#& now i’m stuck w em

[melrosing]

maybe resumed my bullet point robert’s rebellion project…..

[bibleofficial]

yall they’re scamming the british now by telling them the d8 & alt cannabinoid vapes are d9 😭😭😭😭 oh naurrrr

[i-loved-silly]

WOLVERINE x READER x DEADPOOL — fuckup twinsies

dp&w spoilers!!

So I had a silly idea. Sorry if it’s out of character, I haven’t written for canon characters in a fat while but these two are stuck in my head. Enjoy :3

POV: you’re a dimension hopper : sent to the Void as a punishment for doing your thing. Damnit

Dust. Sand. Desert. That was all you knew ever since you were banished here. The place you were basically forced to call home—funnily enough, (actually it’s rather sad) you had forgotten what your real home was. A large, and I mean LARGE amount of timeline touching and dimension hopping does that to you.

By spending years of visiting dimensions and maybe messing a couple things up, you damaged your own timeline. Simply because you wanted to take Mr Captain America’s shield back to your home dimension. What can you say, a little artifact doesn’t hurt, right?

Except it did.

Now you’re stuck here, and honestly? It’s fine. You had nothing to return to anyway. At least you thought. TVA explained it that way, anyways. Everything was fine. You spent your years here surviving and avoiding Cassandra Nova by making your own little underground hobbit hole. How cute.

Everything was the same everyday—you hid out, occasionally left to find food and materials, came back to safety. Until one day you heard something while out scavenging—almost like distant yells? From above you??—You looked up and was shocked to see two figures falling out of the sky and barreling straight for you.

"OOMF --" You were thrown onto the sand on your back, you swore you felt a couple bones break...or something. All your belongings in your little ripped backpack went flying around you and the others stabbed into your back. Then there was the weight on top of you. A muscular , red, and talkative weight.

"Owww, oh fuck, that hurt. I hit bones. I just hit someon--oh." Deadpool groaned, snapping his elbows back into place to get a good look at you. He blinked. "Well lookey here, who the hell are you? Wait, did i kill them?" He gasped as he saw your pained scowl.

Wade frantically shook you by the shoulders. Getting hit by something from that high should have killed you. You coughed, ugh...your whole body hurt. You don’t remember if you gave yourself overpowered abilities before hopping into this dimension…or the last one. Was it during the time you went to the Loki-verse? Season one, episode five? Nah.

"Get off of them," Logan grunted, dusting himself off from his spot a few feet away. Hey, at least you weren’t hit by both of them. "See what you did, you fucking idiot? Get away from them."

"Woah, okay! First of all, it's not like I wanted to crash into someone like a wrecking ball, got it? I am not Miley. But look, they're fine!" He shook you by the shoulder again and you spat out a bit of blood.

"Guhh..." You groaned, rolling over. Yep, your bones were definetly crushed.

"We're not here to poke around, Wade. We're on a mission." Logan glanced at your beat up form wearily--oh well, if you weren't dead by now you'll be fine.

"Fine," Wade let go of you, letting your body flop back onto the sand with another "thud" on impact. "Oops, Im sooo sorry. I-..oh come on! Don't you have at least a little bit of a curious tickle? They can help us." He whined, gesturing to you and to Logan.

"They're a stranger, bub. Just...leave em there." He hesitated, then grunted and turned the other way.

You groaned in pain again--seems like they're your only lines--and sat up on your elbows. Your head was pounding and suddenly it was too bright outside. "W-wait..I’m fine..just let me.." You pressed your palm against your forehead.

Wade leaned down in front of you, placing his hands on his knees. "Oh, you're alive. Good. Why are you here, little buddy?"

You tried laughing nervously but a cough interrupted you. Right, there was sand in your lungs. "I uh...couple years ago I touched a timeline I shouldn't have. More like, a lot of timelines. Kinda-sorta fucked up."

Wade let out a loud gasp and placed his hands on the sides of his face, then made a giddy noise. "Eek! Fuck up twinsies! You heard that, Logan? We aren't the only dimensional fuck ups!" He was oddly enthusiastic, the scruffy guy in the distance wasn't so much.

Actually now that you think about it, he seemed a bit enraged. Just a bit. “Who the hell is we?”

"Who are you again?" You muttered, grunting as you worked on standing up. Wade extended a hand and you took it, before you could thank him—he quite literally yanked you up by the arm like a fucking ragdoll. You hit his chest and your eyes widdened.

"How the heck do you not know me? I mean you probably don’t know him, that sexy beast of a man is Logan, professionally Wolverine. Not a very good one though. Anyway, I'm Wade Wilson, but you can call me Wade. Or Deadpool. Or the Merc with a Mouth. Or the Chimichanga Bandit. Or—"

"Wade, shut the fuck up."

Wait.

“Wait, you’re Deadpool and Wolverine? Like the real ones?”

PART 2

[foreveia]

snow one like you ⤨ miya atsumu

⨭ genre; college!au, frat!au, enemies to lovers!trope (sort of)

⨭ pairing; miya atsumu x f!reader

⨭ word count; 16.4k

⨭ descriptions; you're convinced that miya atsumu is the world's biggest fuckboy asshole, and yet, when the iota nu alpha (ina)'s exec board and your sorority's exec board go on winter break together, you come to prove that there really is a thin line between hate and something else.

⨭ warnings; alcohol, profanity, sexual innuendos, LOTS of dick jokes

⨭ a/n; i have been FIENDING to write frat boy! & fuckboy!atsumu bro so here's the 'tsumu redemption story lmfao i am very proud of coming up w greek letter versions of the hq teams. hope u love seeing a fuckboy conversion story as much as i do mwah :)

song i listened to writing this: 'tsunami' by niki

one.

Winter break should have been perfect. 

Here’s what should have happened: (1) you, your sorority’s executive board, and an obsessive amount of luggage for a two week break all pile into Mao’s sexy black Jeep; (2) drive six and a half hours up to the cute, girly AirBnB you rented for this; (3) sleep in until 1 PM every day and wake up in the softest sheets ever; (4) spend the whole winter break snowboarding down black diamonds and drinking mimosas in the hot tub. You even treated yourself to a shopping spree in preparation for it; four sets of pink bikinis and matching silk pajamas for the girls had put a significant dent in your bank balance but who cares because it was meant for your perfect winter break.

It could’ve been perfect. It should’ve been perfect. 

But here you are instead, the day after finals on what could have been a lovely end to the first half of your junior year but instead is the start of an imminently torturous two weeks, standing at the curb of your university apartment building, shivering your absolute fucking ass off in just a hoodie because Aran’s rental car was delayed an hour for pick up. All your favorite winter wear is already packed into the massive duffel bag by your feet, stuffed to the absolute brim with just one of your new bikinis (since apparently, you had to do bonding activities now), plain pajama sets (the girls worried the others would feel left out), and everything you could ever need to commit a murder and get away with it. 

Your planned victim? Atsumu Miya, the official worst human being on Earth.

This belief is confirmed by the blue 2012 Hyundai you’ve been waiting on finally rolling up, and the back door popping open to reveal Atsumu, sprawled across the three seats as if he owns the place. He looks as if he plans on you feeding him grapes and massaging his feet during the ride there; you want to punch him in the jaw. His eyes flick up, lazily scanning you from head to toe with a smirk that could infuriate a saint.

“Awh, look who’s here to grace us with her presence,” he drawls, not bothering to move an inch. “So princess, ready to fall in love with me yet?”

You grit your teeth, forcing a smile that’s more a baring of teeth. Mentally, you scratch out human—because he’s actually closer to a demon. 

“In your fantasies,” you scoff, heaving your duffel bag into the trunk with more force than necessary. The trunk is a struggle to close because it’s already overflowing with way more baggage than is needed for a winter break trip.

He chuckles, an irritating sound that grates on your last nerve. “Oh, I have plenty of those, babe. You’re just usually not wearin’ clothes in ‘em.” 

Yep, it’s confirmed. You’re going to kill Atsumu. 

Unfortunately, Yui Michimiya, the sorority president and apparently shotgun, rolls down the window before you get the opportunity to strangle him right then and there. “Y/N, get in the car, we have to go! Mao and them are already on their way there.” 

You sputter. “I’m stuck in the back with him? Are you kidding?”

“Aran is driving the first three hours, and then I’m switching with him. We don’t have time for this.”

“What, so I not only have to share my winter break with the fucking foxes, but now I’m backseat? Why didn’t you just let me go with the other girls, Yui?” you whine. You know you’re being childish, but you don’t care. This is practically a matter of life or death (albeit not yours—for Atsumu). 

Yui’s eyes dart between you and Atsumu, her lips pressed into a thin line as she navigates the tension with the ease of a seasoned diplomat. “Look, I know you two have your... differences, but we’ve got a schedule to keep. It’s a long drive, and we can’t afford to start late. You two both need to just suck it up, okay? It’s just a few hours.”

You glance at Atsumu, who’s now sporting a grin that suggests he’s already won whatever game he thinks you’re playing. The prospect of spending hours confined in a car with him makes your skin crawl, but with a resigned sigh, you grab the rest of your gear and slide into the backseat. The door slams shut, sealing your fate. You’re already sad for your future self.

Atsumu shifts, making a show of spreading out even more, his smirk never faltering. “Are ya feelin’ cozy, sweetheart?” he teases, nudging you with his knees as his legs open so far he’s past the empty center console.

“Your tiny dick does not need that much room. Now get your legs away from mine before I chop them off and throw them in the woods behind our cabin.”

“Wow, princess, didn’t think 8 inches was tiny in your book. Or should I say size queen?”

This is officially the worst winter break of your life.

When Chizuru, the sorority secretary, had first proposed the idea of sharing your annual break retreat with a fraternity executive board, you thought she was joking. And then when Mao, the internal vice president, said it was a lovely plan so that both parties could have bigger facilities and more funds, you begged for it to be any other fraternity. And then finally, when Yui officially confirmed that your retreat would be a joint trip with Iota Nu Alpha (INA)’s five executive members, you actually lost your mind. 

Because Iota Nu Alpha, while being a generally very respectable fraternity with a decent national establishment and well-regarded chapter on your campus, contains a particular flaw: a certain external vice president who is the actual devil and goes by the earthling name of Atsumu Miya. 

The truth is that you’re not a very violent person—you don’t even knowingly kill bugs, much less go on mental tangents fantasizing about someone’s downfall. Before freshman year of college, you wouldn’t have ever believed that you’d be on the verge of homicidal rage just from the sound of someone’s voice. 

But Atsumu truly is a special case because he has an innate talent for bringing out the worst in you. Every smirk, every condescending comment, every casual brush of his arm against yours feels like a deliberate provocation, and it has ever since you first met him in a frat basement during your freshman year. Deciding he was nothing but bad news, you had tried to distance yourself from him, but somehow, he continues to be pulled back in everywhere: from being chemistry lab partners in your freshman spring to being paired during the Greek life matchups to being forced to take him to your sophomore sorority formal because your initial date ghosted last minute, for some reason, the universe hates you and you literally cannot escape him. 

Atsumu Miya spends half his time flirting with you and the other half pissing you off; he’s a thorn in your side that simply will not budge. He’s evidently already made it his mission to ruin your break before it’s even started, so that’s just reason #13092 of why he is in fact the bane of your existence.

The car pulls away from the curb, and Aran, INA’s secretary, adjusts the rearview mirror to glance back at the two of you. “Let’s try to keep it civil, alright? We’ve got a long road ahead of us.”

Atsumu snickers and you roll your eyes, keeping your gaze trained on what’s outside the window. The cityscape blurs past, a mix of buildings and holiday lights from tourist spots in the area.

If you had been in Mao’s car right now, accompanied by her and two tolerable members of the fraternity, you’d probably be excited, chattering on and on about all the fun you were going to have. But now, the only thing you can think about is how to survive the next few hours—and then the next two weeks—without throttling the blonde asshole sitting next to you. 

“Y’know, princess,” Atsumu says after a few minutes of blessed quiet, “Ain’t it funny how ya swore in freshman year you’re never speakin’ to me again? And yet here we are.”

You don’t bother looking at him, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, hilarious. It’s the comedy of the century how you’ve become an inescapable part of my college life. What’s next? Are you planning to haunt my dreams too?”

Atsumu’s grin widens, undeterred by your sarcasm. “Are ya sayin’ you wanna sleep with me? Awh, at least buy me dinner first.”

“Fuck you.”

“I mean, as ya wish. Or I can fuck you, I don’t mind changin’ up positions.”

You glare at him, but the intensity of your anger is somewhat mitigated by the fact that you’re squished in the backseat, your knees almost touching his. Yui and Aran exchange a glance in the front, clearly relieved that the bickering hasn’t escalated to physical violence—yet.

You think they shouldn’t be relieved yet. With the way Atsumu is currently simpering at you, it won’t be long before you act on your deep urge to punch him.

two.

The first few hours of the drive pass. You try to ignore Atsumu as much as possible, staring out the window and counting the trees as they whip by; still, he keeps saying stupid things and making you acknowledge them because they’re just that stupid. He just has the miraculous ability to pull you out of your head and whenever he speaks, he becomes all you can think about (because you’re so enraged by his audacity). Occasionally, you catch snippets of Yui and Aran’s conversation, but their voices are low, and you’re too wrapped up in your own thoughts and debates to pay much attention.

And then you notice the snow outside. You’re far enough outside of Tokyo now where the weather has begun to change; it is so incredibly beautiful to see the snowflakes flying down gently as the car flies past the snow-dusted neighborhoods and you can’t help but press your forehead against the cool glass, fascinated. You haven’t seen snowfall this hard in so long, and you are enthralled by it. It’s like the universe itself is trying to soften your mood, scattering diamonds across the landscape to distract you from the simmering tension inside the car. Even Atsumu seems momentarily quiet, his usual remarks on pause as he gazes out his own window.

The serene moment, however, is shattered when Aran suddenly pipes up, “We’re going to make a quick stop in Sendai. Need to stretch our legs and maybe grab some snacks. Anyone need anything specific?”

“Head from the princess.”

“A break from Atsumu.”

Yui snaps, evidently reaching her limit. “Okay, that’s enough. Everyone out.”

The car pulls into a convenience store parking lot, and the group disbands for a brief respite from the confined space: Aran goes to refill the tank, Atsumu and Yui head inside the store, and you trail behind in the lot. You step out, taking in the crisp, cold air, feeling it sting your lungs—a welcome pain compared to the annoyance of dealing with Atsumu. Still, you’ve made it this far; you refuse to allow his presence to deter you from enjoying the snow. 

The break is brief, and soon everyone is piling back into the car, arms laden with snacks and drinks. Atsumu tosses you a pack of peach gummies with a smug look. “Don’t say I never do anything nice for ya.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Thanks?” you say, but it comes out more like a question; you’re struck by the gesture but even more so by the fact that he in fact had gotten your favorite candy. “How’d you know I liked these?”

“Oh, I just got them ‘cause they’re peaches. And I like your ass.”

Ah, there he goes, opening his big mouth and ruining everything. 

His smirk widens, and he shifts closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Y’know, if yer cold, they say body heat is the best way to stay warm. Maybe we should try—”

You shove him away. “Keep your theories to yourself. I’m not interested.” You’re frowning again, staring outside the window with a refreshed intensity. 

It’s infuriating how he does nice things as if he cares about you when he’s really just the world’s biggest fuckboy. He is pretty and he knows it, so it’s not some random mistake that he spends half his time charming girls into dropping their panties. In a fraternity already known for being Man Sluts™, he really does stand out as the biggest one of all because everywhere Miya Atsumu goes, broken hearts inevitably follow.

He grins as if your hostility is just another game for him to win—because he’s an instigator, he doesn’t let up. “C’mon, we’re stuck together anyway. Might as well get close, babe.” His tone is mocking, and you can feel his eyes on you even with your gaze fixed firmly out the window.

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Why? ‘Cause ya know ya like it?”

“Because I have a name, Atsumu,” you snap, plugging in your earbuds and turning up your music loud enough to drown out everything and everyone (and especially Atsumu) around you.

Yui and Aran sigh. They had been the only ones to agree to take you two, and even their patience is wearing thin. The rest of the drive to the AirBnB continues in a similarly miserable pattern—moments of near silence punctuated by Atsumu’s insufferable comments and your equally sharp retorts. By the time you arrive, everyone’s a little cranky except Atsumu, as obnoxiously cheery as ever.

The sole saving grace is that the cabin is just as charming as you’d hoped.

With the INA’s additional funds, the AirBnB is significantly nicer than any you’ve stayed at before. Nestled in a small clearing, it’s a picturesque retreat with smoke gently curling from the chimney and warm lights glowing from the windows: altogether, it’s a two-story, wood-paneled beauty that looks like it was plucked straight from a Christmas postcard. The surrounding forest is peaceful, there’s a gorgeously still lake just past the trees, and the snow-covered opening glistens under the setting sun as the car finally comes to a slow in the stone-lined parking space. 

You step out of the car, stretching your legs and taking a deep breath; the thin snow sinks under your sneakers as you retrieve your duffel bag from the trunk. Atsumu, of course, makes a show of grabbing his own luggage with exaggerated effort, smirking at you as he hefts a comically oversized yellow suitcase over his shoulder.

“Need any help, princess?” he asks, his tone dripping with mock concern.

“I got it, thanks,” you reply curtly, not bothering to mask your irritation. You start towards the cabin, eager to claim your room and escape the tension of the car ride.

Inside is even cozier than it looked from the outside. The living room has a large stone fireplace, plush leather couches, and a comforting red-brick aesthetic; the kitchen is spacious and modern, with a large island perfect for group meals. The centerpiece of the house is the tall Christmas tree in the center, already adorned with twinkling lights and ornaments; there are no gifts under the tree yet, however, because Chizuru has made one of the ongoing activities for the trip to sneakily buy or make everyone else a gift. They’ll show up, little by little, over the break, but you imagine by the time Christmas actually rolls around, it’ll be overflowing.

Mao and Kita, the two other drivers, have both arrived with their cohorts, so the cabin is officially full of life. Both the fraternity e-board and sorority e-board are exploring the amenities; you know from the listing that there’s a game room and hot tub somewhere, so you’re sure they’re seeking those out.

You, however, are focused on something else. You’re too busy looking for the room Chizuru has assigned you, praying to every god you know that you aren’t placed near the human embodiment of a rash. 

When you find your room, you drop your bag at your feet and sigh peacefully. It’s a single on the short end of the hallway, with a queen-sized bed and a lovely balcony that overlooks the snowy forest. There’s only one other room on this end, and what are the chances of that being—

“Oi, princess, I guess we’re neighbors!” Atsumu whoops, walking towards you from down the hall, waving dramatically and now lugging two suitcases, his obnoxious yellow one and an identical one in gray.

Apparently a hundred percent. The world does in fact hate you, and you’re sure now that this is definitely going to be the worst winter break you’ve ever had.

three.

It turns out that not only is Atsumu loud when you’re awake, but he’s loud when you’re trying to sleep too. 

The walls of the cabin are remarkably thin for the whole aesthetic being wood-planks and brick, so much of your first night is spent with your pillow pressed over your head, trying desperately to drown out the loud conversations echoing from next door. The Miya twins are sharing the double room next to you, and despite your best attempts to muffle them, apparently Atsumu speaks at the volume of a F9 fighter jet, because you can hear every time he laughs. 

When you see the clock tick past 1 AM and they still haven’t stopped talking, you are done.

You give up on the idea of them shutting up on their own, and you need sleep—you’re an absolute terror without it. So you do the only thing you can think to do: get up out of bed, march yourself over there, bang on the door and demand them to please, for the love of God, shut the fuck up. 

You bang on the door with more force than you intended, each knock echoing down the hallway (you’re thankful the other rooms are on the opposite end). After a few seconds that feel like forever, the noise inside finally ceases, and the door swings open.

There stands Osamu, wearing nothing but a pair of gray boxers with a simultaneously perplexed and annoyed expression on his face. He looks like he’s been pulled from the midst of the most intense discussion of his life—his hair disheveled, a hint of confusion flickering across his features as he registers who’s on the other side of the door.

“What’s so important thatcha gotta bang down our door at one in the mornin’?” he asks, his tone more curious than irritated.

Despite the cold creeping in around your slippers, you feel a flush spread across your cheeks—and it’s unfortunately not from the chill. It’s hard not to notice his well-defined muscles and the way his boxers sit so nicely on his hips; all the INA boys are sculpted like art and it’s part of why they’re such a popular fraternity on campus. Still, regardless of how hot he may be, your exhaustion and frustration are quick to overshadow any hint of attraction.

“So you do know it’s one AM! In case you two didn’t know, most normal people are trying to sleep at this hour,” you snap, trying not to look at how the dim hallway light casts shadows across his abs. It’s honestly a shame that this is the bane of your existence and his grayscale clone you’re talking about. “Including me, and I can’t do that with the Miyas recreating a live studio audience next door.”

Osamu’s expression softens a bit, actually looking slightly apologetic, and he leans against the door frame, crossing his arms. “Ah, sorry ‘bout that. Guess we got carried away.”

Behind him, you catch a glimpse of Atsumu, just as minimally clad, who has now paused in the midst of grabbing a snack from their cluttered table. He truly is cursed to be a demon trapped inside a beautiful body.

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between you and his brother, licking his lips before he teases, “Ya know, princess, you could always join us. M’bed’s got room for two.”

Osamu glances back at his twin, rolling his eyes slightly before returning his attention to you. “Bro, seriously?” He sighs, but you can see the hint of a smirk playing on his lips as well.

“No thanks,” you mutter, crossing your arms and standing your ground, determined not to let Atsumu’s pointed commentary distract you from your mission. “Don’t need your help cuddling me to sleep. Just shut up, please.”

Atsumu strides over to the door to stand next to his brother, grinning as he eyes you up and down. “C’mon, babe. We’re just havin’ a bit of fun. What’s a few more minutes, ey? Besides, you look cute in yer bunny slippers.”

“I hate you. And I told you to stop calling me stupid nicknames,” you huff. In your initial moment of rage, you forgot you’re standing there in just your fluffy slippers and polka-dot pajama set. “Just be quiet so I can sleep.”

Osamu chuckles, clearly amused, but still he takes a step back and drags Atsumu with him. “Alright, alright, we’ll keep it down, promise. Ain’t our intention to keep a pretty girl like you up all night—unless, of course, that’s what you’re aimin’ for.”

The joke sends a wave of heat across your face, but you manage a quick, “Shut up,” before turning on your heel and heading back to your room. As you walk away, you hear the soft thud of the door closing and the remnants of their now blessedly muffled voices.

Back in your own room, you climb back into bed, pull the covers up to your chin, and stare at the ceiling, willing your heartbeat to calm down. “Stupid Miyas,” you mutter to yourself, rolling over and burying your face in your pillow.

It’s going to be a long night.

***

The next morning, Mao is the first to point out your dark circles. 

It had been a struggle to wake up this morning, given how you had hardly slept; when your phone, blasting a cheery Ohayo, Ohayo! alarm, obnoxiously alerted you to start the day, you almost threw it across the room. You are bleary-eyed and extremely grumpy, so when she gasps at your appearance over breakfast, you are quick to react.

“I look exhausted because I am, Mao,” you snark back, rubbing at your temples in an attempt to ward off the impending headache. It doesn’t work. “Thanks to the Miya twins and their late-night comedy show, I barely got any sleep.”

You feel bad for snapping at your best friend—after all, she had only been concerned. But thankfully, she doesn’t seem to take any offense to your tone; she just sympathetically nods and slides a steaming cup of coffee your way. “Well, hopefully, today will be less noisy. Maybe the activities will tire them out.” 

You doubt it, but you’ll take whatever peace you can get.

 ***

The morning actually passes relatively uneventfully because Aran and Chizuru, as the secretaries, have put together a tight itinerary that’s meant to keep you all moving. From a group hike to tubing to a stop at the holiday market to ending the night with board games, they have everything fleshed out.

But somehow, Atsumu still manages to find every opportunity to get under your skin. From bumping into you “accidentally” during the hike to stealing your pink tube right at the top of the slide to buying the stall’s last Mt. Iwate snow globe you had been eyeing, by the end of the day, you are practically stomping into the cabin. You are seething for an opportunity to execute revenge.

Said opportunity makes itself present when the group gathers around the large dining table for Pictionary after dinner. Chizuru draws names from a hat to decide teams, and you end up paired with Osamu—you can’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at your partner. Osamu is focused and competitive, just like you, and despite his contribution to the teasing and noise last night, you know he’s just as enthusiastic about beating his brother as you are.

The game starts off lightheartedly, with everyone laughing and shouting guesses as each pair takes turns drawing. When it’s Osamu’s turn, he pulls a card and starts sketching quickly; he draws a round shape with spiky hair and you squint, confused.

“Um… a pineapple… a sun?” you guess tentatively, but Osamu shakes his head and continues, his hand moving frantically to add more details—a few lines here, a few there. “A duck?”

Osamu keeps drawing and you keep futilely guessing, until finally, he adds two distinctive eyebrows and a stupid grin that you’d recognize anywhere. The lightbulb finally clicks on in your mind; really, you can’t believe it took you this long.

You blurt out, “An asshole!” 

The room falls silent for a beat before everyone (excluding Atsumu, of course) erupts into boisterous laughter. Even Kita is smiling—and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him express real emotion. Osamu’s face positively lights up, and he gives you an enthusiastic high five.

Atsumu, though momentarily stunned, quickly retorts, “Oi! I’m right here, ya know!”

Chizuru, being game coordinator, tries to maintain some semblance of order. She coughs into her hand, trying not to laugh, as she says, “Technically, she’s not wrong based on the drawing, but let’s stick to the actual prompts, please.”

Osamu all but wipes a tear from his eye. “Alright, alright,” he says, holding up the little card that says in all caps, [ YELLOW ].

“The fuck? How’s me even relate to that?” Atsumu scoffs. 

Osamu shrugs mock-innocently, but the shit-eating grin on his face gives him away. “I dunno, jus’ came to mind. Maybe it’s yer hair.”

Yui giggles beside Atsumu, who is glaring daggers at his twin. “Well, at least you’re… memorable,” she says, patting her partner on the shoulder.

“Yeah, memorable for being an ass,” you retort, trying to suppress your own laughter.

The game moves on, even as the laughter continues; despite Atsumu’s ongoing and constant attempts to throw you off, you and Osamu manage to rack up a respectable number of points. And you do so again and again, even when Atsumu declares a team rematch in the form of Codenames and Uno; the camaraderie with Osamu comes shockingly naturally and by the time you have finished playing rematches with all the available games in the rec room, you are practically in sync. 

Osamu is easy to work with. You two work together to get on Atsumu’s nerves and you can tell the blonde is boiling. He competes with Osamu at an intensity you haven’t even seen before from him—you chalk it up to sibling rivalry, though you wouldn’t know for sure.

Then, when your team is declared as the official overall second place (after Kita and Aran—who would’ve guessed), Osamu scoops you up into a brief hug; your feet come six inches off the ground and you gasp at the unexpected embrace. A blush spreads across your cheeks when he settles you down because Yui and Chizuru are squealing so loud you think the rest of the sorority can probably hear it from Tokyo, 543.5 kilometers away. You don’t even have it in you to make eye contact with the bemused younger Miya twin, so you keep your eyes steadfast on the ground. His arm is residually slung around your shoulders; he leans much of his weight against you when he does.

You’re okay with it though. Osamu’s arms are just as toned and yummy as they look.

four.

Over the next week, you find yourself getting to know the gray-haired Miya more and more. He makes breakfast for everyone in the mornings without fail, and you’re an early bird, so more often than not, you two end up alone in the kitchen before the light has fully woken up the cabin.

Osamu is thoughtful, considerate—he’s so naturally comforting and sincere, down to his smallest movements. He listens more than he talks. He makes people feel heard. He takes care of the people around him. He doesn’t flirt with you or provoke you or leave you breathless. He is nice. 

You think that you like him. 

One morning, Osamu is telling you a story about learning to cook because at twelve years old Atsumu almost burnt down the kitchen while trying to make eggs, when Atsumu (further proof he really is a demon because he was summoned on cue, Beetlejuice-style) groggily stumbles into the room in the humble pursuit of coffee.

He blinks, registering what he’s seeing, his eyes flickering between you and his twin confusedly. “Why’re ya here?” he asks, sounding almost accusatory. “Why’re you canoodlin’ at seven in the mornin’?”

You snort. “We are not canoodling,” you mock, resting your head in your palm, leaning on the kitchen island. “Osamu’s just telling me about the time you almost burned down your house.”

Atsumu’s head snaps at an insane speed to look at his brother, a boyish look of embarrassment and betrayal all over his face. “‘Samu, what’re ya spillin’ that for?” he whines. This action makes you smile even more: the mental picture of little Atsumu setting off smoke alarms while Osamu calmly puts out the flames behind him only becomes more vivid when you imagine Atsumu pouting and in tears. It mitigates his irritating personality, even if just by a bit. 

Osamu, noticing his twin’s flustered state, gives a nonchalant shrug. “Just sharin’ some childhood memories,” he replies smoothly, a glint of mischief in his eyes that you don’t catch.

Atsumu narrows his eyes at his brother but doesn’t say anything, instead turning his attention to the coffee pot. As Osamu adds more and more silly details and your conversation continues, Atsumu’s demeanor… shifts. The embarrassment fades, replaced by a subtle, tightening jawline, his eyes darting between you and his brother; he looks irritated. Is he really that mad at having his childhood mishaps dragged into the light? 

The thought of him as a kid is actually kinda cute, though you suspect that if you told him this, Atsumu’s ego would inflate so large he’d float into outer space.

“Really, ‘Tsumu, it was like you were tryna to summon a fire spirit with that stove,” Osamu teases, slicing fresh strawberries with a chef’s finesse. He shoots you a playful wink. “Had’ta save our house from becoming a pile of ash. Ma’ almost killed us both!”

Atsumu huffs, pouring himself a cup of coffee, the steam swirling between you. “Cut it out, ‘Samu. Don’t need ya makin’ her think I was a total menace as a kid,” he shoots back, his tone playful yet strained.

You laugh at their banter. “Well, you’re still one now, so I don’t know,” you smirk, leaning towards Atsumu. “Maybe Osamu’s just the better brother.”

Atsumu shoots a playful glare at his brother, but when his gaze falls back on you, it lingers just a bit longer than necessary. “Just in the kitchen,” he mutters, but there’s a noticeable edge to his voice. He grabs an extra mug from the cabinet, setting both it and a little container of cream cups and sugar packets down in front of you before pouring you a fresh cup. “The usual?”

“Mhm,” you hum absentmindedly; it doesn’t quite click that Atsumu knows your coffee order by heart. “It’s nice you guys always had each other growing up, huh? I mean, you’re lucky you’ve got Osamu around to keep you out of trouble,” you tease. 

As Atsumu locates some cinnamon sticks and mixes your coffee, his expression hardens. “Yea, lucky me,” he says, his tone dry. He slides the cup toward you with a careful nudge. “‘Samu’s the saint and the hero, always has been.”

Osamu chuckles from his spot by the counter. “Oi, you ain’t gotta sell yerself short, ‘Tsumu. You got your moments... they’re just hidden very, very deep,” His voice is light, but you sense an underlying seriousness that suggests he’s proud of his twin more than he lets on.

Atsumu rolls his eyes, leaning against the counter and sipping his coffee, eyes trained on watching you stir yours. “Can’t ya ‘ave told some of those magical stories to her then? Had to keep it on ma failures?” 

You eye him over the mug, playful. “I mean… you tell me plenty about your moments. I like hearing about your weaknesses.”

A sly smirk creeps onto Osamu’s face. “Oh, don’t cha worry your pretty head. I’ve got lotsa stories ‘bout ‘Tsumu,” he says, placing a hand on your shoulder, the touch light but enough to make you aware of his presence.

Glancing up at Osamu in your surprise, you happen to miss the way Atsumu’s jaw clenches, his grip on his coffee cup tightening until his knuckles turn white. You happen to miss the way his frown settles deeper on his face. Above all, you happen to miss the way his glare at Osamu darkens with annoyance, with something that burns with more than just sibling rivalry, and the way Osamu grins right back. 

five.

“I think I like Osamu.”

Mao squints at you from her spot at the foot of your bed, peering up momentarily from her debate on which pair of pants to wear. “Girl what? Wrong Miya.”

“I knew you were gonna say that!” you groan into your hands. You had called your best friend over for the primary purpose of helping you pick out your outfit for the activities today (a walk through Morioka and hitting up a food market for dinner), but honestly, you’re starting to regret it. It really would’ve been easier to have just spun a wheel or something, because Mao has not been helpful in anything besides causing you more agony. “You watch too many k-dramas. I hate Atsumu!”

“Bitch, please,” Mao scoffs. Like a true friend, she does not tolerate any of your bullshit and says things as they are, blunt and completely honest. And like a truer fake friend, she’s been #TeamAtsumu since day one because she’s convinced that the Universe constantly bringing you together is the real life equivalent of Our Beloved Summer (but in college). “Hate is such a strong word. You don’t hate him. What you guys have is sexual tension.”

You want to let out a visceral scream. “That is not true. He’s just…”

“‘Stupidly pretty and gets on your nerves’, yeah yeah, I know,” Mao finishes your sentence with a shit-eating grin. “Have you ever considered just riding his dick to get the feelings out?”

Glaring at her does nothing besides make her smile grow even bigger. 

“I’m not going to ride his dick because even if I tried, I wouldn’t be able to find it. Y’know he keeps saying he packs eight? As if he would have both an eight-pack and eight inches. The universe wouldn’t do that. Atsumu’s gotta be nerfed somehow, right?” you ramble, half annoyed and half trying to stop imagining him naked. 

“I can see the rated X thoughts in your head, lovebug.”

“Whatever. How did we even get to this? The point is that Osamu’s nice to me. Super respectful. Why wouldn’t I like him?” 

Mao shrugs. “Yeah, he’s a sweetie. But like… I don’t know. I don’t think he’s right for you.”

“You suck. Who do you think you are?” you glower.

“I’m your fucking twin flame, give me my respect,” she snorts, not getting a reply because you both know she’s right. She then holds up two pairs of jeans—one dark-wash, one light-wash, but otherwise virtually identical—and stares them down like her life depends on it. “But anyway. Just don’t think you’re meant for a nice guy, y’know? In fact, I think Atsumu makes you better.”

You gape at her, in utter disbelief she could even say those words out loud. “Be so fuckin’ serious. Better? He, like, thrives off my rage.”

“Right, and you thrive off competition,” she replies boredly, tossing the light-wash pair over her shoulder and standing to wiggle the other on. “I’m telling you, Atsumu gets under your skin in a way no one else can–”

“You’re getting real close,” you interrupt, earning yourself a pointed look.

“Shut up. As I was saying, Atsumu gets under your skin, challenges you, and that lights a fire under your ass. Makes you wanna prove him wrong, prove yourself right. And that’s what makes you better. Makes you both better.”

“It’s like you want me to be miserable.”

She snorts. “Of course not. I’m just saying, for someone so hellbent on hating Atsumu, you sure spend a lot of time talking about him. I mean, really, do you even hear yourself?” She spins around, both to show you the fit and to mock you with little hand gestures. “‘I hate Atsumu, Atsumu this, Atsumu that, Atsumu, Atsumu, Atsumu.’ It’s like you have a little shrine dedicated to him in your mind.”

“You’re delusional,” you mutter, even though you know her words have at least some truth in them. “I don’t care about him.”

What a lie. It’s a lie and both of you know it, because Mao squints at you, hands on her hips. “Look, all I’m saying is, you can try to sell me on Osamu all you want—he’s nice, he’s sweet, he respects you, blah blah blah. But are you sure it’s him you actually like?”

You freeze, her question slicing through your defenses like a knife. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She turns to face you, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised like she’s ready to dismantle you piece by piece. “I mean, are you into Osamu? Or do you just like the idea of him because it’s easier than dealing with whatever weird, messy thing you’ve got going on with his brother?”

You blink at her, completely thrown off balance. “That’s—that’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” she fires back, her tone casual but sharp. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re running from something.”

“I—” You open your mouth to argue, but the words die on your tongue. You’re not sure what to say because, annoyingly, she’s not entirely wrong. She never really is.

You’re truly blessed in this world because you and Mao were random suitemates who coincidentally rushed the same sorority freshman year and have been inseparable ever since. She’s the IVP to your EVP, the peanut butter to your jelly, the Starfire to your Raven, and your real mothafuckin’ OG because she’s been there for you through literally everything. Right now, however, it means she has the ability to brutally call you out like she can read your mind with X-Ray vision, straight down to your thinly veiled thoughts about Atsumu’s abs.

Mao gives you a knowing look, pulling her phone from her pocket to check the time, a helpful reminder that you in fact do have things to do today besides sit around and mope.

She dusts off her outfit one last time, before heading towards the door. “Look, think about it. You clearly don’t not care about him. And c’mon, lovebug. All these ‘random’ run-ins since then? Not so random when you think about it. The Chem partners, maybe. But you two at formal? Matching during blind dating two years in a row? The universe isn’t subtle, babe.”

You are hating this call out. It’s such an accurate read that you feel annoyed that she’s able to just put it in the world like this when you have spent the last two years trying to choke it down. The truth in Mao’s words sting; you can’t even argue because every random encounter with Atsumu feels less like coincidence and more like the cosmos relishing in your anguish.

“Why did it have to be him?” you mutter, more to yourself than to Mao. “Why’d the universe pick him of all people?”

Mao snorts. “Because he’s an idiot, just like you. You’re probably the only two people in the world who could pull off two and a half years of weird, messed up pining.”

You roll your eyes, but finally, you allow yourself a small smile; Mao really is the only one who can simultaneously call you out for everything you’ve been trying to ignore but also make you feel seen in ways that no one else can. It’s the brutal honesty, the tough love that she delivers without sugarcoating it, that makes you value her words even when they sting.

“Fine, maybe you have a point,” you admit begrudgingly, much to her thrill—which you promptly kill by waggling your finger in her face. “I do care about him. But Osamu’s really sweet to me and… I dunno. I promise I’ll think about it.”

“And that’s all I’m asking for, babygirl. If you do actually like Osamu, I’ll support you—I mean, he’s hot and makes fire pancakes,” Mao shrugs nonchalantly. “But when you end up with Atsumu, I’m gonna tell you I told you so.”

You scowl at her. “I said I’d think about it. That does not mean I’m going to suddenly start confessing my undying love for Atsumu.”

“I don’t expect that!” Mao says, faux innocence dripping from her voice. “Because I already know you will next time you drunk make-out with him at a kickback.”

She’s instantly hit in the head with a pillow (the first thing throwable you could reach), cackling boisterously like she’s told the funniest joke in the world. That’s it. It’s official. As of this moment, you are officially confirming it: it’s time to find a new best friend. 

six.

It’s the perfect night to unwind.

It’s been a long enough day of playing tourist. The rest of the fraternity and sorority boards finished several cases of beer and a handle of Tito’s over dinner, so they’ve long retreated into their rooms; you’re the sole person still lingering awake. All things considered, you’ve been high-strung all week (worsened now—thanks Mao!), so even if you were to try, you probably couldn’t sleep anyway. So you opt for the best relaxation method you’ve got at the moment: breaking in the good ‘ol hot tub.

It’s a decent size and takes up almost all of the back veranda, sans a small patio space—under the open sky, the air is chilly and you can see the snow-covered landscape extending for what feels like miles. The setting is so calm, so beautiful and something right now feels so immaculately undisturbed, it really is the perfect night. You have donned your favorite bikini, turned on the jets, and set the water to the hottest setting; your eyes are fluttering shut in an attempt to find some peace. The sound of the water bubbles and cracks around you, and you can feel your muscles start to ease.

This is exactly what you wanted from your winter break: a chance to loosen up.

But good things aren’t meant to last, and especially not when the very premise of this vacation is to make sure you can never catch a break, because the tranquility is quickly disrupted by the sounds of footsteps crunching across the wood-paneled porch. You pry open your eyes to find Atsumu approaching the hot tub, a huge smirk spread across his face. He’s wearing dark blue board shorts and carries a towel slung casually over his shoulder; without waiting for an invitation, he dips a toe into the water, then with a satisfied nod, slips in across from you.

The universe hates you, clearly. 

“Fancy seein’ ya here, princess,” he teases, the warm water swirling around as he settles in.

You roll your eyes, trying to avoid the flutter in your chest that starts up again seeing him. “Can’t you find someone else to bother?”

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that. Just thought it’d be nice to join ya. The night’s too pretty to spend alone,” he says, flashing a stunning grin that you suspect has melted many hearts before yours. A pompous, arrogant fuckboy to his core.

“Well, you’ve seen the night, you can leave now.”

Atsumu chuckles, unfazed. “Nah, I think I’ma stay. Matter-a-fact, why don’t I get reeeaaall close…” he trails off, inching closer to your side.

You splash him with your hand in prompt retaliation. He laughs, dodging the splash as if he’d anticipated it all along—probably because Atsumu thrives on your attention and revels in your irritation. 

“You’re so annoying.”

“One of my most charmin’ qualities, ey?” he smirks.

“No.” 

“Well you’re still here, so… at least a part of ya definitely likes it,” he says, his eyebrows doing an absurd dance that pulls an involuntary smile from you. “See? Yer even smilin’! I got the great and stoic princess to smile! I can die happy now.”

As much as Atsumu infuriates you, your lips truly do betray you: you suppose he can be funny… sometimes. “Then please, do us all a favor and die.”

“Awh, but then who’ll keep ya company?” he simpers, sickeningly sweet. 

“I’ll call Osamu down here to join me.”

Atsumu’s face falls. “Ya kiddin’? ‘Samu’ll bore ya half to death. He ain’t hold a candle to my glitterin’ personality.”

You snort. “We have plenty of conversations in the mornings when you’re not even awake.”

“Right, right. Ya mean your conversations ‘bout me?” Atsumu says challengingly. 

The argument you were about to make fades away as it hits you—he’s kind of right. Most of your chats with Osamu do end up circling back to him. This realization irks you because it suggests one of two things: your growing interest in Osamu is just a misplaced fixation on his brother, or you do think about Atsumu far more than you’d care to admit.

Either and both implications are terrible.

You scowl, “Shut up. I don’t need you to spice things up.”

His eyes light up, and you prepare yourself because he’s clearly just come up with a terrible idea. “Oi, wanna really make things interesting?”

“What?”

“Let’s play truth or dare,” Atsumu suggests, his eyes glinting with mischief. 

“Are you kidding? No.” 

“C’mon,” he pouts exaggeratedly, his lower lip comically jut out. “We’ll have fun. Unless you’re scared or somethin’.”

Your eyes narrow. “I’m not scared. I just don’t want to play your dumbass game.” 

“Scared, you’re definitely scared,” he taunts, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head, clearly settling in for the long haul. “Afraid I’ll make ya fall for me? Afraid ya can’t handle it?”

You glare at him. He’s obviously provoking you, but God, is it frustratingly difficult not to rise to the bait when he’s giving you that smug, self-serving look. “Ugh, fine. Whatever. I don’t care.”

Atsumu’s grin widens; he looks so infuriatingly triumphant. “Great. So truth or dare, princess?”

Considering your choices, you pause for a moment before sighing. “Truth.”

You expect something insincere or flirty, maybe a dumb innuendo he’s definitely practiced before on countless other girls. You’re prepared to be pissed off by whatever he’s got to say, because Atsumu is a man of many talents, the best of which is making you mad.

Then he just asks, “What’s yer secret talent?”

“A secret talent?” you echo; you’re caught off-guard by the lack of underlying implications. 

“Yea, somethin’ you can do that ya haven’t told anyone ‘bout,” Atsumu clarifies, leaning in with genuine curiosity.

You contemplate momentarily, before you let out a slow, deep sigh. At the end of the day, it’s an innocent enough question; you suppose that since you know so many embarrassing stories about Atsumu (again, courtesy of Osamu), it’s only fair you tell him something embarrassing about you.

“If you make fun of me, I will actually kill you,” you mutter, though the threat carries no real weight when your face is as flushed as it is. “But um… I know a bunch of magic tricks. Like cards and stuff.”

“Honest?” Atsumu’s eyes practically pop out of their sockets—it seems a bit overdramatic, but he prods further, as if genuinely fascinated by this tidbit of information you’ve just shared with him. “Why’d ya learn? Will ya show me?”

Your cheeks burn hotter. “I um… I wanted to be a magician when I was little. I even tried to convince my parents to get me a bunny, but they said it’d be cruel to just keep it in my hat,” you admit, your voice small under the intense scrutiny of his gaze. He bursts into laughter at this revelation, and you find yourself oddly proud of it. “And I dunno. Maybe? If you get me a deck of cards, I guess I could—but no one else can know, okay? You gotta keep it a secret just for us.”

Atsumu’s face widens until he positively beams. “Deal! I’ll get ya a deck of cards,” he declares, already plotting where to find one. “Neva woulda expected that from you, princess. That’s amazin’! Can’t wait to see what ya got.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t even fake annoyance when Atsumu’s excitement is so damn contagious. By no means had you expected him to react like that, but it does make the game more bearable and you more at ease. “Fine, but remember, not a word to anyone.”

“Cross ma heart,” he replies, drawing an exaggerated ‘X’ over his chest with his finger. He leans back, his face alight with glee at his newfound secret. “Alright, alright, yer turn. Ask me.”

“Well, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Pouting, you think carefully about your question before shrugging half-heartedly. “I don’t really know what to ask you. If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“Pussy,” Atsumu says wistfully, his eyes dreamy. 

You shoot him a look. “You must like getting splashed.”

“Only if it’s by your pretty p–” His sentence cuts off because you in fact have begun to thrash around in the water, kicking wild waves in his direction. Atsumu raises his arms in mock surrender, laughing even as he wipes the water from his face. “Alright, alright, just messin’ with ya, swear! For real though. If I hadta pick just one thing, it’d just be ‘Samu’s onigiri. He’s got magic in ‘is hands, honest.”

Catching your breath, you can’t help but chuckle, your arms crossed as you float in the shallows of the tub. “That’s surprisingly wholesome of you, admitting Osamu’s the better cook. You're proud deep down, huh?”

He shrugs, but the corners of his mouth turn up. “Yea, sadly gotta give ‘Samu that one. But don’t go spreadin’ that ‘round, don’t want him gettin’ a big head.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you promise, mocking his same theatrical ‘X’, feeling the tension ease slightly between you two. Squaring your shoulders, you nod. “Alright, your turn. Dare.”

The word barely leaves your mouth before Atsumu’s expression brightens. He leans closer, his voice dropping to say conspiratorially, “Call me a nickname ‘til the game ends.”

You snort. “I already do, dumbass. I’m princess, you’re dumbass. That’s just the way it goes.”

“No!” Atsumu whines, scooting closer to your side of the tub. “Call me something cute. Like honey or pumpkin or–”

“I’ll call you babe and that’s the most you’ll get,” you interrupt warningly, and obediently, he stops talking, nodding away like an oversized bobble head with a stupidly cute smile on his face—honestly, his simplemindedness is impressive.

“So, babe–” you pause to wince at the nickname, unfamiliar and strange but not necessarily bad on your tongue. “–truth or dare?”

He licks his lips before he answers, which involuntarily draws your gaze to them; you shift your stare up to his warm brown eyes instead.

Under the sky, Atsumu’s eyes seem to collect the very stars above. And when he’s looking at you like that, you have a flash in your chest, and you think that either A) you’re having a heart attack, or the much worse option, B) you definitely don’t not care about him.

seven.

You and Atsumu have managed to play this stupid game for hours.

And you know this for two reasons: first because you two have already made it two-and-a-half times around the cycle of 1) getting out of the tub with pruney toes, 2) settling on the patio couches, and 3) complaining of cold and getting back in the tub.

Second: you’ve exhausted all small-talk options and resigned into the deep shit—deep shit being increasingly stupid stories and dumb dares. You’ve sprinted to the end of the yard and admitted your deep fear of squirrels, Atsumu has belted Perfect by One Direction and confessed that he once replaced Osamu’s protein powder with flour, and neither of you can remember the last time you’ve laughed so hard. It’s strange: by the time you’re asking Atsumu his next truth, your cheeks hurt from smiling and conversation comes more than easily.

“Okay, okay, what’s the dumbest thing that you’ve ever done to impress someone?” you ask, nudging his side a little with your foot.

You’re nestled into the opposite ends of the same couch, the firepit fully ablaze beside you (Atsumu struggled for twenty minutes to get it alight). The couch isn’t quite long enough for you both to extend fully even while sitting up, so your legs have ended up slotted between his and your heel is now resting comfortably on his thigh; he’s fiddling mindlessly with your anklet as he grumbles, “As if ‘Samu ain’t already told ya all my stories.” 

But he pauses momentarily to think anyway. When he’s apparently decided on what to tell you, he averts his gaze from yours with sheepish eyes. “One year, for my ma’s birthday, I wanted ta get this real pretty flower from the top of a tree cause ‘Samu made her a fancy schmancy breakfast. Ended up fallin’ and breakin’ my arm, didn’t even get the flower either. Ma told me it was okay, but I bawled the whole way home from the ER cause I wanted her to have a nice gift.”

“You’re joking! Over a flower?” you gasp out, even as Atsumu’s face scrunches up, halfway between embarrassment and amusement—your stomach hurts with every breath you take, but you can’t stop your laughter. 

“Oi, it was a real nice flower!” he defends, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips despite the bashful story. “‘Nd ‘Samu was actin’ all high-n-mighty with his eggs benedict or whatever. I had to do something.”

The image of a young Atsumu, just as determined and headstrong even back then, a boy who would climb a tree for his mother, who would risk everything to make her smile, who cried because he wanted to do something nice for her, warms you more than the hot tub ever could. 

“Well, babe, if it makes you feel better, I think the effort was sweet,” you pause, savoring the pink on his cheeks at both the pet name and your response. “Stupid, but really sweet.”

“Shaddup, it’s yer turn. Truth or dare?” he asks, still pouting.

Midway through your consideration on what to pick, you get distracted by the way the firelight crackles and casts flickering shadows across Atsumu’s face. His eyes are always beautiful, but right now, they glow like pools of honey and amber. His hair is fluffy and tousled and damp from the tub and he’s wearing just his swimsuit, sans the towel thrown hazardously around his shoulders. You swear to yourself to never tell him, but you want to commit this image of him to memory forever, pretty and human and yours alone.

Atsumu smirks, the rosy tint on his cheeks deepening as he catches you staring. “What’s the matter? See somethin’ ya like?” he teases, his voice dripping with playful mischief as he leans in a little closer, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you. “Yer gonna drool starin’ like that.”

“Fuck off, I was not staring,” you lie blatantly, flushed at his calling you out. “I was just thinking about what to say.”

“Cause I stole your breath away?”

You glare at him. “About whether to say truth or dare, dumbass.”

“Don’t call me dumbass! Call me babe,” he whines. “‘nd ya still ain’t picked.”

“Fine, truth.”

“Then admit the truth that you can’t resist me.”

“Oh my god,” you huff, crossing your arms across your chest; truly, he ruins his natural beauty by opening his mouth. “Ask me a question I can answer, please.”

Atsumu chuckles, a low, rich sound that sends shivers down your spine. “Fine, fine. I’ll letcha keep your pride,” he grins, his eyes twinkling in the firelight as he contemplates the perfect question to unravel you a bit more. “Fine. Why d’ya hate me so much anyway?”

You blink, caught completely off guard by Atsumu’s question. Of all the things he could have asked, this wasn’t what you were expecting.

“Why do I hate you so much?” you echo, stalling for time, though your voice wavers ever so slightly.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning in slightly, the firelight casting shadows across his face. There’s a flicker of something unreadable in his expression—something serious, something that makes your chest feel uncomfortably tight. “C’mon, princess, spill it. You’ve called me an idiot, a dumbass, and everythin’ in between. Gotta be somethin’ behind it, right?”

He’s teasing, but his voice is softer now, his usual bravado dimmed. And suddenly, it doesn’t feel like a game anymore.

Your first instinct is to brush him off, to joke, to deflect—because isn’t that what the two of you always do? But this time, for reasons you don’t entirely understand, you hesitate.

“I…” You glance down at your hands, fiddling with the hem of your towel, anything to avoid the weight of his gaze. “I mean… hate is a strong word.”

He leans back slightly, but the intensity in his eyes doesn’t waver. “Yeah? Then what’s all the name-callin’ and eye-rollin’ about?”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Because you’re annoying! You’re cocky, you’re loud, and you always find a way to get under my skin.” You pause, lowering your hands to glance at him, and there’s an odd mix of frustration and amusement in your tone as you continue. “But... somehow, you make everything fun. Even when I don’t want to have fun.”

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“And I dunno…” You swallow, the words sticking in your throat. “It’s just that you’re... you’re so…” You trail off, waving your hands in a vague gesture, struggling to articulate what you mean without outright admitting that he’s charming, or handsome, or kind in ways you’re only just starting to notice.

Atsumu, of course, seizes the opportunity. “So irresistible?” he offers with a grin, though his voice is quiet, almost cautious.

You shoot him a glare, but there’s no real heat behind it. “So infuriating,” you snap, but the small, wobbly smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The fire crackles softly beside you, filling the silence, and you can’t quite bring yourself to look away from him. His usual cocky grin has softened into something warmer, something that makes your stomach flip in a way you’d rather not think about. 

Atsumu tilts his head, watching you with an expression that feels far too tender for your liking, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Y’know, princess… I think you might like me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and dangerous, and you force out a scoff, shaking your head as you pull your legs away from his and sit up straighter, putting some much-needed distance between you. “You’re delusional, babe,” you mutter, ignoring the way your heart stumbles over itself.

But as you turn your gaze to the fire and refuse to meet his eyes, you already know you’re lying—to him, and to yourself.

eight.

A year ago, on the night of your sophomore formal, your date ghosted you last-minute with only a “can’t make it” text to explain.

You freaked out, panic-scrolled through your contacts list for who still didn’t have a date, and, after a few additional minutes of hyperventilating and really talking yourself into it, spam-called Atsumu. You hadn’t expected him to actually say yes.

He showed up at your door just in time, dressed in his nicest suit and his blonde hair combed neatly, armed with your favorite flowers just-because. And you’d told him then that he didn’t have to do this for you, that this didn’t make you two friends, that this didn’t mean anything at all—neither the dance to him nor him to you. 

But he had just smiled, that crooked, heartbreaking smile of his, and said, “Sure, sure, princess. Ain’t like I had anythin’ better to do, right?” And when he took your hand to lead you out, his touch was gentle, careful, as if he was afraid you might break if he held on too tight. At the end of the night, you had kissed him on the cheek to say thank you, and when you pulled away, he had that softness in his eyes, a mix of bravery and hope and something else you couldn’t quite place. It’s a look that’s haunted you since last winter, something that lingers in every new guy you kiss in nasty frat houses or meet on Hinge, because no one else quite looks at you like that.

And that’s terrifying. Because last night, he looked at you the exact same way, fiddling with your anklet and admitting his most vulnerable secrets, undoing your own understanding of him and his character and upending all the reasons you hate him. 

***

The next day, you are actively avoiding thinking about Atsumu, and as the afternoon fades into a soft, early evening, you find yourself in the kitchen helping Osamu prepare for dinner. Everyone’s already returned from the day trip to Morioka and are now spread throughout the cabin, recovering before eating and the planned game night after. 

The quietude of the tasks are meditative, the rhythmic peeling of potatoes matching the gentle bubbling of the curry on the stove. Osamu moves around with an effortless grace, his movements methodical and precise and deliberate; he operates so seamlessly that his presence is both comforting and slightly unnerving. Despite only being here for a little over a week, it’s like he already knows the kitchen by heart, so much so that you find yourself wondering if perhaps he is too perfect, too polished.

The room is filled with the smells of cooking and the occasional clink of utensils against bowls, a domestic symphony that should be comforting.

But it’s just… not.

“Ya need any help with those?” His voice snaps you from your thoughts and you vehemently shake your head.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ve got this,” you reply, though your hands continue their steady work and he ends up reaching over and taking one from the pile anyway. You watch him out of the corner of your eye, noting the way his brows furrow slightly as he focuses on his task.

The conversation flows easily enough. It meanders on safe topics, the kind that fill the air but leave little impact; you talk about college, the upcoming events for the week, and the movies Chizuru picked for the night. It’s not particularly energetic or enthusiastic, especially now that you’re acutely avoiding mentioning Atsumu (all while cursing the blonde for pointing out last night the uncomfortable fact that, yes, in fact your conversations with Osamu are always easier when Atsumu’s the topic), but it is continuous and ongoing and maybe that will do. 

“Ever thought about opening your own restaurant?” you ask, clinging to a thread of conversation that might spark more interest.

Osamu’s reaction is a simple mild chuckle, a sound that lacks any real depth.

“‘Tsumu thinks I should too,” he responds without looking up from his knifework. “Maybe one day, when things settle down a bit.”

You nod, but the response doesn’t satisfy you. It’s sensible, reasonable—just like everything about Osamu. But where’s the challenge, the playful banter that Atsumu always brought into even the simplest interactions? The thought of Atsumu’s teasing, his infectious laughter, and the way he could turn even a mundane moment into a playful challenge makes you ache with a sudden intensity. 

You miss him.

The realization comes unbidden, a silent whisper amid the clatter of the kitchen. It’s a missing piece that makes Osamu’s perfect attentiveness seem somehow incomplete. You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling a chill that has nothing to do with the evening air seeping through the slightly ajar kitchen window.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. You help with cooking the rice, taste test with laughter and light conversation, but beneath it all is a current of dissonance. It’s not long before you’re wiping your hands on your apron and excusing yourself to get changed before dinner, and quietly slip upstairs.  

They say ignorance is bliss, and last night is proof. The conversation you just had with Osamu is nothing out of the ordinary, not at all different from the mornings you’ve spent together over the last week. And even now, it’s not that you don’t like Osamu, because you do. He’s good, he’s kind. He’s the kind of guy your parents would be proud of you for being with, a sort of stable and calm and reliable that’s everything you ever wanted. That’s everything you thought you ever wanted.

Somehow right now, it feels slightly hollow. 

As you step into your room, you let out a long sigh. Glancing at your phone, you briefly entertain the idea of texting Atsumu. You want to scream at him for ruining your developing feelings for his twin, blame him for destroying the tiny hint of stability you had for the week. But you don’t do that, mostly because that would be stupid to blame him for, but also because you think that if you see him right now, you might make a stupid decision you’ll end up regretting. 

nine.

Thanks to Chizuru’s insistence (it’s Christmas Eve, you have to!), you are convinced into joining tonight’s games of trivia and Jeopardy despite your misanthropy. Curse her and her supreme begging skills. You had been hoping to avoid the twins as much as humanly possible. 

Atsumu, sitting opposite you, kicks your foot. “Are ya good, princess?” he whispers when you look at him and raise your eyebrow. Aran, leading tonight, is saying something about Jeopardy rules, but it goes unheard, because the blonde in front of you continues, “Penny for your thoughts please.”

“You don’t have a penny,” you whisper back. “Pay me for my thoughts, dumbass.”

“What kinda guy d’ya take me for?” Atsumu mock-scoffs back. “A prostitute?”

Despite all the thoughts swirling in your mind, his stupid grin distracts you from them and you end up rolling your eyes, feeling the hint of a smile pull at your lips. “Maybe. You’re already kinda a fuckboy.”

“Don’tcha worry then, ‘cause you’re still ma favorite client,” he grins back. 

And you let yourself smile too.

***

The sorority ends up winning because Mao is a history major and there are no noticeable questions about agriculture or Sigmund Freud or business management or the average expenditure of calories (Kita, Suna, Osamu, and Atsumu respectively—the boys lowkey all study odd shit now that you think about it) that could allow the frat board to gain an upper hand. For the first time ever, you thank Mao for reciting her textbooks out loud to study, because now all of you are forced to have a comprehensive knowledge of war dates and Confucious.

The prize for winning, however, is a Certificate of Extraordinary Intelligence in Useless Facts, so Mao has officially launched herself into a very long declaration that history is not useless, so you don’t know if there was really a winner in the end.

It’s not in the itinerary for the night, but when Yui looks out the window and points out the clear sky, everyone is quick to agree to step outside for a “breath of fresh air.” Everyone meaning everyone but Kita, who is off to pack because he’s leaving at midnight to go stay with his family nearby. Though it would be Kita to have family in the little northern sector of Iwate: you could just see him living in a town of 50 one day, leading the calm, remote village life. You’ve never been close to the president of INA, but you guess he probably deserves to live a simple farm life because the foxes absolutely owe it to him for keeping the organization together.

The crisp night wind nips at your cheeks as you leave the cabin’s warmth, but after sitting around the table for so long you feel only invigorated by the chill; it really is the perfect night because the whole sky is just a tapestry of twinkling stars. The porch light casts a gentle glow, and the snow glistens under the moonlight, gorgeous and serene.

Without warning, Atsumu scoops up a handful of snow and lobs it at Osamu, who dodges just in time, causing the snowball to hit the cabin door with a soft thud. The playful challenge is met with enthusiasm, and within moments, everyone is gathering ammunition.

You’re bending down to scoop up your own snow when suddenly the shock of the cold against your warm skin causes you to let out a yelp. You spin around, eyes blazing, to find Atsumu standing there with a triumphant smirk on his face; his hand still holds some of the evidence, though most of it has been so rudely shoved down your back. 

“You jerk!” you yell, shrieking and jumping up and down, trying to shake the ice from the back of your sweater. Your tone is of annoyance, but it’s hard to stay truly mad when the whole scene is so ridiculously fun.

Atsumu is already backing away, a wild, teasing grin plastered across his face, his eyes sparkling with mischief under the moonlit night. “C’mon, princess, don’t tell me ya can’t handle a lil’ snow!” he taunts, his laughter echoing around the snowy clearing.

As if you’d let Atsumu just get away with that. So naturally, you scoop up as much snow as you can in your cold, red hands and take off sprinting after him, screaming, “Oh, you’re dead!”

The thrill of the pursuit drives away any lingering annoyance from last night; you barely even register the way your heart pounds with adrenaline and cheeks flush from the cold. The laughter of the others fades into the background as your focus narrows down to the gleeful figure darting just ahead of you.

Atsumu is fast, sure, but your determination is faster, and the freshly fallen snow slows him down just enough for you to gain ground. With a determined yell, you launch your armful of snow at his back, hitting him squarely between the shoulder blades; the impact makes him stumble forward with a playful groan. “Alright, alright, I give!” he laughs when he spins to face you, raising his hands in mock defeat.

Just as you think you’ve won, just as you start laughing triumphantly and let your guard down, he’s charging back at you. You try to sidestep, but the slippery ground betrays you, and you both end up tumbling into a soft snowdrift. The world whirls into a blur of white and laughter as you wrestle in the snow, trying to pin each other down. Atsumu manages to get the upper hand briefly, pinning your wrists gently above your head with a victorious grin. His breath comes in visible puffs in the cold air, his face inches from yours, eyes sparkling with mischief and something warmer.

“You’re such a child!” you shout, breathless from both the cold and the exertion.

“You love it,” he retorts, a smug grin plastered across his face despite the snow sticking to his hair and clothes.

You roll and wrangle and as you do, Atsumu manages to push more snow down the back of your shirt, making you squeal and squirm. “Atsumu!” you shriek, half-annoyed, half-panting, mostly all laughing. Your hands are freezing, but you keep trying to shove snow into his face in retaliation until you finally manage to squish his face with a clump of snow. The rest of the group watches, cheering at your antics, thoroughly entertained by the display, but their voices go unregistered to both of you as you both fall back, exhausted and satisfied and covered in snow, looking up at the starry sky. 

As the laughter subsides and the rapid heartbeat begins to slow, you and Atsumu lie sprawled in the snow, the cold forgotten for a moment. The serene silence that falls over both of you is a rare kind of peace, something that feels close to perfect. You can see Atsumu’s chest rise and fall with each breath, his eyes reflecting the twinkling stars above, and there’s something unspoken in the way he looks at you—something that makes you feel softer, lighter, like you’re floating on air. 

You want to say something sarcastic. You want to throw more snow into his face and tell him he looks stupid. You want to be mean to him and you want him to flirt with you so you can tell him to fuck off. He’s the bane of your existence. He riles you up and makes you angrier than most other people ever could. It’s so much easier to argue with him. It’s so much easier to hate him. 

But you don’t. So you just lie there and take it in.

ten.

The moment gets stolen by a voice. 

“Oi, lovebirds, everyone’s headin’ in! You two plannin’ on makin’ snow angels all night, or do ya wanna join the rest of us by the fire?” Osamu calls out.

Atsumu glares in the voice’s direction, his brow creasing. The peaceful moment shatters like thin ice underfoot, and you can practically hear the crack because it’s visible in how his gaze shifts from the stars above to his brother and the tension in his grip that wasn’t there before. “Can’t ya see we’re havin’ a moment here?” he snaps back, the words almost biting through the frigid air.

Osamu, unbothered by the snap, just chuckles and strolls over, offering a hand to help you up. “Yeah, yeah, yer playin’ in the snow like a couple of kids. Let’s get inside, yer gonna catch cold.” His concern is sincere, his tone sweet. You accept the hand with a smile; when you stand fully up, Osamu wraps his arm around your shoulders and leans in close enough to mumble, “Yui told me that ya get sick easy. Got worried, hope ya ain’t too mad at me for snatchin’ ya away.”

His close presence is warmth cutting through your chill and you subconsciously lean into him. “Oh, thank you,” you say softly; he sounds so genuine. “You’re really considerate. It’s just At-”

You turn around to find Atsumu pushing himself up, brushing snow from his hair. He had been watching your quiet exchange with close eyes, and now that you really look at him again, his expression is briefly unfamiliar. It’s just for a brief second—a moment so quick it was gone in an instant—but you could have sworn it was a gaze tighter, darker, than you have ever seen from him before and it makes you shiver. It’s quick to be replaced by his usual grin when he notices your concerned expression, though, as if he’s trying to placate you. As if he doesn’t want you to know how he’s feeling. 

The snowball fight had been playful, a rare truce in your usual war of words with Atsumu, and now he seems reluctant to let that end. Still, his tone is light, or at least lighter than before, laced with a hint of forced cheerfulness, when he assures you, “S’okay, princess. Let’s get inside.”

But the sharpness in his eyes betrays his words. And as if to keep pushing him, to keep jamming his finger straight into the bruise, Osamu’s arm slips downwards to hover around your waist—it’s so delicate that you wouldn’t have noticed the shift in position if not for the way his hold ever so slightly tightens to pull you closer. 

Atsumu’s smile fades into something heavier and his hands clench into tight fists by his side and there’s a look that crosses his features, something filled with irritation; there’s a palpable tension between the two brothers that makes you nervous. Still, Osamu just smiles like he’s completely oblivious, cheerily saying, “Yeah, don’tcha worry, ‘Sumu. Just tryna keep our princess warm.”

Our princess. The words are loaded. Osamu isn’t just being kind; he’s provoking him. He’s pushing his brother, trying to see just how far Atsumu’ll let him go, trying to drive a reaction out of him. 

There’s an undeniable undercurrent of something more in the air. 

Atsumu, witnessing this, locks his jaw, his good-natured facade struggling to mask the surge of emotions that seem to whirl behind his eyes. And yet, he stops. He doesn’t say anything, even though it seemed as though he would, even though when you met his eyes there was that terrifying darkness from before. Atsumu just turns on his heel and starts marching back towards the cabin.

And for some reason you can’t quite comprehend, you feel your heart sink.

eleven.

It’s significantly quieter that night. 

Atsumu hadn’t shown up to dinner, nor did he join everyone to watch Elf in the living room. Chizuru and Aran had expressed concern, offering to go upstairs and check on him, but Osamu had assured them all that Atsumu was fine and just worn out from the day and that had seemed to placate them. You tried to trust his word too, but even as the film plays and Osamu drapes his arm onto the couch behind you and Yui nudges you and wiggles her brow at the closeness and you try to convince yourself that you’re fine, you can’t help the awful feeling of dread you have in the pit of your stomach. 

It doesn’t go away even when the movie ends and you retreat upstairs to shower and get to bed; it doesn’t go away even when you settle into the softness of your sheets and turn out the lights; it doesn’t go away even when the only illumination in the room comes from your phone as you stalk your Instagram homepage trying to distract your mind. You almost want to hear Atsumu’s overwhelmingly loud and obnoxious laughter from the next room; you want to know that he’s okay, and you don’t really even understand why. You’ve spent the last two years being an Atsumu Hater™ and here you are anyway, your heart racing. 

But just as you’re about to surrender to the warmth of your blankets, your ears pick up the muffled but unmistakable timbre of raised voices from the room next door.

The Miya twins.

You sit up in bed, heart pounding. You can’t make out the words through the wall, but the low rumble of Osamu’s voice and the sharper, heated tone of Atsumu’s are unmistakable. You hesitate for a moment, caught between pressing your ear against the wall to catch more of the conversation or trying to ignore it altogether. But then Atsumu’s voice cuts through clearly, loud and raw with frustration:

“Why’re ya doin’ this, Samu? Seriously, what the hell?”

You freeze.

There’s a pause. Osamu’s voice comes next, calmer but with a sharp edge that makes the air in your room feel heavy. “Doin’ what, exactly? Bein’ nice? Spendin’ time with her? ‘Cause last I checked, you’re the one who’s been actin’ like she don’t exist unless it’s to get under her skin.”

You hear the sound of something—maybe a chair or a bed frame—scraping against the floor. Atsumu’s voice comes back, even louder. “Don’t gimme that crap! You know what I’m talkin’ about! You’ve been all over her this whole week, like you’re tryin’ to... to—”

“To what, Tsumu?” Osamu cuts in, his tone sharp enough to make you flinch even from the other side of the wall. “To do what you won’t? You’ve had two years to say somethin’, to do anythin’, but all you’ve done is act like a damn idiot around her. And now you’re mad at me ‘cause I actually treat her like a person?”

Your chest tightens. You press your hands against your mouth to stifle the sharp inhale that escapes you. Are they... talking about you?

There’s a heavy silence. For a moment, you think maybe it’s over, but then Atsumu speaks again, quieter this time, almost hesitant. “It’s not like that...”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Osamu snaps. “If it’s not like that, then why are you so pissed off, huh? If you don’t care about her, why’s it eatin’ at ya every time I so much as look at her?”

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice now, though it’s tinged with something more serious. “Admit it, Tsumu. You like her. Hell, you’ve probably liked her for years, but you’re too chicken to do anything about it. So don’t come at me like I’m the bad guy when all I’m doin’ is fillin’ the space you left wide open.”

Your heart is pounding so loud you’re surprised they can’t hear it through the wall.

“I—” Atsumu starts, but his voice falters. He sounds... small. Defeated. “I don’t—”

“Yeah? Then prove it,” Osamu interrupts. “If you really don’t care, I’ll back off. But if you do? If you actually want a chance with her? Then grow up and ask her out before it’s too late.”

Another beat of silence stretches between them, so tense and thick it feels like the walls of your room might crack under the weight of it. Then there’s the sound of footsteps—heavy, frustrated—and the slam of a door.

Your mind is racing. You sit there frozen for what feels like hours, trying to piece together what you’ve just heard, what it all means, and why your heart feels like it might break free of your chest.

You glance at the door to your room, wondering if Atsumu’s stormed off to his, or if—

A knock. A soft, hesitant knock at your door.

Your breath catches.

twelve.

The knock comes again, a little louder this time, but you don’t move. You press your face into the pillow, hold your breath, and will your heartbeat to calm down. He waits for a moment, long enough that you can almost picture him standing just outside your door, shifting on his feet and second-guessing himself.

Finally, there’s a sigh, barely audible through the door. The sound makes your chest ache.

But then the floor creaks softly as he steps away, and the silence that follows feels louder than anything he could have said.

You stay like that for a long time, staring into the darkness of your room as the words from the argument next door replay in your head on an endless loop. You don’t know how to feel, or even what to feel, but one thing is certain—you’re not going to get any sleep tonight.

***

The next morning, the sound of laughter and the warm scent of cinnamon pull you from your restless slumber. It’s Christmas morning.

You drag yourself out of bed, trying to shake the unease still settled in your chest, and join everyone downstairs. The living room is alive with energy—Chizuru and Yui are wearing matching pajamas and passing out mugs of hot cocoa, Aran is fiddling with the Bluetooth speaker to get a holiday playlist going, and Osamu is helping himself to the tray of cookies on the coffee table, ignoring Chizuru’s scolding about “ruining the aesthetic before everyone’s here.”

But even with all the warmth and chatter, the absence is glaring.

Atsumu is nowhere to be seen.

You try not to let it bother you. He’s probably just sleeping in. Or avoiding you after last night. You’re not sure which thought twists your stomach more.

The morning rolls on, and soon everyone gathers for the gift exchange. Laughter fills the air as ribbons are untied, wrapping paper is torn apart, and heartfelt thank-yous are exchanged. Yui squeals over the skincare set Kita picked out for her, and Aran grins ear-to-ear at the custom jersey Chizuru ordered. Even Osamu looks pleased with the knife set you picked out for him, ruffling your hair as he thanks you.

But as the last gifts are unwrapped, you realize something’s missing.

Everyone else has given you something, no matter how small—a book from Chizuru, earrings from Yui, a scarf from Suna—but Atsumu’s name is noticeably absent.

You don’t say anything, but you feel the knot of disappointment settle in your chest. Maybe it’s silly to care so much. Maybe it’s selfish. But after the week you’ve had, after all the bickering, the teasing, and everything you heard last night, you thought...

You thought he’d at least try.

***

The rest of the day passes in a blur of food and laughter, but you can’t shake the hollow feeling that lingers in the back of your mind. That night, you retreat to your room early, needing the quiet to sort through your thoughts.

You’re not expecting the knock.

It’s soft at first, like he’s testing whether you’ll even respond. You hesitate, wondering if you should ignore it again like last night. But then it comes again, more insistent.

“Hey,” Atsumu’s voice calls softly through the door. “You awake?”

You don’t answer, but you also don’t move.

A pause. Then: “I know you’re probably mad at me or somethin’, but... I wanna show ya somethin’. Come on, get up. Please.”

There’s something in his voice that makes your stomach flip—nervousness, maybe, or the slightest tinge of vulnerability.

When you still don’t reply, he tries again. “There’s... there’s somethin’ I wanna say, but it’ll be easier if ya just come with me. I’ll be out back. Meet me at the hot tub if you wanna.”

His footsteps retreat, leaving you alone in the quiet.

For a moment, you just sit there, staring at the door and debating whether to follow him or let the silence stay.

But curiosity—and maybe something else—wins out. You pull yourself from the bed, slide on your slippers, and head downstairs.

thirteen.

The night air is crisp, biting against your skin as you step out onto the pool deck. The stars above are sharp pinpricks in the deep velvet sky, their light barely competing with the soft glow of the string lights strung along the edge of the fence.

Your heart pounds as you glance around, unsure of what you’re expecting. And then you see him.

Atsumu is sitting by the edge of the hot tub, his legs dipped into the warm water, hands fidgeting in his lap. The tension in his shoulders eases the moment his eyes meet yours, and he lights up in a way that makes your chest ache. He stands quickly, his movements awkward but eager, like he’s been waiting for hours just for this moment.

“You came,” he says softly, his voice carrying over the gentle hum of the water.

You nod, stepping closer, unsure what to say. There’s a nervous energy between you now, not the usual teasing or bickering, but something fragile and unspoken. 

He gestures toward the edge of the hot tub. You hesitate for only a moment before moving to sit beside him, the warmth of the bubbling water chasing away the chill in the air. Neither of you speak at first, the silence thick but not uncomfortable.

When you glance at him, you notice his hands are no longer fidgeting. Instead, they rest on his knees, tense, like he’s holding himself back.

The quiet stretches on, and you don’t know whether it’s you or him who breaks it first. But then he moves—slowly, carefully—and cups your face with his hands.

You can’t breathe. You can’t even comprehend anything but his large, warm hands gentle around your face. His thumbs brush softly against your cheeks, and his eyes meet yours with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t need to. The way he looks at you—steady and unguarded—says it all.

And in that moment, you’re reminded of everything.

The way he looked at you during truth or dare, his gaze flickering with something almost too heavy to hold. The way he showed up for you, always, even when you tried to convince you both that it didn’t mean anything. The way he looked at you that very first night you met him, in the dim, crowded, musty basement of the frat house, when your heart had betrayed you by skipping a beat the very moment his golden eyes landed on you. He has never looked more beautiful; he has never seemed more human. 

You love him. Oh god. 

You love him.

Atsumu hesitates, leaning in slightly but stopping just short, his breath warm against your skin. He pauses, like he’s waiting for your permission, or maybe just bracing himself for the possibility that you’ll pull away.

Against all odds, you kiss him first.

The moment your lips meet, he lets out a small, almost startled sound before kissing you back. His hands slide to the sides of your neck, steady and sure, while his lips move against yours like he’s been imagining this for years. He holds you like he’s terrified that this isn’t real, like if he lets go then you’ll disappear. Your fingers knot in his t-shirt, his hand gets lost in your hair, you are breathless in every way but you don’t care because if he wanted to steal the air straight from your lungs you would let him. 

When you finally part, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin, both of you quiet as the world seems to settle into a kind of peace. For a moment, he just looks at you, his expression so tender and full of awe that you wonder if he’s committing this moment to memory. And then he grins—a smile so wide and full of boyish delight that it makes your heart skip a beat.

“So you do like me,” he teases, his voice warm, his thumb brushing against your cheek. 

You snort. “Nah, I change my mind. I hate you.”

He rolls his eyes because he knows you’re bluffing, and just kisses you again.

The two of you sit there for a while longer, wrapped up in each other and the quiet intimacy of the night. But then you remember something, a question that’s been gnawing at the back of your mind all day.

“Atsumu?”

“Hmm?” he hums, still holding you close, his fingers absently tracing small circles against your skin.

“Why didn’t you get me a Christmas gift?”

He freezes for a moment, blinking at you like he’s just remembered something. “Oh, crap.”

“What?” you ask, laughing at the sudden panic in his face.

“That’s what I came here for,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, before quickly standing and rummaging through the pocket of his hoodie. He pulls out a small, folded cloth pouch, holding it carefully in his hands like it’s something precious.

“I’ve had this for years,” he says, his voice soft, almost hesitant, as he sits back down beside you. “And I didn’t know if I should give it to ya. Or if it was even the right time. But... I guess it is now.”

He opens the pouch and carefully empties its contents into his hand.

You stare, halting as you take in what’s inside:

A small square of paper with the element “Au” drawn on it, the edges worn like it’s been folded and unfolded a thousand times. “From freshman year chem,” he explains softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You were the only one who laughed when I joked that it stood for Atsumu instead of gold.”

A torn scrap of notebook paper with your name written on it in messy handwriting. “Greek match,” he says, chuckling quietly. “I wrote it down when they paired us up. Figured it’d be my one excuse to talk to ya.”

A dried, pressed petal from a rose. “Semi-formal,” he murmurs. “You were wearin’ that red dress, and I was an idiot who thought bringin’ roses was a good idea. You said they were beautiful, but you... you were somethin’ else entirely.”

There’s other little things, little bits and pieces from the two years you’ve known each other, little reminders that you can barely remember a time where he wasn’t in your life. Atsumu has been a part of your routine since the day he met you. You lived eighteen years without knowing him, but you can’t imagine living without him anymore. 

And then, as if you weren’t touched enough, he passes you another small wrapped item. You gently peel back the paper to find the Mt. Iwate snow globe he had bought before you could last week. 

As you cradle the snow globe in your hands, the memory of that day comes rushing back—Atsumu’s smug grin as he held up the very item you’d been planning to buy, the gleam of satisfaction in his golden eyes when you’d glared at him. You’d been so furious, so determined to outmatch him for the rest of the trip, but now, holding the snow globe in your hands, all you can feel is an overwhelming warmth.

“You…” Your voice falters as you run your thumb over the cool glass, watching the tiny flakes swirl around the miniature Mt. Iwate. “You bought this for me?”

He shrugs, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Felt bad for bein’ an ass that day. But ya stormed off before I could give it to ya, and then… I guess I kept it, hopin’ one day it’d mean more.”

You blink at him, at the boy sitting beside you, nervously scratching the back of his neck. The boy who had spent two years teasing and frustrating you, yet somehow still managed to worm his way into your heart. The boy who’d quietly kept a snow globe and a collection of mementos, waiting for the right moment to share them with you.

“Atsumu…” Your voice is soft, almost fragile, as you set the snow globe down and turn to face him fully. “This is—” You pause, searching for the right words. “You didn’t have to do any of this.”

“I know,” he says quickly, his gaze dropping to the water, then back to you. “But I wanted to. You’re… important to me, y’know? And I don’t always show it the right way, but—”

“You don’t have to explain,” you interrupt, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his voice. “I get it. I do.”

His eyes search yours, his expression caught somewhere between relief and disbelief. For a moment, the two of you just sit there, the night air heavy with unsaid things. Then you reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his, and his breath catches audibly.

“You’re not as bad as you think you are,” you tease lightly, trying to ease the tension, though your voice wavers with the weight of everything unspoken.

“Yeah?” His grin is lopsided, nervous, but the spark of playfulness in his eyes is unmistakable. “Don’t get used to me bein’ this sweet, though. Still gotta keep you on your toes.”

You laugh softly, leaning your head against his shoulder, your fingers still tangled with his. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

For a while, you sit in companionable silence, the bubbling of the hot tub and the distant chirping of crickets filling the air. You watch as the snow globe sits on the edge of the tub, the flakes settling gently at the base. Somehow, it feels like everything—your bickering, his teasing, the hesitant steps toward this moment—has led to this: an unspoken understanding that this, whatever it is between you, is real.

Finally, Atsumu breaks the silence. “So… was that the right gift?” He nudges your shoulder lightly, his tone casual but his eyes searching.

You pretend to think, your lips twitching into a smirk. “Hmm… It’s alright, I guess.”

His jaw drops in mock offense, his free hand flying to his chest. “Alright? Do you know how much thought I put into that?”

You grin, squeezing his hand. “It’s perfect, Atsumu.”

His expression softens, and for a moment, he just looks at you, his golden eyes warm and steady. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Because you’re kinda perfect to me, too.”

And just like that, he has you all over again—breathless, flustered, and hopelessly in love. You lean up and kiss him, slow and soft, and when you pull back, his boyish grin is so bright it almost hurts to look at.

“Alright, enough mushy stuff,” you say, standing up and stretching, though your heart is still racing. “I’m freezing, and I need to head back inside before I turn into an icicle.”

Atsumu groans dramatically but follows your lead, climbing out of the hot tub and grabbing the snow globe for you. He drapes his hoodie around your shoulders as you head back toward the cabin, the warmth of it—and him—chasing away the cold.

As you walk, side by side, you realize something: revenge had been the last thing on your mind tonight. Because somehow, Atsumu had managed to do what he always did—get under your skin and make himself impossible to hate. And for once, you weren’t going to fight it.

Tomorrow, you might bicker again. He might steal your favorite mug, or you might prank him during breakfast. But tonight, under the glow of the stars and the string lights, you let yourself fall a little deeper, knowing he’d be there to catch you.

⨭ closing; i love this one sm honestly. i lowkey even drew out the room plan of the cabin in case ur curious, which looks like this:

btw all the sorority girls mentioned are actually the girls' karasuno team lol; i'm trying rly hard to keep these stories all in the same universe but there are so few girls in the hq universe and even less in high school </3 wld it be confusing if i started reusing kiyoko and yachi as y/n's besties it wld be so much easier on me :')

vote down below or maybe offer some suggestions for other ways to work around the lack of girl besties/roommates/etc (ie. maybe age change!older/younger sisters??)

[jsprnt]

still being somewhat friends with your ex brings up some jealousy in your relationship

kenan yıldız x reader

A/N: jealous kenan🤌🤌!!! based on this request.

W/C: 1.440

"this one looks better on your feed.." you tell your best friend, scrolling through the pictures you just took of her.

"I know. what would I do without a bestie like you.." she coos, wrapping her arms around your body.

"you'd be stuck with your boyfriend who takes ugly photos.." you chuckle, hugging her back.

"travis can't take pictures for shit. at least kenan takes good pictures of you.." she says, sitting up and fixing her hair.

"I got very lucky.." you beam, grateful for your boyfriend's artistic skills.

"he needs to give travis some tips when he gets here.."

"when does he arrive?" she asks, playing with the frills of your jeans.

"he said he'd be here in ten.." you answer, looking around the house.

your big friend group decided to organize a get together after not being able to meet for a long time. everyone was encouraged to bring their partners, so you didn't hesitate to ask kenan if he would join you.

your boyfriend was an incredibly busy guy, especially with the serie a games starting in a couple days.

but of course, he'd always make time for you.

"hey, y/n can you pass me the chips?"

you look up when you hear a familiar voice, making eye contact with adam.

he was one of your friends, and unfortunately, also your ex.

you didn't even know if you could classify him as an ex, since your relationship lasted a mere month or two, and when both you realized it wasn't going to work out, it ended.

no hard feelings.

well, you could only speak for yourself..

"you want the guac too?" you ask, sitting up to grab the bowl of chips in front of you.

"nah, I like 'em plain.."

you frown at his answer, he must've turned into a crazy person since you broke up, because who enjoys eating plain chips without a dip?

"oh, here.." you slide the bowl over, leaning back into the couch.

you look at your best friend, her face incredibly still. you know, that if you make eye contact with her, you'd both burst out in laughter.

"thanks, y/n.."

you give him a small smile, watching him shove the crispy nachos into his mouth.

"so, where's your boyfriend at?" he mumbles, his mouth unaesthetically full.

"he's coming over in a couple minutes. he's a busy person, you know." you explain, scratching the back of your hand.

you look to your right, silently asking your best friend to break the tension, or save you from the conversation..

"adam, where's your partner? I didn't see you walk in with anyone.."

"yeah, I thought you were dating halle from your finance class?" you question, trying to steer the topic away from your own personal life.

"didn't work out- again.." he sighs, looking directly into your eyes.

you press your lips into a line, shivering, you look at your equally nosy best friend.

"well, it'll work for out for you too eventually. like how I'm with kenan now.."

you try to reassure him, confused when adam suddenly sits up, fixing his posture. his hands move down, and he starts wiping his oily fingers on his jeans.

why did men do nasty things like that?

"what's going to work out eventually?" 

you gasp at the familiar voice, turning around to see kenan behind you.

"you're here.." you beam excitedly, feeling his loving touch from behind. his arm wrapping around your shoulders, as he presses a kiss behind your ear.

"of course I’m here.." he mutters, pulling back when you stand up from the couch to walk around it.

"thank you for coming.." you hug kenan, his strong arms wrapping around you, a little tighter than usual.

"a promise, is a promise.." he mumbles into your ear, kissing your temple. you can feel the soft fabric of his hoodie brush against your cheek. the scent of his musky cologne entering your nose, calming you with its familiar smell.

you hum, feeling his hands trail down your back, a hand touching your lower back.

kenan loved showing his love through touch, but he'd never been a 'pda' person. he always chose to hold your hand or hug you outside the four walls of your shared apartment, so the sudden intimate touches were confusing to you.

not that you would mind, you were in private company, so you'd savor everyone of his touches anyway.

"hello, good to see you.." he tells your best friend, giving her a smile before averting his gaze to adam.

"nice to see you, man.." adam speaks when he notices the look, immediately standing up and walking over.

while you watch your ex walk towards you, you can feel kenan's grip tighten around you. nothing painful, of course, even when not aware, he'd never do anything to hurt you.

he absolutely cherished every second you spent together. whether it was a quick lunch date in between his training sessions, and your university classes or just spending his daily life with you.

never letting you get too cold or too hot. bringing a drink from your favorite café, while you were already sipping on your crappy, watered down, homemade iced coffee. tying your shoelaces without you even realizing they came undone.

at this point, you could request for the urban dictionary to make 'kenan' a synonym for 'gentleman'.

you look up when kenan doesn't greet adam like he usually greets your other friends.

you weren't naive enough to not know why. your boyfriend had long known adam and you had dated briefly, since you didn't feel like it was morally right not to inform him..

of course, kenan had not doubted your loyalty to him. he trusted you, as much as you trusted him.

you couldn't lie and say you were completely fine with still being friends with adam. you'd shared intimate moments together, and going back to that platonic relationship wasn’t something you were 100% comfortable with.

"you arrived pretty late. I guess being a baller is keeping you away from our dear y/n.."

you watch kenan's jaw clench, his jawline getting even sharper as you feel his fingers trace your back.

"I made time, like I'd expect a boyfriend to do.." your boyfriend retorts, his voice steady and firm.

"I would be crazy to lose a person like her.."

your eyes flicker back up at kenan, knowing that jab was obviously about adam and you breaking it off.

"ken.." you call out, patting his chest to get his attention. 

"what is it, baby?" you almost laugh at the voice change. It switches from a rough, deep one to the most honey-soaked tone ever.

"please don't start anything, come on. let's go get some snacks, ‘kay?" you ask, smiling to convince him.

you watch your best friend get pulled away by her boyfriend, it giving you the perfect opportunity to dip.

"okay, that's fine.." your boyfriend agrees, squeezing your hips one more time, before he releases the tension in his jaw. turning around and pulling you away from the frazzled adam.

"jealous boy.." you tease him when he pulls you into a corner, poking his cheek. where his dimples would dent when he’d smile or pull a face.

"I'm not jealous.." he dismisses, reaching up to remove a fallen eyelash from your cheek.

"should I go back and bring adam? ask if he wants a drink?"

"come on. I can have an opinion.."

"that is?" you question, grabbing and popping a grape into your mouth.

"I don't trust the guy for a second, like- what guy befriends his ex?"

"if the ex is as nice as me, I would.." you tease.

"what if I were friend with my ex?" he questions, using elaborate hand movements.

"I would- wait, but this is different, ken. I can't cut him off easily since he's a part of the friend group. it's already kind of awkward between us.."

"awkward? thank goodness.."

you roll your eyes at his happiness, shoving a cracker into his mouth.

"shush, just eat it this, and stop talking.."

"no sharing chips with him, no more.." he hums, chewing on the crunchy snack.

"you saw that?"

"obviously, your friends kept me at the door until I took pictures with them.."

"oh.."

"can we hook him and his ex back up together?"

you scoff, raising a brow. 

"what did I say?"

"stop talking.." he grins, his dimples showing as he looks at you. his brown eyes lighting up in amusement.

"never mind, just give me a kiss.." you say, looking up when he eagerly cups your jaw.

"don't even worry about it .."

[planetallure]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ fic recs

CW: these works contain explicit content intended for those 18+. make sure to read the rules of the writers before interacting.

@peterthepark : coming back to this blog made me realize when exactly i started back reading fanfic fr. the moment that was eddie mf munson, touched something in me. reign was one of my first intros that really stuck with me. it kinda blew my mind and scared me at the same time because i was like…how do i move on…what’s better than this??? brilliance. creative genius. like what more do you want from me? reign, i miss you. <3

i rec literally anything she’s written about eddie or tasm!peter parker.

@ohcaptains : i really don’t know what to tell you man. leah. is. HER. she simply does not miss. funny story: when i first started my old blog, it was ageless so i ended up getting blocked. so i pm’d her basically begging to come back home because i knew what i had lost. i’m not ashamed.

"dealers choice" - if you happened to miss the moment that was eddie munson or you miss his character or you were never really into him, this lil universe is for you. <3

"learning in public" - carmy x fem!reader. he needs it. he wants it. he has to have it. a man on his knees. enjoy.

"don't you dare fall in love" - heads up this one was discontinued and will not be continued (so don’t go harassing her about it) but the last part has an open ending so don’t let that stop you. college student/dealer!ellie x fem!reader. it’s beautiful and perfect. enjoy.

also ALL of her frank castle, abby anderson, tasm!peter parker fics. thank youuu

@inknopewetrust : this woman is a W R I T E R. the beautiful angsty things that come from her brain need to be cherished. thank you for your service.

“hoping i’ll find [a glimpse of us]” - when i tell you this shit was so fricking good!!!!!?! another piece of LITERATURE that i couldn’t believe i got to read for free on tumblr. i am such a sucker for a angsty slow burn and this still lives in me head rent free to this day. the tension had me giggling and laughing and biting my nail and crying. i need to spin back. i need to feel something!!

“secret” : now this one was a sexy forbidden romance. eddie’s our man who isn’t our man but is and oh m gee the angst in this one got me too, though it wasn’t as much. preppy!reader x eddie munson iykyk.

@etherealising : the absolute sweetest person i’ve met on here. every interaction i have with her just makes me smile. on TOP of that she’s a beautiful writer and storyteller. vee you have my heart.

“all i ever knew only you” - the best carmy x oc fic i’ve ever had the pleasure of reading on here. i’m so emotionally attached to this series, its characters and i think it has such re-readablity . the characterization is also so well done carmy x baby 4life. it’s currently discontinued but she is currently doing a rewrite and it’s going really well! in the meantime, please don’t let that stop you from reading the original while it’s still up. you won’t regret it.

“a buried and a burning flame” - vee single-handedly has me looking a richie different now. like…wait a minute :)) the bickering and banter is so fun. tension? check. spice?? check.

“flew like a moth to you” - a continuation of the one above. babyyyy!!! yes, yes, uh huh 🙂‍↕️ these two? LOVE EM. he’s officially in my heart.

@totheblood : star is so kind and super creative. she has created some of my favorite ellie williams smau’s on here.

"the hard way" - rockstar!ellie williams x ex-gf!reader smau. you guys are brought together again to solve the mystery that is the anonymous account blackmailing the two of you. mmm, nothing like the takedown of a shady mf to bring the girls together again :)

@cherriesxinthespring : another sweetheart with a beautiful mind. ik people get the characterization/true nature of ellie so wrong, but not rosie. she gets it.

“wasteland, baby!” - the wlw true enemies to lovers slow burn i’ve been dreaming of. tap in. right now.

@elliesbelle

“nobody compares to you” : a deliciously angsty slow burn second chance romance (ex!ellie x f!reader)

all the text convos for abby and ellie.

@newasskid : this blog makes me so nostalgic. THE first fic series that i read and rebloged when i started my first ff blog, came from this writer. i honestly feel it was my first time reading fanfic that wasn’t a silly little wattpad story or imagine and i was honestly gagged. i was like, “this…this is literature.” what can i say? i love good ass characterization! and this one was no exception.

“hard knock life” - like i said i was gagged with how good it was. i read the first two chapters back in 2022 and i still remember the feeling i felt reading them. this new blog i’m making is a fresh start for me and a chance for me to get back into old fandoms. will be revisiting this one soon.

@lovelettersfromluna

"one of your girls" - biker!ellie/roommate!ellie/camgirl!ellie x f!reader ALL rolled into to this ridiculously sexy little universe!! i love these two so much :’(

"compass" - vampire!ellie !!!! my new favorite thing. the way luna writes her feeding on reader ALONE is the most erotic and intimate thing. my god this was hot.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

sending all of this beautiful writers my love and respect y’all are amazing and so important. <3

[tinytownn]

road rage – v

message or comment to be added to the next fic's taglist!

joel miller x f!reader

word count: 2.2k

summary: on a drive home after a late night shift, a tailgating truck hits you, sending you off the road. the driver—his looks catching you by surprise—offers you a ride home.

content: LAST CHAPTERRRR, not much happens AT ALL tbh, sappy and corny ass chapter, cute lil dinner party, drunk tommyyy, shy/tipsy joel, age gap, no use of y/n

a/n: [UNEDITED] ahhhhh thank you to everyone who has supported this mini series!! this was originally meant to be a little smutty one shot, but i couldn't get the thought of soft joel (aka if sarah never fucking died) hence me writting five plotless blurbs with these characters. i couldn't really figure out where to take this so i apologize for the lack of development w/ this but i have the next series drafted out and i promise y'all are in for a treat. (the character development and plot have been the only thing on my mind this week i stg)

pt. i pt. ii pt. iii pt. iv

— 

A warm, amber glow spilled over the dining room table, the flicker of the overhead lamp casting soft shadows against the walls. Somewhere in the quiet hum of the house, laughter cut through–deep and familiar.

“Bastards had no idea what they were getting themselves into,” Joel laughed, slamming his beer can against the table with a thunk. “Gave me all that shit, but couldn’t even last five minutes with the guy. Whatever he said must’ve been bad enough– they scrapped the whole damn project.”

Tommy chortled, beer dribbling down his chin. “Serves ‘em right. Good luck findin’ someone who’ll work with his entitled ass.”

Legs crossed on the dining chair, Sarah beamed up at her dad. “I’m glad they’re lettin’ you work again. I was gettin’ kinda worried there for a bit…Hey! We should have a dinner party!”

Joel raised a brow, hand tightening around the can. “A dinner party? I don’t know, that sounds like a lot of work, babygirl. How ‘bout a movie night instead? Like we always do.”

“Nope,” Sarah said, already up and heading toward the kitchen, ponytail swaying behind her. “I’ve got it all covered. I’ve been lookin’ for an excuse to try out a bunch of new recipes anyway.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair with a smirk. “I’ve got a wife at home that would love a reason to not cook dinner.” 

“Perfect! Invite her tonight! I’ll make enough for everyone,” Sarah called over her shoulder. Then, she hesitated, glancing back towards Joel. “And…you should invite your girlfriend, Dad. It’d be nice to actually meet her.”

Joel froze, mid-sip. A beat of silence stretched before Tommy’s voice broke through, laced with disbelief.

“Girlfriend?” he gasped, his beer clunking to the table. “You mean– Joel, no way!”

An audible groan left Joel’s lips, his hand instinctively knotting its way through his hair. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he muttered, though it lacked conviction.

It had been almost a week since he picked you up from work with flowers in hand–calloused fingers nervously brushing against yours. That night he’d spent the rest of the evening in your bed, tangled in the sheets with you, your head resting on his chest, your breaths rising and falling in sync.

He’d seen you a few times since, though not nearly as often as he wanted. Work kept him on a short leash–endless meetings and forced apologies from higher-ups who admitted they’d been wrong. Again. The client was gone, the project canceled, and Joel needed to stay low.

“Take my truck ‘til you find somethin’,” he’d said, pressing the keys into your palm.

You pushed his hands away, shaking your head at the offer. “I can’t do that, Joel. How are you gonna get to work?” 

“Tommy’ll take me,” he shrugged. “We’re both stuck in the shop anyway ‘til they line up a new project.”

So, you took the keys–and Joel’s truck became yours for the week.

Tommy, of course, had questions and Joel simply chalked it up to the truck being in the shop. But now, sitting at the dinner table, Tommy’s eyes narrowed, the pieces finally coming together.

“Not your girlfriend, huh?” Tommy jabbed a finger between Joel’s eyes, the condensation from his beer dripping onto Joel’s nose. “Bullshit. You don’t just give some random girl your truck for the week.”

“And nap with her on the couch…” Sarah chimed in from her spot in the kitchen.

Joel squinted in her direction, pointing at her with a mocked sternness. “Can it, kid.”

Tommy grinned. “So, what’s she like? She got a name, or do we just call her ‘Not Joel’s Girlfriend’?”

Joel sighed, shaking his head, but unable to hide the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She’s…somethin’ else.”

Sarah peeked around the corner, hopeful. “So you will invite her tonight?”

Joel hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yeah…alright. I’ll ask her.”

Tommy raised his beer. “To the woman crazy enough to date Joel.”

–

Legs splayed across the couch, you lay in your living room, a show mindless droning through the speakers. The static haze of the screen washed over your face–your only company in the stillness of the evening. Until your phone lit up in your hand.

Joel.

You sat up straighter, swiping to answer. “Hello?” you asked, maybe a little too eagerly, pressing the phone to your ear.

There was some muffled laughter in the background—two voices, maybe three—followed by a shuffle of movement before Joel’s familiar drawl came through the line.

“Hey, what’re you up to, darlin’?”

“I am watching…” you trailed off, finding the remote to look at the title. “Our Living World Two? So, not much. What’s up?”

Joel chuckled lightly. “You know how I had that meeting at work today?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, already feeling a flicker of curiosity.

He hesitated, voice a touch tighter. “Well…Sarah wanted to throw a little dinner. Said it was to celebrate me goin’ back to work. And, uh…” He cleared his throat. “She wanted to know if you’d like to come.”

You blinked, the words taking a moment to register. Sarah wanted you to come?

You shot upright, nearly sending your blanket flying off the couch. “Wait— yeah! Of course I’ll come! What time? Is it just you guys or…?”

You were already halfway to your room, phone tucked between your ear and shoulder as you began scanning your closet for something to wear.

“Just come whenever you can. Sarah just started cookin’,” Joel replied, but his voice sounded more unsure now. “Tommy’s here too. He invited his wife, Maria, but I’m not sure if she’s makin’ it.”

You froze for a beat, your heart skipping at the mention of more people. You’d met Tommy and Sarah briefly before, sure—but neither interaction had been what you'd call smooth. Sarah’s walls had been up, and Tommy’s teasing had put you on edge.

Still, you swallowed the nerves and forced a smile into your voice. “Gotcha. I’ll be there. You okay with that?”

There was a pause. You heard the soft clink of glass and a distant sigh, followed by the sound of him taking a sip.

“I’ve just…never really introduced someone to Sarah. Or Tommy.” His voice was lower now, softer. “Never had a girlfriend to introduce.”

You paused mid-motion, a jacket halfway on.

Girlfriend.

The word hung in the air–silencing anything he said after. He hadn’t meant to drop it—it slipped out naturally and somehow that made it even more real.

Your stomach flipped, a slow smile spreading across your face.

“Hello?” Joel’s voice came back through the line, a little more urgent. “You still there?”

“Yeah! Sorry,” you said quickly, clutching your keys. “I think it’s gonna be great. I mean—Sarah’s the one who invited me so that’s a good sign, right?”

Joel exhaled a quiet laugh, the tension in his voice easing. “She did. Practically twisted my arm about it too.”

“Well, tell her she had good taste.” You pulled your door shut behind you, locking it with one hand while adjusting your bag with the other. “I’ll be there in ten. Try not to freak out before I get there?”

A crack of a can echoed through the phone, followed by a long sip.

“I’ve got a twelve-pack to keep me company ‘til then,” he said, the smirk in his voice undeniable.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Classy.”

“I do my best.”

The truck’s seats, conformed to the shape of Joel’s body, hugged you on the drive to his house. His scent–earthy and warm–was a slight comfort to the uncertainty in your mind. 

The cul-de-sac was quiet, the street lamps illuminating a small glow into the center of the circle as the crickets impatiently chirped. The crunch of leaves under your feet was faint while you walked up to the porch, nerves building in your stomach.

Before you could raise a hand to knock, the screen door swung open. Taking a step back, a familiar hand reached out to grab your arm, calling your name and pulling you into the house.

“Get in here!” A very tipsy Tommy pulled you into a side hug, a can of beer sloshing in his other hand. “It’s about time you show your face around here! It’s nice to see ya again, kid.”

You laughed, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “Didn’t think I was allowed, Joel’s been keepin’ me hostage in that truck.”

Inside, Joel sat stiffly at the dining table, hands tightly wrung around a crumpled can of beer. His jaw was tight, eyes flickering between you and Sarah. The tension in his shoulders hadn’t eased since you'd walked in.

You had made it a point to avoid Joel for the time being–his anxiety was radiating onto you from across the room. Sarah’s icy glare from the other day was imprinted in your mind and you needed all the confidence you had to start a conversation. 

“This smells amazing,” your hands tentatively slid over the cool granite. “Whatcha cookin’?”

She turned at your voice, blonde hair swaying over her shoulder. Her blue eyes no longer shook in a withheld fury, but held a lighter weight to them–softer, more delicate. Her lips stretched into a toothy grin and it was then that you realized she had the same eyes as Joel–the corners of her eyes crinkling in sync with her smile.

“Thank you!” she turned back to the stove, but her voice still rang out confidently. “I’m grillin’ some chicken right now to add to the pasta I just made. And I’ve got a new apple pie recipe I’m tryin’ for dessert. I ain’t never done too much bakin’, but I figured this was as good of an occasion as ever.”

Her words–warm and welcoming–were such a contrast to when you first met and settled the nerves in your stomach. She spoke with such an enthusiasm that mimicked Tommy’s extroversion, but the things she said–words deliberate and careful–showed the side of Joel you were waiting for.

“Well, from the smell I can already tell it’s gonna be amazing.” You finally felt confident enough to flick your gaze to Joel. “Your dad tells me you’re quite the chef.”

You cringed as soon as the words left your mouth. Your dad?

Should you have called him Joel? Did you sound too obnoxious saying that? You were only a few years older than her…

Joel must have noticed your falter in confidence because he cleared his throat, finally speaking up. “This girl is too humble. She’s been bakin’ me and Tommy birthday cakes since she could use the oven.”

“Though I wouldn’t call the first few cakes…” Tommy chimed in.

The room filled with laughter, warm and full. The tension that had weighed on Joel’s shoulders seemed to ease as he stood from his chair, crossing to the fridge. He plucked a photo from beneath a magnet and leaned on the counter beside you, holding it out.

“This was her masterpiece for my thirtieth,” he said, nudging your arm gently. “Maria and Tommy supervised, but she refused any help–obviously.”

In his hands was a small polaroid of a younger Joel and Sarah, his arm strung over her shoulders. Sarah beamed up at the camera, a lopsided chocolate cake held in her hands, the numbered candles melting the sugary scrawl that spelt out “HaPPY bIrtHDaY DaD!”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“You sure Tommy didn’t make this?”

Laughter lingered in the air like the smell of dinner, wrapping around all of you. The conversation flowed easily now, laughter bouncing from wall to wall. At some point, Joel’s hand found your waist beneath the counter, his fingers brushing gently against your side. You leaned into him instinctively, grounding yourself in the moment.

Sarah’s stories were animated and captivating, bringing you in and making you feel like you had a place at the table. Tommy, meanwhile, was relentless with his jokes, keeping the mood light with his slurred one-liners and impressions.

And Joel had fully relaxed. The usual furrow in his brow was gone and the only wrinkles came from the smile tugging constantly at his lips. You kept catching him watching you–his gaze steady and warm. No longer so anxious and guarded.

It hit you somewhere between bites of pasta and sips of sweet tea, how far you’d come. Just a few weeks ago, you’d break checked Joel, your car flying off the road and mangled against the guardrail. You’d passed it on the way here. The sight should have made your stomach twist. But now all you could think of was Joel’s eyes locked onto yours with such intensity–one that never left–and how he took every blow of your fists despite his salty words that night. 

“You alright, darlin’?”Joel’s voice brought you back.

You blinked up at him, cheeks warm.

“The Millers already too much for ya?” Tommy slurred, crushing another can under his palm.

You looked around the table at the three of them, a slow, contented smile spreading across your lips.

“I think it’s perfect for me, actually.”

—

a special thanks to my taglist ♡ @anoverwhelmingdin @auteurdelabre @tweakersqueaker @icanbringyouinhot @forpunishers @doeeyestoji @legoemma @woodxtock @jaxmom66 @iheartoldermem @iamawkwardandshy @thejoywillburnoutthepain @krystal---meth  (message me to be added or removed)

[mondaysamiright]

Heat of the Moment

Pairing: Amelia Shepherd x fem!reader

Summary: Two idiots in love and the good ole blurting out confessions of love. 

Author's Notes: So Y/N is the daughter of Teddy Altman (idk why I just picked someone lol) and a paramedic with Seattle Fire. She is a part of one of their EMS units (emergency medical services) and works for Station 19 (of course). Sorry it's a bit long!

The fire raged in front of them, an angry orange beast that roared louder with every passing minute. Y/N Altman, standing with her EMS unit on the street, stared up at the burning building. A couple of other paramedics from the other EMS unit hesitated, looking toward the distant wail of the fire truck’s sirens.

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

“There’s someone still inside,” one of the neighbors screamed, pointing to the third floor. “They didn’t make it out!”

Without waiting for backup, she darted toward the building, ignoring the shouts of her fellow medics. Flames licked the door frame as Y/N barged through, smoke stinging her eyes and the acrid scent filling her lungs. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, the sound almost drowned out by the crackling fire as she moved quickly through the narrow hallway.

The heat was unbearable, and the smoke reduced her visibility to almost nothing. She could feel the warmth creeping closer to her skin, but she pushed through, her mind focused solely on finding the person trapped inside.

There. In the corner of the room, collapsed beneath a window, she spotted the figure. They were slumped, unconscious, face streaked with soot. Y/N dropped to her knees and assessed them briefly before hefting the limp body over her shoulders, gritting her teeth against the weight.

Her legs burned as she stumbled her way back through the inferno. The flames had spread, closing in fast. Y/N pushed down the panic, adrenaline surging through her as she fought her way out, sweat dripping down her brow. She could feel the heat blistering the skin on her arms, the bite of fire making its presence known in sharp, painful bursts, but there was no stopping now. The person on her back needed to survive.

The moment she burst back through the door, coughing violently, the fire trucks were arriving. Medics rushed forward, taking the unconscious patient from her. Y/N, panting hard, bent over with her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.

Maya Bishop, her boss, was there in seconds. “What the hell were you thinking?” Maya’s voice was sharp, a mix of fury and concern. “You could’ve been killed!”

“I got them out, didn’t I?” Y/N rasped through her coughing, waving her off. The burns on her arms were starting to throb, but she ignored the pain.

“I want you checked out when we get to the hospital. No arguments, Altman,” Maya ordered, her tone brooking no room for defiance. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Grey Sloan Memorial buzzed with the usual controlled chaos, and Y/N, now in the ER, stood leaning against the wall, arms folded, her patience wearing thin. Her burns were minor—she’d had worse. All she wanted to do was get back to the station and sleep off the exhaustion. But of course, she was stuck here. Because rules. 

 She was ready to leave—already calculating how fast she could slip out unnoticed—when the doors to the ER flung over and Y/N couldn’t help the groan that escaped her lips. 

“Y/N Altman!”

Amelia’s voice cut through the busy ER, her white coat flying behind her as stormed across the floor. She’d heard that tone before. It was the 'I’m-going-to-kill-you' tone. Amelia came to a stop right in front of her, her eyes blazed with a fury. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

Y/N crossed her arms tighter, meeting Amelia’s glare with one of her own. “Good to see you too, Dr. Shepherd,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “I was doing my job. You know, saving lives?”

Amelia’s jaw clenched, “Running into a burning building?” she shot back. “Without waiting for fire? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Please, I’m fine. It’s not like I haven’t dealt with dangerous situations before.”

“That’s not the point! You’re not a firefighter, Y/N. You had no business going into that building.”

Y/N straightened, the annoyance in her chest flaring as she pushed herself off the wall. “Oh, so now you’re suddenly concerned about how I do my job? You’ve never cared before when we’ve argued over cases.”

Amelia let out a frustrated laugh. “This isn’t about a patient, Y/N!  This is about you almost dying because you thought you could play the hero!”

Y/N blinked, momentarily thrown by the emotion in Amelia’s voice. “I wasn’t playing hero,” she said, “I was doing what needed to be done.”

“No,” Amelia snapped, stepping closer, her voice shaking now. “You were doing something reckless. Something that could’ve gotten you killed.”

Y/N stared at her, bewildered. “Why are you so upset? I’m fine. The patient’s fine. It’s over.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Amelia said, her voice quieter now, but no less intense. “You could’ve died, Y/N. And you just—brush it off like it’s nothing.”

“I don’t understand why you’re—”

“Because I love you, you idiot!”

The noise of the ER seemed to vanish in an instant, the beeping monitors and hurried footsteps fading into the background as Amelia’s words hung in the air. Y/N’s mind went blank, her usual quick wit frozen. 

Y/N blinked, her mouth falling open in shock. “What?” she said, the word barely escaping her lips.

Amelia swallowed hard, her eyes now glistening with unshed tears. “I love you,” she repeated, her face a mix of anger, fear, and something softer that Y/N had never seen before. “And I can’t stand watching you do this to yourself. Running into danger like you don’t care about what happens to you. I don’t want to lose you.”

Amelia’s chest heaved, her voice cracking as she spoke again. “I care about you, Y/N. More than you know. And every time you do something like this, it terrifies me. I can’t—” She broke off, shaking her head as tears finally spilled over. “I can’t lose you.” 

Y/N opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. She had no idea what to say to this version of Amelia. The emotional wall between them had always been sturdy, but now, it was crumbling, and Y/N felt completely unequipped to deal with the fallout. 

Amelia took a shaky step back, looking away as she swiped at her eyes again, her voice cracking. “I can’t do this. I can’t just watch you destroy yourself. It’ll kill me. I care too much.”

Without another word, Amelia turned and practically ran out of the ER, leaving Y/N frozen in place. The bustling activity of the ER resumed around her, but Y/N couldn’t move, couldn’t think past the whirlwind of emotions that had just swept over her.

For a long moment, Y/N just stood there, her heart pounding as Amelia’s words echoed in her ears. Finally, Y/N snapped out of her stupor. She needed to find Amelia. She couldn’t leave it like this.

Y/N jogged out of the ER, scanning the hall until she spotted Amelia near the elevators. She caught up just as Amelia angrily punched the button for the elevator, her tears falling freely now.

“What do you want?” Amelia snapped, “You came to give me a sarcastic comment? Make fun of me for crying, for caring about you?”  

Y/N’s heart twisted. There was no sarcasm left, no sharp retorts. “Amelia…” Y/N started, stepping closer, but Amelia took a shaky step back, her fists trembling at her sides. 

“Don’t,” Amelia choked out. “Don’t try to make this better. I hate you for making me feel like this.” 

Before Y/N could open her mouth to speak, Amelia’s fist connected with her chest, the impact startling but not painful.  “I hate you,” Amelia choked out. Her fists struck again, harder this time. “I hate you.” 

The words stung more than the hits themselves, but Y/N knew—knew deep down—that Amelia didn’t mean it. She stood still, allowing Amelia’s fists to land again and again, her own hands at her sides, not moving to block or stop the blows. 

“I hate you for making me love you!” Amelia said, her words coming out in a sob. Her fists, once forceful, were losing strength, each hit becoming weaker, more desperate. 

Then at once, Amelia fell against her, her face buried in Y/N’s uniform as she sobbed, her fists gripping the material tightly. Y/N wrapped her arms around her, holding her close as Amelia cried, the sound muffled in her chest.  Y/N could feel every shake of Amelia’s body, could feel the warmth of her tears soaking into her shirt, but none of it mattered. All that mattered was holding her, being there for her in this moment.

Y/N held her tighter, her hand moving to the back of Amelia’s head, gently stroking her hair. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Minutes passed, though it felt like hours, as they stood in the quiet hallway, the chaos of the hospital continuing around them. Y/N didn’t move, didn’t speak beyond the quiet, comforting words she whispered into Amelia’s hair. Eventually, Amelia’s sobs began to subside, the harsh gasps for air slowing, her grip on Y/N’s shirt loosening. She still clung to her, her head resting against Y/N’s chest, but the desperation was fading, replaced by exhaustion. 

“I don’t want to keep losing people I care about,” Amelia whispered. “And you… you make me feel like I’m going to lose you every time you do something like this. I love you, Y/N. And it terrifies me.” 

Y/N said nothing for a moment, just tightened her arms around Amelia. For a long moment, they just stood there. The warmth of Amelia's body against hers, the steady rise and fall of her breathing—it was enough to ground Y/N in a way she hadn’t expected.

She didn’t want to speak, not yet. But eventually, the words bubbled up, ones she’d been avoiding for too long. 

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, her voice soft in the silence. She felt Amelia stiffen slightly, then relax again in her arms. “I didn’t realize… I didn’t think about how much it affected you. I’ve always been… reckless, I guess. And I know we argue. A lot. But it doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

Amelia’s breathing had slowed, her head still resting against Y/N’s chest, listening.

“Despite all the fighting,” Y/N continued, her voice a little shaky now, “you’re… you’re the one I look forward to seeing. You drive me crazy, Amelia. But it’s in the best way possible. When I walk into the ER, and I know you’re there, it’s like—” She paused, trying to find the right words. “It’s like, no matter what happens that day, I get to see you. And that’s enough.”

Amelia’s grip on Y/N’s shirt tightened, but she remained quiet, listening.

“I can’t imagine not having you around,” Y/N admitted softly. “We argue, yeah, but you’re the one thing that’s constant in all the chaos. And I think, maybe I’ve been scared to admit it to myself, but…” Y/N’s voice faltered for a moment before she took a deep breath. “I love you, Amelia.”

For a second, there was nothing but silence. Then Amelia pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at Y/N, her eyes still glistening with tears but softened by the weight of Y/N’s words. She stared at Y/N, her lips parting as if to speak, but before she could, Y/N leaned down and pressed her lips to hers.

The kiss was soft at first, hesitant, as if they were both testing the waters. But then, Amelia slowly slipped her hands up to Y/N's shoulders and around her neck, pulling her closer. Y/N responded in kind, her hands dropping to Amelia's waist and her fingers gently splaying across the small of her back.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads resting together, both of them were breathless but smiling. “Well this is nice,” Y/N said after a moment.

Amelia let out a soft laugh. “As opposed to arguing all the time?” 

Y/N chuckled, her fingers tracing small circles on Amelia’s back. “Yeah. This is a nice change. Although…” Y/N started, a hint of a teasing smile on her lips, “You have to admit, the arguing was kind of fun.” 

Amelia rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the matching smile that spread across her face. “Only because you always thought you were right.” 

“I was right,” Y/N shot back, “Most of the time, anyways.”

“You… are so impossible,” Amelia said, though the smile on her lips gave away the affection behind her words. 

Y/N grinned. “I’ve been told that once or twice.”  

Amelia laughed, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of her lips, “Come on. You still need to get checked out.”  

Y/N groaned but didn’t argue, following Amelia’s lead as they made their way back to the ER, their fingers laced together. As they rounded the corner, they ran right into Maya, who was pacing the hall, her arms crossed and her expression stormy.

“Altman! There you are!” Maya’s voice was sharp, frustration evident as she stalked toward Y/N. “I thought you’d taken off again! You were supposed to get checked out ages ago. What the hell, Y/N? You could be—”

“Maya, I’ve got it,” Amelia interrupted. “I’m taking her to get checked out now.”

Maya blinked, her eyes darting between the two of them before she noticed their joined hands. Her stern expression faltered, a knowing smile slowly spreading across her face as she put the pieces together.

“Oh,” Maya said, her tone shifting entirely. “Oh!” She exclaimed, her grin growing. “About damn time, Altman.”

Y/N flushed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah, well… it kind of just happened.”

“Please. You two have been dancing around each other for ages. I’m just glad you finally figured it out.” She raised an eyebrow and smirked. “So, does this mean there’ll be less arguing now?”

Y/N snorted, casting a sideways glance at Amelia before responding. “No promises,” She said, her words overlapping with Amelia’s, “We’ll try.” 

Maya rolled her eyes. “Just get her checked out, Shepherd. And Altman, you’re still not off the hook. Come find me after.”

[your-unfriendlyghost]

🌼Evie🌼

Had this drawing of her that I haven’t posted (I think) and I like it so here we are (the background is a stock image fyi I just edited it some- coulda easily done my own but man I just don’t feel like it)

Anyhow I have a few headcannons about her that’re partially for the Steviepop-Tex AU, and here feels like a good place to put ‘em- so they’re under the cut

-She used to smoke, but medical school turned her off of cigarettes.

-She never seems to remember to pick up after herself. She’s very clean- can’t stand dirt or dust- but very messy. 

-She wanted to be a model or a cowgirl back when she was a kid. She’s older now, and she’s a part-time nurse, part-time hairdresser. Deep down she still wants to be a cowgirl.

-She’s a good mechanic, but she hates the feeling of motor oil and the smell of gasoline. Not enough so to keep her from working at the DX gas station for three years, or to dislike the way grease and gasoline cling to her boyfriend, but enough to turn her off of wanting to be a mechanic as a career. Besides, she’s a girl. She doesn’t wanna work such a masculine job. She feels masculine enough as is. (it’s the 60s-70s I’m sorry lol)

-She had a crush on Soda before she met Steve. And then when she first dated Steve she thought Soda was kinda annoying and airheaded. But when she got to know him the crush came right back.

-Evie lets Ponyboy get away with everything- she’s an only child and she kinda immediately latches onto him in a sisterly sorta way. Steve hates this. So much. God he hates it.

-Her and Soda have come to the agreement that if steviepop has kids Steve’s carrying them (Steve is unaware of this conversation) (this makes no sense but they also agree that they can figure it out w/ “modern science”)

-Her mom doesn’t like Steve but does like Soda. …However, she likes how Steve has more money than Soda does.

-Her and Soda are both into horses- she learned to ride illegally in Buck Merril’s stable (Sylvia convinced her sneaking in at night was a good idea) (She’s still shocked they never got caught) (They actually did get caught- Buck just never mentioned it or stopped them)

-Sylvia was her best friend for years (sorta the Dally to her Johnny). They met at age 12, and stuck together until Evie went off to college.

-After that though, Sylvia stopped returning Evie’s calls and letters. Scared of being forgotten, Sylvia sort of self sabotaged herself. Evie still wonders what happened years later but has too much pride to reach out and ask (she cried about it to Steve for months though. Took it more seriously than a breakup.)

-Part of why she’s always been chill with the idea of Steve being bi and into Soda, even tho it’s the 60s, is that she was the only one who knew Sylvia was a lesbian.

-Really wanted to be a mod girl in high school but couldn’t really afford it. (That yellow dress I draw her in is homemade w/ Sylvia’s help)

[cassie48]

Dark! Paul atreides x sweet! Crybaby! Pregnant! Reader

𝘙𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘎𝘌

Pairing : Paul atreides x Naive! Pregnant!reader

Summary : Paul is obsessed with reader, reader gets harmed, Paul goes crazy, paul gets his revenge. Less focus on plot more on relationship

…………………………………………………………………………….

Paul had brought you with him when he drank the water of life. He knew you’d have to do it with him to not see him as insane.

As soon as you saw his eyes go blue, you’d panicked. But paul calmed you down “Our baby must see, he must see the truth when he enters this world” he had told you.

After that night, the two of you had changed. Paul became 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳. If anyone dared touch you or upset you, they would die.

The two of you spoke in Chakobsa, even forgetting you once spoke English. Your life was amazing. Paul had taken the emperors throne, killing him and his daughter, making you empress.

He doted on you 24/7, as cold as he was he never treated you any differently. On this particular morning, Paul woke, looking down at you, in your pretty white nightdress, your stomach round, and clearly sticking out. You were now seven months into your pregnancy.

Two months ago a doctor confirmed your baby was to be a boy, which pleased Paul, an heir. You however didnt care what the gender was, and deep down you knew Paul didn’t either.

Paul sat up, in your large bed, and climbed out of the covers, resting his hand on your bump, smiling as you sighed in your sleep.

He leant down to your bump, whispering to his unborn son “When you grow older, you must protect your mother” he said in Chakobsa.

After a moment he sat up, placing a kiss on you cheek, and getting dressed and leaving you, knowing he had lots of work to complete that day.

Around an hour later, you woke up peacefully, looking over to see Paul’s spot empty, you sighed sadly wishing your husband could be there.

Suddenly your large doors swung open, revealing a man, you quickly jumped pulling the covers completely over yourself, knowing Paul never wanted any other man to see you in such a state.

“My lady, excuse me, I’m here to attend to your needs” the man spoke, holding back a smirk.

“W-Where are my maids?” You stuttered, still shocked by the man’s sudden entrance.

Paul had a rule where no man was allowed enter your room when he was not there.

“Oh they are…busy. His lordship sent me himself, he said you need to prepare for the day.

“Oh em…we’ll I guess if Paul thinks it’s fine” you said reluctantly getting out of the bed, your white nightgown covering you, but your seven month bump on show.

“Allow me to brush your hair” he said, gesturing her to sit down.

At this point you felt extremely uncomfortable, something felt wrong, surely Paul would have helped you himself if your maids were unavailable.

Reluctantly, you sat in your chair, and the man picked up the big brush. He began to brush your hair, and the silence was thick.

“W-Where exactly is Paul?” You asked nervously.

“What lovely hair you have my lady” the man said, ignoring your question.

You gulped, and prepared to question him once more, when he roughly pulled down on the brush hard, making you cry out. You had a very low pain tolerance.

“Ouch” you whispered, your eye’s already pooling with tears.

The man did not however ease your nerves, as he continued to roughly pull your hair.

“That’s hurts!” You said, tears now falling.

“Stop!” You said, trying to stand up, but he grabbed your throat roughly.

“Shh, your stuck with me, all alone, me and the empress” the man sneered, making you feel sick.

Your cries worsened when he placed his hand on your almost exposed breast, you squirmed, and prepared for the worst.

Suddenly, his hand dropped from around you throat, allowing you to breathe once more, relief entering your body.

Yet you screamed once more, seeing the man’s throat being slit, and when he fell to the ground, your husband stood, a fierce expression written on his features.

Paul kicked the man’s body away from you, before moving over and taking you in his arms, lifting you up and sitting on the chair, you in his lap.

“Shh, I’m here” he said rocking you gently.

Your cries didn’t die down, and you felt sick from crying this hard. “He, he touched me Paul! I’m sorry! H-He said you sent him, I should ha-have said no” you explained crying as you did.

“It is only his fault” he said, his voice laced with pure anger.

He gently lifted you up and climbed into your bed, laying your head down on his chest. “Sleep my love, I’m not going anywhere” he whispered, caressing your bump gently as you tucked your head into his chest, your tears beginning to dry.

After a few minutes you drifted back to sleep, your husband holding you protectively. He was a possessive man, whoever dared touch his wife would die.

………………………………………………………………………..

Ok I know this is like so bad and short but I just wanted to write something….

[jals-stuff]

hello :) saw ur headcanons! mind doing one w deli and the sl*tty jester pleaseeee?

good day anon~ I see that everyone is barking for Domina and Famin so I'll do just that.

SPOILERS AHEAD FOR MASHLE! If you do not know Domina, Famin, Delisaster and Meliadoul, please do not read!

Unless you don't care about spoilers. Then you're free to read~

How would these Mashle characters react if they found their s/o stuck in the washing machine? + personal ratings (again)

For Meliadoul, Domina, Famin and Delisaster.

Warnings: embarrassing? there's an f-bomb somewhere in here

short washing machine headcanons (part 2!)

MELIADOUL…

She’s probably training Ochoa to do stupid things she saw on the internet when you call for her. (Thank you for saving the little guy.)

She’s going to laugh out loud when she sees you stuck head first inside the washing machine! Of course she will. “Please c’mon, please say Stepsis, I’m stuck!” but you won’t, because she’s laughing too hard for you to even understand what she just said.

When she’s finally calm again, she will try to get you out, struggling quite a lot and muttering insults towards the poor washing machine’s family tree, then finally give up and cut through it with her Magical Chainsaw. 

You’ll get very scared, of course, and the chainsaw will absolutely cut through you, but you’ll feel extra relaxed afterwards. She will occasionally tease you about this episode, mostly if you’re cuddling with her.

Made fun + cut you with her Chainsaw, but now you feel nice. You aren’t even mad, 8/10.

DOMINA…

Domina is attempting to make some apple pie when his focus is broken by a muffled scream coming from the laundry room. He sighs and immediately makes his way there.

With anyone else, he would get super angry, but it’s you, and he loves you very much. “Oh no, (Y/N), are you alright?” He isn’t panicking, but he’s a little worried that you might be feeling in pain or too uncomfortable.

He will undoubtedly get you out very nice and slow, and make sure to inspect your face and arms to be absolutely certain that you aren’t hurt (you’d better hope so if you don’t want him to molest your poor washing machine afterwards).

If you’re embarrassed or uncomfortable about it, he’s going to bring you with him and keep making apple pie (it was supposed to be a surprise for you but fuck it) to distract you.

Gentle and cute, definitely makes good pies. 9/10 don’t forget to praise him for this please

FAMIN…

He’s.. I don’t know, probably stealing stuff from his brothers’ rooms when you call him, and his head makes a whole 180° turn before he realises that you need him, and he comes to see you.

Will probably sit on your back while you’re stuck. “Is it nice in there?” he’s going to ask while giggling. If you say it isn’t, he will pull you out immediately and sit next to you to check your expression for any discomfort.

However, if you’re dating Famin, you’re the type that will say it’s nice, so he will first of all pull you out of the washing machine, and then take your spot in there. He’s going to end up being stuck too.

Now you have to pull him out and you don’t know how to do that, you’re left with a jester inside a washing machine. Sounds like the beginning of an awful pun.

Helped, but got stuck instead. at least it was funny, 7/10.

DELISASTER…

He is 100% scrolling on social media or taking selfies when you call for him, and he’ll keep his eyes glued to his phone while making his way to you.

Upon seeing the pitiful display in front of him, he chuckles. “Oh, em, gee. Are you, like, stuck or something?” He will definitely sit down next to you and take selfies showing his face next to your figure, completely stuck.

He will start a TikTok livestream (titled "LMAO F IN THE CHAT FOR (Y/N)") and ask his followers for advice to get someone out of a washing machine, and make absolutely sure that everyone can see you. What a jerk.

If you start sulking or being too uncomfortable, he will put his phone away and get you out of there immediately, without any further questions. Maybe he’ll take you to a party or let you rest on his lap as an apology.

Mean, and why does he speak like a frat boy?? But at least he’s pretty and the party was nice. 7/10

[thesagesjournal]

[Log-in story] Springtime Sonatina And The Rite Of Evening Flowers ②

Appearing characters: Nero, Bradley, Chloe

Nero: Get yer ass back here, now! How many times do I gotta tell ya not to pilfer food!?

Bradley: Come on, we do this dance every time an' ya always let me get away with it, ya know it.

Nero: Say that again an' yer dead meat!

Chloe: Oh, great! I was just looking for you two…

Chloe: ...Um, were these knives always stuck in the wall?

Nero: Shi…

Nero: I mean… Heyyy, what's up, Chloe? Yeah, uh, don' mind that, my hand jus’ slipped.

Chloe: Are you two all right? You're not hurt, are you?

Bradley: We’re doin’ just fine, but what aboutcha? Need us for somethin’?

Chloe: I do, actually… I was wondering if you would let me design matching outfits for you two!

Bradley & Nero: …Say what?

Bradley & Nero: …Matchin’ outfits? …For us?

Chloe: Yep! I'm sure you already know about Rutile and Faust's little outing.

Bradley: The Sage, the old fart who’s still breathin’ and the pipe smoker is with 'em too, yeah?

Chloe: Mhm, and I made their fits this time around. When I presented them with the finished product, both had very different reactions which was super fun to see! And that got me thinking…

Chloe: Maybe the clothes I make actually have the power to bring people closer together!

Nero: ...Can't say I'm surprised to hear that from ya.

Chloe: Ehehe, that’s why I just had to come find you two!

Chloe: When I saw you guys running down the hall, it struck me how much like night and day you are, just like Rutile and Faust.

Chloe: Born and raised in the North and East respectively has shaped you into very different people.

Bradley: Heh... Ya could say that.

Chloe: So I thought, "Hey, wearing matching outfits could be a great way to bridge the gap between them", or something...

Chloe: ...S-Sorry! I've been babbling on and on, you must think this sounds stupid...

Nero: No, no, we appreciate the thought, fer real. Yer not the problem, we are...

Nero: You got anythin' to add, Brad..ley?

Bradley: ...Listen up, Lil' Tailor.

Bradley: Yer askin' a lot of us 'ere, ya know that, right?

Chloe: ...I do, and you're right, you can forget it...

Bradley: I ain' finished sayin' my piece. If yer gonna talk big, ya gotta act the part too. Hit us with yer best shot, nothin' more an' nothin' less.

Bradley: If yer up to standard, we'll take ya up on that offer. Deal?

Chloe: ...Deal! Thank you so, so much, Bradley!

Chloe: You do have a point, I can't expect you to agree just ‘cause I said 'pretty please'. I'll get to brainstorming right away!

Chloe: First, we need a theme! Something cool and flashy that’s gonna have you dying to put it on!

Bradley: That's right, show us what yer made of.

Chloe: I will! Phe~w, now I'm all fired up!

Nero: ...

Nero: What did I get myself into… I jus’ hope no one in the manor thinks too deeply ‘bout this.

Bradley: Heh, our rep’s in his hands now. Whether it matches my style is up to me to decide, though.

Bradley: All I’m sayin’ is that if someone wants to show the world how ya inspire ‘em, ya should let ‘em.

Nero: Oh don’t wax poetic on me now…

Bradley: If yer done ‘ere, I’m gonna bounce. One old fart less to worry ‘bout means it’s time to go to town!

Bradley: Gah! Put the damn knives away already!

Nero: We still gotta settle the score from earlier so don’ even think of walkin’ away scot-free

Bradley: Yeesh, yer so spiteful, but you’ve always been like that, eh?

Nero: Oi! Get back here! Jus’ wait ‘till I get my hands on you, ya fucker!

[sofreddie]

Sins of the Past - Part 2

Summary: Locked in a strange facility, Sam and Dean discover their soulmates, the four of them captive victims to an unknown assailant. Can they make it out alive from the mysterious individual hellbent on their suffering?

Characters: Dean x Y/N, Sam Winchester x OFC Imogene “Gene” Sutton, The Voice, Castiel

Warnings: SAW/Soulmate AU, Angst, Violence, Blood, Torture, Traps, Graphic Descriptions

WC: 3,008

A/N: Please heed the warnings. It gets a bit dark. Feedback is appreciated. : )

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

Part 1

An unknown amount of time passed before the group stirred. Sam promptly woke Dean, and then they roused the others. Another room, as bland and featureless as the last, had two doors on either end but no timers. Thankfully.

They took stock of their injuries with no immediate threat in the vicinity. Everyone’s hands were ripped and sore, covered in tattered flannel pieces. Sam, Dean, and Gene were all aching and bruised from the fight with the werewolf. Dean’s hands were even worse, the chain exacerbating his wounds. It became apparent that Sam and Dean also sported shallow gashes from the werewolf’s claws that they hadn’t previously noticed.

If they didn’t get out of here soon, they might all bleed out or die from other injuries.

“Try that door. I got this one,” Dean said to Sam after everyone had confirmed they were well enough to push forward. 

They each tugged and pulled at the doors, trying anything to get them to open, to no avail. 

“Come on, you bastard!” Dean shouted up at the ceiling. “What do you WANT?!”

“Dean,” Sam tried to calm his brother and motioned to their companions, seeing them flinch at his outburst.

“What?” Dean growled at Sam. “So we just sit here and wait? Stuck in this weird fuckers little game?”

“There’s nothing we can do, Dean,” Sam protested. “We need to keep our heads on straight. How many more tests can there be?”

The crackling speaker sounded again as he spoke, and then the ominous voice returned. “You don’t seem to appreciate the effort I’ve gone through for you, Winchesters,” the voice crooned, disgust evident. “I’ve done all of this for you.”

“Aw, that’s really sweet,” Dean rolled his eyes impatiently. “But I’m not in a psychological horror experience mood today, so how about you just let us out of here?”

“No!” the voice boomed before a pained scream was ripped from Gene and Y/N. 

As Dean looked over, metal collars appeared around their necks. They tugged at them uselessly, falling to their knees from what Dean could only assume was an electric shock from their reactions.

“Let ‘em go!” Dean bellowed. “If this is all for us, what did they do, huh!?”

“They have the misfortune of being your soulmates,” the voice said, the words seeming to boom in the sudden silence and stillness of the room. “As if I’d pass up such leverage against you.”

Sam, who had rushed to their sides after they fell, suddenly looked at Dean with his mouth open in shock. “Our…”

“Bullshit,” Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re just trying to fuck with us. Now, let them go!”

The women screamed out again, the shocks growing stronger with each use. “I’ll prove it,” the voice returned, “Once you kiss, there will be no doubt. If you refuse, well…” Y/N screamed again, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

“Dean!” Sam urged his brother while trying to ignore his racing heart. “W-we have to…”

The speaker crackled again. A song began playing this time, and the voice could be heard chuckling. “You’ve gotta kiss the girl. Sha-la-la-la…”

“Is this guy fucking serious!?” Dean stood still, at a total loss, prompting a scream from Gene as she quickly clung to the collar, trying to rip it from her neck.

“Not sure how many more zaps they can take,” the voice said. “I suggest you two get to kissing before there’s nothing left of your soulmates but a drooling pile.”

With a long, irritated groan, Gene pulled herself up, unable to stand the pain any longer. She grabbed Sam’s shirt, pulling him towards her as she smashed her lips into his desperately.

Sam was shocked by the gesture, and his mind took a second to catch up. Once it did, he began kissing back, moaning into it as he felt a warmth creep through him and into every nerve ending. As he pulled back from the kiss, his eyes locked on hers, and he knew—he knew—what the voice said was true. It was like he had always known her and had just realized it.

“How’d you know it was me?” Sam asked in a whisper as his eyes roamed tenderly over her features.

“I...I dunno,” she whispered back, a small smile tugging on the corner of her lips as she gazed into his hazel eyes. “I just...did?”

Sam smiled softly before turning to address his brother, “Dean...uh…”

Dean was otherwise occupied as he had Y/N pinned to the wall. He hummed blissfully as his tongue danced with hers and his hands raked through her hair. His heart swelled instantly, despite the circumstances and the really shitty situation trying its hardest to ruin the moment. He’d found her—his soulmate. After a lifelong yearning, he was somewhat...eager.

“Fantastic,” the voice said, breaking the stillness. “Now we can have some fun.” Like a mirage, a steel table suddenly appeared, with leather straps hanging off the sides. “If you pass this test, I’ll set you free. Which of you Winchesters would like to take this one?”

There was a long silence as all eyes lay on the table. The implications of having their soulmates present had changed everything. It wasn’t that Sam or Dean didn’t want to do their usual self-sacrificial ‘take one for the team’ approach; it was the probability that doing so would also put their soulmate in the line of fire.

So there was silence.

“Can’t decide?” the voice taunted. “Fine. I’ll decide.” 

Within a flash, Y/N was suddenly naked and strapped to the table, her collar gone. Gene jerked as if to rush to her but was quickly stopped by her collar going off. 

“If Sam or Gene makes a move, Gene will pay for it.” As the voice spoke, her collar went off again, and she screamed.

Another mirage and a second, smaller table appeared at Y/N's side, covered in an assortment of items. “Now, isn’t this familiar, Dean?”

Dean’s hands shook, and his expression darkened. He clenched his jaw as he struggled to remain calm. “What do you want?” he snarled.

“Same as every test, Dean,” the voice responded. “Find the key.” 

As Dean struggled with what was being asked of him, he turned at the sound of Sam and Gene screaming, the both of them now bound in chairs with collars, the shocks leaving angry red marks across their necks.

“You sick son of a bitch!” Dean roared, tugging at his hair as he quickly paced helplessly. With a loud cry of frustration, he punched his fist hard into one of the walls, the injury just one more to the many that afflicted his hands. “I can’t wait to fucking kill you.”

With a long breath, he shoved himself away from the wall, a bloody smeared mark imprinted on it from his punch. He tried to clear his head and push the sounds of Sam and Gene's cries to the back of his mind as he reached the table, looking down at Y/N mournfully. 

“I’m so sorry.”

“D-Dean!” Sam managed to screech through his pain, his teeth gritted. Sam glanced over at Gene, seeing her head slumped and saliva dripping from her open mouth. He knew he wasn’t far off himself. “Dean, please,” he pleaded.

“I’m gonna try and make this as quick as possible; I promise,” Dean tried to reassure Y/N, his voice shaky and unconvincing as his mind raced with panic at how he would even do this. “D- Does anything feel different? Can you feel the key anywhere?”

“M-my chest hurts,” she whimpered, realizing what that must mean. “My heart…” she squirmed in her bindings. “P-please...don’t,” she begged, tears leaking from her eyes. 

Sam screamed out again, his body arched awkwardly in the chair before he, too, passed out.

Dean clenched his eyes tight, tears forcing their way out of the corners as he choked on his breath. “It’ll be okay,” he said, unsure if he was saying it to her or himself. “W-we get through this, we all get out of here alive, okay? I will make sure nothing ever hurts you again. I promise. I…” he turned to the table of ‘instruments,’ his heart clenching harder than ever. 

He stared at the table of instruments as he removed the flannel bandages from his hands. He’d need as much movement and precision as possible. He tried to reach for one of the knives, but his hands shook so badly he could barely hold a decent grip on it.

“You’re taking too long,” the voice returned. Sam gasped, coming awake once more in the chair before screaming as an invisible force left a deep gash across his torso, “Tick tock, Dean. Nothing you haven’t done before.” 

A timer suddenly appeared on the wall directly across from Dean, the red numbers mocking as they began counting down from three minutes this time—another scream as Gene came to, a deep gash suddenly carved into her right thigh.

Dean gritted his teeth and tried to force back his emotional side to focus on what needed to be done. His grip tightened on the blade. Just another soul. He said to himself, pressing the blade to the center of Y/N's chest and applying enough pressure to draw blood. As she began to scream, he forced his eyes to stay on the task at hand, not look at her and block everything else out. 

He pressed harder, and a gash opened down the center of her torso. He squeezed his eyes closed at the sounds of her screaming, reminding himself that all their lives depended on him doing this. He took a deep breath before forcing his hand inside her chest cavity. It was warm and wet; the screams and shaking of her body caused memories of Hell to flash in the back of his mind. Focus. 

He glanced at the clock - a minute and a half remaining. He looked back down at Y/N, grateful that she seemed to pass out from the pain, his hand disappearing into her body as he carefully searched for the key. His fingers grazed her heart, the organ beating rapidly before he felt the familiar small shape of the key tucked behind the vital organ. Carefully maneuvering around her heart, he grasped the key in his fingers. He gently removed his hand and sighed as he looked at the blood-coated metal in his fingers.

“You’re free to go,” the voice said as the far door opened. “Until next time…”

Without a word, Dean quickly scurried to unfasten Y/N’s bindings. The sound of his heart beating hard in his eardrums as he tore off his over-shirt and wrapped her quickly with it. He then moved to Sam and Gene, who were too traumatized to speak through their sobs. Once everyone was freed, Sam pulled Gene close to him protectively while Dean scooped up Y/N’s body in his arms bridal style, and they silently moved through the doorway.

He wanted to take a minute and try to patch Y/N up - so she wasn’t unconscious with her chest open - but he wasn’t sure how much time they had, if the door would close permanently, or what awaited them on the other side of it.

As they passed through the door, daylight suddenly blinded them. As their eyes adjusted, they noticed they were standing in front of the Bunker, the Impala parked behind them on the gravel road.

“We’re home?” Dean breathed out in surprise, turning and finding no door, portal, or sign of where they were before.

“I...yeah, I guess so,” Sam mumbled in disbelief. “Let’s just get inside quickly.”

Dean nodded in agreement, holding Y/N tightly and marching towards the Bunker door. He simultaneously screamed a prayer to Cas in his mind to ‘get his feathery ass to the Bunker infirmary urgently.’

As they gathered in the Infirmary, Dean laid Y/N on one of the adjustable chairs, and Sam urged Gene to sit in another. The brothers gathered what they needed to tend to the wounds. Sam winced, trying to ignore his injuries to look after Gene.

“Um, we need to remove your pants so I can treat your leg,” Sam said reassuringly.

Gene breathed deeply as she looked at Sam and processed his words. She knew she was injured and needed to be treated, but she was also reconciling that he was her soulmate—a Winchester, at that. She was overwhelmed by everything, and now there was this weird building they called home that looked stuck in the past.

Despite what others had told her, Gene had to admit she was more impressed than scared. But she also knew that her soulmate connection to Sam was why she was lured, captured, and injured. So the rumors and warnings weren’t for nothing.

“What is this place? Who are you really?”

“I promise we will explain everything. But right now, we need to keep you from bleeding out and tend to your wound,” he winced again as his injuries made themselves known with every movement and breath.

“Dean?” 

Another man suddenly appeared in the room, his blue eyes scanning each of them. He was closest to Sam and Gene, quickly touching a finger to each of their heads. Gene felt a warmth surge through her before she looked down and noticed her pants were still torn, but the wound was gone as if it had never been there.

Gene's eyes widened, and she jerked back away from the strange man, utterly speechless, as she watched him move across the room. 

Then he approached Dean, who stayed beside Y/N, repeating the gesture by placing two fingers on their foreheads.

“What happened?” the newcomer asked with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t know,” Dean breathed out. “We woke up in some torture nightmare,” Dean’s breath was shaky as he took it in, his eyes falling on Y/N, who was still unconscious, “Apparently, they found our soulmates, and then they- they made me-” Dean couldn’t finish, closing his eyes and remembering everything.

“No one should have been able to find them,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Do you know who it was?”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Cas?” Dean asked quickly, furrowing his brow at the angel.

“What?”

“No one should have been able to find them?” Sam answered, his ears pricking up, too. “Were we even supposed to find them eventually?”

After realizing what he had said, Cas sighed heavily and backed up a little to put space between himself and the brothers. “You have to understand,” he began. “It would've distracted you if you knew about or found them. " He stated apologetically. “Heaven did everything possible to ensure you would never meet or know about them. I don’t know how anyone found out.”

There was a thick silence as the brothers glared at Cas menacingly. Gene watched from her seat, her knees bunched up to her chest. She had almost no idea what the hell was going on, but she couldn’t help but be intrigued as she observed the interactions between Sam and Dean and this Cas individual. Wait - did he say Heaven?

“Well, before I kill you,” Dean retorted, narrowing his eyes at Cas. “We need your help to find who did this.”

“No,” Cas protested. “We must wipe their memories and return them to their lives. I will find out who did this. Only a handful of people in Heaven even knew.” He glared back at Dean. “You can’t keep them,” he challenged.

“Keep them?” Dean spat, squaring up to Cas. “They’re people, Cas, not pets! The fact that this happened proves that someone out there knows who they are. There could be more that do. You’d have to wipe my memory then, Cas, because I will not put them back out there as easy targets!”

“If I have to wipe yours and Sam’s memory too, I will,” he glared back. “Just...tell me you didn’t kiss them,” he said, looking between Sam and Dean. “Tell me you didn’t seal the bond,” he shouted urgently.

“How do you think we know they’re our soulmates?” Dean rolled his eyes. “Does that also put a wrench in Heaven’s little scheme?”

Cas ran his hands through his hair in frustration, pacing in a small circle before he looked back at the brothers defeatedly. “You were never supposed to have soulmates,” he said softly. “But sometimes they just happen. You two are supposed to be soldiers in a war. Not wasting time and energy building families. Why do you think none of your relationships ever worked?” he growled. “There are more important things than your wants, Dean.”

“More important things than war, too,” Gene added quietly and quickly looked away as she felt Cas’ glare. “Just saying…”

“Well, now that you’ve sealed the bond, there’s no undoing it,” Cas spat and took a few steps to glare menacingly in Dean’s face. “The bond will override any other sense of responsibility you have,” he growled. “I’m pretty sure whoever did this knew that. The only way to get you back to your duties is to eliminate them. And, believe me, Dean, Heaven wants you two in play at any cost.”

“Heaven can kiss my ass,” Dean spat back. “Look what happened the last time you tried to dictate our lives. Want to go down that road again?”

“I shouldn’t have healed them. I wouldn’t have if I knew. Now, they’re nothing more than a distraction and leverage to be used against you. I’m sorry, Dean. I really am. But with the bond in place, they cannot be left alive,” he said as he urgently moved towards Y/N.

In a flash, both Winchesters moved to intercept Cas, their fists clenched at their sides.

“I think you should leave, Cas,” Sam said calmly, but his expression was fierce and threatening.

Cas sighed, “I’m the least of your problems now,” he said before disappearing as quickly as he came.

PART 3

FOREVERS:

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DEAN WINCHESTER:

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SAM WINCHESTER:

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[vampykween]

Second Chances (part 2)

summary: little poppy is simon riley’s entire world and you’ve just had yours turned completely upside down. despite everything, it seems like everything falls into place when you’re with each other. cw: mentions of character death a/n: i wanted to dive into Simon and Poppy's backstory with this part so reader isn't really present in this but, i felt like it was important to establish some backstory ☻ this slightly proofread, but forgive me if there are any mistakes wc: 1789 part 1

Although his face doesn't show it, Simon is thrilled listening to Poppy talk his ear off on the walk home from school. He wouldn't dare admit he spent the whole day busying himself with household tasks to keep his mind from wandering to his little girl. As soon as they cross the threshold of their home Poppy is off like a shot, shrugging off her backpack and kicking off her black mary janes. Simon sighs fondly, hangs her backpack up on its hook, and deposits her shoes in their rightful spot on the shoe rack. One day he’ll get her to do it herself, but for now, he’s content with trailing after her and picking up every little thing she drops if it means she’ll always stay this young and innocent. 

When he rounds the corner he’s met with the sight of Poppy scribbling on a large sheet of paper - her brand new box of crayons strewn across the living room table - and the sound of her favorite cartoon; which Simon finds mind-numbing but he grins and watches with her when she asks because he’ll be damned if he doesn't make her feel like the things she likes aren’t important to him. 

“Whatcha working on there, lovie?” Simon asks with genuine curiosity, he hadn't expected her to come home with any work to do already. The young girl gestures to her crafts, “We’re making family trees at school, I’m a little bit stuck though daddy, I don't know who to put on the tree.” She pouts at him from her spot on the floor and Simon is hit with a wave of grief for the life his daughter could’ve had. 

Six years ago 

“Oh my god, Simon, are you even listening to me?!” Amelia snapped in Simon’s face as he zoned out on the couch. His body was firmly planted in their living room, but his mind wasn't. Pregnant. The word bounced around his brain like a pinball machine, he’s suddenly brought back to the present at the sound of his girlfriend's sobbing. 

“God, I'm right in front of you and it’s like we're not even in the same room. I beg you time and time again to just be present with me, and you act like it’s so fucking hard.” Amelia hiccups and frustratedly wipes at her eyes, “if you don't want this tell me now, cause it’s hard enough feeling like you don't even love me, I can't imagine handling you not loving our child either.” 

Simon turns sharply in her direction at her admission, he knows it’s rocky between them he’s no idiot, but to hear her say that he doesn’t love her, or wouldn't love their child fucking tears him up. He takes her hands in his, and tugs gently until she meets his eyes. 

“Em, you have to know that I do love you, and hell I’m scared out of my mind right now, but god please don’t think for a second that I wouldn't love our child.” He pulls her into his arms and strokes her hair gently until her cries subside. 

“I'm so scared Simon, you and I are not okay. What if that never changes?” Amelia asks somberly. She couldn't remember the last time she wasn't griping at Simon for something, or Simon giving her the silent treatment and storming off for hours at a time. She knew a baby wouldn't change that, hell it had been five years already and they still weren’t married. The wishful part of her hoped that Simon would say that he was going to change for good and that they would fix their relationship and become a happy family. 

“We’ll figure it out, I promise yeah?” Simon had a way of looking at her like she was his world and for just a moment Amelia believed that everything would be okay. 

~ 

Unsurprisingly things were not okay, Amelia woke in the middle of the night grasping her large bump in pain. She regrets her decision to make Simon sleep in the guest bedroom because now her options are to attempt to waddle and wake up her boyfriend? Baby daddy? Things were tense and she wasn't sure what they were anymore. The months she’s spent growing their little bundle of joy have been hellish; being pregnant exacerbated Amelia’s growing disdain for Simon and made every transgression seem far worse than ever before. 

“God, Em, just let me do it. I don't need you hurting yourself.” 

“Piss off Simon, I'm not a baby. I can handle building a crib by myself.” 

Simon rolls his eyes but doesn't move from his spot in the doorway. Pretty much any conversation with his girlfriend was an argument waiting to happen. They both swore they would make it work, but it seemed like the longer time went on the more they were at each other’s throats. 

Amelia braves the idea of trying to make it to Simon’s room when a contraction subsides. She trudged down the hallway to his room and pushed on his shoulder roughly to rouse him. 

“Simon. Simon, wake up.” 

“What do ya want,” he questions groggily, still half asleep. 

“The baby’s fucking coming, get up. I'm dying in pain over here.” 

He shoots up at her words, panic settling into his bones as he realizes that this is it. They were about to come home with a baby, they were seriously going to be parents. He smiles brightly at her in the dark room, only slightly lit by the moonlight because Simon still hadn't put up the curtains she asked him to. Amelia wanted to tell him to wipe the stupid grin off his face because she was pissy and in excruciating pain, but a part of her couldn't help but smile too. Maybe they would come home with their little bundle of joy and everything would be different. 

~

The sound of small cries fills the hospital room and Simon is sure he’s never cried so hard in his life. 

“Congratulations, it’s a girl,” the nurse says as she lays the tiny baby on Amelia's chest. She smiles down at their little girl, but it’s wobbly and the color is rapidly draining from her face. Before he could have a second to even bask in, what he’s sure is the best moment of his life, the sound of machines beeping erratically and the flurry of nurses surrounding Amelia has him paralyzed with fear. 

~ 

The sterile smell of the hospital was burning his nostrils with every shaky breath he inhaled. They kept saying something about Amelia losing too much blood and that they needed to act fast and a million other things, but it felt as if his ears were filled with cotton and his head was trapped underwater. Simon’s heart was beating like a hummingbird trapped in a cage; he couldn't handle losing another person he loved. Why was it that everyone around him seemed to be viciously ripped from him? 

Poppy, the name they had decided on just a few short days ago, was on the verge of having no mother and a grief-addled skeleton for a father. His lungs couldn’t hold enough air and suddenly he felt dizzy, he thought for a moment about what it would be like to let this day be his end too. But he then thought of his little girl growing up, traumatized from being abandoned as soon as she entered the world. Simon was not a man made of tears, but he found himself shedding them freely in the cold, hard hospital chairs as he waited to see if his entire world was about to come crashing down. He chides himself for all the arguments they had had recently, he can't even remember the last time he told Em that he loved her. He did love her, even if he wasn't able to love her the way she so desperately wanted him to. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a doctor comes out where he’s sat, and he feels his throat constrict at the look on her face. 

“Mr. Riley, we did everything we could…” 

Whatever she says after doesn't even register because he feels like the room is spinning and he can't breathe and he's going to die he’s sure of it. What did he do to deserve the cards he had been dealt? How was he supposed to go home and take care of his daughter and act like he didn't have to plan on how he was going to bury her mother?

 Simon is hit with flashes of the future of all these he knows nothing about like periods, relationships, and all the things a little girl wants her mother for. 

At that very moment, Simon had nothing but Poppy. He wanted to lock himself in his home and never face the light of day again, but he knew that for her, he needed to be her everything. And that meant, trudging through every painful, sinister day so she never feels anything short of loved irrevocably. 

~ 

The shrill sound of Poppy crying has been Simon’s soundtrack for the better part of the day now. As if the small infant knows he’s inadequate, and most definitely not her mother, she wails loudly no matter what he does to soothe her. 

Amelia would know what to do, she was always the type to have her nose buried in parenting books, and if Simon even had a moment's peace maybe he’d pick one up. That unfortunately meant going into her bedroom, not even their bed because they had been fighting and sleeping in separate rooms right before their daughter was born. The door at the end of the hall has been closed since he got home from the hospital a week ago. Every time he thinks he’s ready to brave the room, his stomach twists in knots so tight he has to remind himself he’s okay and that he’s alive. 

Simon rocks his newborn gently in his arms as he sinks into the couch, sighing at the way he can still smell a hint of her mother’s perfume. He’d give anything to have Amelia ripping into him right now, just to hear the sound of her voice. 

He looks down at Poppy, who magically has granted him a reprieve from her sobs, and smiles softly at her. “You look just like your mother, ya know that? You’ve got a bit of my ugly mug in there too, but your eyes? That’s all her.” The baby blinks up at him and Simon leans down and kisses the crown of her head gently. “It’s just gonna be you and I kid, but I promise I'll do my very best with ya.” 

taglist: @darkravenqueen98 @jupiternighties @lunamoonbby @happy-mushrooms @yyiikes @liliumbosniacum @fluffymaxsworld

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[retrospacejelly]

A Western Tension

Pairing: Ex-outlaw!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: While eating a homemade meal in what feels like ages, Miguel learns about Y/N’s rocky past.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Guns, Mentions of the devil’s tango, typical cowboy things, language

Part: 2/?

Part: 1, 2, 2 1/2, 3

Not proofread

A/N: This is part two of A Western Romance! I had this idea brewing for a while, and character AI helped push the plot!  (Thank you Monstera for letting me expand on the plot!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once inside her small home, she sets the clothes basket by the kitchen table. She pats her hands on her skirt, “I have Chili Verde that’s still warm. That work for ya?” she asks, walking towards the pot sitting over a small fire.

“Yes ma’am” is his reply, walking over to the washbin, wiping them with a cloth draped against its side. He then sits at the table, looking around. He notices the pictures framed on the wall. Your family, it looks like. And, no spouse. He smiles to himself.

His gaze goes over to where Y/N stands over the pot, scooping the meal into a bowl. 

“Smells damn good, sugar.”

“Why thank you.” She pauses after setting the bowl down with a spoon in front of him. “I never did catch your name by the way…”

He gives a nod, just now realizing he never got yours too. He lets out a small cough. 

“It’s Miguel. Miguel O’Hara,” he says. He takes a breath, hoping you don’t recognize the name.

She nods. “O’Hara…Irish father?”

He nods as he takes a spoonful of food. Y/N sits down in the chair next to his, resting her head in her hand. 

“Yeah, him an’ his family migrated hear years before I was born. He fell in love with my mother, a maid on his father’s ranch.”

Y/N smiles softly as he recalls his parents' past. 

“However, I get my physical attributes from my mother’s side. Tall, dark an’ handsome. You know the deal.”

She chuckles at his words, shaking her head. “Yea, handsome. I got that.”

And suddenly, “Bet ya got a nice little wife to run home to then, huh?”. 

…

She covers her mouth, surprised at her sudden comment. Looking at her through his dark lashes, he chuckles quietly.

“You tryin’ to ask me somethin’? But no, Babydoll. I’m as free as a bird. Never really one to settle down.”

“Mn, that’s what my father said. Now he’s living out his days on a nice chunk a’ land. Lovin' up on my mother.”

He takes another bite of food, shrugging.

“He’s one of the lucky ones. Plenty a’ fellas out there that don’t get lucky ‘nough to find a nice lady to settle down with. End up bein’ lonely, and stuck with someone they can’t stand till death do ‘em part.”

Y/N stays silent for a moment, taking in his words. She can’t help but let her shoulders sag.

“Yea, heard that too many times.”

Miguel notices her change in appearance but chooses to not bring it up. “What about you, huh? Got a beau, Sugar?”

She sits up, not meeting his gaze. “Well, I did. But the coward ran off with some Hussy after I pulled a gun on ‘em. Found out real quick that sleeping with another woman was the biggest mistake of his life.”

Well. So much for not bringing it up.

He laughs loudly, amused by your confession. “Someone sure is a real firecracker, huh?”

“How would you feel if the supposed love of your life was beddin’ another? And in your bedroom no less!” She exclaims.

He doesn’t seem fazed by her outburst. “I’d be angry, sure, but I don’t know if I’d go as far as to pull my gun on ‘em for it. I’m not as hot-headed as you, darlin’ “.

She rolls her eyes, “Not all people are lucky to have good looks.”

Miguel gives her a look, his eyes narrowing. “What’s that got to do with any o’ this, Baby doll?”

She looks down, now clasping her hands together. The smooth grooves of the wooden table suddenly became very intriguing. 

“I didn’t really care much about my appearance growing up. My father grew up with no sisters and six brothers, so he was a little lost when it came to raisin’ me. Still wanting to be involved in my life, he raised me like he would a boy, so dresses ‘n frilly lace never piqued my interest.”

She takes a breath, continuing. 

“That no good cheater, Thomas, was a ranch hand for my father and the only other kid my age. We have been pretty much friends since childhood. When we turned eighteen years of age, he professed his love for me and proposed.” She smiles sadly. 

“I was over the moon. I was certain no man would ever look my way, ya know, with the way I dressed and acted. And after…after he cheated and I ran him out my home after I started dressin’ in dresses ‘n bein’ more ladylike, I have yet to find myself a good husband. I put walls ‘round me for a reason. Women don’t like getting their hearts hurt.”

Miguel’s expression softens, wanting nothing more than to hold you close. You poor thing. He thought you were breathtaking. He liked that you could fend for yourself. He reaches for her hand, taking it into his own. She sucks in a breath.

“So, you’re jaded from that. Ya got your walls up, and you expect men to show up and climb over ‘em to try and get to you.”

She laughs, sadly. “None of ‘em try anyhow.” 

“Looks ain’t everythin’ Baby doll. Just cause some fella’s easy on the eyes, doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy. Can’t always judge a man just by lookin’ at ‘em. You gotta give ‘em a chance.

Y/N nods, not pulling away from his touch. “Same goes for us ladies too. Guess word of me pullin’ a gun on an unfaithful man scared the rest off.”

He snorts, tilting his head. “Probably did. Not many men want to tangle with a wildcat like you, honey.”

Wanting to continue the conversation, Y/N closes her mouth, just now realizing how tired she’s become. She smiles. “I’ll show ya’ to your room if you’re done eating.”

Surprised by the sudden change in topic, he quietly nods and brings the now-empty bowl and spoon to a different wash basin where other dishes sit soaking in the water. 

She starts towards the guest bedroom, and he follows close behind her. Stopping in front of a door, she turns to look up at him. 

“Here’s the room. If you need to relieve yourself, there’s a bathhouse just at the end o’ the hall.”.

Miguel opens the door, scanning the room. “Pretty bare, but I guess Il’ do.” he jokes, looking back at her.

Y/N smiles at his joke, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Glad it works for ya. ‘Night.” she says, turning to retire to her own room. His smile falls, itching to reach out to her. 

“Hold on one second, Lil’ Miss. You ain’t just gonna turn ‘round an’ walk away from now, are ya?”. 

She sighs dramatically, “Oh I usually wouldn’t leave ya on your lonesome, but you have work to do tomorrow. Ya ain’t outta the woods yet.” she replies snarkily.

He smirks. “Oh, I ain’t too worried ‘bout fixin’ up that fence o’ yours. We still got plenty o’ time tonight, Princessa.”. He takes a step forward, leaning in. “Why you tryna avoid me all o’ sudden, hm?”

Y/N’s face flushes, and she can’t meet his gaze. “I jus’ want to retire for the night. Problem?”.

“Ya’ sure ‘bout that, sugar?”

She nods quickly, “Pretty positive.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You are on stubborn thing, ain’t ya?”. He leans in more, practically chest to chest with Y/N. She can feel his breath on her lips. His…very…kissable lips…

Without a word, she steps back and turns, quickly walking to her room. Before she shuts the door, he speaks again.

“Where you goin’ darlin’? Weren’t you sayin’ you were aimin’ to get some sleep?”

She lets out a huff. “Yeah, in my room.” The sound of her door slamming shut echoes throughout the hallway.

______________________________________________________________

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@codenameredkrystalmatrix

[l0stfoster]

wait I’m that same anon from that ask about Steve and Evie and now I need you to (pretty please with a cherry on top) talk about Steviepop or literally anything you want about any combination of the three of them in this au lol (also i stand by that ask even if they’re just friends I want that on the record)

We discussed it more and yeah, Steviepop canon. Have fun shippers Not a ton of info right now but here are some little things. I'll add on more if we think of anything else; feel free to add your own headcanons too!! If we like 'em enough they may become canon.

- Steve and Evie got together first, Evie's the one who realized Steve and Soda were so fuckin' gay for each other and went "Right, easy solution, we all have two hands." and the rest is history. - When it comes to Steviepop they're honestly a combo of really sweet and gag-worthy, arguably worse than Paul and Darry sometimes. Pony thinks Darry and Paul are bad until he witnesses Steviepop. He'll risk being jumped going to a gas station on the west side just to avoid walking in on them kissing on a slow day. - Constantly flirting during work (Evie works w/ them at the DX) - Evie and Steve are always calling Soda "pretty boy" or complimenting him in some way. - Soda likes to "serenade" (sing with the radio) to them. - Steve will casually use his telekinesis to steal snacks for them and hide the evidence - On full moons, werewolves become full wolves; their instincts get all fucky too so Soda and Steve are usually just stuck with a big clingy dog the entire day. She'll lay on them to keep them from leaving. - Since Fae are functionally immortal, Soda would offer Steve and Evie immortality as well. He's practically on his knees begging Steve and Evie to take his offer despite knowing they'd most likely say yes anyway. - A lot of Soda's jewelry is from Steve and Evie. They'll spend full paychecks on him it's wild.