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#i’m so terrified that it might happen again
jamminvroomvroom · 2 days
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4k celebration
congrats on 4k love - your writing is absolutely worth all of the hype and even more!!! i adore your work and so look forward to even more people discovering it.
i was hoping to request a lewis fic?? i’m such a slut for a good enemies to lovers situation, so maybe along the lines of reader is a fair bit younger than lewis, but there’s been all of this tension btwn them and it all boils over one night (smuttyyyyy) 🥴
we made up.
LH x fem!rival reader - 4k celebration
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in which you can never just bite your tongue
eeeeek i love this request! thank u sm anon for ur sweet words, ur so lovely i hope i’ve done this justice for you! writing for lewis terrified me so this might not be my best work but we move! more lewis requests to come, let me know what you think <3
songs to set the mood: stargirl interlude by the weekend & lana del rey
warnings: 18+!! minors go away!! smut, swearing, degradation, praise, dom!lewis, some switch!reader, implied age gap, slightly inexperienced reader, enemies to lovers, blink n you’ll miss it size kink
2.6k words
you hide admiration with a scowl, curling into yourself, as far away as you can get from him. the couch seems to get smaller and smaller with every overly intelligent, carefully thought out word he says. each sentence seems to be coated in a thick layer of i don’t give a fuck. you don’t know how he’s so good a toeing the line.
after six years in f1, you still couldn’t work out why you didn’t like lewis hamilton.
maybe it was his cool confidence, the way he never lacked composure, while you were called an unhinged, delusional woman by every incel on twitter for so much as breathing. maybe it was his sky high stack of trophies, championships, podiums, wins. you weren’t even halfway close to touching his records. maybe it was the way he was diabolically, inhumanly gorgeous, a truly breathtaking creature. you paled in every single way compared to lewis, so how could you even begin to like him?
it was silly, really, pathetic even, feeling such childish disdain just because he was better than you. he was older, more refined, iconic in every single way that you weren’t. perhaps you’d get there one day, but you simply weren’t there yet.
you’re sat beside him in the press conference, sharing the couch with him, alex, lando, charles and max. it wasn’t the worst combination in the world, but anytime you had to sit in front of a gaggle of hawk-eyed journos and a million cameras with lewis, something unfortunate usually happened. never by design, but you just weren’t very good at saving face in front of the mercedes driver.
“do you think the podium is a possibility this weekend?” someone from autosport whose name you can’t remember asks.
“i’m hoping so, just need to keep the mercs behind us again, but i don’t think that will be that hard.” you respond, without even a sliver of a filter. the material of the sofa shifts as lewis tenses up beside you, inhaling sharply at your blatant disrespect. somewhere beside you, lando sniggers, and max is rolling his eyes.
it was no secret that you didn’t have the softest spot in the world for sir lewis.
“that’s assuming your car makes it to the end of the race.” lewis clears his throat, speaking with confident conviction. you turn you head to glare at him, painfully unable to take what you give. alex slaps his hand over his mouth.
“at least my car isn’t so bad that i’d rather go and learn the alphabet down at ferrari.” you scoff. you avoid the eyes of your comms officer, because if looks could kill, you’d be six feet under already.
“i think we’ll leave it there.” tom clarkson suggests, and you stand from the panel and storm away on trembling legs with a terrible ache throbbing between them.
there’s something about the pettiness, the reasonless back and fourth you two always seem to partake in that leaves you in need of a cold shower.
-
turns out, you have to apologise.
you spend the better part of an hour being bollocked by your press team, who, for some reason, don’t find it particularly amusing that you’d somehow managed to insult the lewis hamilton, ferrari, and mercedes in the span of two sentences.
so, there you were, begrudgingly trailing towards lewis’s hotel room. it’s on the top floor, because of course it is, it’s him. he oozes expensive exclusively, naturally above the rest. you twist your rings nervously, increasingly terrified of being in a confined space alone with the gorgeous brit. your knuckles rap gently against the wood of his door, intentionally weakly. you pray he won’t hear you and that you can just disappear back into the elevator and into your room, to pathetically let you hands wander between your clenched thighs.
but god laughs, and the door swings open. lewis seems startled by your presence, just for a moment though, leaning cooly against the doorframe. his lips pull into a faint smile. two things alarm you. first of all, he’s shirtless, bare from the waist up, a plethora of delicious tattoos on display for you to feast your eyes on. secondly, and somehow even worse, he’s panting, clearly just back from a work out in the gym. he glistens with sweat, and your mind goes blank, apologetic words die on your tongue.
“something to say, angel, or are you just here to stare?” lewis teases, the words rolling off his tongue smoothly. you pray for the ground to gape open, swallow you hole, suck you into hot lava.
“well, i was gonna apologise but i don’t think you deserve it.” you sneer, crossing your arms over your chest accusingly.
“didn’t think you knew how to apologise.” lewis grins sarcastically, mocking you.
“has anyone told you how arrogant you are?” you bite back, eyes narrowing.
“why don’t you come in here and i’ll show you just how arrogant i can be?” his voice has dropped a few octaves, seductive and low.
the proposition, the suggestion behind his words makes you fold immediately. you’d wondered for far too long about what he was like behind closed doors and under thick bedsheets, and if you had the chance at finding out, you’d be imbecilic not to take it.
you shove his muscled chest, pushing him back into his room. his hands find your waist, pulling harshly at the material of your loose t-shirt. he’s watching you intently, mesmerised by the angry flush on your cheeks tinging you pink. your eyes convey hunger, matching his, and you’re forcing him down to sit at the foot of his bed.
“why are you such an asshole?” you hiss, slotting your knees on either side of his so that you’re straddling him.
“probably the same reason you’re such a little bitch.” lewis growls, tugging you forward harshly on his lap. you feel his work out shorts ride up on his thighs, the material sensitive on your skin.
your pupils blow wide at his words, and you’re kissing him hard, teeth and tongues clashing messily. his lips are so soft, pillowy as they brush aggressively with your own and you lick wetly into his awaiting mouth. he’s addictive, minty, and you fall against his bare chest as he leans back into the mattress.
“i think you need to be taught some manners.” lewis grunts, flipping your bodies over like you’re nothing, and slotting against your body like a missing piece.
“i think the same could be said about you.” you breathe, sliding your hand under the waistband of his shorts. he chuckles quietly, the rumble reverberating through your own chest, cracking you open.
“try your best.” he whispers. your eyes roll back.
truth is, you’re not the most experienced person in the world. yes, you’re in your mid twenties, but a long term relationship with the worlds biggest loser and dedicating your life to a career in a boys club meant that you didn’t have the time to develop broadest set of skills. you didn’t have the luxury of letting loose in a nightclub with a stranger because if that information got into the wrong hands, you’d be slut-shamed off the face of the earth. so now, you found yourself a little bit lost under a literal sex god.
as if he can hear your thoughts, lewis pulls back.
“what’s the matter? do you want me to stop?” he’s softer than he ever has been with you, melting away in your hands, but you draw him back in, tightening your grip on the band of his shorts.
“no, no, i just…” the words die on your tongue. something in your eyes gives him all the information that he needs.
“do what feels right, good.” his nose brushes your jaw, kissing over it and you settle back into the moment.
“teach me a lesson.” you whisper, empowered in his hands, and he springs back into action, his demeanour slipping right back into what it had been.
“is that why you’re so bad in interviews? just want me to fuck some respect into you?” his lips tug amusedly when you nod rapidly up at him.
an experimental roll of his hips makes you keen, hand slipping into his braids and pulling hard. his eyes fall shut, lips parting to let out a soft groan, his eyebrows pinching from the rough pleasure. your fingers graze over the skin of his toned belly, finding sensitive skin that makes him shiver.
“you distracted, lew?” you taunt, with the only intention of riling him up.
his eyes snap open, hard and lacking any sort of warmth, and he tears your hands from where they rest on his firm body, swiftly pinning them above your head with one hand. he plants himself on one knee, balancing himself so that he can fiddle with the button of your shorts. he makes quick work of removing them, forcing the zipper down and skilfully manoeuvring them with just the one hand.
once they’re gone, along with the lace of your underwear, he forces your thighs apart, and slides his fingers along the seam of your cunt, slicking them up. you’re soaked and he momentarily falters, but he doesn’t let himself get too visibly affected.
“fuck, you’re so wet. been thinking about me, angel?” he teases mercilessly, as he rocks the first thick digit into you, twisting and curling until he finds the spot that makes you buck your hips.
“nothing to say now, hm?” lewis tuts, wetting his lips. the feeling of you squeezing so tight around just one of his fingers makes him choke out a moan. you can feel his hot breath fanning over your face, your eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of him filling you up.
“more.” you breathe, stuttering over just one word. he revels in how he’s managed to reduce you to this so quickly.
“you sure you can take it, angel? so fucking tight.”
“make me.” you plead, parting your strained thighs even wider for him.
he lets go of your hands, snaking down your body to get himself closer to where you’re dripping already.
“keep them there.” lewis orders, and you grip tightly onto the pillows to exercise restraint.
lewis presses his forearm over the plush of your belly, holding you down as he adds a second finger, watching in awe as it slips so effortlessly into your pussy. you’re mewling, fighting to buck your hips but the firm press of his muscled arm keeps you in place.
“so pretty for me, angel, soaking my fingers.” he notes, entranced at how responsive you are for him.
“want you inside of me, lew.” you whine, knuckles paper white where you’re fighting off the urge to reach down and touch him.
“wait.” he snarls, ramming his fingers even harder, grinding against the soft spot buried deep. “you’re gonna cum like this first.”
with that, he removes the barricade of his arm, bringing his spare hand to your clit, the pad of his thumb drawing calloused circles into the bud. you lose it, grinding down on his fingers like a woman possessed.
“that’s it, sweetie, fuck yourself for me.” lewis encourages, voice gravelly and low.
sparks shoot down your spine, nothing but white behind your eyelids as he lights you on fire. you can’t warn him, the words lost to the tense air of the room as you barrel towards your first release. he eases you through it, not letting up even a little bit, but it pays off when you can’t help but writhe against the cream of the bedspread.
“god.” you croak, flopping limp as he pulls out, crawling over you.
“learned your lesson?”
“not quite.” you flash an exhausted grin, abandoning your grasp on the pillows to slide them down his thick frame.
you trace the lion adorning his shoulder, the compass, each piece driving you further into utter delirium. your hands graze his waist, snaking around his abdomen until you reach the cross, tracing it until you reach words that keep him going.
still i rise the cursive reads, and he shivers as you rake your nails over it.
“fuck me.” you purr. your hands slide under his shorts once more, gripping at the curve of his ass. you push the material down over his thighs, and he happily kicks them away, his inked hands roughly spreading you even wider.
“desperate little thing, bet you go home after every race and fuck yourself silly wishing it was me, hm?” he adjusts himself between your legs, his thick cock nudging against you entrance, drenching himself in the mess he’d made.
you gasp out a moan as he slides deep, taking his sweet time. you can’t even comprehend his words, totally consumed by the brutally enticing stretch of him, your thighs shaking at the delectable intrusion. he hisses at the sensation of your tight warmth, his head falling to rest in the crook of your neck. lewis licks over the sensitive skin, trailing open mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. you feel the sharp graze of his teeth, gentle nips making you shudder on his cock.
“don’t leave a mark.” you choke, and lewis seems to get it, so he skims his teeth lower, sucking purple just over your heart.
you clamp down around him, allured by the tweak of pain, and it seems to spark something in him, his hips rolling into yours experimentally.
“you feel so fucking good.” lewis pants, his breath warm and wet on your neck.
“need you to move.” you plead, turning your head to capture his lips in an urgent kiss.
he pulls out, slamming back into you roughly, your tummy twisting with anticipation. lewis finds a rhythm that suits you both, hips hitting yours with every thrust, each one leaving you full and spent.
“gonna make sure you feel me for days.” he promises, yanking your legs over his hips. as he does, he hits deeper and you yelp, stars in your eyes. “when you sit in the car tomorrow, you’re gonna feel me and remember how to be a good fucking girl, not an attention seeking brat.”
you ramble his name, eyes flooding with tears of overstimulation, dumbfounded at how he seems to hit a new spot with every slide of his cock. he’s digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs, pulling your hips impossibly closer to his as he drives into you, as if he wants to become a part of you, moulded for an eternity. with the way your stomach knots, butterflies and adrenaline coursing through you, you’d comply; you’d let him do whatever he wanted to him anytime he wanted.
“‘m so close.” you whine, pulling on every part of him your hands can reach. a refreshed sense of determination builds in his eyes and he presses hard on your navel.
“so deep, can see it.” lewis slurs, eyes fixed on your belly.
those five words make you unravel, sending you hurtling over the edge. he can’t help but fuck you through it, hammering home while you spasm around him so tight that he struggles to move.
“fucking addicted to this pussy.” lewis groans, burying himself as deep as he can go.
you’re utterly enchanted as you watch him reach his release, gnawing at your bottom lip when his part in a moan, allowing gentle puffs of air to escape. his long eyelashes rest delicately over his cheeks as his eyes fall shut, your name spilling out of his mouth like a needy prayer.
you’re warm from the inside out, flushed and full when he settles, pressing his body weight into you completely.
-
two weeks later, you’re in japan, bored senseless in yet another press conference. lewis sits further down the couch, and you have to cross your legs every time he speaks. no one seems to notice, except him, of course.
when it’s your turn to speak, and you’re asked all about your little spat with sir lewis back in australia, you shrug, smirking.
“we made up.”
-
oof
-
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weirdozjunkary · 3 days
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I don’t normally like to vent about myself or my life. But everything just feels like it’s spiralling for me and I just don’t know what to do. This is probably as personal as I’ll ever get on here haha.
I might eventually delete this. But I don’t know..
CW: personal life, SH and Sui talk
Right now my country Canada is entering late stage capitalism, as well as the US. It sucks, yes. But I figured that by the time I’m out on my own and I’m able to fend for myself, that most of this would blow over and I will be fine. But now it’s getting hard to think about stuff like that.
I believe I have undiagnosed autism and currently undiagnosed ADHD (was diagnosed as a child), which makes a lot of things hard for me. I’ve been wanting to get a diagnosis to help myself for the future. But I’ve been constantly told not to, as doing so would make people think less of me. And I hate that people have that mindset, even if it is true.
Something that is worse is that I can’t pay for anything. I can’t pay off my loans because it’s too high. I don’t even have a job to pay them off, I can’t even get a job because of my autism and because the job market is fucked. I’m moving to a whole other country really soon that I know nothing about so there’s no point in me even doing my schooling here anymore, the only reason I’m still going is because my dad wants me to. And if I don’t pay off my loans, my credit will be put in the “risk” category, credit mind you that I don’t have because I don’t have a credit card.
I cant even speak the language to the place I’m moving too, so I don’t know if I would even be able to get a job there other than just a cleaning person. And even if I come back here to Canada if I do my schooling there, I don’t know if I would be able to get a house because the housing market is absolutely terrible here.
If I stay here in Canada I have basically no one to fall back on if things turn to the absolute worse for me, and it really feels like life wants that to happen to me. I wasn’t really told much about life stuff as a kid, so now it’s biting me in the ass and I’m paying for it. I know I’m still stable at the moment, I have a house and food and water. But every day I hear more and more worse things.
I used to live out of spite, but now that spite is starting to fade on me. I can’t lie and say that I have thought the worst about myself, what I want to do to myself. I’m terrified of death, but sometimes it seems like the more favourable option. People always say to stay in the present, that’s what matters. It’s hard to stay in the present when the future keeps looking bleaker and bleaker.
I try to stay positive, that I will be okay in the end. I want to believe that I’ll be okay. But it’s getting harder and harder to see that
Everything feels like its burning around me and I don’t know what to do. It feels like it’s all my fault. That I’m just gonna die homeless and alone.
I’m sorry that this is so much more negative compared to what I normally post. Everything just feels so terrible and I don’t know what to do. I shouldn’t be feeling like this, I’m a young adult and yet I’m so worried about everything that it would all crash around me. Every time I feel even remotely stable, it feels as though life just kicks the rug under my feet and fucks everything up for me.
I want to feel okay again. But I don’t know if I ever will be.
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akimiko · 20 hours
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I’ve gathered quotes from twk and qon of Jude being in love but pretending she wasn’t bc why not. let’s gooo.
“My body has acclimated (to poison), and now it craves what it should revile. An apt metaphor for other things.”
“(After the crossbow incident) I am shaking, I realize. The aftereffects of believing someone tried to assassinate Cardan, of realizing he could have died.”
“I wish I could think of a place he’d be safer.”
“I look into his eyes. His hand slides to my hip, as though he might pull me closer. For a dizzy, stupid moment, something seems to shimmer in the air between us.”
“I still feel the warm pressure of his fingers against my skin. Something is really wrong with me, to want what I hate, to want someone who despises me, even if he wants me, too. My only comfort is that he doesn’t know what I feel.”
“Our gazes meet, and there’s a shock of mutual understanding that our bodies are pressed too closely. […] I am aware of the warmth of his neck beneath my twined fingers, of the prickly brush of his hair and how I want to sink my hands into it. I inhale the scent of him—moss and oakwood and leather. I stare at his treacherous mouth and imagine it on me.”
“Then his mouth is against mine, and my lips part. I close my eyes against what I’m about to do. My fingers reach up to tangle in the black curls of his hair. He doesn’t kiss me as though he’s angry; his kiss is soft, yearning.”
“I’ve wanted this and feared it, and now that it’s happening, I don’t know how I will ever want anything else.”
“I hate you,” I say, the words coming out like a caress. I say it again, over and over. A litany. An enchantment. A ward against what I really feel.”
“I hate you,” I breathe into his mouth. “I hate you so much that sometimes I can't think of anything else.”
“I like him better than I’ve ever liked anyone and that of all the things he’s ever done to me, making me like him so much is by far the worst.”
“She loves him, I realize uncomfortably.
His fingers trace their way down her arm to the back of her wrist, and I remember vividly the feeling of those hands on me. Kiss me until I am sick of it, he said, and now he has most certainly gorged on my kisses. Now he is most certainly sick of them. I hate seeing him with Nicasia. I hate the thought of his touching her.”
“I wonder if I will ever be able to look at him again without remembering what it was like to touch him.”
“It occurs to me that maybe desire isn’t something overindulging helps. Maybe it is not unlike mithridatism; maybe I took a killing dose when I should have been poisoning myself slowly, one kiss at a time.”
“[…] All I want to do is walk into his arms. I want to drown my worries in his embrace. I want him to say something totally unlike himself, about things being okay.”
“The offhand implication that he’s not alone most nights bothers me, and I hate that it does.”
“I cannot look at him as he goes out. I am a coward. Maybe it’s the pain in my leg, maybe it’s worry over my brother, but a part of me wants to call after him, wants to apologize.”
“I hope Cardan misses me.”
“I wonder what would have happened if I’d admitted he wasn’t out of my system.”
“But when I think of the night he was shot at, the night he did coin tricks, I can’t help recalling him gazing up from my bed, intoxicated and disturbingly intoxicating.”
“I am unnerved to find myself here, in the new High King’s new bed—one I am still too human to lie in, beside someone who terrifies me the more I feel for him.”
“But there is also a weakness in me, because I dreamed of him kissing me for all my time in the Undersea, and now with his mouth on mine, I want to sink my nails into his back.”
“I don’t want to think of someone else standing beside Cardan in my place.”
“The very thought of being there (Elfhame), of seeing Cardan, speeds my heart. At least no one is privy to my thoughts. Stupid as they are, they remain my own.”
“I want another bite at the everapple, another chance at power, another shot at him.”
"He looks every inch the spy from the Court of Shadows, down to the sneaky smile pulling at a corner of his beautiful mouth."
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victhewitch001 · 1 day
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L'amour et la Mort
Chapter 1
The years of King Arthur’s reign had been, so far, a largely peaceful time. Granted, the first half-decade or so after Uther’s death had been wrought with strife, remnants of his cruel regime which stained his son’s hands red. The battle of Camlann, and the defeat of Morgana, had marked a distinct shift in the balance of the world. Light began to pour where darkness had festered for a lifetime, seas too treacherous to sail once again gentled, poisoned fields were found to have nutrient-rich soil; nature itself had begun to heal. Some of the more faithful scholars, ones who still followed the Old ways, believe that this change had been paid for in blood, could have only ever been paid in blood. 
Followers of the Old Religion have held many beliefs throughout the ages, some less sensible than others. They preach that royal blood, truly royal, holds a certain weight against the natural order of things. One ruler’s death will plunge kingdoms into centuries of depravity, while another might pave the way for an age of enlightenment. After all, the weight of royal words, of royal actions, hold much more power in them than any other person’s. Where else should that strength come from, if not their blood? Camlann had soaked its fill of Pendragon strength, between Arthur and Morgana, and the world had flourished because of it. Even in the long, terrifying months of the king’s recovery, no attacks had been waged on Camelot’s borders, the other nations of Albion instead vying for favor with the young ruler. 
The first few days after Camlann were not easy for anyone in the realm. Merlin and Arthur had arrived weeks before the army returned, on a damned dragon. Only the sight of their wounded King being carried in thinly-muscled arms had kept the castle guards from striking against the creature. Several hands had tried to pry Arthur from his manservant’s grasp, none successfully, as Merlin carried his friend to Gaius’s chambers. 
“What happened,” the old man had gasped at the sight of his bloodied apprentice, seeing through the dirt and grime to the naked fear on his downturned face. He immediately motioned for the guard who had followed them to clear the workbench, knowing that the next hours would be long and uncomfortable for every party. 
“He was stabbed.” The words fell from Merlin’s chapped lips like a death sentence, eyes never leaving his King’s face. A single tear dropped onto Arthur’s cheek, trailing down his cheek as if produced from his own sorrow. Gaius raked his eyes over Arthur’s body, finding that the blood was covering too fully to see where the wound lay. He pointed a bony finger to the table, now cleared, a gesture which Merlin had never needed before. Usually, after so many years of working side-by-side, his apprentice moved almost before he even knew which direction to tell him. 
“Merlin, you must let go.” The words seemed to float by Merlin unnoticed, his focus on the King unwavering. “Merlin, I cannot help Arthur if you do not put him down.”
“I can’t,” he whispered, voice breaking over the syllables like waves on a rocky shore. “I’m not sure I can keep him alive if I let go.” Gaius felt a sharp intake of breath as wide, golden eyes met his. This was much worse than he had feared. 
“You must,” he pleaded, “set him down, hold onto him if contact is needed, but I cannot work if I cannot see the damage.” The words, at last, seemed to convince Merlin into action. He took short, unsteady steps to the table, and laid his King down without letting go entirely. Arthur’s gloves had been removed, at some point, and Merlin’s first clenched around limp fingers like a prayer. At once, Gaius began ordering the guard to help remove his King’s armor, cutting his shirt off entirely so as to not disturb whatever fragile stasis Merlin had upheld this long. “What happened, my dear boy?”
“Camlann was worse than I imagined.” His voice was still shaky, but seemed to steady itself as he regaled the battle. Gaius took his tale in stride, nodding along in encouragement as he cleaned Arthur’s skin enough to see the wound’s extent. He listened as graciously as he was able, barely pausing as Merlin recounted laying waste to Morgana’s army, and the lady herself, with lightning. His apprentice spoke of a sea of bodies, of barely arriving in time to be of any use at all, of being too late to help Arthur when he was most needed. “They’re dead,” the words shattered over thin air as Merlin spoke them, seeming to finally run out of whatever strength he had pulled out of himself. 
“This wound should have killed Arthur,” Gaius whispered, feeling every year of his life in contrast to his young King. He had birthed this boy, now a man, had held his squalling, naked body as Uther mourned his wife. The only thought which seemed to rise above the cacophony in his head was a prayer, to anyone who should listen, that his old hands would not carry Arthur into death as they had life. “Merlin, what exactly have you done to keep him breathing?”
Merlin let out a heavy, unsteady sigh, scrubbing his free hand down his face roughly. “I’m not sure, really. I called for Kilgharrah after Morgana found us in the forest. He brought us to Avalon, and Freya told me to place Arthur in the lake’s waters. It took all three of us,” he swallowed against the words, trying to push past the lump which had lodged itself in his throat at the sight of Mordred’s sword embedding itself into Arthur’s stomach. “He was just barely alive when I got there. If anything had held us for even a moment longer.” Merlin’s words trailed off, a haunted look marring his face. The gold still had not bled from his eyes, and it seemed, to the old physician, that the impossible magic his boy was performing had become second nature, much like anything else regarding Arthur’s safety. “We did what we could, but he was still unstable. Freya told me that I already had the power to keep him from passing, and then I just started keeping him.” Gaius’ eyes flicked up from where he had been examining the wound, now as clean as possible with the slow trickle of blood leaking onto the table. Merlin’s eyes were locked onto the gash across Arthurs gut, glowing impossibly brighter against the fading light filtering into the room. Gaius motioned for the guard to light the room’s plethora of candles, so that he may continue to work as dusk fell. Instead, every single sconce in the room burst into flame simultaneously, Merlin’s concentration on the King remaining unbroken. The guard flinched towards the door, nodding curtly at Gaius’s instruction to wait outside in case anything was needed of him.  His eyes once again fell to the injury, widening as the candlelight threw the wound into more clarity. The skin was slowly stitching itself together, vessels and musculature repairing itself in a shocking feat of magic. 
“Merlin, my boy, how are you doing this without an enchantment?”
“I don’t know. I can’t stop.” Another gulp, another shaky exhale. “Every time I think it’s better he starts fading away.” The picture in front of Gaius suddenly sharpened into a horrific reality. The wound, as Merlin had described it, was given days ago. Even the greatest sorcerer of all time, and Gaius had seriously begun to doubt that even those words were enough to encompass all of Merlin’s abilities, could not uphold this magic for long. His mind raced, coming up with contingencies and platitudes that might convince his boy to release his hold on Arthur’s life. 
“Son,” he began, “you-”
“I can’t do this for much longer, can I?” His words, more sobs than syllables, cut off Gaius’s explanation. “I can feel it, magic was never supposed to best fate.”
“No, my boy, I would imagine not.” The words lingered in the still air, riding the chill to sink into their very bones with the grim truth. 
“He’s not gonna make it, not just with medicine.” It wasn’t a question, yet Gaius felt the need to answer anyway.
“There is a chance, Merlin. Arthur is strong, and much has already been done.”
“Not enough.”
“It could work.”
“No,” he shivered, a brutish exhale ruffling rust-stained blonde strands. “I’ve seen better odds rob men just as strong as Arthur of their lives, I cannot risk that with him.”
“You cannot go on as you are, it is too slow, you could kill yourself in the process.” Gaius’s statement seemed to shake something loose in his apprentice, a prayer angering the gods. 
“It doesn’t matter, Gaius. I am nothing without him.” He did not shout, though Gaius had expected it. His words instead came like a wave, slowly building onto themselves until they grew strong enough to sink fleets. “Camelot cannot survive if he is gone. The Once and Future King, that’s what Kilgharrah had said. Gods dammit, Gaius, that future will come to pass in my lifetime if I have to kill Death himself. He doesn’t get to die like this, not here and not now. Arthur will die at the age of eighty, warm in this castle, surrounded by heirs, and he will not leave me.” Merlin finally seemed to break at the end, raking in a harsh gasp to keep himself from devolving into senseless wails of anguish. 
A moment passed, maybe an hour, in which the only sound was Merlin’s sharp inhales and shaky exhales. Gaius knew, as much as he knew his own name, that this was something he could not sway the boy on. Merlin had always been reckless in his care for the King - Gaius had often wondered if either of them would ever pull their heads out of their arses long enough to see why - and in this, Merlin was surely unmovable. His mind raced, finally landing on a solution which seemed most likely to grant both of his boys to keep their lives. 
“Okay,” he began, golden eyes once again snapping to attention. “You’re right, this wound is still too risky to try and heal with science. Magic is the only solution.” He raised a hand as Merlin opened his mouth, to protest or add his own opinion. “Listen to me. Whatever it is you’ve been doing these last few days is too slow, and it’s not sustainable. You need to fix as much as you can, as fast as you can, and let me do the rest. It will be a slow process, depending on how much magic heals, but I cannot see another way.” 
Merlin looked back down to his King, his friend, his Arthur, and visibly tensed when he realized the plan’s validity. He nodded, not breaking his gaze, and readjusted his grip on Arthur’s hand. His voice tore out of his chest, ancient words that he had never consciously learned filling the air like a dragon’s roar. A wind stirred in the room, sending pages of notes and vials flying into the tornado that had formed around the workbench. The light from Merlin’s eyes grew too intense for Gaius to look at, and he shielded his vision as his apprentice pleaded with Magic itself to save the man in front of them. 
As instantaneously as it had been stirred into chaos, the room fell silent once again. The candles, shockingly untouched by the vicious wind, lit the mess left in magic’s wake with vivid detail. Merlin had slumped forward, unconscious, his head falling just beside Arthurs, hand still clutching the King’s. Gaius immediately moved forward to assess the damage to Arthur’s abdomen, calling for the guard to move Merlin to his cot. It was nowhere near the first time either boy had been under his care, but having them both unconscious, splayed in front of him and injured, made his chest ache in a breath-stealing way. 
He could not afford to lose his focus, working with experienced hands to fix as much of the crevice in Arthur’s flesh as humanly possible. Merlin’s magic had done a lot of good, most of the dire internal problems repaired in an instant, but the blood started to trickle in steadier streams as arteries began flowing once again. Gaius flashed a look to Merlin, not liking the deathly pallor to his ward’s skin, or the apparent stillness of his chest. 
“Guard! Wash your hands! I need your help.” The young knight squared his shoulders, peeling off his gloves and following orders deftly. Gaius instructed him to press and cauterize where it was needed most, all the while thinking how Merlin wouldn’t have needed instruction to aid the physician. Gaius stitched muscle and skin back together, pouring tonic after tonic down Arthur’s throat in an effort to replenish as much blood as possible. He whispered a quick prayer to the Old gods as he worked, begging with the skies for the survival of both his sons. After several dozen minutes, seeing that the King’s wounds would hold for the moment, he moved to check on Merlin’s ashen form.
“Merlin! My boy,” Gaius wept, finding that against every science he knew, his body had grown cold in mere minutes. No breath filled his lungs, no pulse beat in his chest. Gaius allowed one solitary, earth-shattering moment to mourn the boy in front of him, pressing his wrinkled lips to a glacial brow, before moving back to the King.  
As Gaius worked, and weeped, the kingdom held bated breath for news on their sovereign. Kilgharrah had flown back into the forest, knowing that his master would call when he was needed, and every soul which lived under the castle’s shadow had flooded the city. Time had seemed to trickle through the citadel as molasses, peasant and noble alike holding constant vigil outside the palace walls. Hours passed, dawn enrapturing the skies in a beautiful background to one of Camelot’s darkest days, before an announcement was made.
Gaius stood on the dais where Uther had condemned thousands, looking over the tear-stained faces that matched his own, and made his proclamation.
“The King was mortally wounded in the Battle of Camlann. It is thanks, only, to his manservant, and my apprentice, Merlin, that he shall survive. He remains unconscious, but the blow dealt to his stomach would have killed any lesser man before the battle’s end. Merlin protected his King until his last breath, using the magic which the gods had given him to heal as much as he could.” Gaius paused, raking his eyes over the crowd to find familiar faces, who would all hold fond memories of his boy in their hearts. “Merlin has faithfully served the throne of Camelot since his arrival in the citadel nearly ten years ago, and has given his life to ensure the survival of the Pendragon line. King Arthur will have a long recovery in front of him, but he shall live.” Cries rang out, both in joy at the news of their King’s health and misery at the loss of Merlin, and Gaius felt his own eyes moisten at the thought of his body growing colder in the physician’s cot. He could see many faces of shock at the admittance of Merlin’s magic, though Gaius supposed that riding in on the dragon had already clued most in on the worst-kept secret in Camelot. 
The long walk back to his chambers gave Gaius time to adjust to the gaping void in his chest. He knew exactly how many years he had lived, how much loss he had endured, yet never before had the old man felt old. Now, in a world without Merlin, he could feel every second of his life weighing against his back, turning his movements sharp and painful. The council would need to meet, soon, to discuss how to proceed with the nation’s rule while their King remained unconscious, but Gaius did not dwell on these thoughts for long. He exhaled as he entered his chambers, still wrecked from the aftereffects of impossible magic, and abruptly halted where he stood.
“Will he live?” The corpse had pulled a chair over to Arthur’s side, once again grasping his hand in a white-knuckled grip. Gaius felt his heart stop and start in the space of a breath, and nearly fainted at the sight. Merlin, his Merlin, was sitting up, with enough life flowing through his veins to look worried over his King’s prone form. The physician held no reservations as he raced to envelop his boy in a bone-crushing embrace. 
“Merling, oh Merlin, you’ve come back,” he cried as Merlin’s arm came to wrap around him, hesitating for a brief moment of curiosity. 
“What do you mean, Gaius? I was on the cot the entire time.” Slowly, the old man released his apprentice, searching his face with a haunted look. “What? Is Arthur going to be okay?”
“My boy, the King will make a full recovery, in time, but you.” Gaius paused, not sure how Merlin would take the news that he had been dead for ten hours. “Merlin, you died. That spell, whatever you did, you were dead for an entire night and morning.”
Blue eyes widened, so large they might have popped out, and Merlin let out a noise of shock. “That’s impossible,” he whispered. “You must be mistaken.”
“Your body was cold almost immediately, Merlin. It was as if you had given your life to Arthur. You haven’t had a pulse, nor a breath, in ten hours. You were dead.” Gaius could see the cogs turning behind Merlin’s brow, processing what this meant for him. The old man’s mind suddenly threw a memory to the forefront, of treating Merlin for the deadly serket sting which should have killed him. Their eyes widened simultaneously as the truth of the gods’ will revealed itself to them. “Surely, you don’t think-”
“Oh, I do think.” A thunderous expression crossed Merlin’s face, his fist clenching even tighter around Arthur’s as he glanced at the unconscious King. “When has anything about my life ever been normal? Why should my death be any different?” Gaius winced in sympathy, reaching to offer comfort with a hand on his apprentice’s shoulder. They both fell into a contemplative silence, pondering the extent to which the gods would see their prophecies fulfilled, and watched as their King slept.
Suddenly, a chuckle burst forth from the physician’s lips, causing Merlin to shoot a wounded expression his way.
 “Are you laughing? I cannot die and you’re laughing in my face?”
“I’m sorry, my dear boy,” Gaius began, stifling the unbidden humor as much as possible and forcing a calm expression onto his face. “It does appear,” a smile cracked across his face, and he cleared his throat in a bid for sobriety. “I mean to say, that is, I might have just announced to the entire citadel that you nobly gave your life to save Arthur.”
A dumbfounded expression fell over Merlin’s face, before a sudden bout of laughter erupted, surprising both master and student. 
“I did!” They fell into hysterics, both men clutching each other until their sides ached. Merlin supposed, at some point, the court would need to be informed of his apparent immortality, but at the moment he could not care less. Arthur was safe, Gaius was strong despite his growing years, and Camelot faced no immediate danger. Surely, the coming weeks would reveal heartaches and wounds not yet scarred, but for now, as the laughter slowly died and the only father he’d ever known moved to brew tea, he was choosing to be optimistic. 
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lesbiansanemi · 1 year
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People who conflate cannibalism with vore like stop. No for real stoooop. Lol stop. Please. I’m gonna cry
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exopelagic · 3 days
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why are dentists. like that.
#I need a filling. i have needed one since the pandemic and my old dentist dropped me#bc I missed an appointment. bc of the PANDEMIC.#(it was booked months before. BEFORE. THE. PANDEMIC.)#so I have been putting it off for a long time bc I kept being told they wouldn’t take me#and it’s easy to not think abt it!!#just don’t think abt it it’s fine#but okay now I have toothache again and I don’t wanna keep fucking with my teeth I rlly don’t wanna do this#but there are NO NHS DENTISTS. and even if there WERE it’d take fucking forever to get an appointment#I’m still annoyed that I saw this cavity way back when they got the other two last time and they were like nah no that’s fine#NO. NO IT WAS NOT. WHAT THE FUCK.#terrified that I’m gonna need a root canal bc that might mean a crown and I really badly don’t want to deal with that#also oh my god everything is so expensive???? even nhs fees???#and then there’s the private prices oh my god. what the fuck#I’m just rlly scared about Teeth bc my mum has had so many problems and signs point to me having moderately bad tooth genetics from her#so I really. really do not wanna keep putting this off any longer but with everything going on and getting the appointment in the first plac#it’s either. pay a ridiculous amount of money right now and see if I can get a private appointment within the next 3 days#which is probably not gonna happen!#or wait at least a month anyway bc I can’t deal with dentist before my exams#I guess in theory I could look for smth at home but again it’d have to be private and. so much money oh my god just so much money#who decided teeth were so expensive why is this a thing#okay. I can figure out what I’m doing tomorrow stressing abt it now won’t help now that I’ve figured out my options#just what the fuck is up with dentists. looking at these websites makes me wanna cry#it’s fine I’ll sort it out tomorrow and teeth will be fine#luke.txt
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itostea · 2 months
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my first & last love (gojo x reader)
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satoru realizes he's in love with you after you suggest he set you up with suguru
tags: fem! reader, Gojo praises you like A LOT! slight miscommunications, childhood friends to lovers, reader gets drunk & satoru helps, he's a lovesick idiot & dramatic, both yours & his pov, gojo’s implied to be taller than reader, slightly suggestive bc it’s gojo, slight angst
word count: 11k
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The first time Gojo Satoru learned true, unadulterated jealousy was on a Friday night out in his sports car–the crickets chirping to the melody of a random song. 
It was real jealousy—not just simple, petty envy. Not like the envy he felt when someone got to taste the limited edition cupcakes at the bakery before he did or the envy of studying hard and getting a lower score than someone who didn’t (which is a lie because Gojo was that very person who was effortlessly good at everything he did). 
Either way, he’s never felt the bite of jealousy, breaking the flesh as blood drips slowly, lingering as if it could never be washed away from his skin. Never felt it smother his throat with needles and leave him with a metallic taste in his mouth. That is, until today.
It was colder than usual but he still insisted on grabbing some ice-cream from the local convenience store, declaring it was his your reward for putting up with the party Sukuna hosted–the same party that ended in your dress being soaked in vomit. The atmosphere was perfect for sentiment, for talking–for confessing. 
You’re humming to the beat of the song, licking your lips clean of the ice cream you just ate. “Satoru,” you murmur his name softly, staring at him through your lashes. 
“Yeah?” His eyes drink in the sight of you: your droopy eyes from sleep, the faded lip tint on your lips, the hoodie he let you borrow that’s obviously a few sizes too big on you. There’s hardly any light coming in but he can still feel your eyes on him, the tension so thick he thinks he might suffocate from it. 
For a moment, he’s scared, fearful of what you were going to say because he knows this silence. This is the very silence that happens before someone confesses to him, the same suspense that he has to mentally prepare himself for since he knew he was going to break another heart. And he’s terrified that he might have to do it to you–his friend, his neighbor, someone who he’s known for a very long time. 
“I need to tell you something,” you start and he winces, shifting uncomfortably on the driver’s seat. 
“You do?” He mutters. You’re nervous. He can tell because he’s known you long enough to understand what you’re feeling–long enough to know that your eyes are darting from place to place, a habit of yours.
His chest squeezes when you take a deep breath just as he exhales, already making his mind to grant you a swift rejection. He hopes you can forgive him after this.
“--I like Getou and I need your help.”
“Listen, I’m sorry but I just don’t see you that way–”
He blinks, wondering if he heard you right or if he was drunk (he didn’t drink at the party because he was your ride home). “Wait what?”
It was your turn to blink now. “I like Getou and I–”
“I heard you the first time,” he cuts you off hastily, clearing his throat to play it cool. He runs a hand through his hair, grazing the side of his undercut. “Okay wow.”
Gojo mentally curses himself for not knowing what else to say other than humming pensively, busying himself by mixing the ice-cream in the tiny container. He still needs time to process, to mentally upload your words to his brain. You like Getou and not him? He pauses, repeating that thought again. 
You like Getou and not him. Part of him tells himself that this is exactly what he wanted since your friendship wouldn’t go to ruin. You managed not to catch feelings for him–managed not to fall for him like many others. Yet, he’s confused when another part of him doesn’t respond too well once he realizes that this was you he was dealing with.
“That’s not weird right?” You question, bringing your knees up to your chest and propping your chin atop of them to watch his reaction–reminding him to keep it cool. 
“Nah it’s not weird at all,” he said, not thinking straight when his next words escaped his lips. “So why Suguru?” And not me? Though, he keeps that last part to himself. 
“Well isn’t it obvious? He’s tall, handsome, and has a good personality.”
Am I not that? He asks himself, not bothered by how stuck up he may seem. “That’s not very specific from someone who likes him.”
You huff and he can tell you’re narrowing your eyes at him. “I know you don’t wanna hear me yap about the specifics, Satoru.”
“I do.” He says quickly.
You make a noise of surprise, looking interested in his sudden intrigue. “Well okay… Suguru’s very caring and attentive. Being around him makes me feel warm inside you know? I’m not sure when I started liking him but I just know that I just really want to be closer to him. And it doesn’t help that he’s just so smart and nice. And his looks are just a bonus.”
“Oh,” he utters, not even bothering to curse himself for his lack of response. He tries a weak smile. “You must really like him.”
Gojo can’t help but furrow his brows at the semi-embarrassed expression you wear—as if you were flustered at the mere thought of having a crush. “Oh, was I that obvious?” You ask, not even bothering to deny the fact that you were undoubtedly head over heels for his best friend.
Oh god, he thinks he might be sick and he doesn’t know why. 
“Are you going to help me?” Your voice cuts him out of his reverie and he’s cut back into reality–the reality being the anticipation in your eyes. Did you always look this pretty? 
Gojo nearly flinches at the thoughts that cross his mind, blaming the unprocessed shock for being the cause of these obscure ideas. He coughs. “Hold on. So you don’t like me right?”
“What? No I–” your eyes widen in understanding. “Oh so that’s what that was all about. You thought the person I liked was you! How cocky can you be to think everyone’s in love with you?”
“It’s not cocky if it’s true. I’m just really lovable y’know?”
You let out a sarcastic laugh. “That can’t be true since I’m not everyone.”
I know, he thinks to himself, staying silent as he watches you shuffle in your seat. He didn’t just dislike this idea you proposed, he hated it.  It wasn’t hard to just decline and keep it like that–let you figure your feelings on your own. 
Yet, something about the near-pleading look in your eyes made him reconsider and it filled him with an urge to smooth the wrinkles on your expression. He sighs loudly, rubbing the invisible crease in between his brows. “Well I guess you came to the right person because I’m an expert at this. 5 star ratings and all that. But what makes you think I’m going to do this for free?”
“Uh the goodness of your heart?”
“Cute,” he laughs. “But no. I want a coffee from the place everyday for a month.”
“What?! Are you insane? That means I’d have to wake up early everyday to get in line!” 
He shakes his head, waving his finger around with a disappointed expression. “A small price for love.”
“I don’t understand why you even need me for that. You can buy the whole shop yourself, ass,” you whisper the last part behind your palm, making his eyes light up in amusement.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Actually you know what? Fine,” you huff. “You’re right. It is a small price for love. But I’m not walking back and forth around campus to deliver your coffee.” 
“I got that covered,” he grins, already coming up with a plan in his head. He likes this, the banter you two typically enjoyed. It made your duo, a duo. In a normal situation, he’d relax and continue bothering you. Still, the feeling of dread gnaws at his throat and he tries to swallow it–tries to ignore it by pretending to be the same, goofy Gojo you’re used to. And he’s starting to think it’s hard to do that when you look up at him with such genuine gratitude. 
“Satoru.”
“Hm?”
“Thank you, I mean it.”
Gojo feels that emotion again, that visceral feeling where he might go sick and vomit all over the car. “Yeah.”
He thinks he would’ve preferred if you confessed to him instead. 
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Gojo wonders if stress (if you can call that) is enough to make someone wake up with a hangover the next day. He didn’t drink last night but he thinks he might have–considering the headache that was interrupting his morning. 
He’s in the middle of downing a glass of water when his phone buzzes, your name popping up as a notification. 
(Name): i’m gonna get ur coffee pls come 
Him: come ??? cum
(Name): it’s too early to be doing this 
He sees the bubbles appear before they disappear for a while, only popping up again when he’s in the middle of cracking an egg over the pan 
(Name): SATORU 
(Name): OHMYGOD SATORY SOI SOS 
Him: WHAT 
Him: HELLO??? 
(Name): GETOUS HERE OMG IM GONNA 
(Name): HE SAID HI TO ME 
(Name): WHAT DO I DO?
Gojo grips his phone a bit tighter, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. He sighs.
Him: say hi back 
Him: and then go PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
(Name): no wtf and i meant what do i after this silly 
(Name): i don’t know what to do im literally an npc rn
(Name): jk he just said bye :(
Him: should’ve done what i told u to do
Another name pops up from the top and his eyes scan the name, his brows raising in curiosity. He huffs at the message, feeling a wave of nausea cross him.
Suguru: You’re close friends with (Name) right?
Him: yeah why 
Suguru: Nothing
It’s silent for a few seconds and Gojo’s back to eating his eggs, tempted to pop a Tylenol to ease the growing headache. Contrary to popular belief, he was against the reliance of pain-relieving meds, opting to let his body figure things out on its own. Luckily for him, having food in his stomach was enough to relieve the headache.
His mind wanders back to the night in the car where you told him to help you with your crush on his best friend–not fully coming to terms with the fact that he wished you liked him instead. Since when did he start feeling this way and why did he need another man to make him realize he liked or even loved you? The thought of anyone having you for themselves was like hearing the sound of nails against a chalkboard and he was jealous. He finally admitted it. 
Gojo Satoru wasn’t an idiot when it came to his feelings and he’d be a fool if he kept denying his undeniable irritation that came with your crush for Suguru. He places the unwashed dish atop some other bowls and utensils, reminding himself to get to that later since his priority was not to keep you waiting at the coffee shop. 
Another buzz and Satoru nearly trips over his feet at the dread he gets from seeing his best friend’s message. Are you kidding me? He thinks to himself as he reads the message again. 
Suguru: She’s cute
Yeah, he thinks he might be sick again.
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Music’s playing in the background to substitute the sound of chatter that’d usually fill the room if Shoko were here. It wasn’t rare for Shoko to not flake on parties and it was even rarer for you to leave your comfort zone and go to one–especially the last one hosted by Sukuna; but this one was different. Suguru was the host and you’d be an idiot to miss it. 
You flinch at the feeling of your mascara poking the inside of your eye, cursing quietly as you take a q-tip to fix the mistake. 
The buzz of your phone makes you freeze.
Gojo: omw to ur house 
Gojo: ill be there in 10 
You: wait satoru don’t get mad but what do i wear 
Gojo: …
Gojo: YOU DIDNT LIKE THINK ABOUT THAT AN HR AGO?
You: I WANNA STAND OUT TO ATTRACT THE LOML OKAY? 
You: so i need ur opinion 
Gojo: dude
Gojo: ok
Gojo: just wear whatever u want it’ll be fine 
You: yeah but what specifically?
Gojo: not smth that makes you look like a grandma 
Gojo: like that dress u wore to the last party 
Gojo: no offense
You: but i liked that dress :(((( 
You: was it that bad?? I mean i had to throw it out bc of the vomit anyways
Gojo: it made u look like a grandma but in a good way 
You: wow okay thanks
Gojo: you looked nice 
Gojo: ANYWAYS  
Gojo: a pair of jeans 
Gojo: and that light blue long sleeve that shows ur shoulders 
You: really? 
Gojo: yeah and i’m leaving my apartment now so hurry up 
You like the message, tapping your lips to even out the lip tint before you rush to put on the shirt and jeans. Doing a quick double-take in the mirror, you spin once and prop your hands on your hips, snapping a few selfies to commemorate this day. 
You’re not sure how much time passes until you hear excessive honking outside, the sound of your phone buzzing as you see Gojo’s caller id. It’s enough to make your eyes roll as you grab your bag–leaving the door locked and the lights off. 
Gojo’s grin is boyish and teasing as his eyes scan you from top to bottom. “Oh look at you,” he coos. “You’re actually wearing what I told you to wear.”
“Well I felt like listening today,” you murmur, feeling a small ripple of embarrassment pass you. 
“Atta girl.”
“Shut up,” you mumble, feeling a grin form when you hear him chuckle. He puts his car into reverse mode, propping his arm on the top of your seat. Up close, you can get a stronger whiff of his cologne–its musk and earthiness slowing your heartbeat, calming you. Your eyes scan his outfit: a black pullover layered atop white t-shirt, paired with a pair of pants that were on the edge of being joggers and trousers.
On anyone else, the outfit wouldn’t have done them good like it did with Gojo. To your displeasure and awe, he looked effortlessly classy. And if he noticed your lingering gaze, he didn’t mention it. 
“What’s your game plan?” His voice draws you back to reality and you watch as he sets the car back into drive mode. 
“Game plan?”
“That’s right,” he glances at you, his shades sliding lower on his nose bridge. “Your plan to seduce the love of your life.”
“I’m not going to seduce him!” You gape, narrowing your eyes at his widening smile. His hand reaches down to turn the volume of the song a bit louder, stopping at the upcoming red light. 
“I’m just joking with you,” he laughs, his eyebrows furrowing slightly before that smile returns to his face, not quite meeting his eyes like it usually does. He sighs before breaking into a laugh that almost sounds bitter. “I’d pay to see that though.”
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At the party, you’d imagine yourself “mingling” with the crowd and letting loose–being the life of the party. Unfortunately for you, your feet are still stuck on the kitchen floor and you’re glued to Gojo’s side. You’d like to blame it on the vomit incident from Sukuna’s party and you’re fortunate enough to not be known as the “girl that someone threw up on.” 
Either way, you weren’t especially fond of the fact that you were keeping Gojo from having fun somewhere else. Like in one of the unoccupied rooms upstairs or in the living room playing some drinking games. It’s enough to make you feel somewhat guilty and suddenly regretful that you even came to this party. 
You tap his shoulder in the kitchen, offering him a reassuring smile. “Satoru. You don’t have to stay with me. I can manage myself!” 
“That’s what you said last time,” he chuckles, rummaging through Getou’s fridge to search for something sweet, frowning when he sees traditional Japanese snacks that his grandparents would eat. “What the hell?” He murmurs to himself.
“I mean it,” you say, taking a few steps back. “You have some fun. I don’t want to bother you too much.”
“You’re not–”
“Satoru. (Name),” a velvety voice greets, all too familiar. A warmth spreads over you. “You made it.”
“Getou,” you murmured to yourself, glancing at Gojo who was already staring at you. 
For a second, you see a subtle tick in his jaw, a sight you blame on the lighting since he’s back to normal the moment he turns to face Getou. He grins that teasing smile of his. “Suguru.”
“You looking through my fridge again, Satoru?” The brunette huffs, kicking the fridge’s door shut lightly–exchanging the grin with his friend. Your heart squeezes as he casts a lingering look at you, his smile polite. “Hey (Name). Good seeing you here.”
“Huh?” You perk up. “Oh you too?”
You inwardly curse at yourself for how awkward you were, giving Gojo a scathing look as he hides his laughter behind his palm. Luckily for you, Getou’s sweet and he was also good at redirecting topics. “You want something to drink?” 
“Oh sure,” you blink, offering a thankful smile. “Thank you Getou–”
“Suguru.” 
You pause, cocking your head to the side in confusion. “Sorry?” 
“Call me Suguru,” he hands you a red, plastic cup–his smile pretty enough to make your breath hitch. “We’ve known each other long enough.”
You feel your heart race as he looks at you expectantly, as if you knew what he wanted you to do next. You fidget, suddenly more bashful at the attention he was giving you. “Thank you Suguru.”
“No problem,” he smiles and you like how he looks satisfied with you. He hands another red cup to Satoru who stood beside you, the sarcastic grin of his returning. You take a tentative sip of the booze, watching curiously as Satoru and Suguru talked amongst themselves–reconnecting despite seeing each other only a day ago. 
You observe the two of them, mapping the details of Suguru’s face before your eyes land on Satoru–suddenly aware of the fact that the boy you spent most of your youth with grew up. Sure, you know that his face attracts attention from everyone but that was a token from childhood. It just didn’t hit you that he matured, grew up to be the man most would dream of dating. The realization is to make you wonder if Gojo ever registered the fact that you were growing too.
Slowly, you take another sip of your drink, blinking slowly as the alcohol settles in your system. Gojo’s the first to notice when you stumble, how your skin seems to heat up. “Hey hey,” he holds you by the shoulders, his voice soft. And if you paid closer attention, you would’ve seen the way Getou’s brows raised at how gentle his friend was acting towards you. “You okay?” 
Amidst your drunken state, you realize that Gojo didn’t bother drinking any of the liquor in his cup during his conversation with Suguru. And Suguru. Sweet Suguru who puts the pieces together and confirms that you’re a lightweight, the guilt evident in his expression. “Oh shit. I forgot how strong this liquor is.” 
“I’m okay,” you mumble and step forward, ready to excuse yourself to the restroom. Gojo looks like he’s about to say something until a group of unfamiliar faces barge into the kitchen, their faces bright as they greet Getou and Gojo with intentions to keep them occupied. Among the chatter and crowd, you find it easy to slip away–rushing to find a restroom. 
The first one you went in was already used by a couple that you remembered mumbling apologies to. The others were either locked or used. At some point, your gut told you to go upstairs and you staggered into an unoccupied bathroom where you splashed cold water on your face–sighing at how nice it felt against your skin.
The music’s only a fraction of its noise from up here and you’re surprised that there’s not much of a group upstairs. There’s a funny feeling in your stomach as you crouch slightly, mentally cursing yourself for downing the whole cup so quickly, ruining your chances to talk with Suguru–coherently at least. Part of you wants to sulk over your spoiled opportunities but another part of you just wants to crash on the tiled floor and sleep–rest your eyes for a bit. 
You’re thankful your mind was still conscious enough to rationalize the unsanitary conditions of the bathroom floor, opting to curl up in one of the hallways instead–shivering at the feeling of cold marble beneath you. Your eyes droop, a yawn escaping you. And you’re almost certain you would’ve fallen asleep if not for the gentle shaking of your shoulders. 
“Stop,” you whine softly, your vision blurry as you catch a glimpse of hair the color of snow and a pair of worried filled blue eyes. Your protests turn quickly to bemusement. “Satoru? What are you doing here?”
You think he smiles as he kneels down on one knee to be eye level with you. “How about I get you off the ground first?” 
“I don’t wanna. Let me sleep here,” you shake your head, ignoring how your body felt warm at how softly he treated you. 
“C’mon,” he chuckles. “The ground’s dirty. Let's get you to a bed at least.”
In your drunken state, your mind still decides it favors a soft comforter over cold marble and you see his eyes soften when you go limp in his arms–letting him lift you from the ground. “Good girl.”
Your mind goes fuzzy at the sound of that and you’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or something else that makes your temperature rise. In that simple moment, you let his arms wrap around you, cradling you to his chest as he makes his way downstairs. All your thoughts stop as your eyes close, drowning the sound of the party out as you permit sleep to take over. His hands give your thighs an occasional squeeze, the gesture oddly intimate yet you don’t bother questioning it or objecting to it. 
Even with the veil of sleep dropping on your form, you still recognize Suguru’s voice as he tells Satoru to take care of you, his tone apologetic–having been the one to give you the liquor. They talk for a bit and once more, you feel the bounce of each step as he carries you out the house.
You’re barely awake when Gojo puts you in the passenger seat and you feel disappointment wash over you when he stops holding you. You’re not sure when you grabbed onto the sleeve of his shirt, your eyes half-lidded as you peered up at him. “Don’t go.”
A noise of protest escapes your lips when he removes your cold hand from his shirt gently, rather taking it in between his warmer ones. “I won’t.”
“Satoru.”
“Hm?”
“I like when you compliment me.”
“Oh yeah?” He says, laughing a bit. “It’s hard not to.”
The music and cheers in Suguru’s house are still audible even in Gojo’s car, your vision getting darker and darker with each blink. Still, you can still feel Gojo’s hand gripping yours–his thumb rubbing circles on the skin as you invite sleep back in, taking deep breaths as you breathe in his cologne. 
And as sleep came to life, you allowed the dreams to live as well. 
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Was there such a thing as a relationship between dreams and memories? In moments of delirium, you can’t single out what’s real and what’s not–was it a dream or did it actually happen?
But now that days have passed and you’ve given yourself more time, you’re certain that Gojo was the one who carried you out of the house and spent his night caring for you. So you ruled out the possibility that the night was a dream, rather a memory that made you feel soft inside–grateful yet unsure. And if you wanted to ponder harder, you would’ve done so if not for the hell you were experiencing this week. 
Forgetting the content during a quiz. Getting yelled at by your boss. Having stepped in bird shit. Waking up late nearly every day because you’d forget to put your alarm on. 
If that wasn’t enough, you got in an argument with your parents over the phone. It was about something stupid and you were so frustrated that you ended up walking to some 7/11–buying yourself an ice-cream to cheer yourself up. The argument was so dumb and you weren’t even sure what you guys were even arguing about. All you knew that you should probably call them later to talk it out; you also knew that this week couldn’t get any worse.
What was Satoru doing right now? You think to yourself, pulling out your phone to check your messages–frowning when you saw none from him. Your eyes land on a message from Suguru, seeing the link he sent you to some video he found funny or intriguing. After the party, you were shocked to see an unknown number texting you, claiming it was Suguru and that Satoru gave your number to him. The day that happened, you texted him using exclamation marks and thanked him–smiling at your phone as you two exchanged witty messages with one another. 
You sighed, unlocking your phone and clicking Satoru’s contact and phoning him. You almost hang up after several rings but you hear his voice after the nth ring. “Hello?”
“Satoru?” You say, your voice cracking the second your lips part to speak. You weren’t expecting to cry and neither did Satoru–though you can hear the concern laced in his voice as he questions your whereabouts. 
“Where are you sweetheart?” You hear rustling in the background amidst his voice and your sniffles. “I’ll pick you up. Your location’s shared with me right?”
“Mhm,” you wipe your eyes, fidgeting with the hem of your hoodie. 
“Okay just stay there and don’t go anywhere. I’ll be there in a few. Don’t cry (Name).”
You think you might cry harder with how sweet his voice was. 
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Satoru thinks he might be the only one who notices the rift between you and him. And he’s not sure if he’s the one causing it or if it’s you. But after that night with you (in his car again), he’s been thinking about how soft you were in his arms; how he liked the way your head drooped against his chest. Or maybe he likes you but he’s not going to think about that unless he wants another headache. 
Regardless, he finds himself looking at his phone sporadically, subconsciously eager to see your name pop up unexpectedly–eager for things to go back to normal. Even though you two still speak, he’s almost sure that he’s not imagining the awkward tension in the air. 
Was he too intrusive when he carried you out to his car? Were you mad at him because he didn’t leave Suguru and you alone in the kitchen? It was a selfish thing to do, he admits. His original idea was to leave you alone with Suguru so you’d get to chat with him–get to know him like you intended to do at the party; but seeing Suguru give you that sly smile of his was enough to make Gojo ditch his plans of playing Cupid. 
If Gojo was a good man, he’d feel happy that you were getting what you wanted since he knew you weren’t the only one interested. Like with the message Suguru sent to Satoru and how he eyed you at the party; how he called Satoru over for a bit and told him that he understood why people liked you or found you attractive; how he commented on how the shirt you wore suited you. 
No shit, I picked it, he thought to himself as he recalled that night. Satoru always knew you were beautiful and he hated that everyone else knew too. You weren’t even his yet but he didn’t want to share you–to let anyone else hold you or have you. Seeing you blush and smile shyly at his best friend made him want to puke—made him want to claw his eyes out. That should be him and god he wishes it was.
He was selfish yet he never promised to be good. Yet, this was for you. He wanted you to be happy, is what he told himself whenever he saw you and Suguru talking. 
His phone buzzes and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly he snatches it, the anticipation in his eyes fading when he sees that it’s Suguru messaging him about the party today. Satoru sighs, rubbing the spot between his brows as he leans on the kitchen counter, suddenly reminded that he planned a party at his place today. It was an impulsive decision to forget about the tension between you two and Satoru’s kinda wishing he took the time to talk it out with you rather than planning something else. 
He invited a good amount of people and was going to invite you as well to give him a reason to call you. But lucky for him, you made things easier for him by calling him. Satoru thinks it’s not healthy for his blood temperature to rise just at the sight of your name on his phone and he’s already grinning when he picks up. “Hello?”
“Satoru?” 
Oh. He pauses, his brows furrowing at how your voice cracked as you tried to hide your sniffles. His first thought was to wonder who made you sad and he thinks it’s scary how hearing you cry was enough to send his emotions in a frenzy. But you needed him and he didn’t want you to be alone. “Where are you sweetheart?” He asks, the nickname flowing off his tongue before he can stop. “I’ll pick you up. Your location’s shared with me right?”
“Mhm,” You mumbled back and his heart nearly snapped in two with how dejected you sounded. He frowns, grabbing his jacket and his keys–rushing to slip on his sneakers. 
“Okay just stay there and don’t go anywhere. I’ll be there in a few. Don’t cry (Name).”
You make a sound of understanding and he hangs up, his finger tapping to click on Suguru’s contact. Satoru hears other familiar voices in the background but he doesn’t pay much attention to it. 
“What’s up Satoru–?”
“Party’s off.”
“What? Wait what are you–”
“Sorry something came up. I’ll tell you later,” he says, hanging up before his friend can say anything else. He knows he should feel bad for flaking out last minute but his list of priorities had you at the top of it. And he really didn’t care if anyone else would understand. 
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You’re regretting the choice of shorts in the chilly night air and the ice-cream you ate wasn’t helping you shiver any less. 
The way Satoru sounded made that warm, fuzzy feeling settle in your stomach again. He sounded like he would drop whatever he was doing just to get to you and it made you feel special. You think back to the sound of “sweetheart” from his lips, shaking your head when you feel your blood get warm.
“(Name)?” Satoru’s voice startles you from your thoughts and you think the sound of it could erase all your troubles. “You alright?” He asks, shrugging the jacket off his shoulders and draping them over your legs, kneeling down to see your face.
You only nod. “I want to go home.”
“Yeah I can take you back–”
“No,” you shake your head. “Back to your place.”
For a moment, you’ve stunned him but that surprise left as fast as it arrived. He sighs, tapping your knee with his finger. “Usually dinner comes first–”
“Not like that you idiot,” you kick him lightly, a grin forming on your lips. “Your methods of comforting are weird.”
“Yeah?” He laughs, the sound blending with the wind. “Well maybe I’m not trying to comfort you,” he eyes you with a teasing glint in his eyes and flashes a lopsided grin. He looked almost sweet as he did sly, the blend making your heart pick up in pace. 
You squirm, mustering a tone of nonchalance. “I changed my mind. I’m going back to my place.”
This time he chuckles, his eyes narrowing in amusement. “Nuh uh. It’s my job to wipe that frown off your face,” he says, the corny phrase making you roll your eyes. “C’mon, I’ll be good to you.”
You pretend to think, ignoring the attentive expression he wore. “Fine. I guess I’ll let you take me home.”
“That’s my girl,” he grinned, standing up to his full height. You beam at him, matching his steps as you two reach his door. By the time the two of you were settled at his place, you already spoke to your parents in private–clearing up the misunderstandings like Satoru reminded you to do. You were glad you had him and even more glad that things were falling back to place. 
Your eyes scan your surroundings, noticing how he must’ve tidied things up. “Did you clean your place?”
“Hm?” He grabs two mugs from the cabinet. “Oh yeah. I was going to have a party here.”
“Today?”
“That’s right,” he drawls, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes. “I was going to call you to see if you wanted to go.”
“Really?” That was a shock to you. “Are you still gonna have one today?”
“Nah. Canceled it last minute.”
You pause, raising your brows as you try not to jump to conclusions. “Why’d you cancel it?”
“Had better things to do. I'd rather hang out with you anyways,” he says casually, smiling when he finds the packets of hot cocoa. “Found it!”
Did he cancel the party for me? You think to yourself, a bit surprised that you came to that conclusion; but if you were right and he did, you wouldn’t know what to feel other than appreciation and maybe something else. Whether that was true or not, you know that you should be feeling guilt and not giddiness from having him prioritize you. Was it normal to feel this way for Satoru? You’re about to let your thoughts fill your head but you feel your breath hitch at how he seems to lean closer to you. 
His hands move you by the hips, the touch barely lasting five seconds. “Sorry I gotta get the spoons,” he murmurs, paying no mind to how you hold your breath. Your eyes fall to his biceps, swallowing a gasp as you see how the black material of his shirt moved with every movement he makes. There was no way he was human when he looked like that.
Oh my god, you think to yourself, suddenly mortified at the fact that you were checking him out. What was wrong with you right now? You always knew Gojo was attractive but you didn’t think he was this attractive. And if he had any idea of your internal conflict he didn’t pay it any mind. 
“Can you go get the movie ready for me?”
“Uh huh,” you nod immediately, quickening your pace as you try to distract yourself. By the time he sits next to you, the blankets and snacks are already placed neatly on the living room table. You smile and mutter a thank you when he hands you the mug of hot cocoa. 
“Feel better?” He asks, propping an arm on the head of the couch once you’re halfway through the movie: a random romcom you picked to cheer you up. Even as someone who claims he’d rather watch a movie with more action, you think the drama that comes with romcoms intrigues him–much more than he’d like to admit. 
You take a sip of your drink, your eyes flitting to him. “Much better.”
“I bet,” he murmurs, his eyes glancing at the way your knees touched. The scene panels to a teary confession the female lead does, the music dramatic with strings in the background. You watch intently, observing the expressions both characters make on screen.
“Y’know, I never understood how they can always come up with a speech like that on the spot,” Satoru comments, plopping a few gummy bears in his mouth. “Isn’t that unrealistic?”
“It’s a movie,” you point out, watching as the male lead hung onto every word the female lead had to say. “It’s not supposed to be realistic.”
“I guess you’re right. But that stuff apparently happens in real life right?”
“Wouldn’t you know? You have people confessing to you all the time.”
“I don’t give them much time to continue speaking,” he shrugs. 
You don’t like how uneasy you feel after he says that. “Well, maybe it’s love that makes this kind of stuff happen.”
This earns you an amused snicker. “Of course you’d say that. You gonna do that with Suguru? Confess to him from the bottom of your heart?”
You roll your eyes. “To do that, I’d have to be in love with him.”
“Are you?”
“No,” you give him an incredulous look. “I hardly know the guy. I just really like him.”
He makes a sound of understanding but you feel as if you’re deluding yourself when you see the look of relief cross his face. You turn to him, the movie forgotten all of a sudden. “Would you do that?”
“What? Confess to Suguru with the bottom of my heart?” 
“Yeah sure. That’s what I meant.” you huff, seeing his teasing grin form. You sigh. “No like…confess to someone you love.”
He’s quiet, the faraway look in his eyes confirming that he’s deep in thought. You’re not sure why a pang of irritation hits you when you realize that there might be someone Satoru’s in love with. And you’re not sure if it’s because he’s not telling you or because you want to be that someone. You go with the former because you’re supposed to like Suguru. 
His eyes wander to meet yours and the tick in his jaw makes you nervous–makes your palms sweaty because he’s never looked at you like that. You’re not even sure words could describe what emotion he had on his face. He smiles–not the smile that’s crooked and boyish. It’s the smile that’s sharp and makes his eyes narrow. “I might.”
“You might?” You ask, hating how breathless your voice sounded to your ears–something that he notices with the way amusement practically glimmers in his eyes. You swallow a gasp when his gaze falls to your lips, quickly flying back to your eyes. 
“Maybe,” he whispers and you can’t help but wet your lips, feeling faint when the bright blue of his eyes darkens to black. You don’t flinch when his head tilts, his arm coming to the side to trap you between the couch. His cologne overwhelms you, makes you drunk on him. He’s so close that you can feel his breath hit your face. 
“Satoru–” 
The sound of your phone buzzing crushes the tension quickly and you let him lean back–looking as if he had more to say. You feel a smidge of disappointment as you grab your phone. “It’s Suguru,” you say and you’re not sure why your inner voice begs Satoru to tell you to ignore the phone call–to act like he cares more. 
“Shouldn’t you answer it?” He questions and you hate that sinking feeling in your stomach when he doesn’t even spare a glance at you–as if acting like he wasn’t about to kiss you seconds ago. You can only frown, nodding as you watch him stand up–still not offering you one single look. “I’ll clean up.”
As you glance at your phone, at the name of Suguru appearing on your screen, you hope for the slightest bit of joy–that lovesick feeling you get whenever you’d see him. Yet, it felt wrong. This felt wrong. And apparently, Suguru could tell from your voice that there was something bugging you. 
“Is everything alright? You don’t sound too good.”
Your eyes linger on Satoru’s figure moving to the kitchen. You think Suguru mentions something about a date but you don’t pay much attention, not feeling all that bad as you drown out his voice. “Yeah. I’m fine. What were you saying?”
“I was asking if you wanted to go to dinner with me tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at 7 and we can–”
“Sure,” you say, trying to ignore the way your body lurches at your response–as if it didn’t want this. “Sure. I’ll see you at 7.”
You don’t catch what he says when he hangs up, only thinking of how Satoru looked at you when he was leaning closer. The thought doesn’t horrify you as much as it should but you think that if he had kissed you, you probably would’ve kissed him back. 
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If someone told you a month ago that you were going on a date with Suguru, you would’ve cried tears of joy and celebrated. But now, you’re almost undeniably feeling a wave of indifference hit you and it feels awful. Suguru’s perfect–his sharp features and his charming smile that’d send anyone into a frenzied mess. Or maybe most tend to fixate on how suave he is with his words–mixing the subtlest of flirtations with simple compliments.
He’s everything you could’ve asked for. Yet, you find yourself missing the ruthless beauty you saw in Satoru–the striking blue of his eyes and the rare color of his hair. You find yourself missing the rasp of his voice, how it’d soften that night when he comforted you; you find yourself missing his warm and strong embrace as he took care of you in your inebriated state; you find yourself missing how close he was that night on his couch and how he looked at you. 
At some point, you found yourself replaying that scene over and over again. The first few times, you were giddy with hormones as you imagined him leaning closer and kissing you. After a while, you wanted the image gone because it didn’t happen. He pulled away. He let you pick up the call from Suguru. He acted like nothing happened when in reality, a lot did happen. You two were finally breaching the line of friends and he knew that. 
So why? That question plagued your mind for days after and every time you think you forgot about it, the memory of him would remind you all over again. And when he only congratulated you when you told him about your date with Suguru you felt betrayed. Why don’t you care? You almost blurted out but technically he did care. After all, he was the one who was trying to set you guys up so why did you suddenly want to change your mind?
You think you might hate him a little for being so good at acting like everything’s normal and you think you might hate more for making your heart beat so fast. Things weren’t supposed to end up like this. You weren’t supposed to imagine your best friend kissing you breathless or taking you on a date. 
Everything’s going to fall into place, you tell yourself. You’ve already dolled up and were in the middle of spraying your perfume when Getou messaged you that he was already here. He’s relaxed in the car as you enter the car. This scene feels the same, you think to yourself, recalling the way Gojo greeted you the last time he picked you up.
“You’re wearing the shirt you wore to the party,” Getou points out and you look down at your shirt, gaping at the revelation that you’re wearing the same top Gojo told you to wear. Even with the company of another man, your subconscious still wishes he was here. 
“I didn’t even notice,” you mumble, smiling at the brown-haired male as he drives. The small talk is all natural as you two make your way to the restaurant and you’re grateful that Suguru’s such an easy person to talk with. He’s nice. Really nice and you feel almost guilty for not being as enthusiastic as you wanted to be. 
It’s only when you’re midway through the meal that he mentions it. “You’re not here.”
“What?”
“Here,” he shrugs, glancing at you with an empty smile. “You’re thinking about something else aren’t you?”
“I’m not–”
“Don’t worry I’m not mad,” he says and you know he’s telling the truth. “I’m curious. What are you thinking about?”
This makes you squirm in discomfort, a bit uneasy at how perfectly he read you. Satoru’s always made comments about Getou’s intuitive feeling for emotions and you’re starting to think he wasn’t exaggerating. “What if I don’t wanna tell you?” You joke.
“Then you’d leave me to assume,” he answers easily, the corner of his lips curling upwards. “I’m not an idiot (Name). I know when a lady’s thinking about someone else in my presence.”
When you try to protest, he only smiles. “Is it Satoru?”
Your silence is enough said. You want to deny him–want to shake your head and utter a firm “no.” But something about the question makes you lose your sense of thought and Suguru understands that too. “Are you in love with him?”
This catches your attention. “No. I like you not him.”
“Aren’t we well past the point of lying now?” He gives a good-natured chuckle. “If you liked me then you wouldn’t have looked at your phone so many times as if you were expecting a call.”
You widen your eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to–”
“Nah I’m really not mad,” he sighs. “But I’m interested in why you didn’t decline my offer for a date.”
You’re silent for a while, musing over his words. “When you called me, Satoru and I were about to kiss. Or well–at least I think we were about to kiss.
“So why’d you pick it up? I know Satoru enough to know that a call from me isn’t enough to make him stop with whatever he’s doing,” he raises a brow and you catch a roll of his eyes as he remembers something. 
“It’s because he was the one who was setting us up together.”
Suguru makes a sound of confusion, nodding at you to continue. You take a big breath. “I asked Satoru to help me get with you.”
Getou makes a “o’ with his mouth, nodding in consideration as he processes your words. His pity makes you feel small and you’re finally experiencing the impact tenfold. “Oh (Name).”
“Yeah,” you shrug. “So now I’m pretty sure I messed up the friendship because I was stupid and he’s never gonna like me back–”
“That’s not true,” he stops you, taking a sip from his wine. “Satoru’s different around you.”
“Well that’s because I’ve known him for a while now.”
“Maybe. But he doesn’t go out of his way to help people like he does with you. Even an idiot could notice that.”
“That doesn’t mean he likes me back–”
“You don’t know that yet,” he retorts, that smile of his returning again. “Just like I didn’t know you were in love with my best friend the entire time.”
You wince, swallowing as you peer up at him. You know he didn’t intend for the comment to burn but a small part of you thinks he did it on purpose. The sight of you sulking brings a wider grin to play on his face. “Relax. I’m only playing with you,” he pauses. “I’m a bit jealous that Satoru's got such a cute girl in love with him though.” 
His teasing makes you laugh. “What if he doesn’t love her back?”
“Then he’d be an idiot,” he says, giving you a look as he asks for the bill. “If he breaks your heart you know who to go to. I’d be happy to have you for myself.”
You roll your eyes, smiling softly when he coyly smiles. Suguru was kind enough to offer to drop you off at your place but you told him you wanted to see Satoru—bringing a surprised look on the brown-haired male’s face. You’re not sure how apparent it was, but you reeked of anxiety and Suguru was quick to point it out.
“I’ll wait for you,” he says nonchalantly, shooing you with his hand once you stare at him in bewilderment. “Go. Just do me a favor and message me when you guys are gonna get uh intimate.”
“We’re not—“ you click your tongue at his grin. You thank him, rushing to Satoru’s flat—the sound of your heels clicking against the floor. 
If you were in a movie, there would be dramatic music playing in the background—perhaps orchestra or a sappy love song. The scene was so cliche but you’re understanding why the protagonists always ran: it was love. You were in love with Gojo Satoru. 
You ring his doorbell, fixing your hair as you ready yourself to see him—mentally preparing the script of your confession. Please be home, please be home, please—
The door opens and a plethora of blue looks back at you, the surprise evident in them. You visibly brighten, smiling as you see him. “Satoru I—“
“Satoru?” another voice says from behind him—the voice evidently female. You freeze, feeling as if this image was in slow motion as you see a glimpse of a girl behind Satoru. Your eyes flit to both of them, the speech you prepared in your head drying up like a sore. “Who’s this?”
You hate that you can only watch. “It’s just a friend. Why don’t you go back inside for a bit, yeah?”
She’s so pretty, it hurts. There wasn’t a speck of imperfection on her and the need to curl up in a ball never felt stronger. The girl nods at Satoru, glancing at you in curiosity as she leaves you two alone. 
You think you might hate a little bit for looking at you in concern. “Is there something wrong? Are you okay? If something—“
“No. Nothing’s wrong I’m just—“ you say, wishing your voice was louder at this moment. You avoid his eyes, fearing that you’d end up crying in front of him if you continued to stare at him. “I need to go.” 
“What? But you just got here—“
“I don’t know why I came here. This was a mistake and I—“ you sigh shakily, turning on your heel to leave. 
Satoru grabs you by the wrist, his gaze soft as he shakes his head when he sees you try to pry his hand off of you. “Just tell me what I can do—“
“Suguru’s waiting for me,” you say quickly, ignoring the way his face drops. “He’s outside right now.” 
You hold your breath the moment his hand slowly slips off your wrist, taking a few steps back as you make your way outside. Not once do you turn back as you try your best to hold the tears in—ultimately failing as they fall as quickly as they appear. 
By the time you reach Suguru’s car, your make-up is already ruined. At first, he snaps his head back at you with a smile, the curve of lips quickly disappearing as he sees your lip trembling. “No?”
“No,” you confirm, sitting back into the car and wiping your tears with a tissue he hands you. There’s no words spoken between you two as he starts the car, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. Ironically, you listen to the soundtrack of “The Other Woman” playing in his car and he’s quick to change the song. He clears his throat.
“I didn’t think he was that stupid,” he says after some time, signaling right as he reaches the stop light. 
“He wasn’t,” you murmur. “I was the stupid one for thinking that we could be more than friends.”
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After the ordeal a couple nights ago, you’re not even ashamed that you’re blatantly avoiding Gojo like the plague. You even turned off your read receipts for him which you would’ve found so petty if you didn’t feel so frantic at the sound of his name. Originally, you thought he’d put up more of a fight and be more persistent in getting your attention–only you were proven wrong when you didn’t see any of his attempts increasing. 
Disappointed, you were caught in a dilemma. You wanted this distance but craved his presence. At some point, your thoughts ran dry and you were in a slump. Were you always this bad at making up your mind?  
No. You weren’t. You didn’t think excessively hard when you decided you liked Getou and when you stopped liking him. Nor did you think super hard about your other crushes. Gojo made your brain hurt and if this was love, you’re not sure you really liked it; but it felt so nice to think about how it would feel to be loved by him–to have him kiss you. 
Which is why you thought it was a great idea to avoid him because surely time makes the feelings fade. And you hope they fade fast–especially after you saw him with that girl. You bite back your jealousy at the thought of what they did together. Today was supposed to be a mental health day. It was if fate allowed you to have little to nothing to do and you were going to take advantage of it. 
The coffee house was ambient with the occasional loud laughter from groups of friends. You were halfway through your book, taking a sip from your drink as you flipped the pages. This was what you were meant for: reading novels in a cafe, keeping a low profile, and protecting your peace. 
You’re about midway through the big plot twist until you hear the sound of a chair scraping and your heart freezes in your chest when you see Gojo stare back at you. Only this time, he looks serious and even annoyed. 
“I knew I’d find you here,” he begins, tapping his finger nails on the wooden table. You don’t miss the way a few people take a few double-takes when they walk past him. So much for keeping a low profile. 
“Gojo,” you acknowledge him awkwardly, fidgeting with the pages of your book.
Your stomach does a flip when his jaw twitches and his eyes cross your face. He sighs, leaning back and adjusting his seating position. “Are you mad at me?”
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“You literally just called me Gojo,” he said and if you were more rational, you would’ve laughed at how childish he sounded over you not using his first name. 
“A lot of people call you Gojo,” you point out, still not meeting his eyes. 
“You’re not just ‘a lot of people.’ And you always call me Satoru,” he murmurs. 
You tense up. There he goes again: treating you like you’re special. It makes you confused and makes your heartbeat skip. You clear your throat. “I’m not mad at you.”
“Then why are you avoiding me?” He says, a bit loudly at that. It was unlike Gojo to attract attention to personal matters in public and the guilt hits you. You were so caught up in your own feelings that you completely ignored how he would’ve felt. Even if he only thought of you as a friend, anyone would’ve felt mad if put in the situation you put Gojo in. 
You glance at the curious gazes in the cafe, grabbing him by the hand as you pull him outside to a secluded area. You quickly drop his hand, a bit surprised that he let you even hold it. “What are you talking about?” You ask, not sure why you’re playing dumb. 
“You’re avoiding me,” he says, staring down at you. Sometimes, you forget how tall Satoru really is and how his gaze can make anyone feel small. “Did I do something to make you mad?”
You think back to him and the girl. “No you didn’t do anything.”
“Then what the hell is it?” He says, sounding more mad than you initially thought. His eyes scan over your face–observing your pursed lips and aversion from his eyes. He clicks his tongue. “Is this about the other night?”
You really wish you didn’t snap your head so fast to meet his eyes. The other night could’ve meant many things but you knew he was referring to a specific one. “No,” you say and you already know he doesn’t believe you. 
“(Name),” he says softly. “Were you jealous?” Hearing him saying it out loud makes you cringe. You shake your head adamantly, trying to muster up the courage to not break eye-contact with him. You wonder if he could hear how loud your heartbeat was. “I’m not jealous. Why would I be jealous?”
“You tell me,” he voices in that tone that tells you that he’s already figured it out. For all the years you’ve known Gojo, you’ve become well-acquainted with his habits and his mannerisms. And you knew him well enough to realize that he wasn’t going to stop with the questions until you told him the truth. 
He always did this. Always made sure to pummel the truth out of you and it didn’t matter how dirty he played. “Then why did you go to me in the first place? Didn’t you have Suguru outside waiting for you?”
“I–”
“What was so important about what you wanted to tell me that you left Suguru waiting for you? What was it and why are you so scared that you’re avoiding me?”
“It’s because I like you!” You finally say, knowing that he bested you in this game of his. The regret hits you so hard you feel like running away again. Only this, he doesn’t let you when he pulls you by the shoulder. 
“What?” He says breathlessly, his eyes wide with wonder. It’s over, you think to yourself. He’s going to hate you after this because you ruined the friendship. 
“I avoided you because I like you,” you admit quietly. “And because I saw you with that girl the other night.”
“(Name)...” 
“Stop,” you murmur, feeling the tears form. “Stop. I already know what you’re gonna say, okay? It doesn’t matter anymore.”
You shrug him off, wiping your tears with your sleeve. The plans for “protecting your peace” almost seemed silly now because you couldn’t rewind time and undo all of this. You don’t bother saying goodbye to Gojo as you take your chances in leaving. And you desperately wonder how you were going to move on from this. 
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Gojo thinks he’s in a fever dream. Your confession stunned him into oblivion and if it weren’t for your tears, he thinks he might’ve stayed in one spot for hours on end. The night you came over, Gojo already had enough on his mind. Seeing you in the flesh made him lose the logical side of his brain and his mind just replayed that night you two nearly kissed. 
He remembered being able to taste how nervous you were–how you found purchase on his shoulders as he tried his hardest not to pin you to the couch and kiss you stupid. He remembered how soft you were and how that thought would torture him for days on. 
Gojo knew what he did after was an asshole move but he thought the phone call from Suguru served as a reminder that he couldn’t have you. You two were best friends and to ruin that because he wanted you was selfish of him. He was already selfish enough to want to keep you for himself but you wanted Suguru. 
That’s why when you came to his place, he was confused. Gojo did something stupid and didn’t want the thoughts of you to keep popping up. He recalled dialing the number of some girl he stopped talking to ages ago just to not have you occupy his mind. 
When he saw your brows furrow at the sight of her, he was surprised to say the least. He ruled out the possibility of jealousy early on and just kept it as that. But now, on this chilly afternoon and in some secluded corner, you were confessing to him. 
You like him. You like him back. Sure, you didn’t love him like he loves you (or at least he thinks so) but that's besides the point. He collects himself the moment he sees the tears forming in your eyes, panic coursing through him. 
Did his silence make you misunderstand? Did you know that he was ready to scream and tell the whole world that he finally got the girl of his dreams? How he was prepared to pull you into a crushing hug and hold you like he had heaven in his arms? 
He forgot you weren’t a mind reader and it dawned on him that he caused your tears. He doesn’t want to be the guy who lets misunderstandings marinate nor does he want to be the cause of your fallout. He was going to fix this. 
If you thought he was going to let you go that easily then you severely underestimate him. Because Gojo Satoru was willing to fight for your love.
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You think you’re in some sappy k-drama when he grabs you by the wrist the second time. If you weren’t crying your eyes out, you would’ve laughed at him and he would’ve laughed with you. But there’s only a wave of frustration when he doesn’t let go. “Satoru let me go–”
“No,” he says with a deadpan and you almost think he sounds desperate. You’re about to say something but he only steps closer. “You can’t run away like you did before. That’s the easy way out–”
“I’m not–”
“You are,” he interrupts. “And I’m not gonna let you because you’re gonna listen to what I have to say.”
You’re almost reluctant to stay silent but you give in when he squeezes your wrist–as if begging you to stay. You sigh. “Fine.”
“Good,” he whispers, racking his brain for what to say. He takes a deep breath. “A while back, I said I didn’t understand how the characters from romance movies always knew what to say in moments like these. You know those super long speeches? It seemed unrealistic to me but I think I understand now.”
You let him continue, clinging onto every word that falls from his lips. “It’s so easy to say stuff like this. When you’re in love with someone, you notice the little things about them. I noticed you and you were the only thing on my mind. You still are the only thing on my mind. Do you get what I mean?”
You watch in awe as he continues, stuttering over some of his words which was so rare for him. “The night you told me you liked Suguru I was so annoyed. I’ve never gotten jealous of Suguru or anyone but I wanted to be the one that you liked. I wanted to be the one that you dressed up for and the one you smiled at. It drove me insane when you went on a date with him and I hate that I didn’t just say fuck it and steal you away sooner.”
He takes a chance to catch his breath, ruffling his hair as he finally flashes you a crooked grin–a mix of embarrassed and boyish. “That girl you saw me with…I never did anything with her,” he admits and you think you might fall over from shock. “I couldn’t. I just kept thinking about you and I wanted you on my mind all the time. I didn’t want to think about anyone else and didn’t want anyone to take your place–”
“What I’m trying to say is that I’m in love with you,” he finally says. “I already said that earlier but I want to say it again. I think I’ve always loved you–even when we were kids. I think little kid me always wanted your attention. I just never knew what I felt until I realized that you weren’t mine–not mine to love. And I don’t think there’s nothing in the world that I want more than you.”
At this point, your mouth is already ready to catch flies as you listen to his ramblings about his affections. You think you might cry. Gojo’s usually not good with words but you can tell how genuine he is–how much he meant this. “Then all those times you helped me with Suguru?”
“I hated doing that,” he huffs. “I swear I was about to punch Suguru every time he called you cute.”
You laugh, feeling jittery all over. “Would you?”
“I’m a bit worried that you like that idea a bit too much.”
You grin, shrugging. “Maybe a little. I guess I should tell you that I really wanted you to kiss me when we were on the couch.”
“You did?” He practically beams, cupping your face with his hand. You feel your stomach do twists when his thumb grazes the skin of your cheek softly, as if this was always normal. 
“And I should probably tell you that I love you too,” you say firmly, gaining a rush of confidence. “And you should probably kiss me right now.”
The smile on his face might just be the prettiest thing you’ve seen in the world. He leans in, cupping your face as he presses his lips against yours. The way he holds you makes you feel safe and you think you might love him a little more when he moves his hand to your neck. 
You break the kiss. “Does this mean we’re dating now?”
He laughs. “Do I need to kiss you again for you to say yes?” 
When you nod, he pulls you in again and again. And if this was his way of asking, you’d say yes each time. 
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bumblinv · 1 year
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Hii, saw your request were open!
This might not even make sense, because I don't even know if the na'vi have this too
But some hc to human reader getting their period earlier than expected and the sully kids + tsireya, aonung and roxto reaction to weird human biology
Thanks alot and stay healthy!!
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--- sex ed. class ☆゚.*・。゚
platonic!various x gn!human!reader
!! in my hc, fem na'vi doesn't menstruate !!
teaching your na’vi friends, who doesn’t menstruate, the beautiful world of human biology
part 1! part 2
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"so, your... thing bleeds every month?"
you nod
"are you stupid?
"i'm sorry?"
ao'nung clicks his tongue, looking at you with disbelieve. "that means you're doing something, only Eywa knows what, to yourself. and you’re doing it so badly that it bleeds-"
you hit him on the head, "no! what are you even thinking?"
"no, but seriously" neteyam looks at you with concern, "forgive me for watching you, but this morning i saw you wash your blanket that’s literally soaked with blood"
your face starts to heat up, "that means the cloth i use wasn't enough-"
"3 pieces of cloth to soak your blood. and it wasn't even enough?" tsireya's voice filled with worry, "are you sure you're okay? we could ask my mother to patch you up" 
"reya, im fine-"
"no you're not! you came to her for painkillers this morning, to mend your stomach cramps!"
"its probably tape worms"
"no shit", rotxo snickers
"or just a real bad constipation"
"rotxo, ao’nung please” kiri rolls her eyes, tired of their stupidity. “they clearly said that the bleeding comes from their other below"
not long after lo'ak snaps his head towards you, mouth agape. "holy shit. i think i know what's going on", then quickly moves closer to you. his face just a few inches from yours, his terrified look terrifies you
"my mother experienced the same things as you, when we were about to have tuk. stomach hurting, below bleeding- "
"no. fucking. way” rotxo clasps his mouth, “are you about to give birth?"
"what?"
ao’nung’s jaw dropped. “who knocked you up?” 
“that’s it i’m taking you to the tsahik” 
“STOP” 
your friends went quiet. 
they could only stare at your flushed face as your breathing went erratic. 
you gulp, trying to calm yourself down. you close your eyes, inhaling a good amount of oxygent to fill your lungs and letting your mind go blank. then, you could open your mouth again
"as you all know, female bodies bear children in their uterus, yes?"
they all nod
"good. now the uterus, in human bodies specifically, would prepare for pregnancy every month-"
"so you need to get pregnant every month?"
"shut up rotxo"
"wait a minute" kiri cuts you off, "you’re not pregnant, but you’re currently bleeding. so the bleeding occurs when the pregnancy doesn’t happen?"
"yup. because i'm not pregnant, my womb's lining shreds out"
their terrified screams deafens you
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steddielations · 6 months
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There’s a dog that comes around the trailer park when Eddie moves in with Wayne, back when his head was shaved and his eyes were still haunted by the walls of his dad's house. No one wanted to play with the gaunt looking weird kid, so the first friend he made in Hawkins was this big brown dog, way bigger than any others. It was almost scary, wolf-like but he acted like a puppy, nudging Eddie with his snout, cheering him up, always wanting to play like maybe it was lonely too.
Then Eddie made friends at school, the dog visited less as he got older and more sure of himself, denouncing cliques, especially the jocks who lorded over everyone. The dog stopped visiting entirely and Eddie started to worry something happened to it.
Years later, he spots it with Robin Buckley of all people. She’s talking to it, which might seem strange but Eddie always felt like the dog was a good listener too. After that, he tries to find his old friend again and one night, he catches a glimpse of him but he disappears into the woods.
Instead, Eddie sees Steve Harrington later that night, disheveled and dirtied, total opposite to his usual pristine polos and perfect hair. It’s so out of place, the first of many times that Eddie sees him while out looking for the dog. Eddie never says anything, can’t imagine Steve reacting well to a moonlight conversation with the freak. Sure, Steve was iced out of the popular crowd for reasons all around the rumor mill, made an odd match with Robin at their mall job before the fire, and weirdly enough the new Hellfire boys seem to worship the ground he walks on, but Eddie has no impression of Steve beyond that.
Then Chrissy Cunningham dies in his living room. Eddie runs like hell, terrified and ashamed, hiding in the boathouse. He feels like a scared kid again and finds himself wishing for the dog, his first friend that never judged him and always made him feel safe.
That’s when an unlikely group shows up and Eddie has no time to hide, like they tracked him there by scent. Steve Harrington rushes right to him with big brown puppy eyes that feel so familiar somehow, so comforting. Stunned, Eddie lets Steve wrap him in a warm hug, nuzzling his ear with soft assurances, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m so glad we found you. You’re okay.”
To Eddie's amazement, his body just melts into Steve’s embrace, like greeting an old friend.
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raavenb2619 · 3 months
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I’m not sure when exactly this happened, but I think it’s clear that the aro community really is a community, now.
For the longest time I’ve felt like we were still in stasis, not quite there; a proto-community, yes, but not quite a community. But we have more history now to lean back on, more of each other to talk to and laugh with and cry with and learn from. More people that’ll go forward and make a part of modern aro history. More people that believe us, believe in us, will stand with us if we ask them.
I wouldn’t consider myself an aro elder yet, though each year I’m surprised at how long aromanticism has been a part of my life, how long I’ve been free of doubt or insecurity about my aromanticism, how far we’ve come since I was questioning. Then again, when I was questioning, some of the people I looked up to for guidance were probably close to the age I am now, so I might be there sooner than I think.
And, I’m so so hopeful for all aros, young or old, new or not, because we’ve come so far. Day by day, progress is slow (and yes, it’s unfair, it should be so much faster), but looking back it feels fast. We are our own role models, the people we look up to for guidance. We carve our own path through life, making things up as we go. I used to find that terrifying, because I had no idea what the future would bring. But it’s actually amazing, because I can ignore all these silly “rules” and guidelines about what my life should be, and instead ask, “what do I want my life to be?”
Younger me, you have no idea how awesome your future is gonna be. I’m sorry about the pain and hardship you’ll go through first; it won’t be fair and you shouldn’t have to deal with it. But you’ll make it through, and one day you’ll be me. I can’t wait for you to get here.
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grison-in-space · 4 months
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Listening to Artificial Condition again, it strikes me how much Murderbot uses empathy reflexively as a survival skill. Look at this bit.
Upon meeting it, ART allows it on board and then announces that it knows that Murderbot is rogue. Then ART threatens to destroy it if it hacks ART's own systems. Murderbot is immediately terrified and shuts down all inputs, gives serious thought to spending the entire three month journey unconscious, and then considers the potential avenues of damage from ART's drones. ART, not realizing why Murderbot had suddenly gone silent, tells it to quit sulking, which understandably pisses off the still-terrified Murderbot. It dumps a bunch of memories of coercive treatment into ART's feed, and ART goes silent.
Then this happens:
Then it said, I’m sorry I frightened you. Okay, well. If you think I trusted that apology, you don’t know Murderbot. Most likely it was playing a game with me. I said, “I don’t want anything from you. I just want to ride to your next destination.” I’d explained that earlier, before it opened the hatch for me, but it was worth repeating. I felt it withdraw back behind its wall. I waited, and let my circulatory system purge the fear-generated chemicals. More time crawled by, and I started to get bored. Sitting here like this was too much like waiting in a cubicle after I’d been activated, waiting for the new clients to take delivery, for the next boring contract. If it was going to destroy me, at least I could get some media in before that happened. I started the new show again, but I was still too upset to enjoy it, so I stopped it and started rewatching an old episode of Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon. After three episodes, I was calmer and reluctantly beginning to see the transport’s perspective. A SecUnit could cause it a lot of internal damage if it wasn’t careful, and rogue SecUnits were not exactly known for lying low and avoiding trouble. I hadn’t hurt the last transport I had taken a ride on, but it didn’t know that. I didn’t understand why it had let me aboard, if it really didn’t want to hurt me. I wouldn’t have trusted me, if I was a transport. Maybe it was like me, and it had taken an opportunity because it was there, not because it knew what it wanted.
The thing about Murderbot's survival is that it clearly involves quite a bit of negotiating with other constructs and bots. That's how it talks its way onto cargo hauler bots in the first place. It uses empathy--envisioning the emotional and cognitive context of the individuals it encounters--to work out what different kinds of people want, so that it can offer them fair trades. It also uses empathy to consider what humans might be looking for, so it can practice blending in and hide.
Murderbot would never have survived so long if it wasn't capable of assessing the individual desires of the people--human, bot, and construct--around it. It thinks about ART's probable fears and motivations so that it can consider whether ART is inherently an ongoing threat or a potential ally.
When your survival depends on evading detection, you get really good at assessing perceptual biases so that you can shape yourself to fit into them. People talk about murderbot being radically empathetic as a choice it makes, or as a feature of its personality that makes it a good person. But I think murderbot would be the the first person to tell you that this empathy is part of its threat assessment suite, a skill that was developed out of necessity in order to allow you to survive.
It is also a trait that makes murderbot a good person, of course: it chooses very carefully to try to survive by doing as little harm as possible and by offering things, like media, that buy it access to things it needs. But it started as a survival skill. It's part of hypervigilance.
I think one of the strengths of this series is that so many of the things we love about SecUnit are traits developed for survival in an inherently threatening world. The shape of its mind and heart have been changed by the trauma of its origin--but they don't make murderbot less good for being altered, even if that skill was developed in a traumatic context.
I like that.
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tojisun · 5 months
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OMG. the helmet!!:!!:!: this might be biker simon https://pin.it/3aqBTs5
holy fuck the details on that??? AND THE MUSSY HAIR????
THIS MIGHT BE BIKER!SIMON FR
…ok but it def terrified you when you first saw his helmet 😭
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you’ve been hearing johnny joke about simon being in his emo phase, talking about a skull helmet and teasingly call it cringe so you had… low expectations about what it could look like. you’ve seen graphic art on helmets before so you ascribed those to simon’s – a helmet you haven’t seen yet given that simon kept picking you up with his car instead so you never got the chance to glance at the art.
one night, simon messaged you saying that he’d crash at your place for the time being. the meet dragged on, apparently it’s because many members were preparing for the upcoming rally, and you replied to him, saying that he give you a call so you can unlock the door for him.
it’s two in the morning when simon calls, his muffled voice ragged from exhaustion as he tells you he’s outside. you mumble sleepily to him, dismissing his murmured apologies as you amble towards your door.
you peer through the peephole, fear dousing your previous exhaustion because what the fuck is that on the other side of your door.
“sweetheart?” simon’s voice crackles from your phone and you jolt, air rushing back into your lungs. you quietly turn, speeding away from your door to lock yourself in your bathroom, panicked breaths rasping from your dry lips.
“si,” you whisper, your voice broken from a building sob. “there’s someone outside my apartment.”
“what?!” simon replies, his own exhaustion morphing into concern. “do you see them from your room? are you safe?”
“yes,” you murmur, afraid to speak any louder. “i-i don’t know where you are right now but i saw them from my peephole and- si, i’m scared.”
there is an unusual pause on the other line, something you don’t expect from simon, before hearing him breathe in deeply and exhale with a trembling laugh.
“shit, baby,” he says, his voice racked with mirth. “fuck, this is on me but, uh, that’s me that you saw.”
…what?
“what?” you repeat out loud.
“what you might’ve seen is my helmet. remember how i customized it with a skull design?” he clarifies, still sounding so fond before a muffled thumping echoes from his line. then, “i removed my helmet so if you want to check again, you’d see it’s me.”
you nibble on your bottom lip, feeling your heart begin to calm down. “y’promise?”
“on my life, baby.”
that’s all you needed before tiptoeing back to your door, hearing the way simon is still murmuring soft assurances of your safety, and peering through the peephole. you see simon – mussed up hair and exhausted eyes, but that’s simon alright.
you fling your door open, forgetting that you were in a call with him, and instantly dive into his arms. simon catches you with a quiet oof before fixing his arms around you properly.
“shh,” simon whispers, pressing kisses on the top of your head. “i’m home now. y’r safe.”
“m’sorry,” you sniff, embarrassment filling you up now as the panic completely bleeds away.
simon chuckles before pinching your chin to make you look at him. he smiles at you softly when you finally meet his eyes. “nothin’ to be sorry for, baby. i’m proud of you for going to safety and telling me right away.” he kisses your forehead. “you did good, sweetheart.”
he cuddles you as you two sleep and tomorrow morning, he shows you his helmet.
he pulls you to his lap, resting his chin on your shoulder as he points at the engraving, telling you about the multiple trial-and-error helmets he’s gone through until he’s finally found the one that he truly liked.
“mm, it’s pretty,” you say, pretending last night didn’t happen
simon kisses your neck. “i’m glad y’like it.”
your lips wobble at the realization that simon is also down to pretend with you.
you shift on his lap and pepper his face with kisses, humming in delight when warm palms cup your ass to push you closer towards him.
(simon doesn’t tell johnny but johnny knows anyway. he drops beside you with a crooked grin, his shoulder bumping yours.
“so you finally saw the helmet?” he asks.
you nod, ignoring the sudden warmth of embarrassment that fills your cheeks. johnny laughs.
“scary, huh?”
“yup,” you say, popping the ‘p’.
he hums, shaking his head. “made me almost piss my pants, lass. y’r not alone.”
that punches a laughter out of you.)
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i live for johnny n reader friendship <333
also ignore how long-ish this turned out again 😭 my fingers truly slipped
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arthur-r · 2 years
Text
hii so i do have babysitting again and then here’s a run down of everything going on:
finishing babysitting at 4
heading to pizza work at 4:30
when i finish pizza work, an irl will pick me up and i will be staying the night at their house and not be online
at 11:00 tomorrow i have a doctors appointment about something scary, and i hope it will go well but i don’t know how long it will last
i have babysitting tomorrow again from 2:00-5:00 as usual
and then piano lessons at 5:15
i will probably not be around all the way until wednesday night after dinner or maybe thursday morning to be online
so it’ll kind of be a while. i hope everything goes good while i’m gone
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hp-hcs · 11 days
Text
i didn’t realize the riddle brothers were a "buy one get one free" type of deal, but alright — simp! overprotective! yandere! riddle brothers x gn! oblivious! bullied! slytherin! reader
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requested by 🎀!
2.5k words, not to brag 😌
i love writing the bros’ interactions with each other as like, actual sibling-core yk? they r just so cutie patootie
the reader's patronus makes an appearance in this, but i tried to make it as accessible to everyone as possible, so it's never explicitly stated what animal it is. it is implied that it’s able-to-fit-under-a-table sized though
also this is totally just pre-slash nothing that interesting happens
warnings: couple mentions of blood, mild descriptions of wounds, implied violence, implied bullying, murder
not edited!! this is my first like, really long fic so constructive criticism is welcome!
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A well-timed shove to the small of your back sent you tumbling down an entire flight of moving stairs. 
You groaned as you hit the bottom, sprawled out on your back on the cold stone floor. You laid there for a moment, winded. You could hear the occupants of a nearby painting titter at your gracefulness (or lack thereof), so you rolled your head to the other side to give them an award winning smile and an unabashed middle finger. 
You could hear them all grumble about kids these days and how I never would’ve treated my elders this way. You just rolled your eyes at their pettiness. 
“Uh…what are you doing?” A decidedly alive voice interrupted your momentary satisfaction.
“Ah- evening, Riddle!” You said cheerily as soon as you recognized the speaker, scrambling to your feet and dusting off your uniform. “Nothing! Just…tripped. Couldn’t see very well in the dark, that’s all.”
Tom blinked, his lips twisted into a frown. “.....Fine. But don’t let me catch you out of bed past curfew again. You’re a Slytherin, for Salazar’s sake. Act like it.”
And that was it. Tom turned on his heel and continued down the hall without another word. Tom Riddle: prefect, teacher’s pet, and obnoxious hardass extraordinaire—he just...let you go, with no threats of detention or loss of house points. 
Huh. 
~~~
Tom, having just returned from a full night’s shift of prefect hall duty, flopped face-down onto his bed, his cheeks aflame as he let out a muffled shriek into his pillow. 
His brother, in the process of getting dressed for the day, paused at the scene in front of him. 
“Dude, what’s your deal?” 
“L/n,” Tom said by way of explanation, kicking his feet as he shrieked into his pillow again. “They acknowledged me. And they know my last name.”
“Most people know our last name, Tom,” Mattheo rolled his eyes.
“No- you don’t understand,” Tom said emphatically. “L/n is like…the cutest person to ever exist. And they’re so sweet, and smart, and funny, and-”
“And terrified of us?”
“Well…”
Mattheo rolled his eyes, putting his hands on his hips. “You talk about them too much. It’s getting insufferable.”
Tom just scowled and flicked his fingers to cast a wandless spell that straightened Mattheo’s tie and neatened his uniform. “The way you dress is insufferable. Slob.”
Mattheo stuck out his tongue at his brother before ruffling Tom’s hair to purposely mess it up. “Dick.”
“Idiot.”
~~~
Mattheo glanced up at you as you hovered uncertainly by the corner of his desk. 
“Can I sit here…?” You mumbled shyly, your cheeks flushing as the pretty dark-haired boy in your year smiled up at you.
“Course!” He grinned brightly before realizing that might have been too enthusiastic of a reply for eight in the morning and quickly tried to cover up his slip. “Uh…Y/n, right? I’m Mattheo.”
“Yeah, I know who you are.”
Mattheo’s stomach dropped.
Fuck, that’s not good.
“You let me copy your homework in third year for that essay on the properties of wormwood, or whatever.” You said offhandedly, like it wasn’t batshit insane to remember that pointlessly tiny detail. “Thank you for that, by the way. Potions sucks ass.”
Before Mattheo could even think, the words left his mouth. “I could tutor you if you want.”
You looked at him oddly, but grinned after a second. “Yeah, sure. That’d actually be really helpful. Snape hates me, man.”
“Really? Even though you’re in Slytherin?”
“Mhm, his baseless nepotism only extends so far.”
Mattheo barked out a startled laugh as your deadpan humor caught him off guard. You just grinned at him in response, causing the tips of his ears to immediately burn bright red.
He cleared his throat awkwardly, ducking his head in embarrassment. “Um…do you wanna meet in the library after school today? For our tutoring session,” Mattheo hurriedly added. 
“Sure, alright.” You shrugged. “See you there.”
He beamed, giving you that stupidly adorable grin once more. “Awesome! Yeah- yeah, cool. Awesome. See you there then.”
~~~
You were still shit at potions.
It had been six weeks of tutoring, and you’d learned pretty much nothing. Although, that wasn’t an issue on Mattheo’s part, but rather on his annoyingly hot older brother’s. 
Tom Riddle was surprisingly funny. For someone who gave off almost exclusively stoically austere bastard vibes, he enjoyed cracking jokes and enlisting your help in pulling pranks on his brother a bit too much.
It became your routine. Every Tuesday and Thursday after school, you would meet the two brothers in the library, waste like three hours joking around and getting absolutely no work done, and then going back to your dorm and ranting to your roommate about how fucking cute they are and how you would gladly pay for the opportunity to make out with one- no, both of them. 
(Your roommate is so fucking tired of hearing about the Riddles. You’d better buy them a latte and a cake-pop as an apology.)
~~~
You struggled to get up, your legs giving out. You cursed under your breath, putting a hand to your forehead as it throbbed in pain. 
It came away sticky with blood. 
This wasn’t going to work, you realized belatedly. With what remained of your strength, you were able to reach out and grab your wand, murmuring a quiet, “Expecto Patronum.”
A spectral creature formed in front of your eyes, remaining motionless as it stared at you. 
“Go find Riddle,” you mumbled to the Patronus, your eyelids growing heavy. 
You barely registered the wispy glowing animal immediately bounding off at your instructions, your vision doubling before your body went completely slack, the wand slipping from your fingers and hitting the tile floor with a clatter. 
~~~
Mattheo doodled mindlessly in the margins of his parchment as his brother droned on and on about the properties of willow bark in potions and really, this is important, Mattheo. Pay attention.
“Why isn’t Y/n here yet?” Mattheo asked his brother for the third time. 
Tom rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, Matt. Just like how I didn't know when you asked me five minutes ago. Maybe they just don’t want to see your stupid face any more, huh?”
“What if they’re in trouble? Or hurt?” Mattheo worried, chewing on his thumbnail and ignoring his brother’s insult. “They’re never late, Tommy.”
Tom wrinkled his nose at the use of the dumb (albeit endearing) nickname Mattheo gave him when they were children, but the sinking feeling in his gut at hearing his brother’s distressed tone didn’t help to ease the niggling worries at the back of his mind of maybe they are in trouble.
As if on cue, Mattheo shivered as something icy cold brushed against his ankles. He glanced down. A glowing spectral creature nudged his leg, looking up at him expectantly with unnervingly empty eyes. 
A Patronus. 
Y/n’s Patronus.
~~~
They followed the Patronus down the deserted hall, the animal occasionally pausing to make sure the boys were both still following it before bounding forward again.
The Patronus stopped in front of a bathroom door, giving them both that same unnervingly hollow-eyed stare of expectancy.
Tom gulped and pushed open the door, fearing that he might find the worst.
He did.
~~~
Your eyes cracked open slowly, and you winced at the multitude of stinging and stabbing pains that wracked your body.
You had to blink a couple times for everything to come into focus. You were in a small room with white walls and white flooring, and the gentle dawn illuminated the quiet space with soft rays of light. The steady beep of a vitals monitor faded into the background as you stared down at yourself.
You weren’t wearing a shirt, for one, or even a hospital gown. Pretty much your entire upper torso was wrapped in bloodstained gauze. The jagged edges of a brutal slash across your chest peeked out of the top of the dressings, and you had to close your eyes and hold your breath for a moment to keep from throwing up. Once you’d calmed back down, you opened your eyes, startled to see that you weren’t alone.
Mattheo had pulled up a chair to the side of your hospital bed and crossed his arms on the mattress, using them as a makeshift pillow. His dark lashes fanned across his cheeks, his breaths slow and even. He looked so peaceful and...unguarded in his sleep. You reached down to brush a loose curl away from his forehead.
“Having fun?”
You startled, jerking your hand back. 
Tom leaned against the doorframe of your room with an amused expression, quirking an eyebrow and wiggling his fingers in a wave.
“Shut up,” you hissed back in a whisper, your cheeks flaring red. 
Tom’s amused grin only grew at your dark blush as he invited himself into your room fully, closing the door behind him.
 “Your secret’s safe with me.” He jokingly winked, tapping the side of his nose.
“You’re insufferable.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“What am I doing here?” You quickly changed topics, refusing to even look down in Mattheo’s direction. 
Tom sighed, any amusement on his face rapidly vanishing. “You sent us a Patronus, thank Merlin. Pomfrey said you would’ve bled out if you hadn’t.”
You had no memory of casting the Patronus charm at all, but you trusted Tom’s recollection of events better than your own jumbled and spotty one. “Bled out?” You questioned, your heart hammering in your throat as your voice climbed an octave in anxiety.
Tom nodded, his face carefully schooled into a blank and neutral expression. “You were hit with the Sectumsempra spell. You've been out for three days now.”
Your brow furrowed. “Malfoy got hit with that last year though—and was in and out of the infirmary in less than a day.”
“Snape knew the counterspell and found ‘im just in time last year,” Mattheo mumbled sleepily, his eyes still closed as he tuned into the conversation at hand. “But whoever hit you with it just left you there to die.”
“Charming.” You mutter under your breath.
“Regardless of what happened in Malfoy’s instance,” Tom interrupted briskly. “You were on the brink of literal death. So I’ll ask you this one time and one time only. Who did it, Y/n?”
~~~
“I brought you a cookie from the Great Hall,” Mattheo grinned widely, climbing into your hospital bed next to you and unwrapping the napkin in his hand. “And the notes from today’s Charms lesson, but those’re boring and we both know you won’t actually read ‘em.”
“Aww, you know me so well.” You teased, breaking the cookie in half and handing him one of the pieces.
Mattheo cupped the cookie fragment in his hands like it was a priceless treasure, staring down at it in unrestrained awe. 
You just shook your head at his antics and brushed the odd reaction off.
~~~
You woke up this morning and just felt like shit. You were nauseous, and dizzy, and felt borderline faint. Tom’s voice, usually soothing and comforting to hear, sounded like nails on a chalkboard right now. He rambled on and on about the delicate process of making the temperamental Felix Felicis potion. 
“Tom,” you interrupted, your voice scratchy and quiet. “Can we take a break? Please?”
He blinked, surprised at being interrupted, but nodded slowly. “I suppose…? Why?”
“Don’t feel good,” you mumbled, setting your textbook down and rubbing your eyes. 
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Madame Pomfrey said brusquely as she bustled around your hospital room, shooing Tom out of the way to stand by your bedside. 
(Poppy Pomfrey remains the only person who can and has shooed Tom Riddle III and lived to tell the tale—and all without a single ounce of fear.)
“I’ve raised your dosage so that you can be out of here in time for your N.E.W.T.s.” Pomfrey elaborated upon seeing your confused look.
“Fantastic.” You mumbled dryly, grinning sleepily up at Tom as he grabbed onto your hand and interlaced your fingers together. He ignored the way his heart skipped a beat in favor of letting you hold his sweaty palm.
“Go to sleep, L/n,” Tom muttered under his breath. “Potions can wait.”
~~~
Tom lay in your hospital bed beside you, running his thumb over your knuckles. “Please? We promise we won’t do anything.”
“Yeah,” Mattheo chimed in from the other side of your crowded bed, one arm tossed over your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Or at least, nothing we’ll get caught for.”
You sigh, tired of their ceaseless pleading. “Alright, alright, fine. I’ll tell you who it was.”
Both boys leaned in close.
You sigh again and roll your eyes at their overprotectiveness. “Alright, it was-”
~~~
Tucker Thompson and Devin Dobbs: Gryffindor Sixth Years Found MURDERED at Hogwarts! Dumbledore: “No comment at this time.”
You tilted the newspaper so Madame Pomfrey could read the article over your shoulder as she replaced your IV bag. 
Pomfrey just sighed and rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand how Skeeter is still employed at the Prophet.”
“Cause shock value will always hold weight in the media?” You answered dryly around a mouthful of depressingly plain infirmary wing toast. “And Skeeter’s good at nothing if not coming up with bullshit shock value titles.”
“That may be true,” she began, snatching the paper from your hands. “But patients shouldn’t be reading about such dark subjects, and certainly not while under my care. And don’t talk while eating. I rather like your company, and would hate to see you choke.”
You rolled your eyes at her suffocatingly motherly behavior. “So are they? Thompson and Dobbs; they’re really dead?”
Madame Pomfrey hesitated.
You let out a relieved breath of air that you tried (and failed) to hide behind a cough. “That’s…terrible.”
She narrowed her eyes and studied you for a long moment, her fingers mindlessly worrying the deckle edge of the newspaper in her hands. “It was them, wasn’t it? Your boys.”
“My boys?”
“Yes, yes, Riddles one and two. Your boys.”
“Oh- we’re not…”
She raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips as she tried to hold back a laugh at the utter obliviousness of teenagers. “Do they know that, dear?”
You spluttered out a half-assed rebuke to her statement, but Pomfrey quickly interrupted you.
“They’ve been staying here for hours every day for the last month. They want more than just your friendship, hon.”
“No way. We’re just friends.” You insisted firmly. “That’s all.”
Madame Pomfrey rolled her eyes. “Uh huh. Friends. Keep telling yourself that.”
You stared after her, open-mouthed in bafflement, as she rolled up the Prophet, tucked it under her arm, and turned around without another word—leaving you with zero reading material and a million questions.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
you have to love how pomfrey could not give less of a fuck that the riddles murdered two students as long as she gets her ot3 absolutely iconic behavior
509 notes · View notes
heesbaby · 2 months
Text
AFTER HOURS; JAKE SIM
TRACK 30; you're the first person I think of
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authors note! long time no seeeeeee, finally back hehehe, lil written chap for you and this is my fav chap i've done in a while! had sm fun writing this 🌟 tysm for all your lovely asks n support recently, it's been so so nice reading your ideas n thoughts 🤍 and even when there's shitty anons trying to bring me down, i know you guys will always be there to bring me back up again and that means so so so much to me ^^ ilyasm and thanku, genuinely 🤍 enjoy this!! reblogs n feedback are super appreciated!! 🌟
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You found yourself curled up on Jake’s couch again, a mug of his famous hot chocolate held between your hands. It had been a good few days without seeing each other, life had gotten hectic and you’d felt a little scared to be around him. Your growing feelings combined with the recent news articles had you on edge just as much as it did for Jake. You knew it was unfair to stay away from him for so long, but you were terrified of all these new feelings and situations that were occurring.
“This sucks,” Jake sighed, knocking his knee gently against yours a couple of times whilst he dumped his mug down on the table. “I hate having to hide away in my apartment with the curtains closed. It’s fucking stupid, I feel like a criminal.”
“I know,” Jake could hear the frown in your voice without even looking at you, you sounded defeated. “But I don’t know if I can do this Jake.”
Those words had his head snapping up to look at you again, his eyes scanned your face and he saw the way you were chewing on your bottom lip with tears brimming in your eyes.
“What do you mean darling?” He asked, hesitating to put a hand on your knee gently, his fingertips barely grazing the skin. It still sent tiny little shockwaves through your body regardless.
You leant over and placed the half empty mug on the coffee table alongside his, wringing your hands together to keep them busy as a nervous habit. Jake let go of your knee to instead grab your hands in his, lacing his fingers with yours and squeezing them gently.
That prompted you to catch his eyes, seeing how he looked at you so softly made you want to fold. You wanted to spill your inner thoughts and feelings to him with just that look, it was a dangerous position to be in.
“I can’t do this Jake, I can’t be some secret. I don’t want to be scared of what I do or say in the fear that something could happen to you or me, I can’t do that.”
“Oh YN,” Jake sighed, squeezing your hands once again. “I’m sorry you feel like that, I wish I could take that feeling away from you. I really do. I don’t know how to make it better, but I hope you know I’ll do my best to keep you protected from all that shit.”
You nodded, bottom lip tucked between your teeth, “I know you will Jake, but I’m not cut out for it. I just want a normal life, and I love spending time with you so much but I’m too scared of what people might say to me or about me. That’s not something I would be comfortable with.”
Jake deflated, he felt like the weight of the world was on his chest, “what does this mean for us then?”
“I’m not sure,” you sighed heavily, you’d been doing that a lot, letting Jake play with your fingers absentmindedly. “I’ve really liked getting to know you Jake, you’re not someone who I’d just be able to forget or leave behind. I don’t want to lose this all completely.”
“I don’t want to lose it either, not after we worked so hard to get here,” he sat up to look at you more attentively. “And, like I said before, I like you YN. I really do, you’ve worked your way into my heart so easily and I don’t feel ready to let go of you yet. Not when I haven’t even had the chance to show you just how much I like you.”
A hot blush spread across your cheeks at Jake’s confession, hearing it in person was so different to hearing it over text and for some reason it felt all the more real. You’d never felt this giddy over someone, not even Eunseok.
“Are you being serious? You really do like me?” You asked, subconsciously leaning closer to him until your shoulder was nudging his.
Jake rolled his eyes, a good natured smile on his lips, “of course YN, I’d never joke or lie about that.”
“But why? We’re so different Jake, what could you possible see in me that you haven’t found in any other person you’ve met?”
“Are you joking?” He huffed out a laugh in disbelief, “what else could I ever ask for except for you? You’re so kind YN, you always think of everyone else first before you think of yourself and I admire that about you.”
He laced his fingers back through yours, “you stayed on call with me every time I was panicking about going on stage.”
He tugged on your arms a little to bring you closer, “you’re so beautiful on the outside as well as the inside, it blows me away each time how you can be so selfless.”
He brought your hand up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the skin on the back of it, lingering his lips there for a second longer than necessary, “and as I get to know you, I find out little things that just make me like you more and more. Every day you get better in my eyes, and I can’t even believe how I lucked out to get you as my neighbour. Even if we did hate each other a bit at first.”
You giggled softly, the worried frown on your lips being replaced by a smile that only Jake seemed to bring out in you these days, “everything you’ve said is exactly how I feel about you Jake, you’re so kind and amazing on the inside and out that it gets a bit overwhelming sometimes.”
“What’s overwhelming darling?” He asked genuinely, running his fingers over the back of your hands softly.
“My feelings for you, it overwhelms me how much I really like you Jake. I never wanted to admit it so soon, but you’re all I think about, and that must mean something.”
Jake was smiling widely now, finally hearing those words leave your mouth and confirm his own thoughts was the best feeling for him, “you’re all I think about too YN, all the time, every day. Everything I do, I’m always thinking about how it’s going to affect you or if you’re going to like it. Whenever something good happens to me, you’re the first person I think of telling.”
“Me too Jake, I want to share my life with you, I want to tell you all the good and the bad. And I want you to be able to share yours with me.” For some reason, you felt like crying and you didn’t know why. You just felt so safe with Jake and comfortable enough that you knew you could be vulnerable with him.
“So,” Jake tested the waters a little. “How do you feel about everything now? I don’t want to throw all of this away because of what’s happening in the media at the moment with me. But I understand if you still don’t want to do this anymore, it’s your choice YN.”
Your heart was torn, you were so sure before that you wanted to end things completely with Jake. You didn’t want to be part of that life, you didn’t want to have to hide things all the time and always be looking over your shoulder. But now that you heard his feelings in person, your mind had changed. Jake felt worth it, he was worth that struggle because the ending result would be everything you wanted.
“I know I wanted to end everything just then,” you began, sighing heavily. “And I’m still scared. I don’t want my face plastered all over the media and people making assumptions about me all the time.”
“I totally get that darling,” Jake said, already expecting the worst.
“But I can’t throw this all away now,” you continued on before he could get carried away negatively. “Not after you’ve just confessed how you feel, knowing all that makes me confident that we could try to make this work.”
Jake’s heart skipped a beat or two, “and we would make it work YN, I’d do anything to make it work for us. I really like you, more than I’ve liked anyone if I’m being honest. And all this shit with the media is new to me as much as it is to you, but we’ll make it work regardless. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you, I’ll make sure they keep your name out of their mouths.”
“You’re willing to try?” You asked him, biting down on your bottom lip again, worrying the skin and making it red.
Jake brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a couple of kisses there. He flipped it over, kissing your wrist right over where your heartbeat was thumping through your veins.
“I’ve always been willing to try for you YN,” he mumbled against your skin.
“So where do we go from here?” The hand that Jake wasn’t holding made its way onto his knee, your fingers playing with the fabric of his sweatpants.
“I don’t want to rush things,” Jake said softly. “I want to do things properly with you, but I want this to be exclusive. I want to be the only guy you talk to, and I want you to be the only girl that I talk to.”
You couldn’t even try to stop the smile that split your face in half, “so, like dating?”
Jake mirrored your smile, the two of you bursting into giggles when you saw the other grinning, “yeah, I guess that’s what we can call it. We’re dating each other until we’re ready to put that label on it. How does that sound to you?”
You pulled your hands from Jake, burying your face in them to hide the blush that was on your skin. The smile on your face was hurting your cheeks, you couldn’t contain how happy you felt in that moment.
“YN? Are you going to look at me and give me an answer?” Jake asked, bending his head down to try and get a glimpse of your face.
You peeked through your fingers at him, seeing Jake smiling so genuinely at you with such a soft adoration in his eyes, “I can’t look at you but I can give you an answer.”
“Go on then darling,” Jake laughed.
“I’d love to be exclusively dating you, nothing would make me happier,” you said, words slightly muffled through your hands.
“Nothing would make me happier either angel,” Jake tugged on your hands gently, prying them away from your face. “Let me see those pretty eyes now, they’re my favourite part of you.”
You caught his gaze, immediately laughing once again when you did. The both of you were blushing and giggling messes, Jake leaning over to wrap his arms around your waist and tug you closer to him.
You allowed him to pull you around, making your way onto his lap so that you were sat sideways across his thighs with his arms on your hips and waist. Your own arms circled his neck, holding him close to you.
The two of you had only been this close a few times before, and each time you still got nervous and hesitated before him.
“YN,” Jake said, rubbing circles on your hip with his fingertips. “You can totally say no, I don’t want to pressure you. But I’d really like to kiss you right now, I’ve been wanting to for a while now but I knew you weren’t ready for that before.”
It’s not like you’d never thought about it before, in fact you’d thought about it so many times that you were starting to dream about it too. Jake had always been attractive to you, and it was inevitable that you wanted to kiss him every single time you saw him. Which was strange, because since the incident at the club you’d never even wanted to get close to another man. With Jake, that was never the case. You’d held off from kissing him because you never knew that he felt the same. And now that you did, you didn’t think you’d be able to stop yourself from doing it over and over.
“Stop talking about it and just do it Jake,” you mumbled, tugging on the collar of his shirt gently.
“Shit, ok darling,” Jake laughed gently, letting you pull him closer until his nose was brushing yours. Slowly but surely, he leaned in to press the gentlest of kisses against your lips. He was testing the waters, seeing how much you were comfortable with in that moment. And when he felt you pressing even closer to him, pushing your chest against his, he took that as a confirmation to keep going.
Jake kissed you again, this time allowing your bottom lip to slide through his teeth gently before sucking it into his mouth. His tongue followed after, rubbing against your own before retracting back, letting you take a breath in before he kissed you again. And again. And another time just for good measure.
One hand came up to cup the side of your neck, pulling you closer to him and keeping your lips pressed against each other’s. His other hand gripped at your waist whilst yours tried to keep him as close to you as possible, not wanting to let go or move away even when you started to lose your breath.
“YN,” Jake mumbled against your lips between kisses. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to stop kissing you.”
“Me neither,” you said, your words being muffled by his lips time and time again. “I don’t have any problem with that though. I’d be happy staying here forever like this, with you.”
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860 notes · View notes
asbealthgn · 1 year
Text
(i am not immune to peer pressure so here's a continuation. part one here)
It’s so rare that Steve meets anyone nice anymore.
It’s just hard to find people. Dating apps suck, and ever since Robin and Nancy got together, they hardly ever want to go to bars together. And what’s he supposed to do, just drink alone and hope he stumbles across someone? 
Well, that’s exactly what happened today, sans drinking. He was heading for the bus stop, a tiny bit lost but he had a map and was pretty sure he could figure it out. He realizes he’s a tiny bit directionally challenged, and he’s still relatively new in town, and Robin and Nancy just moved to a new place, so it all came together to mean that getting there would take some puzzling out. All the same, he was prepared to figure it out on his own right up until he saw the super hot guy sitting at the bus stop and figured a little help couldn’t hurt.
And that’s how Steve ended up with an unexpected date (sort of) to Robin and Nancy’s baby shower (not a real baby shower).
Robin answers the door and smiles, then does a double take when she sees Eddie. Whoops, Steve probably should have texted her that he was bringing someone. He’d gotten a little caught up in the moment.
“Hey, hope you don’t mind I brought a plus one,” Steve says, hugging her before walking inside. Eddie follows him.
“No, no, that’s fine,” Robin says, voice a little strange as they take their shoes off and she shuts the door. “We’re all in the living room.”
They follow her through the kitchen and into the living room where half a dozen calico kittens and several adults are on the floor.
“Oh my God, they’re adorable,” Eddie says, leaving Steve’s side to get down next to the kittens. Steve gets a huge smile watching him. Fuck, he’s super hot and he’s now holding a tiny kitten, cooing at it? Steve might just get on one knee right now. Or both knees. Honestly, either one works.
If he were paying more attention to literally anything other than Eddie, Steve would notice that nearly everyone else in the room is also staring at Eddie. The only exception to that is El, who’s sitting cross-legged on the floor with the mama cat in her lap, both watching the kittens with the same wide-eyed intensity.
There’s a tap on Steve’s shoulder, and he turns to look at Robin. “Can we talk for a sec?” she asks, voice still odd.
“Yeah,” he says and follows her back into the kitchen.
She crosses her arms and leans back against the counter. “So are you gonna tell me what Eddie Munson is doing in our living room?”
“Oh, have you already met him?” Steve asks.
Her eyes widen. “Are you being serious right now?”
“Uh. Yes?”
“Steve, that’s Eddie Munson,” she says, “From Corroded Coffin?”
“From what?” he asks, though as she says, it does sound a tiny bit familiar. 
“Corroded Coffin?” she says, “It’s that band the kids love. Along with like half of America if they’re not completely scandalized by them.”
“So what, you’re trying to tell me Eddie’s famous?” Steve asks. Robin nods. “Hold on, this isn’t like Paul all over again, is it?” Paul was a guy Steve briefly dated a few years ago, and Robin had somehow convinced Steve that he was an Olympic athlete. In his defense, she had mocked up some seriously convincing news articles.
But Robin is shaking her head. “No, I’m serious this time,” she says. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone. After a second she turns it around to show him the Google results for Eddie Munson. There are a lot of red carpets and pictures of him onstage. And damn, Eddie seriously is so hot.
“Alright, well, you definitely didn’t have time to photoshop these,” Steve mutters. Robin nods, patting him on the shoulder. How did he accidentally bring a famous guy over?
Just then, Eddie comes into the kitchen, a kitten in his hands. 
“Stevie, look at her,” he says, holding the kitten up.
Stevie? Robin mouths. Steve kicks her as he reaches out to scratch under the kitten’s chin. It mews at him.
“I asked Nancy—she’s terrifying, by the way,” Eddie adds to Robin, “And she said I can keep her.” He lifts the kitten to his face and it purrs as it rubs its cheek against Eddie’s. Steve is actually going to combust.
“Alright, well, I’m heading back in,” Robin says, voice back to that strained quality as she escapes the kitchen. Eddie doesn’t seem to notice, too busy whispering praise to the kitten.
Steve scratches under its chin again and it purrs at him. “What’re you gonna name her?” he asks.
“Don’t know yet,” Eddie says, “Isn’t she per—oh, hold on.” His phone is ringing, so he moves the kitten to one hand as he reaches into his pocket and pulls it out. “Hey Gar….Yeah, ‘cause you abandoned me….No, I’m in Japantown getting a kitten….No, that’s not a euphemism….Listen, I’m kinda busy, I’ll call you later, alright?…Yeah, see you, man.”
While he was talking, the kitten clawed its way up Eddie’s shirt and into his hair. “What’re you doing in there, sweet girl?” he asks, tucking his phone back into his pocket and reaching for the kitten. It’s gotten very tangled in his curls, though, and apparently really likes being there. 
“Lemme help you,” Steve says, stepping closer to Eddie and extricating the kitten. Eddie’s hair is very soft. Good to know. “Here you go,” he says, holding the kitten out for him.
“One sec,” Eddie says. He ties his hair up quickly (also hot, fuck) before taking the kitten back. He boops noses with it. “Such a mischievous little girl.” 
“Well, can you blame her?” Steve asks. He brushes a loose curl behind Eddie’s ear. “Your hair seems like a nice place to be.”
Eddie smiles at him, a dimple appearing on his cheek. “I’ll be honest, Stevie,” he says, voice getting a little lower as he moves closer, boxing Steve against the counter. “At first I just came along because you’re gorgeous, but I think I’ve fallen in love.” He holds up the kitten in one hand.
“You think I’m gorgeous?” Steve asks, feeling his face heat. 
“‘Course I do, big boy,” Eddie says, leaning closer and putting his free hand on the counter by Steve’s hip.
Maybe this is stupid and way too forward, but Eddie is so dreamy with his eyes and his dimple and his hair and the kitten in his hand, so Steve leans in and kisses him. It’s a little relieving when Eddie kisses him back, free hand lifting to his hair while Steve wraps his arms around his waist.
Steve doesn’t notice the front door opening or a new group of people that includes Dustin Henderson coming inside. He doesn’t notice them entering the kitchen and freezing as they take in the scene.
That is, not until Dustin shouts, “Holy shit, is that Eddie Munson?”
tagging a few people who asked for a continuation/asked to be tagged (sorry if i missed anyone!): @nburkhardt @stargyles @csinnamon-fox @manda-panda-monium @silly-jellyghoty @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @starquirk
edit to add that this ficlet is complete and the last part is here
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