the lot where his van is parked, curls wild in the wind, lips parted like he’s one second from losing every ounce of his self-control.

When you reach the passenger door, he fumbles for his keys, but you’re already grabbing his face, dragging his mouth to yours like something in you has finally snapped. The kiss is clumsy and urgent, hot with months of pent-up want.

He groans into your mouth, low and wrecked.

“Shit,” he mutters, fumbling the door open behind you. “Get in. Please. Before I do something very illegal out here.”

The second the van door slams shut, you’re on him again- hands gripping his shirt, teeth dragging across his bottom lip like you’re trying to bite the words right off his tongue. He’s stunned for a half second, breathless, eyes wide- and then he’s kissing you back with all the pent-up tension of a guy who’s been dreaming about this exact moment and never thought it’d actually happen.

You push him back against the seat, climbing into his lap, the worn leather creaking beneath you. The kiss deepens, filthier now, tongues tangling, your hips rolling just enough to make him gasp into your mouth.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans, his hands skating up your thighs, greedy and reverent. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You smirk against his lips. “Don’t be dramatic.”

His eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

But you do.

You do- because you feel him, hard and twitching beneath you, and it sends a dark thrill straight through you. And maybe it’s that thrill that makes you shift off his lap, dropping to your knees on the floor of the van, palms braced on his thighs.

Eddie blinks down at you like he just got smacked in the face with a dream he’s too scared to believe.

“Wait, are you-”

You reach for his belt.

“Jesus Christ,” he hisses, head thunking back against the seat, hands scrabbling to help you, or maybe just worship you. “You don’t have to- fuck… you really don’t have to.”

You look up at him, pupils dark and wild. “Let me.”

His mouth falls open. No witty comeback. No smartass reply.

Just stunned silence and the sound of his zipper lowering.

You free him from his jeans and- god… he’s thick, flushed, and already leaking at the tip. You wrap your hand around him and begin to stroke, and he whines, hips jolting like he’s got no control left in his body.

“Fuck, baby, slow down-” he pants, eyes glued to you, like he can’t believe you’re actually on your knees for him. “I’m gonna- shit, I’m not gonna last if you look at me like that.”

You drag your tongue up the underside of his cock, slow and teasing, watching him twitch in your hand. His thighs are trembling already. You hollow your cheeks and take him in, inch by inch, until his hand flies to the back of your head- not to push, necessarily, just to hold.

Just to anchor.

“Holy shit,” he chokes out, jaw slack, lips parted in some desperate, reverent daze. “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?”

You hum around him, and he bucks his hips with a broken groan, knuckles white where he grips the seat, like he’s trying not to lose his mind entirely.

“S-sweetheart, you gotta-” His voice cracks. He’s panting now, thighs shaking beneath your hands. “You gotta stop. Or I’m gonna cum in your mouth and you’re never gonna get rid of me.”

You pull off with a wet pop, licking your lips slowly, just to see the way he shudders.

“Who said I wanted to get rid of you?”

Eddie stares down at you like you just shot him through the heart in the best possible way.

“Marry me,” he says immediately. “I’m serious. We can drop out right now and live in this van.”

You laugh, breathless, and he reaches for you- pulling you back into his lap, wrapping both arms around you like he never wants to let go. His mouth is on your neck, your jaw, your shoulder, desperate little kisses between heavy pants.

“You’re gonna let me return the favor, right?” he growls, voice rough and dark with promise.

You blink. “Eventually.”

He groans again. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You grin. “That’s the idea.”

You’re straddling him over the bench seat like instinct took the wheel. He’s gripping your hips like they’re the only thing tethering him to the planet, mouth hot and hungry against yours. His rings are cool on your skin when they slide beneath your shirt.

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, tilting his head back as you grind against him. “I’m gonna wreck you.”

You bite his lower lip, pulling it with your teeth. “That the goal?”

He growls- growls, and pulls you in harder.

Clothes disappear in chaotic bursts. His hands never stop moving. Neither do yours. There’s laughter and cursing and soft, reverent swearing when he finally gets you bare over him.

When you sink down onto him, it’s slow- torturously slow, until you’re fully seated in his lap and both of you are gasping like you’ve run miles.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie pants, his head thumping back against the seat. “You feel- fuck, baby. I’m not gonna last long if you keep clenching like that.”

You roll your hips, moaning as you do, and his hands tighten at your waist.

“You’ve been teasing me for months,” you say, voice breathless but wicked. “You can take it.”

He grins- wrecked and adoring and so goddamn filthy. “Ride me, princess. Show me how bad you really are.”

And you do.

Hard. Slow. Grinding and bouncing and losing your mind with every slick slide of your bodies.

Eddie’s loud, filthy with praise and curses, his hands everywhere- your ass, your back, your thighs. He meets every thrust with an upward snap of his hips like he’s desperate to stay buried as deep as possible.

When you both finally shatter, it’s loud. Unapologetic. Like every repressed bit of tension finally lets go all at once.

You collapse against him, both of you shaking, panting, holding each other like you’ve got no plans of moving any time soon.

Eddie kisses the side of your face, then your jaw, then your lips again.

"That Travis guy? Late to the party. I’ve been front row since day one," he smirks.

And you laugh, even as your heart races. “Shut up, Munson.”

But despite his cocky bravado, you kiss him again anyway.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list! @justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin, @ash-stardust, @meankenna, @kellsck

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