#looking forward to getting home and just focusing on my drafts

[cheapxseats]

Friday the 13th be kicking my ass already

[aleskie]

YOU DON'T NEED TO LIFT A FINGER | Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: When a guy just cannot get the hint, Jack makes sure to put him in his place. He's got your back. Always.

Warnings: none!! pure fluff and jack gets protective!! Full discloure, this is for realsies Fem!Reader!! Author's Note: This was supposed to come out a dayyyyys ago but Tumblr was NOT letting me post my drafts 😭😭 my poor therapist spent an hour watching me crash out about it najsjsshjjk

You were beautiful.

Of course you were.

In Jack’s eyes, you were the most beautiful creature to ever walk the earth.

Which is why he understands why you get hit on. He really does. Hell, once upon a time, he was hitting on you. And he still hits on you, even now, years into the relationship, because you’re worth it. Because you light up rooms without even trying. Because he’s always been a sucker for the way you roll your eyes and smile at his cheesy attempts to be smooth with you.

You’re beautiful and smart and funny, and you’re so effortlessly charming—of course people would want you for themselves. He gets it. He really does. And honestly, there’s a part of him that loves it. He loves that people notice those qualities about you, that they see in you what he sees every day. It feels like validation, like the universe itself is confirming that he’s the luckiest guy alive. He basks in the knowledge that no matter how many people give you those hungry looks and shitty pick-up lines, he’s the one you're coming home with, his hand resting possessively on your hip as he gives all those people a smirk, his claim laid without him even lifting a finger.

What he doesn’t love is when people don’t take the damn hint.

And you give a lot of hints.

Take this guy right here—Dave, or Doug, or whatever his name is—He’d somehow wiggled his way into the booth you guys shared with your friends for a night out and, while he seemed harmless at first, he was now solely focused on you. And your legs that were highlighted by the body shimmer Jack helped put on you earlier tonight (his fingers still slightly shimmering to prove it—a badge of honor, in his opinion).

You’d been giving him that polite, fake smile since he joined in—the one Jack knows so well and that always makes him chuckle, the one you use when you’re being patient but are clearly not enjoying yourself—and you’ve barely paid him any attention, save for a few fake laughs and an “Oh, that sounds cool” every so often as Darren, or Dino, continues to brag about himself, not even trying to ask about you (a grave mistake, Jack thinks, since you were the most interesting person he knew).

Jack wonders if this guy even realizes you’ve been leaning against Jack this entire time, your head on his shoulder and his hand resting on your upper thigh, or if he’s chosen to ignore that in favor of trying (and failing) to shoot his shot. Better yet, does he even recognize Jack is here, drink untouched and jaw tightening as he watches Danny (or was it Dylan) lean in just a little too close?

Jack glances at you. You’re still handling it with grace, of course you are. You always do. But he knows you. He sees the subtle tension in your shoulders, the way you lean further against him to put some distance between you and Dexter, the way your fingers tighten around your glass, and he knows you’d rather not have to deal with this.

He shifts slightly and stands, leaning forward to smile at the intruder, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, Diego, right?” he says. His tone is casual, even pleasant, but there’s steel underneath it.

“It’s Dave, actua—”

Jack extends a hand, cutting through the guy’s attempt at small talk. “Right, yeah. Sorry to interrupt, but I think my girlfriend and I are gonna go dance now.”

He puts an emphasis on girlfriend, just to make sure this guy gets the point.

Jack gives you a soft look, the kind that makes your breath hitch just a little, and you immediately stand up, reaching for him. His arm wraps around you instinctively, his touch steady and familiar. You can already feel the tension in his body lessening now that he has you close, now that he’s leading you away from whatever-his-name-is and back into the safe, easy rhythm of you and him.

But before you can leave, the guy speaks again.

“Sorry, man, didn’t realize she was yours. You know how women are. With that dress and those legs, she was totally leading me on.”

Jack freezes.

For a second, the world seems to pause, almost like he couldn’t believe what was coming out of this guy’s mouth, like he didn’t want to believe anyone could be that stupid.

Slowly, he straightens, turning back toward the guy—Dave or Doug or whatever his name was—with a look so calm it’s almost serene. Too calm. And that’s how you know Jack is angry.

Not the playful kind of angry, where he pretends to pout when you steal the last fry or kiss him everywhere but his lips. Not the frustrated kind, like when he can’t find his keys for the third time that week or when he’s had a particularly bad game.

No, this is something deeper. Colder. Controlled.

His fingers graze your arm lightly, a small, grounding touch meant just for you. It’s subtle, but you know what it means. I’ve got this. You don’t need to lift a finger.

Jack tilts his head ever so slightly. “You wanna say that again?” His voice is so even it borders on soft, a quiet thing wrapped in steel.

Dave—or Dino or Darryl—seems to think Jack is inviting him to elaborate, which is perhaps the worst decision he’s made all night.

“I’m just saying, y’know,” Dave shrugs, his tone shifting to something almost conspiratorial, like he thinks Jack might actually agree with him if he just explains it better. “When women dress like that, you can’t blame a guy for—”

“Yeah, I’m gonna need you to shut up before I do something we both regret.”

Jack doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. The weight of his words alone is enough to send a ripple of silence through the space between them.

Dave blinks, the beginning stages of intimidation creeping onto his face. He glances at you, as if expecting backup, but you’re already leaning back against the wall, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised as you watch Jack dismantle him.

There’s a small smirk on your lips. Because this? This was a sight you didn’t get to see in public too often.

Many times, people assumed your lovely boyfriend—so easygoing, so effortlessly charming—would lack the sharpness to cut someone down when needed, would stick to uhmms and ahhhs and crassness.

They mistook his laid-back nature for passivity, his warmth for softness. But you knew better. Your Jack could be quite a wonder with words when he wanted to be. He didn’t need to be loud to command attention. He didn’t need to throw a punch to land a hit.

So you hang back and let him handle this one, finding comfort in the thought of his arms around you later, his breath warm against your ear as you danced the rest of the night away.

“Listen, buddy,” Jack continues, stepping closer. His tone is light, almost conversational, but there’s no mistaking the edge beneath it. “You don’t talk to anyone like that. You definitely don’t get to talk to her like that. You hear me?”

“God, c’mon, man! No need to get all—”

“I already told you to shut up.” Jack’s scowl deepens. His words are slow, deliberate. “The fact that she was polite enough to give you the slightest bit of attention doesn’t mean she was hitting on you. Whatever you thought was going on tonight? Not an invitation.”

Dave—Dino? Derek?—opens his mouth, probably to dig himself into an even deeper hole, but stops when Jack leans in slightly, just enough to make his presence feel heavier. Like a storm cloud about to break.

“She’s kind,” Jack says, voice quieter now, deadlier. “So she tolerated you. But she doesn’t owe you a fucking thing.”

The last of Dave’s bravado starts to crumble. His shoulders inch inward, his gaze flickering around the booth, searching for an exit, for reinforcements—for anything that might save him from this moment.

Jack watches him for a second longer, then exhales sharply, like he’s already bored. “You think being desperate and cocky gets you the girl,” he says, shaking his head. “But I don’t need any of that to keep her by my side.” His fingers brush against yours, finding their place like they always do. “And we don’t need to waste any more time entertaining douchebags like you.”

Jack steps back, his hand sliding fully into yours as he finally tears his gaze from Daniel? Don?—who cares?—and looks at you instead. The shift is immediate, his features easing, the sharpness in his eyes softening into something familiar. Something yours.

“Let’s go, babe,” he says simply, his voice lighter now, more like himself.

And just like that, the moment is over.

As you stand, letting Jack guide you away from the booth, you hear Dave mutter something under his breath—something weak and defensive that doesn’t deserve acknowledgment. It’s the kind of parting shot people throw out when they know they’ve lost. Neither of you glance back.

The music swells around you, the bass thrumming beneath your feet, but Jack doesn’t lead you straight to the dance floor. Instead, he pulls you toward a quieter corner, away from the crowd, where the lights are dimmer, the world a little smaller.

He exhales, then wordlessly nestles his head in the crook of your shoulder.

You smile, running your fingers through his hair, your nails lightly grazing his scalp. He sighs at the touch, his arms slipping around your waist as he lets himself melt into you for just a moment. You press a soft kiss to his hair, breathing him in, grounding both of you in something steady, something real.

After a beat, he tilts his head up, a sheepish grin playing at his lips. “Did I go overboard?”

You roll your eyes fondly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You were absolutely perfect,” you murmur, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

His grin widens, boyish and bright, and just like that, the weight of the night lifts. He tugs you closer, his arm tightening around your waist as he starts to sway you to the music. You laugh as he spins you unexpectedly, sneaking in kisses between the DJ’s transitions, his lips catching your temple, your jaw, the curve of your shoulder.

The man who bothered you is forgotten. The tension, the sharp edges of the night—gone.

All that’s left is this. You and him and the music. The warmth of his hands on you, the sound of your laughter melting together, the rest of the world fading into nothing.

[goatgoesmbe]

THANK YOU!!

Hi, it's simons petty gf anon.

Just a thought, because she's only passive aggressive with her anger but always in a kind way simon is worried that if a physical altercation would happen that she would freeze up. But in reality, she's the dirtiest fighter he's ever seen. (Both of my parents were cops, military grandfather, youngest of 3 only girl) she has no honor in her fighting style, when asked about it, she says there's no honor in a fight. Only life or death.

Alright, ive been wanting to write this properly- but its been sitting in my draft for too long i just need to get it out so- no beta, I hope u still like it tho <3 u_u

All i could think about when i read this is the meme 'call the ambulance, but not for me'

short continuation of this

tw : assault, mention of violence, mention of blood, stalking

You were Simon's sweet little bird. Known to always be kind to everyone, even to the worst assholes, even to people who didn't like you.

And while you appeared to be nice and patient, with a smile that never faltered no matter what you've gone through, he eventually learned that you were not a pushover despite what everyone thought.

You could stand your own ground, you had your own way of dealing with people who disrespected you.

However, that didn't mean Simon would be less protective of you

Because the world wasn't a safe place, there were things far worse than a little quarrel with strangers, arguments with your mother, an altercation after accidentally bumping into a stranger, or verbal harassment.

He was thinking about real danger.

You were always so soft and gentle, so naturally, it triggered his instinct to protect you from any harm.

That was why he was the way he is right now, heavy boot putting it's full weight on the gas, the sound of the engine rumbled loudly, cutting through the night. Hands gripping on the steering wheels while his eyes were sharp, focused. While his ears fell deaf to the blaring of the other cars honking as he sped past them.

"Simon. Can you send help? I think i'm being followed.. can't really talk or call 911 myself rn" Your text read.

He was lounging at the couch when his phone buzzed. Content on watching the football game that was playing on TV, only to drop everything when he saw your message.

You were having a girl's night out with your besties at this women-only club that had just opened in the city. While he was one protective bastard who always wanted to watch over you, you insisted on him staying home because you wanted to spend the night with just your friends. It was reasonable, so he agreed.

But now? he regretted agreeing to that.

Tires screeched against the asphalt, making a sharp, piercing sound that sliced through the air followed by a loud slam of the door as he stepped out of his car.

With his gaze blurry from dread, he looked at the screen of his phone. He had a tracker planted in your devices, smart watch, laptop, phone. And so he followed the red dot shown in the map, finding himself standing in front of a dark alley.

"Simon" He couldn't be more relieved when he heard your voice and immediately took a few steps into the darkness, turning on the flashlight on his phone before aiming it forward.

The air was thick with the lingering scent of sweat, iron, and damp asphalt, mingling with the distant stench of rotting garbage. A dented trash can lay on its side, its contents spilled and trampled, a mess of torn paper and shattered glass glinting under the weak light. Blood stained the ground in dark, irregular splotches, soaking into the filth of the alley floor. The brick walls bore fresh smears where hands had braced against them, the rough texture now streaked with sweat and something darker.

And at the bottom of said walls, a lone figure was sat. Beaten and stripped off his shirt which was now ripped and used to tie his arms behind his back. Said figure didn't react at his presence, but Simon could see the subtle raise and fall of the person's chest.

"Simon" You called out to him again, snapping him out of his thoughts as he shifted his gaze to you.

You stood there with a smile that he always saw on your face, which was now sported with a fresh bruise, purple blooming beneath your skin. A dark welt shadowed your cheekbone, and a small cut on your lip still glistened with fresh blood. A smear of crimson streaked your jaw—and he didn't know if it was yours or someone else’s.

Your clothes were a mess, your skin tight dress were wrinkled, clinging to your curves like they had been grabbed one too many times. The faint imprint of a handprint marred the fabric near your collar, evidence of the struggle that had just unfolded.

And knuckles were raw, the skin split in places, thin trails of blood tracing along your fingers. Which told him what he needed to know.

Because despite your battered appearance, it was nothing compared to the state of the git who was leaning against the wall.

"Called the ambulance yet?" You asked, gesturing at your victim with your chin.

He didn't know if he could fall in love with you even more, but somehow, he just did.

[rhyrhy]

Happy accident’s

Butch Abby! draft

This is a silly draft, based on this tweet! (But make it Abby)

Mlist

The bass-heavy thrum of music pulses through the dimly lit bar, weaving between the laughter and faint chitchat of the crowd. This place is packed, you thought. Between the neon lights reflecting off half-empty glasses and slightly sticky tabletops, it was kind of cozy.

Even if the air smells like spilled liquor, a clatter of mixed perfumes, and the wafting bite of cigarette smoke from the patio. You sighed deeply knowing you’d have to rewash your hair to get the smells stuck once you returned home. 

At one corner of the bar, a group of femmes huddle close. Among them, you adjust the straps of your fishnet stockings beneath your shorts, sipping a vodka cranberry. Though your eyes kept flickering towards the pool table. You inconspicuously pretended to roll your neck to get a better look at the figure of your attention.

“Oh, she’s pretty…” you thought, scanning over what you could see from your seat. Still trying to be subtle and not stare like a weirdo.

toward the pool table, where a tall, broad-shouldered butch in a fitted tank top and cargo pants leans against the edge, laughing with her small pack of friends. You watched as her arm flexed slightly to adjust her grip on the cue stick. Slightly lowering her body to get a good shot, she looks so focused…cute.

Once you realized how long you had been staring You quickly turned back to your friends, pretending your gaze wasn't lingering. Mentally slapping yourself.

“Ooo, who are you looking at?” One of your friends says, trying to follow your now abandoned gaze.

“What? Pfft, no one.” Yeah, that was totally convincing. Not.

You earned a few laughs at the obvious lie, going back to your previous conversation. You, feeling a little embarrassed for looking so hard, kept your gaze forward. Doing your best to be engaged in the conversation in front of you.

When suddenly, while sitting, your fishnets brush against warm skin and a rough texture, pulling you backwards a little.

Snag

Abby halts mid-step, confusion flashing across her face as she tries to move, but something tugs against her thigh. 

"What the—" you say, a little startled from the sudden pull, grabbing the end of the table to stabilize yourself so you didn’t hit the floor. 

She turns, and that's when she sees it: your fishnets are hooked onto her carabiner. She glances down at the sudden resistance and then back up, amusement flickering across her face. How silly.

"Oh," Abby says, fighting back a grin.

You immediately move to free it, but she beats you to it, insisting apologetically. 

"Oh—hold on, I got it." 

Her hands are rough, but surprisingly gentle as she tries to work the fabric loose. You feel your cheeks burn, her fingers lingering a moment too long over the frayed edge of the hole in your fishnets. The smell of her soap filling your senses.

"Sorry about that." Abby murmurs, finally untangling your fishnets from her belt.

When she fully stood in front of you, you couldn’t help but scan over her a little more before replying. 

“No worries.” A small smile and wave of your hand followed. You spot another small grin on the woman in front of you as she leans against the bar, seemingly eyeing your fishnets. 

"…Those are cute, by the way," she says, a hint of approval in her voice. She motions towards your shorts and the exposed length of thigh underneath.

"They…look good on you."

“Yeah? Thank you. I’d say the same, but your outfit was just attacking me,” you joked, feeling a bit more confident than before. This wasn't so bad.

She grinned and looked down at her carabiner and pants. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault your fishnets have a thing for my gear,” she replies, followed by a huffed laugh.

“But, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

————

Yeah it’s a small obsession atp, I have no shame.

[normal-person-i-promise]

public transport

arataka reigen x fem!reader

half of it is edited, at least. this has been sitting in my drafts, half done, since march. im sick of working on it, so you get this. sorgy

The sudden jerk of the train starting takes you by surprise, and you nearly fall down — had it not been for the fact that someone gripped your upper arms tightly before your face could connect with the cold, hard floor.

You look up quickly, your face heating when you realize who it is.

★ ★ ★

The familiar "whoosh" of the bus's old doors opening greets you warmly as you step inside, unsurprised to find almost all seats — save for one — vacant. Late nights are always lonely — it's always dark, empty, quiet — but today, there's another person on the bus with you.

He... Looks like the guy you saw on TV some time ago, though in a more... Tired state. Messy blonde hair, unbuttoned grey suit, loose pink tie — he's sitting in the back-most seat, his eyes, heavy with fatigue, transfixed on the window.

He didn't noice you come in.

You stand at the door for a little while, adjusting the bag on your shoulders before coming to a realization that sours your expression. That's your usual seat. He took it.

You scowl, making your way to the window seat a few meters away from him and sitting down with as much annoyance that you can muster.

You can hear the sound of the bus's wheels squeak every time they'd go over a bump, shaking the whole vehicle; smell the sour scent of sweat stained clothes from a long day of work; practically taste the citrus cleaning spray the cleaners use too much on the cloth seat covers.

The bus's doors creak closed. The vehicle abruptly jerks forward, a start, before its motion becomes steady. You settle into your seat, adjusting yourself until you're comfortable, feeling the worn fabric beneath your fingertips as you steady yourself.

As the bus picks up speed, you find your gaze drawn to the man.

His features are... Sharp, though not so much as to look intimidating; his eyes are half-moons as they stare longingly out the window, not taking in the view, more like just... Staring blankly; his breathing — visible from the rise and fall of his chest — is slow and steady, calm; and his nose is pointed, low, coming to a point just above those soft, kissable lips...

...

...Drat.

You clear your throat as if it'll clear your mind. Curse your tiredness, making your thoughts... Inappropriate.

You shift your bag in your lap, trying to distract yourself with the way the strap falls, the feeling of the stitching on the edges.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the man turn his head to face you. His eyes roam down your body before dragging themselves back up to your face, and, noticing your irate expression (due to the fact that he took YOUR seat), he raises an eyebrow and cocks his head to the side.

He looks at you curiously, scanning your features as the bus bounces up and down when the wheels go over the bumpy road.

He seems to pause, almost hesitate.

"Good to know I'm not the only one with late nights," he says, a grin playing on his lips.

God, his voice...!

"Same here," you mumble, keeping your eyes set on the window to avoid looking into his.

You both slip onto a comfortable silence again, all quiet except for the sound of the bus moving along the tar road, making those distinct noises you've almost memorized.

You can sort of ignore him now, focusing only on the view outside.

It's... Peaceful. At this time of night, there are little people on the streets — those who are still awake are the drunkards, stumbling back to their homes; and the office workers, their gaits slow and steady, tired from the long day of work.

The shops are all closed, and though shutters are pulled down, the colourful lights of their signs remain on; blues, reds, and whites paint the sidewalk a kaleidoscope of colours, one you've never noticed until now. Your eyes roam from the colourful concrete to the signs whizzing past the bus in a blur, your eyes struggling to read the letters.

"What's your name, by the way?"

You're brought out of your thoughts at his question. His voice is strangely soft, his tone understandably wary as you turn your head to face him.

You introduce yourself, and he nods. He tests your name out on his tongue, humming in delight — as though he just tasted something sweet.

"Arataka Reigen, greatest psychic of the 21st century!"

His introduction is over the top, his voice like a salesman's as he spins his hand — so fast that's it's all a blur — before he abruptly stops, bringing it up for you to shake. He flashes you a charming grin, one that makes your cheeks flush.

You take his hand, savouring the feeling of his worn fingers wrapping around yours as he shakes it.

And, leaning in close enough to smell the sharp cologne his wears and said in a low whisper, "But you can call me Arataka."

Arataka leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest in pride as he grins at your flushed cheeks.

"It's the first time I'm seeing another soul at this time of night," he remarks, tightening his tie absentmindedly, almost like an unconscious fidget of sorts. You nod in response. You watch as his fingers wrap around the pink fabric of his tie slowly, getting a better grip before pulling it close to his neck, adjusting it to make sure it's not too tight.

You clear your throat again, averting your gaze.

"I'm... Honestly surprised to find another person coming home from work this late," you parrot, gritting your teeth as you focus on the window. Stop staring, stop staring...

He hums in amusement before it's quiet once more, broken only by the sounds of the bus's engine working to keep the vehicle moving.

It stays like this for a while. Both your gazes are fixed on the window, staring at the buildings passing by in a watercolour blur.

The city is... Nicer? You can't tell whether it's because you have a handsome man sitting across from you, or because it really does look prettier, but all the lights seem... Dreamier than usual, all the tree's leaves a few shades greener.

You can't help but notice his eyes flicker to yours every few minutes, though you never manage to see it directly.

"The city's quite pretty tonight," You mumble to yourself, staring out the window as you adjust yourself in your seat.

Arataka's next words are barely audible, just above a whisper — and his voice is quiet enough for you to be sure that you weren't supposed to hear it, like he was just saying something to himself.

"Sort of like you."

Your heart skips a beat.

"What did you say?"

Your tone is curious as your gaze settles on him again, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, your eyes sparkling with the lights outside the window.

You can visibly see him get nervous: he breaks out into a sweat, his shoulders stiffening as he brings up the sleeve of his jacket to dry the beads of perspiration trickling down his forehead, his tone rushed and panicked.

"A-ah, hahaa—! What? I didn't say anything!"

You can hear the nervous grin on his face as he avoids your gaze, clearing his throat loudly, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"You must've been hearing things! Those pesky spirits..."

Arataka clicks his tongue, scowling at the empty space above your shoulder for a moment before changing his expression to a neutral one again, bringing his eyes back to yours. The speed at which he gains and loses confidence is enough to give you whiplash — not that you mind, though.

"I can get rid of them for you," he says, with total confidence. He's grinning proudly, almost puffing his chest out a little.

It's... Endearing, if you can say that.

You pause, arching a brow at him in confusion.

"Get... Rid of...?"

Have you never heard of psychics before...?

He nods briskly, pointing a thumb at himself in pride. His mannerisms and movements are precise and swift, enough to get you to think he's done this kind of thing hundreds of times in the past.

"You're talking to a world renowned psychic, here."

...There's a beat of silence, save for the sound of the bus going over a bump.

"World... Renowned?" You parrot, your tone confused. You've... Never heard of this man in your life, this... Arataka Reigen.

He pauses for a moment, his jaw going slack and his hand falling a little before he quickly closes his mouth, his expression almost like he's laughing in disbelief.

"A-ah, yes, yes, world renowned! I'm known all across the globe! Surely you know my name?"

He sounds a little bit like he's in disbelief, though his voice remains prideful.

You raise your brow higher. He's egotistical, to put it lightly. Egotistical, but so, so handsome...

"I've... Never heard of you before," you say to him, watching in amusement as you wait for his reaction.

"Oh, come on!"

Arataka's voice is now definitely one of disbelief as he groans in exasperation, his voice and expression growing irate.

Surely you've seen his posters...? He told Mob to paste them on any empty surface.

"Never? Not even once?" He almost begs, nearly pleading, a note of desperation creeping into his words as he tries in vain to convince you of something you've already set your mind on.

...Which is to poke fun at him, of course.

You hum in thought, your gaze flickering to the window before bringing it back to meet his. There was one time — a rather embarrassing moment for him, in your opinion.

"...Well, there was this one time I saw him on TV..."

He's quick to cut you off.

"Oh, why— y-yes! Yes, no, no, you haven't heard of me, especially not on TV! No, nope! Never!"

His grin is too wide to be genuine; panicked, and his hands are all over the place — almost as though he's talking with them, too, as he gestures wildly. You can see the sweat droplets fly off his hands, in addition to seeing the light reflected off of them on his forehead.

You look on in amusement.

"I-I'm just your friendly neighbourhood psychic, providing exorcisms at competitive prices! Never been on TV, no sir-ee!"

He's sweating buckets now, his grin thin as he goes on and on and on. He just... Talks, and the only time he pauses in his speech is to take in a greedy mouthful of air before getting right back to his words, coming out of his mouth faster than you can understand them.

And though it is rather cute funny to see him act like this, you decide that it's about time you changed the topic and spare him the embarrassment.

...And it's at this moment exactly that the bus reaches your destination, and you need to get off.

You pause for a moment, double-checking the sign to be sure that it's your street. You're more than a little disappointed to be parting ways with this strange, handsome psychic, this Arataka Reigen.

"Uh... Bye, I guess," you say in mild disappointment. You give him a small smile as you sling your bag over your shoulders, sitting up from your seat.

You're leaving already...? He only just met you, though...

As you make your way to the door, you run your hands along the bus's seats, feeling the fabric beneath your fingertips. It's a sort of a... Habit, now, to touch the seats before you exit, like how you'd run your fingers over a bridge's railing. It delays you a few seconds.

...Wait. It's probably best to give you his card, y'know, for his number and the address of his office...

You're halfway to the bus's doors before Arataka stops you, calling your name, rifling through his suit's pockets and producing a sharp, white business card.

"My business card, for the exorcism I promised you."

He grins, jabbing the card in your face. Taking a moment to compute what he's doing, you quickly take it from him, thanking him. He nods in reply, bidding you 'bye-bye' in a quick, hasty voice once more as he waves you off the bus.

You stare at the card as you step out of the bus, making your way to the little flat you call home.

Arataka Reigen.

Your eyes trail down to the bottom, where you see a phone number.

His phone number.

Arataka's phone number.

★ ★ ★

All week, you stress. Should you call him? This... Mysterious, handsome psychic? What if he doesn't want to talk to you? What if he really did just give you his business card for business?

...The way his cheeks flushed when your hands brushed against each other tells a different story, though...

You're fidgeting with his card in your hands when you enter the train, finding that it's full with people coming home from work, as usual. It's just after sunset — the sun has only just dipped below the horizon, the last traces of its golden light fading as the pinks turn to blues, the blues turning to black.

You look back down to the card in your hands, still not having moved from far the train's doors, open wide.

Arataka Reigen.

Your fingers wrap around the frigid metal off the handle bar by the train's doors, though your grip isn't strong, still lost in your thoughts. You really, really wanna call him, but what if he really did give you his business card only for business? He didn't seem to really... Do anything special, nor did he say anything special. He just treated you like a normal client, it seems.

You're still thinking about how adorable his pink cheeks were, though...

The sudden jerk of the train starting takes you by surprise, and you nearly fall down — had it not been for the fact that someone gripped your upper arms tightly before your face could connect with the cold, hard floor.

You look up quickly, your face heating when you realize who it is.

Arataka.

He says your name in a disbelieving, breathless manner, his eyes wide and his expression awestruck for a moment before coming back to his senses. He startles, letting go of you in the blink of an eye as he lets out a yelp, his cheeks flushed a sweet pink as you feel yours heat in tandem.

He remembers your name.

Arataka remembers your name.

"We meet again," Arataka says awkwardly, the both of you standing in the middle of the train. It's a little hard to keep his voice steady and quiet, but he manages.

That well tailored grey suit of his is neat and ironed, his pink tie tightened and tied properly close to his neck. He looks... Good. Better than on the bus, at least.

You nod, trying to calm down your racing heart.

"...Arataka. This is a... Pleasant surprise."

...And just like that, it's awkward silence again.

At least it's not totally quiet though: there's the rumbling of the train car moving along on its metal rails, the rapid beating of your heart in your ears, your shallow breathing as you try to calm yourself down in vain...

Your eyes trail to the window, watching as the train emerges from the dark tunnel, getting bathed in the lights of the city's night life. There's the faint smell of disinfectant and sweaty clothes in the air.

It's when you almost fall over again that you finally decide to take a seat. Arataka follows suit, taking the seat beside you, seeing as all the other seats are taken.

He's awkward as he settles down in his seat, his side pressed up against yours. He looks either... Embarrassed, or ecstatic, since you're that girl he saw on the bus the other day, the one who made his cheeks flush and his heart beat wildly in his chest. You're that girl he'd given his business card to, the one that he's been waiting so, so patiently for to call, even so little as text him.

After a while, the two of you get comfortable against each other; the warmth of his body brings some sense of comfort to you, and the same to him. You... Fit, there, right by his side. He likes that.

Your eyes are trained on the window; the buildings are whizzing past the train, the yellows and oranges of the city lights blending together to form a pretty little painting. It seems so... Fantastical, and so... Unreal. You've never really paid any attention to the scenery...

The little cars on the roads are but small strokes of a brush on a canvas, their blacks and greys mixing in with the dull colours of the asphalt. There's people on the streets, since it's not too late in the night yet; they're all smoking, partying, drinking, having a good time... Because, after all, it is a Friday night.

...And you're alone.

God, you're pathetic.

You scowl slightly, settling into your seat, your side shifting against Arataka.

Though you don't notice it, Arataka's eyes aren't on the view outside the glass. He's looking at you, studying you, watching as your eyes dart from person to person walking along on the pavement, watching as you shift your bag on your lap to get more comfortable. His eyes are fixed on you as he roams his gaze up and down your body, using his eyes to trace the outline of your comfortable clothing and sighing, almost dreamily so.

You're really pretty.

...It stays like this for a while. Neither of you say anything to eachother, though both your minds are plagued by the other.

You find yourself fidgeting with anything you can — the cloth straps of your bag, the thin strands of your hair, the knuckles of your fingers. It's hard to keep your thoughts from going haywire when Arataka's body is pressed against yours, especially when it's almost quiet enough for him to hear your racing heart.

He, too, is freaking out — his heart is threatening to burst from his chest, his mind reeling so much to the point where it's starting to hurt. The only difference is that he hides it well, and you're... Well, you're not as experienced. And he's definitely noticed.

As he stares at you, Arataka calls your name softly, absentmindedly, and his heart almost stops when your eyes connect with his.

They seem so... So sparkly, so big and wide, taking in everything. They reflect the environment; Arataka can see himself in them as he gathers his thoughts quickly, clearing his throat loudly.

It's hard to form words around you, especially words that aren't 'kiss me', you know that?

"So how've you been?" He asks smoothly, ending his question with your name.

You hum.

"...Good. You?"

Arataka nods, his posture relaxed in relation to yours. He shifts against you, almost leaning against you, and your heart skips a beat.

"Great, yeah."

He begins to gesture with his hands again, something that you've missed seeing a lot more than you'd think you would — especially considering the fact that the only time you've met him is on a bus, late at night, the both of you definitely not thinking straight under the influence of sleep deprivation.

"So how's that spirit of yours holding up? Gotten it rid of already?"

He gestures to your shoulder, his expression neutral as he analyses the empty air. He definitely notices that you haven't done anything about this supposed spirit haunting you.

So you stay quiet for a while, unsure of whether to lie and keep him in this emotional state or tell him the truth and make it worse.

"I, uh... Haven't done anything yet."

...

"You WHAT?!"

The passengers in the train all shush him in unison, and Arataka mumbles a quick 'sorry' before leaning in close to you, shielding his voice from the outside with a hand, almost like children telling each other secrets. It's just an excuse to get closer to you, to be completely honest.

You can barely focus on what he's saying, your cheeks a bright red as you feel his breath ghost over your skin.

"You HAVE to do something about it, I mean—"

He makes small gestures to the space above your shoulder, trying his best not to upset the people beside him. He fails, evident in the way they scowl at him and take a few steps away.

"This thing is dangerous!"

You sigh, leaning a little away from him as you feel the red in your cheeks fade.

"It hasn't done anything, though."

"Hasn't done anything YET," he cuts you off, hissing in a whisper. "You could've DIED!"

He gets shushed again. He sighs in annoyance, leaning away from you and talking in a calmer, quieter voice. He's smooth with it; his words come out naturally, almost instinctually — it doesn't sound like he's been desperate to say those words ever since he met you, and it doesn't sound like he's begging you to say yes.

"How 'bout this, hm? I'm heading to my office right now for a late night job. Why don't you come and I'll get rid of this—" he scowls, swatting the space above your shoulder again —"horrid spirit of yours?"

You pause. It's a... Very, very tempting offer. On one hand, you want to go back home and rest; while on the other, you want to follow this handsome, blonde psychic and see how he'll 'exorcise' this supposed spirit of yours.

You decide quickly, just as a light rain begins to patter on the glass windows.

"Sure, alright," you say, giving him a slight smile. Arataka nods in response, smiling at you, before his gaze trails to the windows where the rain gets heavier and heavier the closer you get to Arataka's office.

"SEE?!" Again, he's shushed.

"This is the work of the spirit!" He says, gesturing to the heavy rain that's now beating aggressively on the window in an unpredictable drumbeat. The people on the streets panic and try to get to shelter, whilst others bring out umbrellas.

You're quiet for a while.

"The... Rain?"

He nods briskly, seriously.

"Spirits can influence things, you see. They range from small events like how hot you heat up your bento, to this," he says grimly, gesturing to the thunder and lightning that has started to strike the ground in bright white flashes across cutting across the grey sky.

"The bigger the event, the more powerful the spirit. And," he says, leaning back more in his seat and crossing his arms, "this is a crazy powerful spirit. It's unwise to leave it alone for so long. It's reacting in this way because we mentioned its existence."

"Oh, okay, that... Right, that makes a lot of sense," you agree slowly, nodding in response to his words. Arataka knows a lot about spirits, it seems.

He grins in triumph, just as the train announces its location and its doors slide open. He gets up, gesturing for you to follow.

"It's just a 15 minute walk," he assures you.

When you get out of the train station, you find that it's still raining heavily. There's that smell of rain, which is nice, and you get lightly showered with the cold droplets as they bounce up and off the pavement and road.

Arataka scowls, groaning under his breath as he takes out a pocket umbrella, clicking it open.

"We'll have to share. It's small because it's meant for one person."

He gestures for you to get under the umbrella. It's... Close. You're very close to him, just like in the train, though, this time, your bodies are only almost touching. The two of you have to shuffle on the ground a little to walk.

As you begin walking, you find yourself walking closer and closer until you're touching sides. Arataka doesn't seem to argue; in fact, he wordlessly slides a tentative hand around your waist, holding you tight to him as the crystal droplets of rain pitter-patter loudly against the tiny clear plastic umbrella he holds. His grip grows more confident and firm the longer his hand is there.

It's quiet when the both of you stop at a crossing, waiting for the cars to clear and the light to turn to the little man, indicating you can walk.

Then a particularly fast car comes along. It's definitely speeding, and when it nears the large puddle of water near the sidewalk, Arataka smoothly pushes you back, bringing the umbrella up to shield you, and only you, from the dirty water.

The dirty rain water splashes at his pants and the droplets from the sky pelt him, causing him to wince slightly. It makes his golden hair to stick to his forehead, makes his expensive grey suit soaked at the shoulders, makes his sleeves dripping wet.

Before you know it, he brings the umbrella up again, and begins walking again without a word. His hand finds itself back to it's position, holding you securely around your waist.

"Thanks," you say. He pauses, turning to look at you.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?! THE RAIN'S TOO LOUD!"

You mutter a quick apology before repeating your thanks, this time shouting. His bewildered expression disappears, smiling cutely as he nods, before he continues walking.

The both of you continue in a comfortable silence for another minute or so before you reach the office. He leads you inside, shaking off the umbrella. The office smells... Really salty, coupled with the expensive scents of some kinds of incense you can't make out.

"Here we are!" He exclaims proudly. "Ah, oh, right. This is my apprentice, Mob."

Arataka places a firm hand on the shoulder of what looks to be a middle schooler with a bowl cut. He waves at you politely, smiling slightly, and you nod in response, waving back.

Arataka unbuttons his jacket and hangs it on the wall, and you have to clench your fists tightly to stop yourself from staring.

"Now," Arataka says smoothly, taking a seat in his chair and looking so, so attractive, "what package shall you take?"

He pulls out a piece of paper, with three courses labelled.

"Option A, the trial course, gets you 20% spirit reduction; option B, the serious course, which gets you 50% spi—"

Mob leans in to whisper something into his ear, and Arataka seems to be taken aback for a moment. He scoffs, hissing in a whisper, "Of COURSE there's a spirit, you just can't see it," which Mob seems to be placated by, going back to his spot reading manga.

Arataka clears his throat, opening his mouth to speak again.

"As I was saying," he glares at Mob, "Option A, the trial course, gets you 20% spirit reduction; option B, the serious course, which gets you 50% spirit reduction; and option C, the all-out course, gets you 99% spirit reduction." He gestures for you to take the seat in front of the desk.

"Of course," he says, grinning just like the hideous poster on the wall, "if it comes back, I'll get rid of it — for 20% off."

Sitting down, you bring the paper close to you...

...And find that every course is above your budget.

You smile nervously, pushing the paper back to him and getting up from your chair. This has clearly been a complete waste of time, especially since it all seems so sketchy, and you've only fallen for it because he's handsome...

"S... Sorry, Arataka," you apologise, bowing slightly once you've gotten up from your chair. "I can't really afford anything."

You move to the door, and it's only a moment later that you hear Arataka scrambling to get out of that fancy office chair, his brow slick with sweat and his words rushing out of his mouth.

"Woah, woah, woah, hey, my success rates are 99.9%! All my clients leave happy!" He cries, a note of desperation in his voice.

You shake your head, smiling politely. "No thanks."

He panics again as you reach for the doorknob. Your movements are slow — so, so slow, and it's definitely apparent that you're just stalling, as if waiting to see if he'll do anything.

He takes advantage of that.

Half stumbling and half sliding in front of you and using his body to block the door, he stands, gathering himself for a moment before—

"H-hey, hey, wait—!"

Arataka grips your shoulders tightly, beginning to massage. You pause, silent, a little taken aback.

"Feels good, right?" He says quietly as you almost melt at his touch. He's standing directly in front of you, staring at— no, studying your face as he moves his fingers in firm, soothing circles. "Like it?"

Your shoulders are absolutely screwed up.

You hum, rolling your joints a little bit. Arataka feels a surge of pride when a chorus of the cracking of your messed up bones fill the air, though he still presses gentle, relieving circles and dots into your skin, pressing enough for you to feel it firmly below the clothing you wear.

His touch, though soft and caring, is... Firm. Very, very firm, very unyielding. It's clear that he knows what he's doing, and it's clear that he's confident that this will work. His fingers are round dots of alleviation as they press softly into your skin, and their movements and placements are careful and calculative.

He grips your shoulders, dragging you slowly, slowly, slowly to the chair in the middle of the room and sitting you down on it.

Now that you're seated, Arataka feels your neck and shoulders a little. He goes round and round your little chair, pressing at this spot and that spot — he's looking for something, it's clear; he's looking for tightness or rigidity beneath your skin, places to apply pressure, places to soothe and fix.

You barely notice how his hands seem to almost lovingly caress you.

"Here?"

He bends down and shifts his hand a little closer to your neck, near that place that always aches when you look down — the base of the movement and the base of the neck itself. You sigh in delight, leaning into his touch — sending waves of butterflies and pride swelling in Arataka. His heart nearly bursts out of his chest as he sees you get more and more relaxed, enjoying his touch. His cheeks flush and a dopey grin adorns his face.

He hums, pressing more firmly and confidently.

It's about a minute later when Arataka retracts his hands almost reluctantly, his fingers lingering on you. You roll your neck and shoulders, sitting up and off the chair.

"I must say, Arataka," you say, shoving him slightly as a sort of playful gesture. His cheeks flush at the contact, a cute little grin on his face.

"That was a great massage."

His grin grows prideful, jabbing a thumb at himself proudly.

"You're talking to the greatest psychic of the 21st century, here!"

You sigh, almost dreamily so, as Arataka begins to go on and on and on about all his achievements, his accomplishments, his goals...

...

You pause. You have to pay — you can't just get caught up in his silly little endearing antics again.

"Um, Arataka?"

You interrupt him as he's talking proudly about himself, and he stares at you, a little confused and a little annoyed. He doesn't really care if it's you, though.

You gesture to the paper on the desk, the one with all the courses and prices. Your tone is regretful; you shouldn't have fallen so easily for such a blatant scam, c'mon, you're smarter than this...

"I can't pay. I didn't bring enough money."

Arataka pauses. Gears seem to turn in his head for a moment before his eyes light up, another one of those adorable horrible grins settling on his face again.

"Tell you what."

He tries to lean on the wall, finds that it's too far, and stumbles instead. He clears his throat, his cheeks red with embarrassment.

"Instead of paying, how about you..."

His grin widens as he pauses for dramatic effect. You wait patiently.

He's not actually pausing for dramatic effect, though; he's trying to get time to prepare what his tone will be, how his body language will look, how loud and confident his voice is...

It's a really, really long pause.

"...Go on a date with me?"

A date? With him? Mob's just sitting on the little couch in the corner of the room when he looks up from his manga, intrigued by the word 'date'.

Great. Now you've got a 14-year-old's pressure on your back.

You hum for a moment, thinking, as though your answer will be anything but a resounding yes. Your cheeks are flushed, but so are his once he hears what you say in response.

"Yes, please."

His grin widens in absolute joy, and he puts his hands harshly, securely in his pockets to prevent himself from grabbing you by the collar and sloppily kissing you right now.

He opens and closes his mouth to speak multiple times before he decides on what to say. He looks so, so happy — his eyes are wide and full of wonder, his grin is big and silly, and his cheeks are that same sweet pink as on the bus.

"Saturday? Saturday, 8:00 PM?"

You nod.

And waving goodbye as you open the door to leave, "I'll see you on Saturday."

[theta-walti]

Home Is Where The Heart Is

Summary (requested): Hi! Would you maybe write something for lia wälti were her and reader are really close friends who do a lot of domestic stuff together (think cooking, keeping each other company when studying etc) and everyone except those two knows that they are in love with each other? I just have this scene in my head where reader walks into the living room to find lia on the couch wearing their hoodie cuddling with readers dog and just thinking "i'm gonna marry this girl" and that being the realisation that the feelings are indeed more than friendly. Maybe some confessions and fluff after that

Warnings: Alcohol and fluff

A/N: ahhhhh l love Wally sm, l has bracelet for her, again, this has been in drafts as long as l can remember, this is dedicated to the anon who waited so patiently for so long, thank you and enjoy 🫶

Word count: 2.5k

"Lia!"

You said, lying on the living room sofa, completely bored out of your mind.

You had came over to Lia's this morning, only because you both don't have training today and the Swiss invited you over, usually when both you and Lia are free you would spend the day together, weather it's at hers or at yours.

This started when you met each other in Langnau, when she was coached by her father, you and her were the only girls on the team, so automatically you two became friends really quickly, and ever since you and the Swiss is done everything together, even moved up the ranks together, from Langnau to Huttwill Training Center to Team Bern West to BSC Young Boys for a year before signing to Arsenal in 2018, whenever boys bullied her you stood up for her and vice versa, that's how your friendship bloomed, that is until you started to develop feelings for the Swiss.

"yes kärlek?"

Lia said, looking up from her laptop, she is currently sitting on the kitchen counter, studying for her bachelor's degree.

"I'm bored!"

You throw your head back and groan. Usually, you and Lia would be spending time together, but ever since you arrived, she’s been too focused on studying, leaving you feeling a bit neglected.

Suddenly, an idea sparks in your mind—you know the Swiss won't like it, but you decide to go for it anyway. Rising from your seat, you stride over to where she's sitting, and without a word, you close her laptop and took it. Lia looks up at you, a bit stunned, before letting out a small, exasperated protest.

"Hey, that's my uni work! Give it back!"

She tried to get it back by reaching out, but you were having none of it.

"No! You've been ignoring me since l arrived. You invited me over, so now you have to hang out with me!"

You said, hugging her laptop close to your body, refusing to give Lia back her laptop. The Swiss got off the kitchen counter and started walking towards you.

"please Härlig, don't be so chrildish. Give me back my laptop. This is important!"

You start to back up, leaving the kitchen with a big smirk on your face. Then you start to run, running around the house with Lia behind you, chasing you, trying to get her laptop back.

"I'm not saying this again! Give me my laptop back!"

Lia said with a smile on her face, You yelled back a no and kept running, and you continued to do so until you faced a dead end, somehow you ran into the bedroom and ended up in the gap between the bed and the bedside table, basically tucking yourself in a corner, Lia smirked as she walked towards you slowly, her head high and hand out.

"You have nowhere else to run now. Give me my laptop,"

She said with an outstrached hand and stopped in front of you.

"YES, I do!"

You declared, scanning the room before charging forward with determination, aiming to bypass Lia and return to the living room. However, fate had other plans.

Mid-stride, you stumble over one of the bed's legs, instinctively reaching for Lia's arm for support. Instead, you only succeed in pulling her down with you. Her initial shock quickly gives way to a smirk as she realizes your vulnerable position, now looming over you with a newfound confidence. Despite the situation, you cling tightly to the laptop, refusing to surrender it.

That is, until you notice the position you’re in and froze, realization flooding over you. When you glance back at Lia, a mischievous grin is spreading across her face. Seizing the moment, she swiftly takes the laptop from your grasp, leaving you sprawled on the floor with a blush creeping across your cheeks. As she steps back, you lie there, replaying the scene in your mind, trying to process what just happened.

Just on cue, your phone rang in a notification. Thank gods, it was a text from your favourite teammate (you won't admit it, but she is) and one of your closest friends, Leah.

Hey, me and the team are going out tonight, you wanna come with? Bring Wally too if you want, l texted her, but she never replies

You replied immediately.

Yes! I'll tell her now, where is it?

You and Leah continued texting, and she gave you the address and time. Turns out you and Lia only have two hours left until the meet-up.

"Lia! Lee just told me that the team is hanging out tonight. They invited you too, It's in two hours"

You said as you walked out of the bedroom and into the living room where your best friend is, the Swiss turned her focus to you as soon as you entered the room, telling her the news.

"Where are they meeting up?"

Lia asked with an arched eyebrow. This is the first time she has heard this, or someone has already texted her, but because her phone was on dnd, she didn't know.

"A bar, apparently it's new and everyone wanted to go"

She leaned back, considering the invitation. You knew how she could be, sometimes hesitant to go out when she had work on her plate, even when it meant spending time with the team. Still, you were determined to have a proper night out with her by your side.

"Oh, come on, Lia. It’ll be fun! Besides, we haven’t all gone out together in ages,"

you pleaded, throwing her a hopeful smile. She looked over to you for a moment. Then she sighed, agreeing to go with you and the team.

"Alright, alright, but only for a bit. I still need to finish that assignment later."

You grinned, feeling triumphant.

"Yes! You won’t regret it, I promise."

The next two hours passed quickly as the two of you got ready. There was a comfortable rhythm to it, swapping makeup, sharing jewellery, and debating over outfits. You couldn’t help but feel a little thrill when Lia playfully pushed you aside to steal the mirror for herself, laughter bubbling between you both.

Finally, you were ready, and with one last look in the mirror, you grabbed your things and followed Lia out the door.

At the bar, the energy was electric. Leah spotted you as soon as you entered and pulled you both into a hug.

"Finally! Thought you two wouldn’t show,"

slshe teased, grinning. Leah knows that Lia can be serious when it comes to her work. She had no idea how you did it, but she was glad you did it.

The night was a blur of laughter, drinks, and dancing. You felt yourself relax completely, revelling in the time with your friends and, most of all, with Lia by your side. Every so often, you’d catch her eye across the room, and she’d smile, that warm, familiar look that made you feel closer than ever. A few of your teammates had noticed this, but they didn't say anything.

At one point, after a round of shots, you both found yourselves laughing uncontrollably at some inside joke. She leaned in close, her hand brushing yours, and the warmth of her touch lingered. For a split second, you thought about how easy it would be to just lean in, close the distance between you two, and say what you’d been feeling for so long. But you held back, unsure if now was the right moment.

As the night continued, Lia had looked at you, her eyes soft with something unreadable. "Thanks for dragging me out tonight,"

she murmured as her face s close to yours.

"I needed this."

"Anytime,"

Your heart skips a beat as you respond, barely able to keep the excitement from your voice. Lia’s smile widens, and before you know it, she’s pulling you onto the dance floor. The two of you begin to move in sync, letting the rhythm of the music guide the two of you.

After a few more drinks, you and Lia were completely wasted and could barely walk. Thankfully, Beth and Katie had came to the rescue.

"Alright, let's get you two home, you two have enough to drink"

Beth said, carrying you by your arm and you stumbled out of the bar, Katie had carried Lia and also did the same, when they got to the car you had protested.

"But we haven't danced yettttt!"

You slurred your words as Beth put you in the passenger seat of her car and katie and put lia and herself in the back.

"Yes, you did. You danced with Lia all night, remember?"

You had foggy memory because of the alcohol, but somehow, you had remembered what happened in the last hour of your life.

"Oh yeaaaaaaa!"

You had stopped for a minute before you continued your sentence.

"Where is Lia?"

You looked around frantically trying to search for your best friend, Beth had chuckled at your state.

"She’s in the back, turn your head, and you'll see her"

Everyone in the team knew that your friendship with Lia was not just friendship. It was something more. They can see it through every training, the way you two look at each other, your inside jokes, and the small gestures Lia does for you, no matter if it is after losing a match or winning one, you and Lia was always togather.

When you had turned around, you saw Lia was already asleep, leaning on the Katie's shoulder. A small part of you had wanted to at the back, so her head could be on your shoulder, not Katie's. You didn't realise you had stared at her for so long until Beth had announced that she had arrived at your apartment.

"Come on, let's get you up"

Beth was the first to exit the car, helping you out while Katie shook Lia awake and did the same. It seemed like the smart choice to take the elevator, so the two sober friends led the way. As soon as you stepped inside, you immediately searched for Lia again. This time, she was awake but still groggy and a bit tipsy. You took her hand and held onto it tightly for the entire ride until Beth had to gently pry your fingers apart to take the keys from you.

Once Beth opened the door to the apartment, your Goldendoodle, Peanut, was already asleep, waiting for you. She wasted no time in ushering you to bed, thinking that as soon as your head hit the pillow, you'd drift off to sleep. But that was quickly proven wrong. The moment you landed on the bed, you whined for Lia, who was sprawled on the couch. Beth reassured you that Lia wasn’t going anywhere, but your cries only intensified. Finally, she offered to get you a glass of water to help sober you up before you went to find Lia.

What Beth didn’t know was that the moment she left the room, you slipped out of bed and made your way downstairs. Slowly but surely, you found your way to the living room and joined Lia on the couch. Without a second thought, you lay down beside her. She stirred, blinking sleepily before wrapping her arms around you, and within moments, you both fell asleep.

By the time Lia had settled on the couch, Katie had already left. When Beth returned with the glass of water, she paused at the sight of you cuddled up with Lia, both of you fast asleep. A chuckle escaped her lips as she placed the glass on the table and snapped a quick photo of the adorable scene to send to the group chat. Afterwards, she filled another glass and set some painkillers on the table, then quietly left the apartment, leaving you and Lia in your sleep.

---☆☆☆---

It was after already afternoon when you woke up the next day. The sunlight had filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the living room. You had slowly gotten up from the empty couch, holding your head because of the major headache you are currently having. After you have stabled yourself, you had slowly padded towards the kitchen, planning to get a glass of water. But when you arrived you saw something that warmed your heart.

Lia, a cup of tea in her hand, was sitting on the floor, her slender fingers slowly running her fingers though the fur of Peanut, who was laying contentedly, his head resting on her lap, his tail wagging lazily.

You couldn't help but smile as you entered the room, taking in the sight. Lia looked up, her eyes lighting up with genuine warmth as she saw you.

"Hey Kärlek,"

she greeted, her voice soft and inviting.

"Hey,"

You replied, unable to tear your gaze away from her. She looked so effortlessly beautiful. Maybe last night's alcohol hasn't been completely warned off yet, Lia was wearing one of your oversized grey hoodies like it was made just for her. And in that moment, it hit you like a ton of bricks – you were in love with her.

You took the painkiller and glass of water Bath had left you and took a seat beside her. Suddenly you felt a rush of emotions swirling within you, threatening to burst forth like a dam breaking.

"Lia,"

You began, you voice barely above a whisper, both because of your hangover and the fear of this turning into something bad.

"There's something I need to tell you."

Her eyes had turned to you, searching with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation.

"What is it?"

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage before speaking.

"I... I think I've known it for a while now, but it's taken me until last night to truly realize it. Lia.... l like you, like l wanna be with you."

The words hung in the air between you and Lia. You felt a vulnerability that you feel exposed to. But as Lia's eyes widened with surprise, you saw something else flicker within them – hope? Maybe? Hopefully?

"Really?"

Lia whispered, her voice barely audible above the gentle hum of the room. You nodded, unable to trust your voice as you leaned in closer to her, your heart pounding.

"Yes, really. And seeing you here, wearing my hoodie, cuddling with Peanut... It just made me realize that I never want to let you go. I want to spend every moment with you, making more memories together."

Tears welled up in Lia's eyes as she reached out to cup your face in her hands, her touch gentle yet electrifying. And in that moment, as your lips finally met in a soft and emotional kiss, when you pulled away, a big smile appeared on your face.

"Does that mean you like me too?"

You said excitedly, a bit too loud for a hangover person.

"yes dummy, yes l do, l like you too, now lower your voice please"

Your smile was so big that you had leaned in and kissed the Swiss again.

The next morning, you and Lia walked into the changing room hand in hand. Just as you're about to head to your respective cubbies, you share a quick kiss, savouring the moment. Suddenly, a loud yell pierces the air, echoing through the room.

"Finally!"

The whole room erupted in laughter.

A/N: ANDDDD THAT'S A WARP! thank you sm for reading this. Two fics in a day omg, l hope you had fun <3

This is Theta, signing out, see you next time!

[lilacmingi]

SEASHELLS BY THE SEASHORE

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works. And please don’t spam-like!

Pairing: Merman!Seonghwa x fem reader

Word count: 4,015

You found yourself swimming in the ocean, unsure of how you had gotten there. You could breathe just fine and see clearly, no foggy film obscuring your vision. It was strange. You weren't freaking out. In fact, you felt so at peace, swimming languidly through the water without a care or worry in the world. With your eyes focused on what was front of you, you took notice of a small, dark blur in the distance. The closer it got, the more you started to notice a shape—it was a man. He had dark hair that flowed with the current as he swam through the deep cerulean water. A large tail flicked back and forth behind him, pushing him forward.

You blinked a few times as he got closer, stopping just a couple feet away. He stared at you, tilting his head to the side as he watched you, observing you.

"Who are you?" You asked, voice coming out clearly despite being underwater.

He only smiled, not giving an answer.

You watched as he reached his hand out, bringing it up to your face. His fingertips gently caressed your cheek, tracing down your jawline sending a shockwave through your body.

You shot up in bed breathing heavily, the all-too-familiar dream still on your mind. You'd had the same recurring dream every night for a week straight. The same merman. The same ocean. The same question.

Who are you?

Pushing yourself out of bed, you pulled your sketchbook out, a rough draft scribbled on the paper from a previous attempt at drawing the mysterious merman. You took a seat at the desk and started sketching more detailed features you recalled from the dream. You remembered his eyes and sharp brows perfectly as if looking at a reference photo. Everything else, however, was a little blurry and more difficult to remember. Nevertheless, you roughly sketched his nose, lips, and other features, changing it a few times until you felt it looked like him, or as close as possible. Maybe tomorrow night you'd be able to make some alterations and finish it accurately.

You pushed yourself out of your desk chair and laid back down in bed, giving a brief glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. 5:27 AM.

Pulling the covers up over yourself, you closed your eyes, hoping to return to your dream. The fleeting glimpse you got of the man every night seemed to fade away the longer you were awake, so you thought it best to get back to sleep as quickly as possible.

To your disappointment, you never returned to that dream. The remainder of your night was filled with dreams completely unrelated to the man in your sketchbook.

You stared at your ceiling letting out a sigh, frustrated that you couldn't get one, last look at the mystery merman. Why did you even keep having this dream? Does it mean something? The curiosity was gnawing at you, plaguing your mind.

Am I supposed to find him or something? You wondered.

Actually laughing out loud, you shook your head, amused at the absurdity of the thought. There's no way you were going into the ocean to find a man who probably—no, scratch that—definitely, doesn't exist.

You changed out of your pajamas and into some regular clothes, freshening up a little before slipping on your sandals and stepping onto the sandy, wooden steps of your house. You loved living at the beach, but the ground was mostly sand so you were constantly tracking it onto your porch and into your home which was bothersome. However, it was a small price to pay for living in paradise.

You slid on your sunglasses, shielding your eyes from the sun's harsh rays before crossing the street. There was a sidewalk lining the edge of the beach that you liked to walk along some days, feeling the sea breeze brushing past you and the sun warming your body.

As you walked along the concrete, you noticed a man sitting on a wooden crate, a beach towel laid out in front of him with various objects spread across it. You took a few steps closer, freezing when you realized the man looked vaguely familiar. An image of the strange merman from your dream flashed in your mind. You slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle the gasp that left your lips.

No way. There's no way.

You had to be dreaming, right? Surely you were dreaming. Reaching over, you gave yourself a harsh pinch on the arm.

Ouch.

No. This is definitely real.

But how?

He looked exactly like the man from your dream.

It's a coincidence. You told yourself.

He has legs, so of course it's not the same guy from your dream... but what if he can shift? No. Mermaids aren't even real.

But what if they are? A tiny voice in your head questioned.

You were far too engrossed in your own insane thoughts that you almost didn't realize you had caught the man's attention.

Great.

You quickly composed yourself as best as you could before calmly approaching him, your eyes scanning over the array of items spread about the sandy beach towel, noticing quite a few sizable, unique-looking seashells and a few large sand dollars, not broken ones you would find walking on the beach, but full sand dollars.

"These seashells are gorgeous." You commented. "Where do you get them?"

The dark-haired male looked up at you, his eyes going wide and mouth slightly agape. He blinked a few times, visibly gathering himself before speaking.

"I dive for them every morning. I'm trying to sell them."

"Oh, really?"

"Mhm." He nodded.

"What's that?" You questioned, pointing to a small, pale-colored object.

"Oh! This is a really unique seashell I found on my walk up the beach. I've never seen anything like it."

You reached down and picked the object up off the towel, turning it around between your fingers.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but this is a pistachio shell."

"Pistachio?" He asked, his head tilting to the side like a confused puppy.

"It's a type of nut."

"Ah! Of course. I know what that is." He tittered awkwardly, his eyebrows knit together worriedly as he forced a painful smile.

Okay. There's definitely something off about this guy.

You tossed the pistachio shell aside and started observing the actual shells he had lined on the towel, your eyes glancing up at him momentarily, cursing yourself when you found that he was staring right at you.

He didn't seem like someone who would be set up on the sidewalk selling shells and sand dollars. His long black hair was neatly swept to the side, his white button down shirt tucked neatly into a pair of jean shorts.

"Excuse me." He spoke up shyly.

"Yes?" You looked up at him, noticing his somewhat nervous demeanor, his fingers pulling at the end of his shirt sleeve.

"Would you maybe be interested in helping me sort through my finds of the day? You know, only pick out the good stuff and throw away the trash?"

You sucked in a deep breath, mulling over his request for a moment. It was an odd thing to ask, but it would be a good opportunity to observe him and see if he had any strange mannerisms that would give away his true identity, if he even is a merman, that is.

"Sure."

"Really? You'll do it?"

"Why not.” You shrugged.

"Thank you so much. I'm Seonghwa, by the way." He smiled warmly.

"I'm Y/n."

"A pretty name for a pretty girl." He commented.

You felt some warmth rush to your cheeks. It was hard not to be flattered. After all, it's not every day a stunningly handsome man compliments you.

"So, how long have you been set up here?"

"One week." He answered.

"Have you sold anything?"

"Actually I have. Though I don't think I'll sell enough to buy a house, but it's a start."

"You don't have a house?" You questioned.

"No. Not here at least."

Not here. Is he from out of town?

Or perhaps, he's not from land.

"So, you're not from here." You stated.

He nodded.

"How far do you live from here?"

"Not too far."

You hummed in response. "I assume you've been sitting out here for a while."

"I have."

"Have you eaten anything?"

He shook his head.

"How about I treat you to lunch." You offered.

His eyes widened, brown irises glimmering with happiness. "Okay. If you insist."

He got up and started pulling the beach towel up at the corners, making a pouch of some sort. He then flipped over the crate he was sitting on, a small tin box in the sand underneath. He dropped the towel filled with shells and such into the crate and put the tin box on top.

"I'll be back. I have to go hide this stuff." He lifted the wooden crate and started down the beach.

"Hey, wait." You called out to him before he could take another step. "I live across the street, you can set it inside my house until we get back from eating."

"Will it be safe there?"

"Of course. If anything, it's safer than you hiding it behind some rocks."

"Alright then. Thank you."

"Sure. Is that where you keep your money?" You gestured to the tin box sitting on top of the wadded beach towel.

He nodded.

"That's smart that you put it underneath the crate and then sit on it. That way no one can sneak up behind you and steal it."

"Thank you." He beamed at your praises. "I thought it was a smart idea too."

You allowed Seonghwa to set the crate on the entryway floor just inside your house before the both of you made your way to a nearby restaurant and one you liked to frequent.

"Hm." Seonghwa hummed as he glanced at the menu, his full lips set into a pout.

"Need help?"

"Yes. I've never eaten here before."

"This is really good. I order it every time I come here." You pointed to one of the items on the menu.

"Ah. That looks good."

"Or maybe you'd like this." You pointed to a different menu item. "It's up to you."

"I think I'll have the first one."

Minutes later, your waitress came to take your orders and retrieve the menus. She walked off, leaving you and Seonghwa alone.

"Thank you for offering to take me for lunch. That's very kind of you."

"No problem. I just wanted to do something nice." You smiled.

His eyes moved around the area, checking out the interior of the restaurant. A mural was painted on the back wall of the establishment, the artwork depicting a beach accompanied by a beautiful sunset, the vibrant yellow and orange paints blended together seamlessly. Hung along the ceiling were fishing nets with seashells and starfish attached to them. A shark's skeletonized jaw bone hung on the wall along with various fish which was quite unsettling to Seonghwa.

"Are those... real?" He asked you meekly.

"The fish? No they're plastic."

"And the shark jaw?"

"Real."

"Ah." He nodded.

When your food arrived, Seonghwa's face lit up, his wide eyes looking down at his plate with anticipation.

"Looks good, right?" You asked, reaching for your fork.

He nodded.

"Go on. Dig in."

He grabbed his utensils, fumbling with them for a moment before taking a bite, his already round eyes becoming rounder as he let out a hum of satisfaction.

Over the next couple weeks, you met Seonghwa at the same spot where he set up every day, helping him sort through the trash and bottle caps before he laid out his little treasures. You kept him company throughout the day, leaving briefly to bring the both of you something to drink or eat. You hadn't noticed anything too strange about him, other than the fact that he didn't know too much about certain objects and he was a little confused about your cell phone. After you explained what it was, he acted as if he already knew that, which you noticed he did a lot. Besides that, you hadn't gotten any compelling evidence that he was a merman. For all you know, he could just be a dull person.

"I don't know how you sit out here all day. It's really hot." You mentioned, fanning yourself with your hand.

"It's not so bad. I try not to think about it. Plus, if I get hot I can just take a dip in the ocean."

"Ah. Right." You nodded.

Not many people that stopped to peruse Seonghwa's items bought anything from him which made you feel bad. If he really wanted to buy a house, this wasn't going to cut it.

"Why don't we take a break? I've got some lemonade at my place. It'll cool us down a little."

"I guess I could take a break." He stood up and gathered his things, before the two of you walked across the street to your house.

Seonghwa walked in behind you, placing his box of items on the floor. You moved about the kitchen, taking two glasses from the cabinet and pouring the both of you some cold lemonade, handing one to Seonghwa, watching him take a sip. His face scrunched up in the cutest way.

"It's sour." He commented. "But sweet."

"Mhm." You hummed.

"I haven't had lemonade before."

"It's refreshing, right?"

He nodded, a small smile on his face.

"I'm gonna go freshen up a little. I'm kinda sweaty from sitting outside. Just make yourself at home." You excused yourself and disappeared down the hallway, slipping into the bathroom.

Looking at your reflection, you smoothed out your barely damp hair and straightened out the wrinkles in your clothes in an attempt to appear more presentable. You then started digging under the sink in your makeup bag and retrieved your deodorant, reapplying it along with your lip tint to bring a bit of color to your face. You always found yourself trying to look nice when you spent time with Seonghwa. It's more than likely because you've started to develop a small crush on him. Of course, you knew he was handsome from the moment you laid eyes on him, however, the more time you spent with him, the more you became attracted to him, your feelings growing every day.

Unfortunately, you couldn't tell if he was interested in you.

You scurried out of the bathroom, thinking you had spent too long in there and went back to the kitchen only to find that Seonghwa wasn't there. You called out his name, making your way down the hall coming to an abrupt halt when you saw him standing in your room.

He had your sketchbook in his hands, his half empty glass of lemonade abandoned and sitting idly on the desk. You felt your heart drop like a bowling ball in your chest.

Did he see the sketch of him? You thought fretfully.

If he did, does he know it's him? No. It's a crappy drawing. He wouldn't be able to tell.

"Is this... me?" He asked, showing you the sketch you prayed he wouldn't lay eyes on.

You opened your mouth to speak only to clamp it shut, your sentence dying in your throat.

"It's okay. You can tell me. I won't be angry."

"Yes." You dropped your head, too embarrassed to look his way.

"Do you..." He trailed off, hesitant to speak his next words. "Do you have dreams?"

You knew he wasn't just asking if you had dreams, he was asking if you had dreams about him.

"Yes." You admitted, nodding in confirmation.

"I do too. It's the same dream every night. I would always ask who you were, but you wouldn't answer."

"Yes." You nodded. "I did the same."

This was crazy. You were both having the same dream.

"In your dream, did I reach out and... touch your face?" You asked embarrassedly.

"Yes, but only for a second. I always wake up at the same part. It's almost like I'm—"

"Shocked awake?" You finished.

He nodded. "Exactly that."

"I really hope I don't embarrass myself when I ask this, but are you..." You couldn't even finish the sentence.

"A merman? Yes."

A short breath left your parted lips. Though you suspected it from day one, having it confirmed made it real.

"Why do you think we kept dreaming about each other?" You questioned.

"Maybe we were supposed to meet." Seonghwa's eyes met yours, his words making your heart thump in your chest.

"Maybe we were." You agreed. "Why did you come here anyway?"

"My dream is to live on land. I have some friends who are more educated on humans and they told me I'd need a way to get money if I wanted to start a life outside the water. So I found an old crate, a tin box, and a beach towel and decided I could sell shells and other things I found while swimming in the ocean. My goal was to earn enough to buy a house." He explained. "My plan was to live on land, but I didn't expect to meet you along the way. That was just a bonus." He smiled a little.

That last part made your heart skip a beat.

"Seonghwa?"

"Yes?"

"Why don't you live with me?"

"What?" He blinked a few times, his sharp brows furrowing in confusion. Did he hear you correctly?

"Save what money you earned. You can live with me. If you still want to buy a house later I'll help you out, but you're more than welcome stay here with me."

Seonghwa's eyes seemed to sparkle at your generous offer.

"You mean that?"

You gave a nod of affirmation.

"If I'm being honest, I'd rather live with you than buy a house to live in alone." He admitted.

"Then it's settled." You gave an amicable smile. "Welcome home, roomie."

He grinned brightly, liking the way that sounded.

"Oh, one more thing." You spoke up.

"What is it?"

"I'm curious to see what you look like in your merman form." You admitted, getting shy making such an odd request.

He let out a short chuckle before answering.

"I can show you."

"Seriously?" You squeaked, speaking a little too loudly, your excitement getting to you.

"Absolutely. Let's go." He grabbed you hand, making your heart jump.

"We're going now?"

"Of course."

"Hold on." You stopped him. "I need to put on a swimsuit first."

"Oh, right. That's a good idea."

After changing into a bathing suit as quickly as possible, you rejoined Seonghwa, linking hands with you once again as you set off, allowing Seonghwa to pull you across the street and onto the warm, sandy beach.

"We can go over here." He pointed to a cluster of rocks near the shore. "This is where I usually come up on land. It's fairly secluded so I don't have to worry much about being spotted by anyone."

You followed behind him until he stopped at the edge of the water.

"Is this one of those situations where you turn into a merman as soon as you get wet or can you walk so far into the water and then you turn?" You questioned.

"The latter." He answered. "So don't worry."

He gradually brought you out into the water until it got near your waists. That's when he let go of your hand and dove into the water, resurfacing moments later a couple feet away from you.

"C'mon." He motioned for you to swim out to him.

Sinking down into the water, you made your way to him, grabbing onto his upper arm once you got to where your feet didn't reach the bottom anymore.

"Where are your clothes?" You asked, noticing his shirt had disappeared completely, leaving his (very beautiful) chest and collarbones on display, the heavenly sight taking all your attention.

"They kind of just go away when I shift into my true form."

"Do they reappear when you get out of the water or..." You trailed off.

"Yes they do reappear. Thank goodness." He chuckled.

At that moment, you felt Seonghwa's tail brush against your leg, causing you to look down into the water below, watching in both awe and disbelief as a large, midnight blue tail swished back and forth in the water.

"Is that your tail?" You asked, as if it wasn't obvious.

"That it is."

"It's so pretty." You marveled.

He chuckled a little, a faint pink hue painting his cheeks. "I don't know about that. I think you're much prettier."

"You do?"

"Yeah." His eyes locked with yours, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek in the most gentle manner. "From the moment I saw you I thought you were absolutely stunning. Every time I would see you in my dream I hoped that fate would one day bring us together—and it did. Getting to see you in person and spend time around you has made my fondness for you grow."

You blinked a few times, heart beating so fast you could practically feel your body shake with each thump.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked softly, the request for consent making you melt.

You nodded as soon as the question left his mouth, not wanting to waste any time.

He closed the remaining space between your faces and attached his lips to yours, wrapping them in his warmth. The kiss started off slow, both of you feeling bashful. Though unhurried, it still made your head spin, the leisurely pace of the kiss allowing you to feel every dip, curve, and crevice of Seonghwa's pillowy lips.

Eventually, he got a little brave, wrapping one of his arms around your waist to hold your body flush against his as he leaned in a bit more and added some force to the kiss. With this closer position, you could feel every little movement and flex of his abdomen muscles against your stomach, fueling the intense fire that burned inside, the heat accompanied by a fluttering swarm of butterflies.

You wanted so badly to let your hands roam his upper body and feel the dips and curves of his muscles, but you arms stayed securely wrapped around his shoulders, not really paying attention to the fact that you were kissing a literal merman... in the ocean. That realization was completely tossed out the window, as you were far too busy indulging in this moment. Seonghwa's hand slid around to the back of your neck, the feeling of his fingertips at your nape sending a shiver down your spine as he tilted his head, forcing your mouths even closer together. The new angle made your head spin, fingers unconsciously digging into his shoulders in response, your action causing a low groan from Seonghwa that vibrated against your lips.

The need for air began to creep up the back of your throat, lungs aching for oxygen and as much you didn't want to, you had to pull away from the kiss. When you did, both you and Seonghwa were winded, his chest heaving up and down while he gazed at you with half-lidded eyes, licking his lips as he let the last few moments sink in.

"I've wanted to do that ever since I met you." Seonghwa admitted breathlessly, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"Me too." You admitted, huffing out a laugh.

Your head dropped to rest on your arm that was still secured around his shoulders, taking a few moments to catch your breath.

"We're fairly close to land." Seonghwa mentioned. "Do you want to go home, or do you wanna go for a swim with me?"

The question made you lift your head.

"I could use a little swim." You flashed a small closed-mouth grin, giving Seonghwa a quick peck on the cheek. "I'm not ready for our time out here to end just yet."

"Alright then. Hang on tight."

Hongjoong 𓇼 Yunho 𓇼 Yeosang 𓇼 San 𓇼 Mingi 𓇼 Wooyoung 𓇼 Jongho

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[lilyswritings]

late.

synopsis: your boyfriend’s superhero antics give you a fright, and it’s up to him to reassure you of his well-being when he returns home from the fight. 

author’s note: i’ll admit, this has been sitting in my drafts for the longest time... likely since no way home came out! but i’ve been trying to get back into the swing of writing, and i figured it was a good idea to start with finishing up some works in progress before diving into anything new. so here’s some peter angst and fluff, just like the good ol’ days. enjoy!! 

wordcount: 1,613 

18. “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep?” 25. “What the hell were you thinking?!” 48. “Why are you crying?”

Peter Parker x Reader

      The window to the bedroom slides open, a figure in blue and red quietly stepping through the frame and carefully sliding the window shut behind him, all the while listening intently for any signs of life in the apartment beyond. Satisfied that he hasn’t woken his aunt, Peter turns around only to be startled by a figure sat in the darkness of the room, criss-cross on his bed. 

      “Shit.” He curses, huffing out a laugh when he realizes it’s only you. “It’s late,” Peter starts, tugging his mask off and tossing it onto his desk as he turns towards his closet to grab a t-shirt and sweatpants. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” 

      He doesn’t notice how silent you are until you don’t respond, when he turns around mid-unzipping his outfit to find you staring at him — like you’ve seen a ghost. Later, he’ll blame the shadows in the darkened room as why he didn’t immediately notice the shine of dried tears on your cheeks, or the way you’d bitten your nails down to the skin like you always did when you were panicking. 

      For now, though, he’s too focused on getting out of his suit and into comfortable clothes, the events of the evening still making his brain run haywire as he runs everything that he did that went wrong through his mind, planning for next time. 

      “Look, I’m sorry for returning so late,” He begins, tugging the suit off. “I lost track of time, I meant to text you but I think my phone got smashed in the fight and I’m probably going to have to at least replace the screen if not the whole thing.” He rambles, until finally, he’s changed entirely into casual clothes, and he lets out a sigh. When he turns around, finally, your expression has morphed from one of shock into anger, and he frowns at the sudden shift in emotion. 

      “What?” He asks, immediately wracking his brain for what he could have done to piss you off in the last few minutes. In response, you push yourself up and off the bed, coming to stand face-to-face with him as you take in his injuries, brow furrowed and arms crossed.

      “What was that?” You ask, gesturing vaguely to the window in reference to his escapades of the night.

      “Oh, it was just that Rhino guy again, turns out he escaped from prison and was trying the same ol’ shtick of—”

      “Rhino?” You cut him off, hands moving to your hips, and Peter winces, realizing his error. 

      “Yeah, uh, I know I said I wouldn’t take him on again by myself, but he was actively driving away with some radioactive materials and the police weren’t even close to him at that point so if I hadn’t stepped in chances are he would have gotten away and—”

      “So you went alone? What the hell were you thinking?” You demand, not letting him finish, watching his eyebrows tug together as he becomes defensive. 

      “Hey, come on, I can handle myself. I’m Spider-Man.” Peter retorts with a cocky smile, although still evidently confused, and you shove at his chest. “What the hell—” He begins to argue, smile dropping.

      “It’s not funny. You could have been killed!” You hiss, barely containing an angry shouting match as you try to keep your voice down to not wake Aunt May up. 

      “Are you— Why are you crying?” Peter asks, finally, and you freeze, only now noticing the feeling of tears running down your cheeks. He steps forwards delicately, hands up, and you step back, watching his expression morph into one of hurt.

      “What’s going on with you?” He asks, obviously confused, and you fling a hand out towards your open laptop as your other hand comes up to hastily scrub at your cheeks, as if to erase the tears altogether. 

     Peter, still looking at you with concern in his eyes, hesitantly sits down on the bed and turns the laptop on. The blue glow of the screen lights up his face as he reads the open article, mouth opening slightly as he pieces together your reaction. 

      The headline ‘Spider-Man: Gone For Good?’ stares back at him, along with an attached video of himself in his costume being smashed into the side of a building and remaining there, unmoving, until the video cuts out. ‘Spider-Man severely injured... Worried crowd of onlookers... Has the city’s hero been defeated?... No sign of hero since the incident...’ Peter’s eyes skim the article, before he turns to face you with a softened expression, noticing that you haven’t stopped crying, though you’re frustratedly scrubbing at your face in hopes of wiping away the evidence.

      He stands up from the bed and approaches you, and this time, you let him place his hands on your shoulders as you wipe at your face. “I’m so sorry,” He starts, voice quiet, moving to tilt your chin up with his hand. “That must have been really scary for you.”

      You swallow thickly, taking in a shaky breath as you lock eyes with him. “It said you were dead.” You whisper, voice breaking slightly on the last word. “The video—” You stop yourself, tears beginning to well up anew in your eyes, and Peter winces.

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t know there was a news station, I was just— I needed to rest for a minute, that was it. I had no idea...” He curses himself internally — he should have been on the lookout for cameras, what if he’d taken his mask off? He never wanted you to see him in a fight, let alone see him get hurt that badly. 

      You nod, hand coming up to rest on his cheek, eyes skimming over the bruise on his cheekbone that seems to be disappearing with each passing second. Yay healing powers, you think sarcastically. “Okay. I’m sorry for snapping at you.” You take in another breath, this time less shaky. “I was just so scared.” You admit, and there you go again, fresh tears falling as you curse and look down at the floor.

      Peter takes that as his cue to envelop you in a hug, tucking your head into the crook of his neck and tugging you closer, arms locked around you protectively. “I’m here. I’m okay.” He utters the affirmations into your neck, pressing a feather-light kiss there as if to prove it. 

      “It’ll take more than that to get rid of me.” He huffs into your hair. Though his words are obviously meant to lighten the mood, the cocky attitude reminds you one again of your initial frustration, and you impulsively pull away and launch your first forward to punch Peter in the shoulder. 

      Of course it only ends up startling him, and the impact feels like you just punched a wall — curse you, superhero muscles — and you pull your hand back with a muttered curse. His dark eyebrows tug together as he holds a hand over the spot you hit. 

      “What was that?” He asks, eyes darting from your fist to your face, tone concerned although you detect a hint of amusement in his soft brown eyes at the instant repercussions for your outburst. 

      “It’s not funny. You fucking scared me.” You grumble, cradling your now-throbbing fist against your chest, and he huffs out a short laugh. “Don’t laugh at me.” You scold, though your anger is dissolving by the second just due to his reassuring presence. 

     “I already said I’m sorry—” You frown at his casual attitude. “—don’t punch me again—” He interjects hurriedly. “—but I am sorry. Really sorry. I’ll be more careful next time, I promise.” 

    “You’d better.” You frown, still trying to eradicate the image of his prone form lying among the rubble, no sign of movement or life. “Or at least fucking text me, or, or call me, or— send a Spider-signal or something! Next time your phone breaks, I want you to use a payphone.” You decide, nodding, and he laughs under his breath. 

      “Okay,” He concedes, stepping closer to you and kissing you on the forehead. “I’ll build a little pocket into the suit to hold some quarters.”

      You roll your eyes at the sass, but your smile betrays you as you lean into his touch, his arms coming up to encircle you. “Don’t be a smartass.” You mutter into his shoulder, and he laughs. 

      “Can we go to bed now?” He asks, pressing a kiss to your temple, and you nod. “I’m wiped, and I think you might be too.” You nod again, sighing and going to pull away from him, but he holds you tighter and your brow furrows in confusion. 

       “I thought you wanted to go to bed—” Your words are cut off by a squeal of surprise and he holds you fast to his chest and shoots a web at the wall above his bed, tugging the both of you onto the bed in one swooping motion. 

      You land sideways, eyes wide, and erupt into a stifled laugh at his antics. “You’re insane, it would have taken us all of ten seconds to walk over and get in bed!” You scold, and he finally lets you go and shrugs, pulling the blanket up and over the both of you.

      “And this way, it took us one second.” He smirks, and you smack him on the chest. 

      “Okay, Spider-Man.” You retort, voice mocking, but he smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead, wrapping his arms around you once more. The room goes quiet, your breaths slowing and deepening as you lie in Peter’s arms, and just as you are about to fall into a deep sleep, you smile as you hear him utter three lovely little words.

      “I love you.”

[sensitive-neuvi-enthusiast]

Painting is.......eroticঞ

➺ Character: Rafayel

➺ NSFW. MDNI.

➺ Summary: Rafayel had a plan. An innocent, date night idea. That turned into something...more.

➺ Content: Hand job, kissing, nipple stimulation, blushing Raf.

➺ wc: 600+

To anyone else, this idea seemed like an excuse just to get your hands on him. But it was innocent! He'd tell anyone. Hell, even you thought he had ulterior motives when he'd posed the idea. With a pout and some whining later, you'd finally agree. The idea? This completely normal suggestion?

Painting his body. Nude.

He knows how it sounds, but truly! His intentions were pure. Rafayel just wanted another way to connect you both. For you to intertwine on a deeper level. And what better way than to strip yourselves of the outside world and only be with each other. Raw. Real.

He was going to paint you too, it was a mutual activity. But all he managed to get out was, "You should paint me naked," and it led to this whole debocal. But, thankfully, with his skill in 'pouting' until you give in', he found himself picking up new paints. Ones safe for skin. Returning to his home, where he found you. Already looking done with said activity. Even though he had convinced you...it didn't seem like you believed him. No matter.

"You know, your cold nature is going to end up bringing a draft in my studio. That'd be very bad for my paintings...then I'd be sad, you wouldn't want that, would you?" He watched with small amusement as you rolled your eyes, walking over and grabbing the paints. Then, your finger sought out the dip in his barely button shirt. Dragging it down the expanse of skin you could see.

"Let's paint."

He found himself swallowing thickly, a dust of red already spreading across his cheeks. To the tips of his ears. His heart beating rapidly in his chest, he was afraid it might explode. Innocent. He reminded himself. This was innocent.

༺༻

He held his breath as the cold of the paint brushed against his skin. Your eyes were glued to him. Focused. As you dipped your finger into the paint again, swirling it around, making unrecognizable patterns on his skin. It was supposed to be...innocent but of course, the first place you'd decided to paint was his chest. Way too close to his nipples. His very, very sensitive nipples. But you knew that. In fact, you knew exactly what you were doing. He could tell by the slight twitch of your mouth when you took notice of the slight rise of his cock. Slow but very obvious until it stood to attention. Leaning just slightly, beads of precum dribbling down the tip.

"Thought this was innocent?" You cooed, moving your paint covered finger to his nipple precisely. Milking a pretty (embarrassing) moan from his lips.

"It was! You were the one who -" his words were cut off by another groan. Your other hand, not covered in paint, grasped his shaft. Giving a tentative tug. "This says otherwise...I've barely begun painting, and you're already hard."

"T-Thats because you're..." he moaned again, his eyes squeezing shut as you gave another tug. "Attacked my weak point. You're being unfair." He hissed, his hips thrusting upwards against his will. "Unfair?" You feigned innocence, giving a few more tugs to his dick. "If anything, I'm being nice for not calling you a pervert for getting hard from this." There was a protest on his lips that died, immediate as you leaned forward. Capturing them. His hands clawed at the fuzzy carpet that lay behind him. But soon, even that wasn't enough. A hand found its way into your hair, pulling you closer as he let you devour his mouth. Hips continued to angle upward, seeking out pleasure. Stimulation.

You let go with a sigh, saliva connecting your lips.

"You're all bark and no bite, Rafayel." You smirked, and he knew then, he was finished. Your hand sped up in ways that he couldn't comprehend as he was left to the mercy of you. Tugging and pulling, teasing every inch until finally he came with a stuttered breath.

Painting himself in a way he hadn't before. With his own arousal.

"Mm, I think this might be the prettiest painting you've ever done."

[writings-of-leo]

NorthSonic short #1

this was written after the first two episodes and has been sitting in my drafts ever since, has also not been finished but I wanna put it somewhere at least

Its North centered, and more introspection Side note: this was written right after episode 3 dropped, so with no knowledge on how they progress after that point

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

North huffed in complaint as Alan gave Jeff a pass. „Double standards, huh?“, he exclaimed. He wasn‘t really upset. It just sometimes got to him. Especially on a day like this. It has been a year since Way got killed, 10 months since Sonic left for France, leaving North to fend for himself.

Surrounded by couples he didn‘t always know what to do with himself. While they tried to include him, Alan especially, he still felt the distinct lack of Sonic next to himself, his heart aching with words unsaid before he left.

In the beginning there were still messages, pictures of sights, the first project, sneaky selfies from the back of an unfamiliar classroom, North felt hopeful that maybe he hadn‘t missed his chance yet. That when Sonic came back he could tell him everything. Tell him how his heart was beating faster whenever they were together, how he was ready to throw his life away as long as it meant Sonic would keep going, how sometimes all he wanted was to kiss him until they forgot where they were, how he felt that home wasn‘t really a place anymore. But then the messages became less, there were only the occasional updates in the X-Hunter group chat but nothing for him anymore. Sonic said he was busy, and North was happy things seemed to be going well for him. But he missed him, couldn‘t wait for him to get back, whenever that might be.

And especially on a day like this, he just wished to have Sonic by his side again, even if it was as his best friend. Instead he had to deal with Alan and Jeff, who could barely last a minute before making heart eyes at each other again. 

North let out a small sigh as Alan immediately jumped to Jeff‘s defense again. He was so distracted that at first he didn‘t notice the person rushing past him until they flung their arms around Alan. „Alan! I missed you! This new garage…it’s actually pretty nice.“

North felt his heart skip a beat. It couldn‘t be…

As he carefully raised his head his eyes fell onto the familiar black hair that he hadn‘t seen in almost a year. North couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he watched Sonic tease Jeff, barely focusing on what was said.

He eagerly waited for Sonic to turn around, wanting to pull him in his arms and never let go, burying himself in his scent until he didn‘t know where his own began and Sonics ended. He bit his lip trying to hide the small grin. 

Finally he had his other half back.

His heartbeat was only going up as Sonic turned around to him at last, crossing the distance.

„Hey, man.“

North felt like a bucket of cold water was dumped over his head. While he wasn‘t necessarily expecting Sonic to react the same way he always daydreamed about, he felt like something was very off. Like there was a distance between them, that wasn’t even there when Sonic first landed in Paris. “Didn’t think you’d actually come back. You’ve been off the radar for a while.” North regretted those words the second they left his mouth. He barely even registered Sonic answering, just trying to work on autopilot as he heard nothing but the blood rushing in his ears. 

In the end he barely remembered what he even said, just that Alan sent them off together to catch up.

North tried to find his footing back, so he focused on telling Sonic all that he missed in the past months. He told him about the races, Charlie and Babe, and how they were moving forward, he told him about the rings Alan was looking at to finally ask Jeff to marry him. He even told him about the drug to get rid of their Alpha senses.

Sonic did seem quite interested, eager to hear what happened to their friends, but whenever North tried to ask about France he got brushed off, Sonic asking about Pete instead. Or what happened with Kim.

North couldn’t do anything but answer. Too happy to even have Sonic there.

As the sun was slowly setting Sonic pulled out his phone to call a taxi.

„You know you don‘t have to sleep at the hotel right? You can just crash at mine..Or i can drive you?“ North offered. Sonic just gave him a dismissive wave. „It‘s alright, I thought you finally got used to having your own space, I didn‘t want to intrude. Especially without warning.“, came Somics response, the app already pulled up. North frowned. „But I‘m offering it now..You know I don‘t really like staying alone.. I texted you didn‘t I..about staying at Alans most nights when-” North cut himself off. He didn‘t want to unload on Sonic again. He had done that enough when he couldn‘t sleep, feeling like the only person who would listen to him was his best friend halfway across the world. In the end he never got a response, but seeing that the messages were at least read always gave him a sense of comfort. „Look, I already paid for the hotel, it‘s not a big deal. I‘ll see you tomorrow right?“ Sonic leaned back. „I can at least drive you? I don‘t even know when you leave, I just want to make the most of it.“ North knew he was clutching at straws, but he just had Sonic back, he didn‘t feel ready to let him go just yet. Even if he would see him again the day after. 

Sonic shook his head. „It‘s on the other side of town, North. Plus the taxi is already on his way. See you tomorrow,“ with that Sonic grabbed his jacket and walked out of the garage. North‘s „but you didn‘t even book yet“ was said to an empty room.

Frozen he stared at the spot Sonic was standing in mere minutes ago, an emptiness spreading inside of him. 

The following day was barely better. While Sonic was always the more reasonable one of the two of them, North felt like Sonic was unusually harsh in reprimanding him, like he was a child who didn‘t know the gravity of his words, instead of a man who tried to cheer up his friends.

When Babe revealed the Way look-alike, North didn‘t know what to do. So he did what he usually did, trying to lift their spirits, and again Sonic shut him down. After that he couldn‘t really take it anymore. He just wanted to talk to him again without feeling like an idiot, feeling like he was the butt of a joke that he didn’t understand. Determined, he made a vow to himself, to try again, and just ask him what was wrong. If it was something he could fix, he would do just about anything. Looking around, he spotted Sonic outside the glass, invested in a phone call. North grinned to himself, maybe he could try and surprise him. However, as he got closer he wasn‘t quite sure if he really should. The conversation didn‘t seem to be one he was meant to hear. Nor did he really know how to feel about Sonic apologizing to someone back in France about not calling sooner. Especially when he had North right here.

Shame suddenly overcame him at this moment. Of course Sonic found friends there. He had a bright personality and was always open to meeting new people. Of course people would love him. Just like North did, still does. He had no right to feel hurt by that. And maybe that really was just it. That Sonic wanted time to talk to his other friends too, that he didn’t have as much time for North anymore.

And it would be okay, he could learn how to share. So instead of hiding he walked up to Sonic, watching him hang up quickly. „Hey, Sonic. Who were you talking to?“ If someone were to ask him, North would swear he didn‘t really care, just wanted to ask, wanted to invite Sonic to share some of his adventures in France.

Luckily no one asked. Nor did anyone respond. Sonic just looked at him. North cleared his throat. „Actually, I came to ask you- wanna go get some food? There‘s a new grilled pork place next to the garage. I’ll invite the others too.” That at least got a response. „Didn’t you see how the guys were feeling? They just saw someone who looks like Way. Who’d be in the mood to eat?“ North felt stunted by those words. He was just trying to find something for them to do together again. Feeling sick at the thought of having to go back home to his empty apartment, knowing all the others had someone to fall back on. Meanwhile the one guy he thought he could always count on was looking at him like he suggested they should dance on Ways grave. „Are you avoiding me on purpose?“ He blurted out. „Not talking, not eating, not meeting up?“ North took a small step further, a weak smile on his lips, hoping Sonic would eliminate his doubts immediately. Instead he just shrugged, almost looking bored. „No. Why would I do that? About eating together…Let’s wait until things settle down first.“ „Will that be before you leave for Paris though?“ „I don‘t know. If not, I guess you‘ll have to wait until I come back next time.“ With those words Sonic brushed past him, greeting the mechanics.

North felt like a rug was pulled away from under him, he opened and closed his mouth a couple times, considering calling after him, but the tears welling up stopped him. He wasn’t sure if his voice would be steady enough.

He didn‘t know what he did wrong. If he even did anything wrong or if Sonic just met new people, people who were more like him, who were calmer, who weren‘t trying to make a joke out of everything. Who were actually smart and could help him with his studies. Who were there with him and not miles away. Who had actual ambitions and not just the dream of making it big on YouTube, while racing in the lower leagues for years, never fighting hard enough to make it further..

North clenched his fists. One hand went to his chest, trying to numb the stinging pain. 

It didn‘t help.

[jackactuallywrites]

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x You

Rating: Nothing explicit, no sex or egregious violence

Warnings: Gun violence? And he does steal her phone

Summary: You go chasing cats and find a lot more than you bargained for

Notes: It’s been sat in my drafts for ages and the first part is a little slow so bear with x

Word Count: 1,893

ao3 link

Yet again, it was there.

A little cat, dark grey, striped with lighter grey, with a white belly and paws, sniffing around the large green bins in the dingy alleyway. The white of its fur was stained with various unpleasant shades of brown, the cause for which you didn't want to think about. It had clearly found something of interest to it underneath the large dumpster, crouching down on its elbows, stretching out one of its front paws to try and grab whatever lay there, unbothered by the wet grime on the ground staining its fur. With your human eyes, you weren't privileged enough to see what tasty treat lay just out of reach, but you were able to see the thick ring of plastic that was wrapped around the creature's neck, no doubt digging into the skin, tighter and tighter as the smaller kitten grew from a desperate mewling creature into a lean, wary cat. As of yet, it hadn't seen you, still focused on its mission, but the second you took a single step forward, a tiny pebble grated underneath your shoe, and the stray's head snapped up, its distrusting yellow eyes slicing over to you.

"Kitty-" You ventured, trying to keep your voice as gentle as possible, soft and sweet, but the kitten took off, sprinting down the alleyway, the plastic from the six-pack ring sticking out above it as it ran. You briefly glanced back to the road that led you back home, already idly entertaining giving up on your quest. The sun was beginning to dip in the sky, as it did on your walks home from work, giving you at least two more hours of sunlight. And yet, it wasn't like you had anything all that important to get to at home; besides, it was a fairly pleasant evening, still warm and sunny despite the clouds, and you didn't keep cat treats in your pocket for no reason, so you took after the little cat, doing your best to keep a distance enough not to spur it into sprinting away. It was only vaguely suspicious of you, looking back over its shoulder at you every so often to see if you were still following, its sprint having slowed into a trot, its tail low, yet not poofed up, uneasy, but not afraid.

It was taking you on an incredibly complicated path through the city, zigging and zagging through innumerable side streets and alleys, making you increasingly thankful that you'd chosen to wear your trainers rather than the slip-on shoes which would have given you a throbbing blister after so much running. Slowly but surely, the cat was taking you further out from the populated areas into the industrial zone where every other building you walked past had been abandoned. You assumed that it had someplace out here, safe away from anyone who would wish it harm, sheltered from wind and rain, and undoubtedly near a decent supply of mice and rats. It was doing a good job at trying to throw you off, and you almost lost it a few times, but eventually, it led you to a dead end, a skinny alleyway ending in a tall chain-link fence topped with razor-sharp barbed wire. At least, you thought it was a dead end, yet down in the corner, you could see the way the links were slightly uneven, breaking the pattern. In a closer look, you could see where the fence had been cut, the fence curling away from itself, and it was through this small gap that the cat escaped yet again.

You were beginning to believe that you were wasting your evening; clearly, this cat was far too wily to allow itself to be caught by any bumbling human, but it was watching you from the other side of the fence as though it was waiting for you to catch up, as though all this running had been a great game to it. You could give it one more try, at the very least. The break in the fence was plenty large enough for you to slip through, even standing straight up, the sharp metal tugging on the fabric of your jumper and sliding harmlessly over the thick denim of your jeans. The cat was waiting a little ways away from you, sitting at the edge of a building up ahead, two buildings down from you, watching you with its large, suspicious eyes before taking a leisurely walk around the building, its tail now held straight out, flicking slightly. It was intrigued by you. You moved quickly, half crouched as you walked over to where the cat had disappeared, glancing down the gaps between buildings as you did so.

There was a large security camera pointing directly at you, staring down at your face as you peered around the corner of the building. You froze in your place, terrified that at any moment, the police would be called. The cat was sitting almost directly underneath it, watching you leisurely, entirely unaware of your human problems. It was so close to you, and you glanced between it and the camera, trying to weigh up the danger you were in. The light on top of the camera was dark, where it could have been blinking red, and you decided that it must mean it was off. After all, these buildings were abandoned, and as long as you weren't doing anything too illegal, you doubted that the red and blues would come running. You crouched down, holding out your hand to the cat, gently rubbing your fingers together to beckon it, making soft kissy sounds at it, keeping your voice quiet, "Kitty! Come here, kitty!" It didn't move towards you, nor did it move away, flicking its tail as it watched you. You closed your eyes slowly at it, trying to demonstrate your pure intentions, and after a minute, the cat returned the gesture, a great step in the right direction.

You remained still, unwilling to take a single further step toward it lest you spook it. It remained still, watching you blink at it, apparently having every second in the world to play around, enjoying making you work for its friendship. Then, it shot to its feet and sprinted away, leaving you puzzled. You hadn't made a single further move toward it. It only took a second for you to realise what exactly had spooked it, but by then, it was too late. The hand was already on your shoulder, spinning you around and pinning you against the wall, the hard edge of a gun pressed into the centre of your chest. Your attention was fully dragged away from the cat, flicking over to the person holding you at gunpoint. They were taller than you, not that they needed the advantage of height when they had a gun to your chest, dressed in black tactical gear and wearing a black balaclava with a white skull painted on it, with only their eyes revealed. A warm green colour, but they were cold, like chips from a mossy glacier. That iciness was reflected in the voice, his voice, whisper quiet. "Don't. Move."

You weren't sure you'd ever even seen a gun in person, yet now you had the barrel of one pressed up against you, and you felt as though every drop of blood in your body had gone cold. "I'm just looking for a cat." Your voice was a soft plead, not a tone you'd ever heard from your own mouth before, your body acting entirely on instinct. The man frowned at you, using only his gun to hold you in place as his other hand reached out to pat you down. He was a soldier; that much was clear from his uniform and the casual indifference with which he seemed to regard the concept of killing you. His hand roamed down over your arms, roughly grasping at them underneath your jumper, then went down your sides. You allowed it, knowing that it was necessary in order for you to escape with your life, knowing that he would find nothing. He paused at the bulge in your front jean pocket, his pale eyes flicking up to you questioningly, and you answered, "Cat treats." Still, he didn't trust you, digging them out of your pocket to confirm your answer, his eyes flicking over the bright colours of the packet before tossing them aside. You didn't dare even breathe as he patted down your jeans, identifying your phone in the other front pocket. He pulled out your phone, his eyes flicking down to the screen and then back up to you, showing you the lock screen.

"Unlock it."

Even with the gun to your chest, you still hesitated about unlocking your phone for a stranger, your mouth opening to argue with him before your brain caught up with you, not allowing a single word of dissent past your lips. He pressed the gun harder against your chest, the metal digging into your chest through the thin material of your jumper, his eyes hard, and you gave up, reaching up with your fingers to tap in your passcode. He looked down at your phone, swiping through to see your apps and then flicking through your recent photos, only finding endless pictures of you and your cats, as well as the various street cats you encountered on your walk to work. His gaze snapped up to your face once more, flicking across your features as though he was beginning to understand something about you.

Finally, he let up.

"How did you get in?" His voice was slightly less harsh this time. There was still the hard military edge, but now he had more of a questioning tone, as though he was beginning to believe your innocence. "There's a gap in the fence. The cat went through it. I followed." He frowned, his brows furrowing underneath the slightly smudged black paint, and he lifted the barrel of the gun off your chest, taking a step back from you, pocketing your phone as he did so. "Show me." There was no polite question in his voice, only demand, and you knew you had no choice but to obey. With the gun still pointed directly at your heart, it wasn't like you were in any position to refuse. At least now, the barrel wasn't pushed up against you, and you relished every inch of freedom given.

With one last look for that mildly traitorous cat, you led the soldier over to the small gap in the fence you had come through, acutely aware of the weapon still aimed directly at you, gesturing towards the broken chain links with your hand. "It came through here." You felt the tap of the gun between your shoulders, and another command was uttered to you, "Go on then." You glanced over your shoulder at the man, "My phone?" “Go.” You hesitated, but it quickly became apparent that either you left without your phone or you didn’t leave at all. It wasn’t a decision you were happy to make, but it wasn’t as though you had much choice in the matter, so you left it in the hands of the soldier, not giving him a second look as you left, hoping to leave it all behind as an unhappy memory.

[idkwriteshitdown]

AAA Week: Day 5 Draft

What do you mean it's not AAA Week? @agathaallalongweek

Posting this little draft of the Day 5 prompts in hopes that it gets me off my ass to finish it, as well as give me some inspo in how to finish it lol.

The prompt is "Rio gets Injured", and this is more the aftermath of her mysterious workplace caused injury. Agatha is pretty broken up about what happened, while Rio is pretty chill cuz "it's all in a days work."

Without further ado

~~~

They've been in this position for what feels like hours. Rio, stretched out on the couch. Agatha, kneeling before her like a sinner before the altar. 

Her knees hurt. The floor is hard and unforgiving, and Agatha wants to shift, to move, but she doesn't. She keeps her head bowed, hands clasped in front of her, grasping Rio's shirt, face pressed into Rio's side.

Rio's hand is on her head. Her fingers brush through her hair, nails scratching lightly at her scalp. It's a soothing repetitive motion.  The TV is on in the background. The sounds of David, Attenborough or Tennant, she does not know, narrating the movements of migratory birds wash over her. She ignores it, instead focusing on Rio. 

She focuses on the way her shirt feels in her hands, rough and worn with love and care. The way her skin smells, earthy with the hint of hospital antiseptic. The way her breath sounds, soft and slightly labored.

She presses her face closer, because she needs to be closer, and Rio's breath hitches and her hand tightens, pulling sharply at her hair.

"The chief called." Rio's voice is low and gravelly. It breaks through the silence of the room like a gunshot. "Said you were causing trouble. Punched a suspect."

Agatha doesn't move, doesn't look up, doesn't face Rio. She gives a half shrug and lets out a grunt of acknowledgment. Acknowledgement of what? She does not know. 

Rio sighs. "You can't be goin' around doing that. You're lucky he just sent you home." She resumes stroking her hair, fingers carefully navigating tangles. Too soft. Too kind. 

"You almost died," Agatha mumbles. She rocks, head pushing into Rio's hand. "You almost died."

"I didn't though," Rio says. "I didn't die. I didn't even come close.""But I didn't know that," Agatha says, begs, trying to get her to understand. "I didn't know that, and I should've known and I should've been there and you shouldn't have had to make that choice and—," her voice cracks. 

Rio takes risks. Rio always takes risks. She knows this. And sure, it's like the pot calling the kettle black 'cause she also takes risks—sometimes even dumber ones than Rio—but it's different because it's Rio and— and—.

And there's a pain at the base of her skull. 

"Look at me." Rio is pulling at her hair, fingers entangled in her strands, and Agatha tilts her head back, a whine escaping her throat. "This is not your fault."

"But—," and Rio's other hand comes forward, grasping her chin, cutting her off.

"This is not your fault," she says. Her thumb comes and presses lightly against Agatha's lips, and Agatha opens her mouth accepting them inside. "There's nothing you could have done."

[ckret2]

i wish to know about how you characterize amorphous shape. amorphous needs more attention. (same with the other henchmaniacs without lines, but i prefer focusing on the character my brain has decided i am.)

I characterize them as approximately 14~19 separate individual shapes from Bill's home dimension that got combined together into one hive mind. That's why I refer to Morph as "they"—I'm not using "they" as a gender-neutral pronoun, I'm using it as a plural pronoun, they are literally multiple people.

How they got combined into one body will get explored later in the fic so I'm not gonna spoil it; but it happened during the destruction of the second dimension.

The polygon parts of them weren't all squares to start out with, but after a trillion years they found that most of the time it's easier for them to simplify themselves into a form that tessellates tidily. They can shapeshift and separate though, so they can return to their original shapes when they want, like:

(that's not literally the exact shapes they were, just concept art of what changing to their original shapes would look like.)

They're Bill's top scientists. Also, his only scientists. Not all of them were scientists, but when you've shared brains for a trillion years, you pick up each other's knowledge, and anyway over a dozen minds working on the same problem at the same time makes brainstorming faster. They're to blame for the interdimensional portal.

Any time Bill attempts to conquer a new dimension, he's gotta try to persuade the people inside that dimension to make him a portal; and in order to do that, he's got to pass those people portal blueprints; and in order to do that, he needs portal blueprints that both, a) work correctly in the physics of the dimension he's contacting, and b) can be built using the technology, natural resources, and construction techniques available to the natives. He wouldn't send portal blueprints that only work correctly with linear forward-moving time to the do-over dimension where spontaneous time loops randomly form, and he wouldn't send a design that can only be powered by nuclear fission to a culture that's barely discovered coal.

For a long time, Amorphous Shape were the guys Bill turned to for all those portal blueprint modifications. Any time he found a promising new dimension with a sufficiently gullible-looking species, he'd go in with Amorphous Shape so they could study local physics and technology and adapt the blueprints to fit local conditions.

By now, Bill & company have made SO many blueprints for SO many universes with SO many kinds of technology that when they find a new universe, they can typically tweak a design they already made rather than start from scratch; and Bill's been studying the blueprints for so long that now he thoroughly understands the science behind them and can draft & modify them himself, so he doesn't need Morph's help so much. He mainly consults with them to double-check the math before tossing the blueprints at a dreamer or to assist on really strange cases like that one dimension with a form of physics based entirely on the letter M.

Right now, Morph's bigger long-term scientific concern is the slow degradation of the Nightmare Realm and finding ways to help Bill shore up the crumbling reality; and implementing emergency quick fixes whenever something small falls apart, like a black hole threatening to destabilize the fabric of reality around several nebulas or knots tangling in wormholes because the ends are fraying.

If Bill is like the self-appointed god of the Nightmare Realm, Morph are something in between a demigod and a high priest: they don't have any reality-altering power themselves, but they do understand and influence reality far beyond any mere mortal and their petitions to the god to do this or fix that keeps local reality functioning.

Talking to them is like talking to a committee or a mob. Most of the things they say are collectively agreed-upon by the members of the hive mind, and so tend to have the careful precision of a department issuing a public statement rather than a regular conversation; but when something happens to get a majority of them mad, they get mad together and egg on each other's anger, and tend to immediately snap into confrontation rather than sit back until they calm down

They don't have a lot of hobbies they all share, so they tend to dabble in and drop a wide variety of hobbies rather than get really deeply invested in any. More likely to spend their spare time seeing what the other Henchmaniacs are doing and tag along on that than try to decide what to do on their own. Bad habit of just going back to work when they're bored since at least they can all agree that's productive.

They haven't gone on a date in billions of years and are not happy about this. They don't even have all the same sexualities, much less the same types. They need to go on a date with like a minimum four people simultaneously to balance out the fact that they'll be variously attracted to/repelled by any one singular date. Finding four people who cover their separate tastes and are all willing to go on a single date with "the same person" is pretty hard, especially when you're workaholics living with the most hated person in the multiverse and don't get out much.

Zealously, desperately loyal to Bill. They've spent a trillion years telling themselves that Bill's gonna rescue his devotees from the Nightmare Realm and claim a new dimension for them. By now it's become easier to pretend he's a flawlessly honest leader who'd never lie to them (unless he has a very good reason) than to grapple with his massive failings as a person and consider that maybe they made a mistake older than universes in following him. Any time one of their components starts to mentally doubt one of Bill's decisions, they're shouted back into conformity by the rest who are ready to offer justifications and explanations for anything he does. Can't do deep thinking on a difficult topic if you don't even have privacy in your own head.

If Bill ever wants to screw with them he can say "Morph, you're four of my best friends" and leave them going crazy trying to figure out which of their components he likes and why he doesn't like the rest. But Bill doesn't mess with the shapes much. Only if it's, like, really funny.

There used to be more surviving shapes in Bill's social circle, but over the eons they left one by one, until now it's just down to Morph, Kryptos, Hectorgon, and Bill; each time the shapes lost another member, it became harder for the remainders to consider leaving. Morph are no more capable of contemplating lives without Bill, Kryptos, and Hectorgon than you are of contemplating a life without bones. The feeling is mutual all around.

The rest of the Henchmaniacs could get fucked as far as they care.

[herotome]

Devlog #125

Hi-ho, Wudge here! Gosh! I missed last week's update.

Happy holidays from Herotome!!

I haven't drawn anything this year-- oh but hmm, I could do a quick edit, here -

Tadah! For anyone who hasn't already seen it, we got those 50 reblogs to make Warden shirtless! A pure version without the christmas lights went up yesterday, just scroll down my blog a bit or check out the #ro: warden hashtag.

I'm pleased with how much mileage I'm already getting from this picture, ha.

Anyway.

Seems like I'm gonna be focused on writing new scenes and drawing expressions for a while. They're some of the more tedious tasks for me, so I'll certainly be looking for every opportunity to do other things on the side - like coding.

Today I've decided that the LI sprites should have their eyebrows on a separate layer from the rest of their face, to offer me the greatest amount of variety in creating new expressions - and I've come up with a naming system for it, too!

I'm looking forward to implementing this. Eyebrow shapes have much, much less variety compared to mouth shapes, so I might even finish drawing every possible eyebrow for every LI sometime soon. I've already gotten a strong start with Warden and Mia's eyebrows.

Speaking of, I did turn in more expressions over on Ko-Fi!

Tadah!! Thank you again to everyone who has donated so far!

I'm realizing that in the set dedicated to Dia, Warden and Mia have the same mouth shape on the upper right side... A fascinating subconscious decision on my part.

Outside of art, I did write... once. Er, it went pretty okay. I'm usually the biggest hater of my first drafts.

I think my goal is gonna be to show off the abilities of all the characters as equally as I can; Warden and Jade have had their time to shine (during the job fair and flying MC home, respectively), and I think MC, Griffin, and Mia are gonna be queued up next.

I'll put the rest under a cut for potential spoilers and further rambling - as always, if you don't see the cut, make sure to check out my blog directly!

I have a good idea of what I wanna do with Griffin (it may or may not involve obliterating your rent debt, and I may or may not have written about that in the first-draft-I-don't-hate).

I've been thinking that this scene would involve a change of clothes btw, and did some fashion concepts for Griffin that I also don't hate;

I'm not super sure what I'm gonna do for Mia's eventual ~special show-off scene~, but I'm sure it will come to me.

For MC, I want to show off her relationship with the city, and showcase how qualified she is for the job in a low-key way. I recently discussed with a friend how Men in Black is a huge source of inspiration for me... Y'all know the scene where Will Smith has his interview and did things differently from all the other candidates?? I kinda wanna capture that vibe...!

And ah... I think that's about it, Herotome-wise.

Wudge-wise, honesty hour - I've had ssssome mild health concerns this year.

I don't want to go into detail; I want to say it's been like... nothing life threatening, thankfully, but a lot of small physical inconveniences that pile up and make it harder to concentrate.

I did rest a lot last week so no worries. <3 It's just that parts of my body have been weird and annoying, and I think it's helpful to acknowledge that the flesh prison can be a weird and annoying place. But I value it! And I'm doing my best to take care of it. Health comes first, etc, etc.

With this new year, I hope you guys take care of yourselves as best as you can, too. The person who's most qualified to take care of you is you!!!

Stay safe and keep warm,

Wudge.

[etherealdelusion]

chapter two

Series Masterlist

summary: Suguru Geto is a top soccer star at Jujutsu University (set in the states). Entering his senior year, he is focused on getting drafted to a Major League Soccer (MLS) team. His mission is slightly disruptee by the school's newest soccer reporter Charlye Posh. A nasty breakup leaves her wanting to stay single but Suguru could change her mind. She knows the risk that comes with messing with your sources but Suguru makes the conflict of interest worth it.

pairing: suguru geto/oc (soccer AU)

word count: 1.7k

author's note: slight sexual themes but nothing too crazy, but hope you all enjoy this series as I edit and post more chapters.

"Do you care to explain to me why you left me at the party alone? You're lucky Nanami is a gentleman, and he was able to give me a ride back."

As soon as Jaryah got home, she marched to Charlye's room to give her a piece of her mind. Her makeup couldn't cover the red spreading to her cheeks as anger built up inside of her.

"I don't want to talk about it," Charlye grumbles, burying herself under her blanket.

Jaryah thinks about what could have occurred at the party to instantly cause Charlye to bolt, and she immediately realizes the problem.

"Char…..don't tell you freaked out because you could tell Suguru liked you," Jaryah sits on the other side of Charlye's queen size bed. "You've got to get yourself out there again."

Charlye was embarrassed. While she enjoyed the attention men gave her, she was rusty. She hasn't dated since her freshman year of college, and flirting doesn't come natural to her like it did before.

"He seemed nice! Just let things happen organically. Don't even overthink it," Jaryah says, peeling back the blanket to reveal a tearstained Charlye.

"Gah, it shouldn't be this difficult for me to put myself out there," Charlye says. "I'm more than ready…..it's just….I don’t think I want to go through the heartbreak again."

Jaryah rolls her eyes. "Girl, heartbreak is inevitable but it doesn't define you. I think you should give Suguru a chance. He might be a fun time or maybe a forever thing, but that's for you to figure out."

Jaryah's phone buzzes, interrupting the tender moment. She looks at who texted her and blushes.

Charlye knows it's probably a text from Nanami. "You should go. I'll be fine. I need to sleep anyway. We have school in a couple days, and I should get ready."

"Don't sulk too much, okay?"

Charlye nods, and the two share a tight hug before Jaryah departs.

The first day of classes. 6:30 a.m. JJK Field.

Suguru smiles as he hears the crunch of the field beneath his cleats. The cool foggy air surrounding him means soccer season is here.

This season brings lots of pressure and stress as he strives to work his way to the big leagues. He thought about playing abroad but he wasn't ready to leave the states yet. He grew to love the United States despite fearing he wouldn't when he left Japan. He thought he had a big shot at being drafted to Major League Soccer (MLS). Los Angeles, Houston, Chicago …. A few of the cities he saw himself thriving best.

Last season confirmed his ambitions when he had a career high of 30 goals and 20 assists while playing every minute of every match. He was more than ready for the big transition, and he looked forward to what this season had to show for it.

Suguru's dreams are interrupted by a groan from Satoru.

"Why the hell do I have to take chemistry if it has nothing to do with my major?! I am so ready to graduate," Satoru sighs as he scrolls through his schedule on his phone.

"You taking anything dumb?"

"I mean it's not related to my major but I'm taking the Psychology of Cults," Suguru replies. "Thought it sounded interesting."

Satoru raises an eyebrow, side eyeing Suguru. "Is there something I should know?"

Suguru throws his ball at Satoru earning an "oof" from the white haired goof. "No. I'm just curious about the world unlike you."

"Hey! I'm taking comedy writing this semester!"

Suguru chuckles, shaking his head.

"You're so unpredictable, Satoru," Suguru says as he begins to stretch his legs.

"Do you think Coach Sukuna is going to kill us again this season? We won the championship last year, and I think that's enough to lay off us," Satoru puts his phone in his training bag then laces up his cleats.

Suguru shrugs. "I doubt it. He's a natural hardass, and I think he's going to continue to be that way since it did land our program its first chip."

Right on cue, Coach Sukuna approaches, blowing his whistle.

"Alright, brats. It's a new season, but we remain focused on the same goal: a championship," Sukuna says.

The group audibly groans.

"As you know we lost several starters this year so I had to make some readjustments."

Sukuna flips over a couple papers on his clipboard before rattling off names and positions.

"Suguru, I'm putting you in centerfield."

Centerfield? Why the hell is he moving me? Suguru's eyes widened at the announcement. He's always played striker. He didn't anticipate any changes, especially considering it was his senior year.

"Satoru, you'll be moved to right-back," Sukuna continues reading down the list.

"Right back? Why the hell am I playing a defensive position?" Satoru argues.

Sukuna glances briefly at Satoru. "Because I said so. You want to change it? Prove yourself."

Satoru balls up his fists as he grits his teeth. So many words were falling to the tip of his tongue, but he remained quiet.

"Now that we've broken down everyone's roles. I'm going to have Captain Geto warm all of you up. I gotta go meet the new reporter who's looking to make my life hell."

Before Suguru can protest his new spot, Coach Sukuna has already jogged off. His eyes follow Coach Sukuna to find Charlye waiting for him with a notepad and pen.

"No fucking way,” he mutters to himself.

Charlye notices Suguru further out in the field from her spot by the bench. Her stomach tied into knots as she locked eyes with him. She is mesmerized by his new look. His mid-back length hair is cut to his collarbone with a few hairs wrapped in a bun. She loved the fact he always made sure to have a few dark strands flowing freely on the left side of his face.

After running out of the party, she didn't think she'd run into him again. But yet, here she is about to see him almost everyday to observe him in his element.

"Charlye!" Coach Sukuna bellows as he gets a closer look at the petite woman in front of him. "Sukuna. Nice to meet you. I've never met a female sports reporter before."

Charlye is taken aback by the comment but keeps her cool. "I'm happy to give you that milestone," she quips.

"Well the boys are warming up. Feel free to watch, but they won't be available to chat until after practice. Got it?"

Charlye nods before taking a seat on the cold metal bench behind her. Her focus remains on Suguru who appears to be chatting away with Satoru. She notices a visible irritation between the two as they smoothly pass the ball to each other.

During her time studying up on the team the night before, she nearly yelped when she saw Suguru’s name on the roster. She learned Satoru and Suguru were the ying/yang of the attacking front. Suguru leads in stats with Satoru coming in close second. She saw articles speculating the two could end up on the same team in the MLS draft or become rivals. She was surprised to see the dynamic duo swapped out for younger talent coming in from high school. It was the first question on her mind for Coach Sukuna but she didn't want to piss him off on the first day.

If she had stayed at the party, maybe she would’ve found out his passion to help prepare to face him again. She tried to shake off the nerves while sleeping but it was no use. Whether she liked it or not, he did something to her that she hadn’t felt in awhile but she had yet to place the exact feeling.

"Ah, I see you're not afraid of me after all."

Charlye glances up from her notes to see a sweaty Suguru looking down at her.

Charlye sat frozen in her seat. She wasn't sure what to say. His presence made her nervous. It also didn't help that he took off his shirt, revealing his chiseled torso. Her heart leaps at the sight of a bead of sweat dripping down, outlining an ab.

Suguru isn't sure how to feel about seeing Charlye. She remained on his mind all weekend. He couldn't believe how fast she left after a small moment of interest was shown. She even rejected him before he could make his thoughts known. Now that she's back, he's puzzled. Should I confront her or be happy I have a second chance?

He prayed his remarks didn't hurt her feelings. He wanted to tease her but also keep it light. He could feel her eyes boring into his soul.

"Is your friend single?" Satoru interrupts the moment, scooting in front of Suguru. "If Nanami wasn't in the way, I would have tap—"

"HEY BRATS! BACK TO WORK!" Coach Sukuna growls.

The two run back onto the field but not without Suguru sneaking one more glance back at Charlye, mouthing, "we'll talk."

Following practice, that talk Suguru mentioned was him balls deep inside Charlye in his bedroom. Well, actually, that's how it was imagined in Charlye's mind during interviews. She spoke to some of the players, jotting down significant notes. She knew Suguru was burning to ask her about her erupt exit from the party, but she didn't let him interrupt her work.

As she starts to pack up, a familiar hand grabs her wrist.

"Let's go out tonight. My last class is at 3 today."

Suguru is wearing a black hoodie paired with black joggers. His hair is wet and slicked back.

"I…have to get home." Charlye says. She mentally face palms herself for such a lame excuse.

"Do you have to be there all day? I get if you're a nerd but it's literally the first week of classes. The workload shouldn't be crazy." Suguru couldn't believe the lengths this woman was going to avoid him. He didn't get her deal.

"My roommate needs me to watch her baby." Why the hell would you bring a child into this, Charlye?

"I'm good with kids. I'll help," Suguru quickly responds.

Charlye knew there was no use in trying to push Suguru away. "Actually, let's go out."

Suguru faintly laughs, a slight smirk coming upon his face.

The two exchange numbers.

"I'll text you the deets later." Suguru walks off leaving Charlye to wonder if she was making a mistake.

[taradactylus]

I wrote this little one shot idea after Lunar killed Eclipse, just never finished it. So decided to share it here. I don't care about any of the mistakes because this is literally just copied out of my "Unfinished works" drafts. I don't think I'll finish it, so just enjoy this sketched out idea I had!

Warnings: suicidal thoughts, hallucinations, mentions of death, mentions of suicide attempt(?)

Just a step. Nothing more is needed. Making a hard decision always needs a bold, first step towards the goal you wish to reach. Everyone has a goal, no matter how benefitial or morally acceptable that goal is. We have goals we share with the world, steps we're not scared to take. Or maybe we're scared, but we take the step either way. Most of the times, as we slowly go on the labyrinth of decisions just to taste victory for a moment, wether to go on further after that or not, we can step back. Or just look back how far we've come, what paths we chose to reach our beloved destination.

Sometimes, when we're too scared to take steps forward though, the time as we stay frozen in place can be long. Sometimes, it's because we overthink the unknown, or the possible outcomes. Theories upon speculations, poured into worry, anxiety, and fear. Being aware how fragile the path we're on, too frightened to mess it up, so we drown in our desperate attempts in getting an actual answer before we make the decision.

But sometimes, the reason we stay frozen in place, thinking and waiting, is because we know what's coming with this decision. The consequences, the outcomes, the reactions. The knowledge of what's hand in hand with such a hard and drastic choise makes us stay in place usually. Maybe even pretending we are taking steps, but truly, we are not getting any closer to the goal we long for. Everyone has their reasons why they wouldn't take the step, why stay in place as everybody goes by. Why watching and waiting until the ones we started our journey with are long gone. Everyone has their reason.

For Sun, he was aware he won't be able to step back, or look back afterward. He knew how deep he was in the maze, and how lost he was. There was a path he knew he could take, a victory too tragic yet welcoming he could easily reach out to, but he refused. He hated to admit to himself how much he longed to take that step, how much he wanted to reach a goal not everyone would understand. Would anyone ever understand actually?

Why would they? They didn't even care to see if he is okey. They only reached out when they needed something from him. And sure, it was fine logically, there was enough of a mess around this family, he understood why everyone was dealing with their own problems, but it still hurted.

Sitting alone at home all the time when he is not in the daycare seemed like therapeutic from the outside view, everyone thought Sun was simply relaxing with his cats and having fun. But as Sun thought one night, during a lonely dinner because Moon was busy with Solar: "Everyone is blind to see the signs until it's too late. Not like I'm trying to show it," he said quietly to himself as he turned the tv off that night, petting Thunder on his lap with a sad smile "but I know my act sometimes slips. Yet here I am, and no one sees through my clear act. Nevermind it though.."

The truth is, that every day was a fight. A constant battle with emotions, nightmares, hallucinations, things he was glad didn't go on the channel anymore. The editor was probably too focused on everyone else that's more important than him. Him, who is technically the name of the channel.

He couldn't lie to himself, he was jealous. Mad too, and depressed day and night. Everyone was slowly moving forward in their lifes, yet he felt like he was stuck in place, and nobody cared enough to look back and see if he is still on their side. Why would they care after all? He is just Sun. Sun, the stupid one. The weak one. The clumsy one. The replaceable one. The one who watched everyone either die or be tortured and changed. The one who started all of this, yet no one seemed to care.

"Why would they care about a murderer?" A voice echoed in Sun's head, a way too familiar voice he couldn't get rid of no matter what. He thought it got better, and sure, he didn't see Bloodmoon every time he heard him, but it was still so hard to focus on anything when that bloody maniac was there, one way or another.

Sun just finished putting the cats down in the basement, and he locked the door. He didn't remember much of it, too deep in his own thoughts. But now that he stood there, his task finally done, he realized how... heavy everything felt. He was tired, yet almost fully charged. His hands were shaking, and when that voice spoke, it made things worse. Sun closed his eyes, sucking in a bit of air to not loose it just yet.

"Don't.." talking was harder than Sun thought, he surely had a headache, but the mental weight on his frame just didn't seem to make this easy for him "Don't make this harder..." Sun muttered, at the edge of crying, as he leaned his forehead against the closed door. He heard his cats meow and hiss in worry, definetly sensing Sun's breakdown, which just made Sun feel more guilt than he already was.

He had something in his head this morning. The lingering thought of the lighthouse being high enough for something he wished for so long. A step he could take into the thin air, feeling free for at least a moment, and ending this every day battle with himself. He didn't want to keep doing this. He could've just went up there any day and end this, but he knew no one would understand. He knew how guilty Moon would feel.

As much as depression tried to convince Sun nobody cared, Sun knew at least his brother would care enough he'd blame himself for Sun's decision. Depression's answer was always Solar and Earth, who seemed to be closer to Moon than Sun, which left an ache in Sun's code, but he knew Moon would still feel guilty. Solar and Earth could help him move on and cope, but he would still hurt Moon. This tiny, fragile thread of guilt and fear of hurting his Moon again gave enough strength to Sun to continue this never-ending battle. But this morning, something seemed to snap in him.

Appearantly, Lunar killed Eclipse. This was the first messages Sun was greeted with this morning. Granted, this was a horrible situation, and Sun was aware how damaging killing someone is. But... Lunar killed for revenge. Out of pure spite and hatred, in a situation where he wasn't even in danger. It was all on the YouTube channels.

Sun watched the two separate videos over and over again, not even bothering to dress up and get some coffee just yet. He had a day off, and planned on relaxing and playing with his cats, which seemed to all shatter when he saw the videos. Lunar enjoyed killing Eclipse. The only reason he seemed to feel some short of guilt was because Earth freaked out and left. But that guilt wasn't towards Eclipse. He saw how Solar scooped up and helped Lunar away from the scene, but there was something in both videos that made Sun feel an amount of different feelings he couldn't handle. His hands were shaking, and he didn't even realize how bad the videos affected him until heavy oil tears dropped on his phone screen.

Lunar killing Eclipse is okey?! Everyone seemed to be so calm about this situation and supportive towards Lunar. Why were they so supportive? Lunar JUST killed somebody! This wasn't even the Eclipse who killed him and hurted him!

And the worst part is, when Sun wanted to kill Eclipse, it was bad. The moment he tried to help his family, he was 'becoming just like Eclipse' as Lunar said. And now .. now its okey to kill Eclipse.

Why wouldn't it be okey for the family's favourite brother after all? The one who's trauma was recognized, taken care of. The one everyone was tiptoeing around to make sure he was fine. The one who had the opportunity to seek for help, get a second chance in life, have time to heal, and constantly distract himself. The one who became family the moment he turned his back on Eclipse, the one who only had to endure one hit in his life before getting blown up, the one who dared to say Sun is just like Eclipse for WANTING to kill him-

Sun snapped out of his thoughts when his phone shattered loudly against the wall. Did he just throw it away?