#❄ tasks

[gleefulhq]

❄ it's beginning to look a lot like... the new directions (and friends), are coming home and the holiday season is drawing closer - that means it's time for our first roleplay task - a little pre-opening exercise to get you into the swing of things. as will always be the case in this roleplay, all tasks are optional, but encouraged !!

your task will be to show your character coming back home to ohio, from where it is they are currently living. you can fill this task through self paras/drabbles, journal entries, graphics, moodboards, headcanons, or any other way you see fit !! feel free to get creative with this, there is no right or wrong way to fill this task.

be sure to tag your task with the following: #gleefulinspo & #gleeful:musename ( ie. gleeful:quinn ).

❄ example task fills:

self para

journal entry

[holdmytesseract]

moodboard by @chennqingg | divider by @jiyascepter

Soothing Your Aches

Jotun!King!Loki x fem!Æsir!Queen!Reader

Summary: Your caring husband is always there to soothe your aches - no matter when or where.

Warnings: protective!Loki, pregnancy stuff, nudity, bit of suggestive smut, fluuuff

Word Count: 1,7k

a/n: This lil' oneshot is based on an idea from @eleniblue ! I just had to write it, because it's so sweet! Also, I'm so sorry it took me sooo long to get this posted... Hope you like it nevertheless. 🥰

Ice Flower AU Masterlist ❄ Loki Masterlist ❄ Masterlist

"Have you seen the queen?" Loki addressed one of your personal guards, Ivan, as he was rushing down the corridor towards the throne room; emerald green cape flying behind him.

Ivan nodded. "Yes, my king. Your wife was searching for you. I told her you were out in the city." The king of Jotunheim nodded. "Where did she go?" "I saw her going into the direction of the royal chambers, your majesty."

Loki snorted, "I just came from there, Ivan. She isn't there." and gritted his teeth; feeling the anger - caused by his worry, rise within his body. The king just couldn't help himself. It was the fault of his instincts to protect what was his - like so often.

Loki took a deep breath; trying to control his temper. "You have one job, Ivan! Keeping an eye on the queen and her safe whenever I'm away is the only task you've been burdened with - and you fail." The king shook his head, while Ivan obediently lowered his head. "I apologise, my king, I-" The young Jotun tried to explain, but got immediately interrupted. "She is pregnant, for the Norns sake! This isn't just about my wife anymore!"

Ivan swallowed visibly; fear reflecting in his ruby eyes. Loki still tried to keep his anger at bay; knowing that this was the first mistake of your guard. He tried to have mercy.

"I-I know, y-your highness, b-but-" Ivan got interrupted once more. "You are dismissed for today. Now get out of my sight, before I change my mind."

The guard knew that this was his king showing forgiveness and mercy, so he bowed, "T-Thank you, m-my king." and quickly left.

Loki took another deep breath, before he decided to ask one of the maids about your whereabout.

"Tola," his deep voice caused the blond haired maid, who was currently cleaning his presence chamber, to jump slightly and shriek up. "King Loki! Apologies!" She curtsied. "You scared me a bit." Loki shook his head. "I should apologise. I didn’t mean to scare you... Do you know where my wife is?" She nodded. "Sure, my king. Queen Y/N told me that she was going to take a bath in the royal bathing chamber. I offered my help, but she wished to be alone."

A relieved breath left the Jotun's lips. "Thank you." Tola curtsied once more. "Of course, your highness." With a curd nod, Loki turned on his heels and left again; his feet leading him straight towards the bathing chamber.

He could already smell the scent of your soaps and rich oils miles away. It caused him to smile.

Once he entered the bathing chamber, warm, wet air and slight steam welcomed him - alongside your beautiful voice humming an old Norse song.

It's been a long day for the king and all he wished now was to spend time with you and especially to take care of you, as well as the growing offspring within your womb.

Loki quickly started to undress, until he wore nothing more than his loin cloth. Sure, he could've joined you completely nude, but the king didn't wish to 'pressure you' into something. He wanted to take care of you - and if it would include making love, he wasn't going to complain. If not, Loki was more than alright with it.

Smiling, he rounded the corner to face the big pool you were in; leaning against the edge with your head tilted back and eyes closed. One hand held onto the edge, while the other was cupping your swollen belly; gently stroking the wet skin.

Loki watched you for a moment; admired the absolute stunning woman he had married.

"I hope you don't mind if I join you, my queen?"

Your eyes immediately flew open at your husband's words and you looked over; meeting his beautiful ruby eyes.

You smiled.

"No, of course not. In fact, it is highly appreciated. Please do join me, my king." Loki ran a hand through his now damp curls and proceeded to step inside the water and swim over to you.

You welcomed your husband with open arms, of course, given the fact that you hadn't seen him almost the whole day.

"Hello," you whispered against his lips; crossing your arms behind his neck. Loki smirked; wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you as close as your almost five-month-bump allowed. "Hello, Flower." The gap between the two of you quickly melted away, as your lips moulded perfectly against Loki's.

After exchanging several much needed kisses, Loki settled behind you against the quite comfortably built pool edge; pulling you back against his bare chest.

"How are you feeling today, love?" He asked in a gentle voice. His hands came to rest underneath your belly; supporting the weight of your bump. "Honestly?" You sighed. "It could be better. The muscles in my back hurt, just like my feet do. I have stomach cramps already the whole day and felt very dizzy this morning. That's why I decided to take a bath; hoping it would relax my muscles and ease the pain at least a bit."

Loki nuzzled the wet skin of your neck and pulled you even closer against him. "Apologies, Flower. I hate to see you in pain and struggling." Your husband's lips trailed a path of soft kisses from your shoulder up to the shell of your ear. You couldn't help but smile; feeling the butterflies within you running wild. Wild for this man.

"Can I do something for you, my queen? I wish to help." Your smile even widened. Loki was the best husband you could've wished for. "Especially since I am the one to blame for this..." You could practically hear the smirk and playfulness in his voice - and giggled. "Don't say this like we both didn't wish for it to happen." "Well... Point taken." A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest, before he breathed another kiss on the side of your neck.

"Now, how can I help, Flower?"

"Hmm..." You thought; being already way too lost and addicted to his touch. You barely saw him today, after all... "Perhaps a massage later? But for now, just hold me, please. I enjoy your warmth and touch-" You felt a nudge against your abdominal wall and bladder, causing you to smile. "Just like the twins," you completed your sentence.

Loki hummed behind you; thumbs starting to trace a pattern in the naked skin on the underside of your bump. "As you wish, my darling."

After the bath, Loki wrapped you up in a big, fluffy, warm towel, and even carried you back towards your shared chambers.

"There we are..." He said; gently kicking the door shut with his foot. You just smiled with your head tucked in the crook of his neck; inhaling his scent. Loki set you down on your spacious marital bed and pressed a sweet kiss on your lips, before he quickly crossed the room in order to tend to the fireplace. The fire was still burning. Loki just had to make sure it was enough to keep you warm.

"Are you warm enough, my queen?" You nodded; giving him a loving, but definitely drowsy smile. "Currently, yes. Now come here, please..." Loki smiled, "In a moment, Flower." and winked, before he vanished in the bathroom, in order to fetch the best massage oils in the whole kingdom. You received them from a healer on Asgard.

Your husband took the comfortable chair, which stood a bit offsides and actually served as an extra seating possibility in front of the fireplace and sat down beside your side of the bed. His free hand inched closer to your body, while he threw you a smouldering look.

"May I unwrap you, Flower? I heard you are in need of my hands." Mischievous, naughty scamp, you thought with a giggle. "Please do, dear husband."

Loki helped you to free your upper body of its confines, but made sure that your legs and feet were still covered in furs and keeping you warm.

"Turn on your side for me, my love." You did what he said; presenting him your bare back. It was a bit of an awkward angle, but there was no other way than this for a massage. You couldn't turn on your stomach - for obvious reasons.

"There we go." Loki squeezed some oil on his big palm, made sure to coat his other palm as well and then started to gently massage your uptight muscles. "Mhhh..." You sighed as he worked on a particular tight knot. The king chuckled lowly. "Your reaction tells me that I must be doing something right. Does it feel good?" You giggled; nodding. "It always feels good when you touch me, my king. No matter the situation." "Thank the Norns then that I enjoy touching you very much. No matter the situation." You could practically hear the smirk on his lips. "Win win situation, sweetheart."

After Loki massaged your sore and aching back, you felt way better and relaxed - but your husband wasn't finished yet.

"Would my lovely wife turn on her back again? I think there are cramps who need to be eased as well..." You smiled; following his instructions once more.

The king's eyes travelled from your face down the length of your upper body; lingering on your bump for a moment longer, before his ruby eyes returned to meet your Y/E/C ones.

"You are stunningly beautiful, my queen. Absolutely radiant. Perfect, for me." You couldn't stop your cheeks from redding at his words. "Thank you." Loki leaned over to kiss you lovingly, then began to gently rub the oil in the skin of your belly as well.

You never thought that it would feel this good, but it did - and the babies seemed to enjoy it as well. You could sense it. "They pretty much enjoy the touch of their father," you giggled; looking at Loki. He smiled; nodding amusingly. "I can positively feel it, yes." You giggled again. "Now shush, my queen. Rest and just enjoy," he teased you a bit. "Yes, my king." You took a deep breath and closed your eyes; trying to be calm. You were kinda surprised that it worked that well.

In fact it probably worked too good...

"I'm relieved to see that this seems to help you." Loki got no response. "Flower? Love?" Frowning, he lifted his head - only to see that you slept in. The king smiled; placed a gentle kiss on your forehead and made sure to tuck you properly in.

Tags: @eleniblue @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jaidenhawke @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @multifandom-worlds @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @huntedmusicgardenn @lokiforever @fictive-sl0th @lokisgoodgirl @smolvenger @hisredheadedgoddess28 @icytrickster17 @chennqingg @glitchquake @princess-ofthe-pages @crimson25 @elegantcheesecakecrown @buttercupcookies-blog @mypainischronicbutmyassisiconic @herdetectivetheorist @loz-3 @brokenpoetliz @km-ffluv @stupidthoughtsinwriting @jennyggggrrr @lady-rose-moon @lovingchoices14 @salvinaa @irishhappiness @sheris532 @princessdragon23 @xxannyxx @kimanne723 @mandywholock1980 @the-holy-trinity-l @loki-laufeyson223 @vbecker10 @buttercupcookies-blog @comicalivy

[emonaculate]

Looking Out for You

❄ Author's Note: No way! Em has the inspiration to write something? I did not forget about "S?ABT" it is my baby and I am currently revising some of the upcoming chapters I just wanted it to be more fleshed out before posting any updates. Anyways let me know what you guys think of this I am really proud of it and I love hearing your comments!

❄ Synopsis: Yn is grappling with the humbling experience of being gifted kid burnout, burdened by family turmoil, and the weight of her inner demons. Just before her senior year of high school, she's reluctantly roped into volunteering as a counselor and teacher at a winter camp. There, she formally meets Gojo Satoru—an aggravatingly handsome hockey player with an ego to match his skill, all charm, smirks, and know-it-all energy. Y/n doesn’t realize that beneath Gojo’s confident exterior lies a storm of his own—wounds he’s hidden just as deeply as she has.

The vinyl seats of the cruiser stuck to the back of Y/n’s thighs like a second skin, the plastic creaking every time she shifted her weight. Outside, the early winter evening painted the town in a watery gray haze—frosted windows, crooked streetlights buzzing faintly with static, and snow half-melted into dirty slush along the curb. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked like it had something to prove. Just when she thought her day couldn't get any fucking worse.

Y/n sat in the back of the cop car like it was routine—elbows propped on her knees, chin resting in her hand, face unreadable. The flashing lights had long since been turned off, but the phantom red-and-blue still pulsed behind her eyelids like an annoying screensaver. Across the windshield, her mother stood stiff in her department store coat, arms crossed tight over her chest like she was holding herself together just barely. Tired didn’t even begin to cover it. Her voice was low, tense, but Y/n couldn’t make out the words—just saw her lips move with the careful precision of someone trying not to snap. Again.

Next to her, the officer on duty leaned against the car door, one hand on his belt like he wanted this over ten minutes ago. He barely nodded, barely blinked. The third figure was who Y/n assumed to be the unfortunate owner of what she considered her latest masterpiece. Y/n’s gaze drifted lazily to her reflection in the scratched plastic partition, eyes half-lidded with indifference. Deep plum-colored shadows clung beneath her dull, hickory eyes—like bruises left behind by too many sleepless nights. Her hair, once long, uniform, and silken black, now barely grazed her shoulders in uneven layers, dyed a moody shade of wine that clashed with who she used to be.

If someone had shown this version of her to the girl she was five years ago—bright-eyed, polished, full of promise—she would’ve laughed in disbelief. Or cried. Maybe both. Y/n was snapped out of her daze by the creak of the cruiser door swinging open. Cold air rushed in, biting at her cheeks, but she barely flinched. Standing there, silhouetted against the dim streetlights, was the same officer who’d had the unfortunate task of throwing her into the back seat to begin with.

Her gaze drifted up to his face, and a slow, amused smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. There it was—a purplish bruise blooming across his cheekbone, just below his eye. Sloppy, but satisfying. She remembered the sharp jolt of her elbow making contact, the brief moment of chaos before they’d finally wrestled her into cuffs. Worth it.

“Good evening, officer,” she drawled, voice smooth with mock sweetness.

He didn’t answer, just leveled her with a look that said he was far too tired for her games. She stepped out of the car with practiced ease, shoulders relaxed, like she wasn’t the reason this entire scene had been set in motion. Y/n’s flicker of satisfaction vanished just as quickly as it had come—snuffed out by the sharp, familiar sting of her mother’s voice slicing through the cold air. Her full name. Said with that deadly, no-nonsense cadence that mothers seem to master from the moment they give birth to you. The kind of tone that meant no amount of smirking or silent rebellion was going to save her this time.

Y/n’s eyes flicked away from the officer, her smirk slipping into something colder. She shoved her hands deep into the frayed pockets of her oversized, black, ripped pants—the loose fabric hanging dangerously low on her hips. Her boots crunched softly against the snow-dusted pavement as she started toward her mother, each step weighted with the kind of practiced indifference only a teenage girl with a long list of mistakes could wear well. She didn’t walk fast. Didn’t look sorry. And she sure as hell didn’t plan on explaining herself.

"Yes, mother dearest?" Y/n’s voice dripped with sarcasm, a sickly sweet lilt curling off her tongue as she came to a lazy stop in front of her mother and the elderly shop owner. Her smile was insincere, daring.

Evangeline forced one of her own in return, but the twitch in her eye betrayed her composure. She was clearly clenching her jaw, holding back the thousand thoughts that must have been running through her head—none of them kind. Y/n knew the look well. She'd seen it every time she'd managed to sabotage yet another one of her mother’s carefully cultivated professional relationships. It was starting to become a pattern.

"I believe you owe Mr. Soraoka an apology," Evangeline said evenly, though her voice was tight. "For breaking into his store and destroying his property. You are very, very lucky he’s chosen not to press charges."

Y/n rolled her eyes, slow and deliberate, then turned to the elderly man beside her. He looked as soft as he sounded—kindness etched into the wrinkles of his face, his hands folded gently in front of him.

"Nonsense," Mr. Soraoka said with a chuckle, waving dismissively at Evangeline as if she'd just suggested something absurd. "After all you did for me when my wife passed, helping me manage the will and keep the shop… It’s the least I can do, Mrs. Kashiwagi."

Evangeline froze—her lips parted slightly, like she might correct him. But before she could speak, it was too late. Y/n's eyes glittered with something venomous as her smirk sharpened.

"Oh, you haven’t heard, sir?" she said lightly, though the bitterness was unmistakable. "She got remarried. I’m the only Kashiwagi now. Especially since he’s gone. Guess it’s up to me to carry on the family legacy—"

She didn’t finish. The words caught in her throat, burning like acid as the emotion snuck up on her—uninvited, unwelcome. Her voice faltered, and she blinked fast, hoping it would stop the tears before they had the audacity to fall. Not here. Not in front of her mother.

Especially not in front of her.

"M’going to the car," Y/n mumbled, voice raw and small as she rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and walked away, ignoring the sound of her mother calling her back.

Evangeline stood still, her shoulders stiff as her daughter disappeared toward the car. Her lips pressed into a hard line, then softened with a sigh—quiet and resigned. She turned back to Mr. Soraoka, offering a hollow laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

"Teenagers…" she muttered. "One minute they’re crawling all over you, and the next they wish you didn’t exist."

Mr. Soraoka didn’t laugh. He watched her carefully, taking in the exhaustion beneath her polished exterior. Her beauty was undeniable—graceful, poised, but weathered by years of silent struggle. It was obvious to anyone who looked close enough: the past four years had worn her thin. The sudden loss of her husband. A daughter spiraling in grief and rebellion. Balancing her career as a foreigner running her own law firm in Tokyo—none of it had been easy.

"Thank you again," she said after a pause, her voice gentler now, bowing slightly in respect. "For not pressing charges. She’s… she’s a good girl. She’s just been through a lot."

Mr. Soraoka nodded slowly, his expression shifting from solemn to certain.

"Actually," he said, tone suddenly firmer, "I do have one request."

Evangeline blinked, caught off guard. There was something knowing in his eyes now—something resolute. He’d seen this before: a teenager so full of anger they couldn’t feel anything else. A family worn thin. A mother doing her best to hold everything together. And he remembered how a place, a purpose, had once helped another broken-hearted Kashiwagi find peace.

"I know exactly what she needs," Mr. Soraoka said, quietly but with conviction.

"It worked for her father. Why not her?"

Y/n lay sprawled on her bed, eyes fixed on the faded constellation stickers scattered across her ceiling—little glimmers of soft green glowing faintly in the dark. They were uneven, a little crooked, their edges peeling with age, but to her, they were perfect. Each one a frozen moment, a quiet echo from a simpler time. She remembered exactly how they got there. It was a memory etched into her mind with sharp clarity—one she often revisited when everything else felt like it was slipping out of focus.

She’d been a wide-eyed little girl, full of wonder and stubborn ideas. And she had begged her father to put the stars up—despite his initial protests about how tacky they would look compared to his carefully curated, traditional Japanese decor. Shoji screens, minimalist calligraphy, warm cedarwood tones… and glow-in-the-dark plastic stars? Absolutely not.

But her father, Harukemi, caved, as he always did when it came to his baby girl. His only baby girl. She remembered sitting on his broad, heavily tattooed shoulders as they worked together to scatter the stickers across the ceiling. Her tiny fingers peeled each one carefully while he guided her from below, one large hand pointing to where each star should go, the other steadying her.

"Why do constellations even exist?" she had asked in that childlike wonder voice that always made him flash his dimple-filled smile.

He hummed thoughtfully before answering, as if plucking the story from the stars themselves.

"They’re people who chose not to be reincarnated," Harukemi said, voice baritone and tender. "Because they wanted to stay close to the one they were fated to love in this life."

Y/n had gone quiet, thinking hard. Then—

"But what if someone chooses to be reincarnated… and their soulmate doesn’t?"

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated in her small frame. Nothing got past his little girl; her big brain definitely came from Eve.

"Then they become brand new galaxies," he answered, after a short moment of thought. "Endless and vast—so they can keep searching, lifetime after lifetime, until they find each other again."

She placed the final sticker—an uneven little crescent moon—before he gently lifted her from his shoulders and cradled her close to his chest. Warm. Safe. Home. The creak of her bedroom door pulled Y/n abruptly from the safety of her thoughts. She scowled instinctively, already prepared to snap at whoever had dared to interrupt her rare moment of peace. Her expression fell flat the second she saw who it was.

Kiara. Of course. Her fifteen-year-old stepsister stood awkwardly in the doorway, refusing to make eye contact, as if she already knew she was unwelcome.

"Dad cooked, if you're hungry." Kiyara muttered, voice low and uncertain.

Y/n narrowed her eyes, her tone flat and dismissive. "Heard. Now leave."

Kiara hesitated for a moment, her jaw twitching with something unsaid. Then she turned on her heel with a muttered comment under her breath—inaudible but definitely laced with attitude—before slamming the door behind her. Y/n didn’t even flinch.

Instead, she picked up her phone and scrolled aimlessly through her gallery, her thumb pausing on every photo of her father. There were dozens—maybe hundreds. Him beaming behind her as she skated on wobbly legs at the ice rink. The two of them in front of a massive lion enclosure at the zoo. A blurry shot of them eating cotton candy on a roller coaster platform. Them being at the dance studio he taught regularly at. Her sitting on the back of his dangerous motorcycle, holding a box of groceries like it was some grand mission.

They weren’t just photos. They were proof. Little frozen frames of a world where she felt understood. Where someone looked at her and saw her—not a problem to be fixed or a responsibility to pass off. Sometimes she wondered if he was the only person in the whole world who ever truly got her... and now he was gone.

After a while of more bed-rotting, Y/n forced herself up and threw on a random oversized graphic t-shirt and left her room to find something to eat. Like hell she'd eat anything made by that sorry attempt at replacing her father. Instead, she slipped down the hall toward the kitchen, her socks silent against the hardwood floor. The house was too quiet—eerily so. Like it was holding its breath.

She opened the fridge, pulled out a crisp Fuji apple, and set it on the counter. The dull slice of the kitchen knife against the cutting board was rhythmic, familiar. She reached for a slice, but stopped mid-motion. Her eyes caught on something. Or rather—the absence of something. The key. The old brass key that always hung on the tiny hook in the dining room alcove, just beside the display shelf with her dad’s tea set. The key to his study. His sanctuary. It was gone. Y/n’s heart skipped. No. No one touched that room. No one was supposed to.

Her limbs moved before her thoughts could catch up, leaving the apple slices forgotten on the cutting board as she stormed down the hallway, anxiety building in her throat like bile. Her breathing quickened. The world narrowed. The door to his study—a door that had remained sealed since the day of the funeral—was cracked open. Y/n froze for just a moment. Her stomach dropped. Then she pushed it open. Empty. The room was empty.

The shelves that once held her father’s meticulously organized books, his framed photographs and tattoo designs, his incense burner and ink brushes—gone. His desk, where he spent hours scribbling in his worn leather journal, empty. The rug they used to sit on when she’d draw while he worked—rolled up. Even the scent of sandalwood and old paper had vanished, replaced with sterile emptiness.

And then came the sound. It tore out of her chest, raw and guttural—a sharp, shattering cry that cracked through the silence like glass meeting concrete. Not loud. Just devastating. She stood frozen in the center of the hollow room, fists clenched, nails digging crescents into her palms. Her grief was no longer silent. Then came the footsteps. And around the corner, as if summoned by her pain, came him...her mother's new husband, Evan. Holding a box.

Her father’s box. She saw it before she saw the rest of him. The edge of her dad’s favorite scarf hung out from the top, crushed beneath God knows what else—loose papers, a ceramic pen holder, maybe even the sketch of her he kept by the window.

Y/n felt like she was going to explode. There were not enough crude words in the entire world that would help express what exactly she was feeling in the moment.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?"

Her voice wasn’t loud—but it was sharp, jagged. Evan (the step-father in question) froze mid-step, eyes widening for a second. He looked ridiculous standing there with a cardboard box of memories he had no right to touch.

"Y/n, your mother and I—"

"Don’t. Don’t you dare say her name right now." Her voice wavered slightly, but the fury was taking over, swallowing the ache like a firestorm.

"This was his space. This—this is all I have left of him!"

The older man’s mouth opened, then closed again. He looked down at the box in his hands as if just realizing the weight of what he was holding. It appeared that he was mentally weighing the options of pissing off the angst teenage ticking time bomb or upset his wife. Evan had never been a strong-willed man; he was rather timid in all aspects of his life and preferred to stay out of the limelight whenever possible. How he managed to pull a woman like Evangeline was beyond him.

"Put it down. Now." Y/n stepped forward, eyes blazing.

“Put it down.”

Y/n’s voice trembled, not from fear—but from fury. Her fists were clenched, her entire body taut like a rubber band stretched too tight.

“Put. It. Down.”

Evan didn’t move. He adjusted his grip on the box instead, standing a little taller. “Y/n, this stuff doesn’t belong in a shrine anymore. It’s been four years—your mom and I agreed it was time to clear the space.”

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat.

“You mean erase him.” She sneered at the man.

He exhaled through his nose, clearly trying to stay calm. “That’s not what this is.”

But she was already shaking her head.

“You don’t get to decide when I let him go. You don’t even get to touch his things.”

His jaw tightened. “Y/n—”

“You moved into his house. Slept in his bed. Fucked and married her. You don’t give a damn about what he meant to me!”

That’s when his composure slipped. Y/n had a really bad habit of getting under people's skin and making them feel as ugly as she felt most days on the inside.

“You’ve had four years to grieve, Y/n. How much more do you need?” He let out a sharp, bitter laugh.

The silence that followed was deafening. Even he looked like he hadn’t meant to say it. His face paled instantly, regret flickering across his features like a crack in glass. But the damage was already done.

Y/n’s eyes went wide—then narrowed into a sharp, unforgiving glare. Her grief ignited like gasoline hitting open flame. Without thinking, she lunged forward, her hands grabbing at the box, shoving him backwards, sending some of her father’s belongings tumbling to the ground.

“You selfish—soulless—bastard! Spineless piece of shit” she screamed, shoving him again.

He stumbled, catching himself on the wall, just as Y/n kicked the box across the hall. The contents spilled—a watch, a framed photo of her as a toddler, an old Japanese poetry book. Pieces of a life that didn’t belong to him. Before she could do more, a sharp voice cut through the chaos.

“Y/N!”

Evangeline’s heels clicked furiously across the floor, phone still clutched in hand, freshly off yet another business call. Her expression was tight and tired, but her eyes were blazing.

“What is wrong with you?”

Y/n turned to face her, chest heaving, throat raw.

“Me? What’s wrong with me? Is everyone in this fucking house insane?” Y/n hissed in frustration.

And then it all spilled out—everything she’d been holding in for years.

“You wanna talk about what’s wrong? Let’s start with the fact that you haven’t looked at me since Dad died. You checked out! Mentally, emotionally—everything. And you only got your life together after he showed up!” Y/n jabbed a finger toward her stepfather.

“That’s not true,” Evangeline snapped, her voice dangerously low.

“Oh, please! You left me to drown in this damn house with the ghosts of yesterday, and now you want to punish me for acting out? Maybe if you were actually around, I wouldn’t have turned into this mess you keep trying to fix!”

“You barely passed this semester, Y/n! You don’t even try anymore!” Evangeline’s voice rose with every word, “You walk around looking like you haven’t seen a mirror in weeks! You’re mean, cruel to everyone who tries to care. You shoplift! You vandalize shops! You stopped ice skating—you were good, Y/n. You don't dance anymore You could’ve gone somewhere with it! But you gave up on everything.”

Y/n’s mouth fell open in disbelief. No way. No way her mother could be this delusional. What the fuck do you think happens when you leave a freshly fourteen year old whose father just died alone to process grief?

“You think I gave up? Maybe I just didn’t have anyone left to fight for. Maybe I was too busy surviving in a house where my mother pretended I didn’t exist!”

Evangeline’s eyes burned with unshed tears. She needed to calm down; this is not how she wanted this conversation to go. It wasn't time yet.

“I was grieving too—”

“Bullshit!” Y/n screamed, “You didn’t grieve! You buried yourself in your job and him, and pretended Dad never existed! You left me behind. You weren’t there. Not once. Not when I needed you. Not when I cried for him at night. Not when I stopped eating. Not when I begged for someone to see me—you weren’t there!”

Evangeline’s voice cracked with something low and furious; to hell with trying to spare feelings and save face. Clearly, Y/n only understood when people stooped to her level. She was just as headstrong as Harukemi, only less endearing.

“He might have been your dad…” Evangeline started, teeth clenched,“…but he was my husband. I lost my husband. And now I’m stuck with a horrible, entitled child who blames the whole world for her pain.”

Silence. Time stopped. And then, slowly, Y/n's expression hardened into something unreadable. Her lips parted—and the words came out like venom.

“It should have been you.”

Evangeline went still. The color drained from her face. Her mouth opened slightly in shock—but no words came. Only silence. Cold, sharp, final. Then, as if something inside her snapped, her face shut down. Emotionless. Cold.

“You’ll be attending Tengen’s Star on Ice Camp,” she said flatly, “It’s two months. After that, you’ll finish your final year of high school. Then—when you turn eighteen—you can leave. Go wherever the hell you want. I don’t care anymore. I'm done.”

She turned and walked away. Her pathetic husband followed right behind her, calling after her, but to no avail. Kiyara, who had witnessed the closing remarks, looked at her stepsister with a sad expression on her face as she bent down and picked up the items that had fallen out of the box. Y/n watched the girl with an unreadable expression as Kiyara finally sat the box down in front of her before making a quiet exit out of the hall.

Y/n stood there, still breathing hard, her chest tight, her throat raw. The box lay at her feet—scattered memories of a better time. She didn't cry. She just stood there. Alone. Again.

The weeks leading up to Y/n’s departure bled together in cold silence. She spent most of her time barricaded in her room, headphones in, lights off, buried beneath thick blankets like a fortress. When the walls felt too tight or the air too stale, she’d slip out unnoticed, making her way to the same ice rink she’d frequented as a child.

She never brought her skates. She just watched. Children laughed as they stumbled on the ice, couples clung to one another for balance, and seasoned skaters sliced across the frozen surface like it was second nature. It should have brought her joy—the sound of blades scraping ice, the smell of hot chocolate, the familiar hum of music from the old speakers—but now, it just felt like another reminder of everything she'd lost. Of everything that had changed.

No words had been exchanged between her and Evangeline since that day. Not a glance. Not a knock on the door. Nothing. The house was too big for that kind of silence, but somehow, they managed. And that, in itself, said everything. It was clear where the two stood now. No bridges left to burn. Just ash and distance.

Y/n told herself she was fine with that; she was seventeen now, anyway, only a couple of months left, and she could go wherever she wanted. Finally free. Finally unburdened. She could leave soon—really leave—and never come back. No more suffocating conversations. No more sideways looks. No more pretending. No regrets.

At least, that’s what she whispered to herself as she stared at the rink through fogged glass, heart aching in a way she couldn’t quite name. Because grief had a funny way of hiding itself in the quiet. And loneliness? It was best disguised as freedom. The night of her departure arrived cloaked in a thick, still quiet—the kind that seemed to hang in the air like a breath being held.

Y/n stood in the middle of her dimly lit room, zipping up the second of two small duffle bags. She hadn’t bothered to organize them with any real thought. A few sweaters, worn jeans, a couple pairs of shoes, and the same black hoodie she always wore when she didn’t want to be noticed. That was enough. It wasn’t like she cared to impress anyone at the camp. She wasn't going to make friends. She wasn’t going to start over.

She was just… going. She threw the bags near her bedroom door and sat down on the edge of her bed, the mattress creaking slightly under her weight. Her eyes flicked up to the ceiling, where the faded glow-in-the-dark constellation stickers still clung stubbornly to the plaster like ghosts of her childhood. They didn’t shine like they used to.

She leaned over to grab the crumpled scarf from her nightstand—the one that had belonged to her father. She wasn’t sure when she’d started sleeping with it under her pillow, but the scent had long since faded. Still, her fingers ran over the frayed edge like it might anchor her to something—anything—that felt real.

No one had said goodbye. Evangeline hadn’t even come to her room. Not that she expected her to. Not anymore. Y/n gave one last glance around the space that had once been her whole world before standing up, slipping her duffle straps over her shoulders. As she opened her bedroom door, the hallway light buzzed dimly above her. She didn’t look back. There was nothing left here for her to hold onto.

Just before leaving her room, Y/n paused. Her eyes lingered on the worn pair of ice skates tucked in the corner beneath her bookshelf—dust collecting lightly on the laces, blades dulled from lack of use. She told herself it was pointless to bring them. But her hand reached out anyway. Just in case.

The train platform was quiet, kissed by early morning frost and a sky still painted in faded hues of lavender and silver. Y/n boarded the nearly empty carriage, choosing a window seat near the back where she could stretch out, headphones already looped around her neck.

As the train lurched into motion, the city bled away behind her, tall buildings and traffic slowly giving way to open roads and fields blanketed in snow. They passed through valleys where the sun peeked through clouds, casting golden halos over snow-covered pines. Mountains loomed in the distance, their ridges softened by white drifts, like powdered sugar over a dream.

Snowflakes danced against the windows, soft and slow, like the sky was exhaling. Y/n leaned against the glass, pressing her cheek to the chill. She thumbed through her phone until she found it—the wedding playlist. The one her dad had made for Evangeline all those years ago. An odd mix of Motown classics, begging and pleading R&B (Harukemi's words, not hers), soft jazz, and powerful Japanese ballads her father had adored. She pressed play. Let it wash over her. She didn’t cry. She just... listened. And slowly, the lull of the train and the warmth of the music pulled her into sleep. When she woke, the train had stopped moving. A soft nudge pulled her from her dreams.

“Hey,” a voice said gently. “We’re here. You slept for a while.”

Y/n blinked groggily, squinting against the now-orange glow of the setting sun slanting through the train windows. She turned to find herself not alone, as she had thought. Her head had somehow—and she had no idea how—ended up resting against a stranger’s shoulder. A boy. He wore distressed black jeans, a tattered band tee under a plaid flannel, and a chain hanging from his belt loop. His ears were lined with mismatched silver piercings, and a subtle nose ring curved through his nostril. His shaggy shoulder-length dark brown hair peeked out from under a beanie that looked like it had seen better days. Despite the grunge armor, his expression was soft. Genuinely concerned.

“I—” Y/n scrambled upright, suddenly embarrassed at just how long she had been lying on him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—fall asleep—on you.”

He smiled a little, brushing off his shoulder like it was nothing. “It’s alright. You looked tired.”

His voice was calm. Unassuming. Not what she expected. Y/n mumbled a vague “thanks” under her breath, already avoiding eye contact as she grabbed her bags and skates. Her body was stiff from the five-hour nap, her pride even stiffer. She didn’t know what was worse—accidentally sleeping on a stranger or the fact that it had been the best sleep she’d had in months. No point in thinking about it now. She had a camp to survive. The cold bit at Y/n’s cheeks the moment she stepped off the train, her boots crunching into fresh snow that sparkled like crushed diamonds beneath the setting sun. Her breath came out in visible puffs as she took in the scene around her.

Everywhere she looked, groups of late teens and young adults were laughing, hugging, or shouting each other’s names across the platform. Some had clearly been coming to this camp for years—joking like old friends reunited. It was loud, chaotic, and warm in that annoying way that made her feel even more isolated. She kept her distance, clutching the strap of her bag tightly as she walked past them. Her skates were slung over her shoulder, bouncing lightly with every step. Then, her eyes lifted.

Beyond the crowd, the camp stretched out like something from a storybook. Wooden lodges lined with twinkling string lights. Candy cane–striped poles marking the paths. Icicles dripping from rooftops. Flakes of snow gently drifted down in slow spirals from the mountain ranges behind the camp, making the whole place look like a snow globe someone had just shaken. It was... beautiful. Painfully so.

“Still not impressed?”

A hand landed gently on her shoulder. Y/n shivered from the cold feeling of metal touching her exposed skin. Maybe wearing an off-shoulder sweatshirt wasn't the best idea. Just how many rings did one person need to wear on one hand? Y/n turned and met the gentle gaze of the boy from the train. He stood beside her now, lips tilted into a slight half-smile. It was like he was silently telling her to get used to seeing him because he wasn't going anywhere.

“Choso,” he said simply, offering the name like a quiet olive branch.

Y/n gave a small nod. “Y/n.”

He glanced around the camp. “Looks like we’re stuck here for a while.”

She let out a soft exhale through her nose. “Fantastic.”

Before either of them could say more, movement pulled their attention toward the entrance gates of the camp, where a raised wooden stage stood decorated with garlands of evergreen and silver ribbon.

Five figures approached it, stepping up onto the platform, followed closely by none other than Mr. Soraoka himself—his cane tapping lightly against the wood as he smiled at the crowd. Y/n’s eyes flicked to the five people flanking him. They were clearly counselors or returning seniors, dressed more put together than the chaos of everyone else. But one in particular stood out—like an explosion of sunlight on a cloudy day. A tall boy.

His hair was impossibly white—almost the same color as the snow around them—and fluffed out like freshly fallen powder. His skin glowed under the lights with a slight tan, and his eyes, an electric blue, scanned the crowd with practiced ease. Thick-rimmed glasses rested lazily on top of his head, pushed up like he hadn’t decided if he needed them or not.

He wore a baby blue oversized crewneck on it was a small logo belonging to a brand Y/n did could not make out, with a crisp white collared shirt peeking out from underneath the crewneck. The sleeves strained slightly over thick, muscular arms, the kind you wouldn’t expect someone so pretty to have. His legs, despite being mostly covered by mid-length khaki cargo shorts (how was he not cold?), still showcased evidence of a life well-lived—small bandaids, healed scrapes, light bruises like he collected them for fun. And on his feet—classic tan Timberlands, dusted in snow. He was… effortlessly chaotic. And irritatingly eye-catching.

The murmurs of the crowd quieted as Mr. Soraoka stepped to the center of the small wooden stage, the falling snow settling softly on his dark wool coat. Though his age showed in the curve of his spine and the lines around his kind eyes, his voice rang out strong and full of warmth.

“Welcome, welcome, my dear volunteers,” he began, raising his arms wide. “I must say, seeing all of you here so early, so eager to give back… it fills this old heart with joy.”

A soft round of applause rippled through the crowd.

“This camp,” he continued, motioning to the snow-covered grounds behind him, “was founded many years ago by my great-grandfather, Tengen. A man with a wild soul and a heart bigger than this mountain. He believed in the magic of youth, in the gift of joy, and most importantly—in the power of discovery.”

He paused, letting the wind carry his words.

“Tengen’s Star on Ice wasn’t just a winter camp. It was a place for children to find themselves, to build confidence through skill, to make friends who feel like family, and to create memories that last lifetimes.”

All around Y/n, heads nodded in agreement. It was clear—most of these people had lived that magic.

“Many of you were once those wide-eyed kids, bundled in oversized scarves and falling on your faces in the snow,” Mr. Soraoka chuckled, the crowd joining him. “And now look at you. Back here again, this time not as campers, but as guides. Mentors. Counselors. It’s your turn now—to carry the torch, to be the magic for someone else.”

Y/n’s eyes drifted upward, snowflakes catching in her lashes. Something in her chest shifted, uncomfortably so.

“And now,” Mr. Soraoka smiled, “let me introduce the people who have not only walked this path before you—but have practically carved it into the snow.”

He gestured to the five figures lined up beside him.

“First, our head counselors. You’ll report to them with questions, concerns, or if you simply need someone to talk to. Think of them as an extension of me; if they say it.. I said it.”

One by one, they stepped forward.

“Suguru Geto, let's make this break a good one. ” The tall, calm boy with a soft bun gave a graceful bow, hands tucked neatly behind his back. While he appeared kind and sweet, his baggy attire gave a different impression, especially with the piercing through his lip, and the slight condescending look as he gazed down at the crowd.

“Shoko Ieiri, stay out of the infirmary this year, please.” A girl with short, choppy hair and tired but kind eyes waved lazily, cigarette tucked behind one ear despite the posted no-smoking sign nearby.

“Utahime Iori, I'll do my best to not let you all down.” Stern and elegant, she bowed crisply, her dark bob unmoving even in the breeze.

“Nanami Kento,” who seemed to be the only counselor who wore a uniform, even in the snow, nodded sharply. “Follow the rules,” he said flatly. “And we’ll all survive the winter.”

Soft laughter bubbled through the group.

“And finally,” Mr. Soraoka sighed as though preparing himself, “Gojo Satoru.”

So his name was Gojo Satoru. The name fit him oddly. He stepped forward, flashing a blinding smile as he lifted his hands to gesture a peace sign.

“Call me Gojo,” He introduced himself innocently before sticking his tongue out and tugging his oversized baby blue sweater halfway up to reveal a flash of a very well-defined set of abs beneath.

The crowd erupted. Cheers, whoops, and groans of recognition. Utahime muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse. Shoko rolled her eyes. Nanami visibly pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Put your damn shirt down, Satoru,” Suguru sighed, though the corner of his mouth betrayed a smirk.

Gojo obeyed—eventually—and shot the crowd a wink.

Mr. Soraoka let out a deep belly laugh. “If I were twenty years younger, I’d be just like him.”

Then, his eyes scanned the crowd again. Y/n shifted uncomfortably. Something about the look he was giving… And then it happened. The old man’s grin widened.

“This year,” he said, his voice now layered with something impish, “we’re doing things a little differently. In the spirit of growth—and to make this year even more unforgettable—we’re not stopping at five head counselors.”

A hush fell over the crowd, followed by an excited murmur.

“We’ve decided to add one more.”

Cheers. Whispers. A few confused expressions.

“Settle down,” came Nanami’s sharp tone, instantly restoring order.

“Thank you, Kento,” Mr. Soraoka chuckled. Then he straightened, his voice rising with significance.

“I would like to welcome our sixth counselor this year—a new face to some of you, perhaps. But to me… someone I’ve watched grow from a bright-eyed little girl to a force of her own.”

Y/n’s blood ran cold. Oh, no.

“Please welcome… Y/n Kashiwagi. Come on up here, my dear.”

A thousand eyes turned. Y/n froze. She didn’t move. Gojo’s eyebrow arched with intrigue. Choso looked over at her with a flicker of concern.

Mr. Soraoka just smiled warmly. “Don’t be shy now.”

Y/n’s legs felt like lead as she forced one foot in front of the other, the snow crunching softly beneath her boots as she reluctantly made her way toward the stage. The murmurs were like thunder in her ears. She kept her gaze low, wishing she could melt into the ice-covered ground. This had to be his twisted revenge for what she did to his shop. She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t like them. Just as she was about to step up, a sharp voice pierced through the cold air like a dagger.

“Excuse me,” a girl’s voice snapped. “Why is it that some random newcomer gets to be a counselor, but people who’ve attended this camp for years are overlooked?”

A ripple of gasps spread through the crowd like wildfire. More voices rose in agreement.

“Yeah, that’s not fair—”

“She’s never even been a camper—”

“What makes her so special?”

Y/n’s chest tightened as the angry buzz of the crowd grew louder, the warmth in her cheeks turning into a stifling burn. Her breath hitched in her throat. She didn’t know where to look. Her vision blurred. Her heart raced. They were right. They didn’t know her. And they already hated her. She didn’t even see Choso move until his hand engulfed hers—cool, large, steady.

“C’mon,” he said, voice low but firm, pulling her gently but quickly away from the center of attention.

She stumbled for a moment, overwhelmed by the noise, the eyes, the shame. She didn’t like being touched, not really, but this… this wasn’t bad. This was grounding. Her panic softened into a numb daze as Choso guided her down a snow-dusted path toward the staff cabins. They passed rows of tall pine trees, the smell of fresh snow and wood smoke hanging in the air. The camp’s chatter faded behind them, replaced by the quiet crunch of boots in the snow and Y/n’s quickened breathing.

Choso stopped at one of the cabins—dark wood, slightly weathered, icicles dangling from the roof. He pushed the door open and led her inside before shutting it behind them with a soft click. The cabin was small but warm, rustic with a couple of bunk beds, soft blankets folded neatly, and a heater humming softly in the corner. Y/n stood frozen in place, unsure of what to say, what to feel, what to do. She looked up only to find Choso staring at her, one dark brow raised in quiet question. His look wasn’t judgmental—it was curious. Calm. Like he was trying to figure her out, but wouldn’t press if she didn’t want to explain. Y/n felt her hands clench at her sides.

“I didn’t know,” she muttered. “They didn’t tell me. I didn’t ask to be some special sixth counselor or whatever.”

Choso nodded once, slowly. Still silent.

“I just… I didn’t even want to come here.”

Still nothing. His silence was almost irritating. But not in a bad way. More like… it gave her space to think. She hadn't ever experienced such kindness from a total stranger. This camp is way too weird.

Y/n sighed heavily, shoulders sagging. “All I wanted to do was coast through this whole thing. Now everyone knows who I am and already has some stupid ass opinion. So that’s great.”

Choso finally moved. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his black long-sleeve, still silent but exuding a calm that somehow made the air less suffocating. She looked at him again. The nose ring. The dark eyes. The face tattoo across the bridge of his nose. The chipped black nail polish on his fingers. The cool indifference in his stance. And yet, he’d pulled her out of the fire without hesitation. She swallowed thickly and turned away, hugging her arms around herself.

“…Thanks,” she said quietly, almost too soft to hear.

Choso shrugged. “Didn’t want you to pass out on me. You looked like you were gonna.”

Y/n huffed a laugh, bitter and embarrassed.

He looked over at her again. “You good?”

She hesitated, then gave a weak nod.

He pushed off the wall and walked toward the door, pausing before opening it. “Take a breath. Let ’em cool off. I’ll be outside.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he stepped out into the snow and shut the door behind him. Y/n was left in the still cabin, her chest slowly rising and falling as she stared at the closed door, wondering why the hell he had helped her. And more importantly—what the hell she was supposed to do now?

Y/n sat on the edge of one of the lower bunks, the tension still coiled tight in her chest like a snake ready to strike. She sighed and raised a hand to her head, running her fingers through the thick, dyed strands of her hair—a nervous tick she hadn’t realized she’d started doing again. But her fingers snagged halfway through.

“Shit,” she muttered, wincing as she tugged them free. Her hair was dry and tangled from weeks of neglect. Frizzy at the ends, dull in color, no real shape. And her hoodie had a paint stain across the sleeve from when she "accidentally" vandalized the corner store with her latest emotional outburst.

For the first time in months… she felt it. That weird gnawing feeling in her gut. Self-consciousness. Y/n stared down at her scuffed boots. The old ones her dad bought her for a winter trip years ago. They were still her favorite, but the soles were half worn. She bit the inside of her cheek and slapped both cheeks lightly.

"Pull it together," she whispered to herself. "They don’t know you. They don’t matter."

But the truth was—they did. Somehow, this place already felt heavier than home. Like the air here carried expectations she hadn’t agreed to meet. That speech, that title, those eyes. All of it made her feel like she’d walked into a play halfway through and someone shoved her on stage without a script. She needed to find Mr. Soraoka. Say something. Apologize, maybe. Explain that she had zero business mentoring anyone when she could barely take care of herself. Offer to clean bathrooms, collect trash, whatever. Anything but being a counselor.

She stood, ready to do just that when the cabin door creaked open. Nanami Kento. Blond hair perfectly parted. Sweater vest and slacks like he stepped out of a different universe. His eyes didn’t just look at her—they evaluated. Cold. Precise. Y/n stiffened under his stare.

“Mr. Soraoka wishes to see you,” he said, voice clipped, professional. “Now. His office. The rest of the counselors will be present.”

The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Y/n opened her mouth to speak—maybe to ask if she had to go, or why everyone was there—but Nanami had already turned on his heel, expecting her to follow. She exhaled shakily and grabbed her hoodie, yanking it straight over her shoulder. No more time for breathing. No more space to think.

Y/n trailed behind Nanami, the silence between them almost comforting in its awkwardness. No lecturing, no side-eyeing, no passive aggressive remarks—just quiet footsteps crunching against the snow-packed gravel path. But even that peace was short-lived. As they passed the last staff cabin, Choso stood waiting. Arms crossed, brows knit together, that ever-present calm demeanor fraying at the edges. The worry on his face was so out of place on someone who looked like he regularly got into fights behind convenience stores.

Y/n’s steps slowed, and before she could overthink it, she gave him a small, reassuring smile. Barely there, but honest. Choso blinked at her in surprise—just for a moment—before giving a subtle nod in return. Maybe… tolerating one person here wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Her eyes drifted to the windows they passed. The reflections were not kind. Each glimpse at herself dragged her confidence down another notch. Her hoodie hung awkwardly, the sleeves bunched at the elbows, the frizz of her hair puffing like an unbrushed storm cloud. Dark under-eyes. Dull complexion. Just a mess.

Y/n clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Son of a bitch”

With a few deft motions, she tugged a loose drawstring from her hoodie and quickly pulled her curls into a high puff, gently leaving a few strands out in the front to soften the look and avoid pulling too tight. She tied the paint-stained hoodie around her waist in a practiced swoop, letting it cover the worst of her jeans, then adjusted her off-shoulder sweatshirt so it slouched in a purposeful, grungy kind of way.

She bent to fix the cuffs of her ripped jeans, folding them neatly above her winter boots before retightening the laces with quick, precise tugs. Was this her best? No. But it was the version of her that wouldn’t walk into a room looking like she just lost a bar fight with her bedroom mirror. Nanami paused just before the door to Mr. Soraoka’s office. He glanced back at her—just a second longer than necessary.

“You look… better,” he said, then cleared his throat as if the words tasted weird.

Y/n quirked a brow at him.

“I meant… composed.”

She almost laughed. Almost.

But then, his expression softened, only slightly. His eyes lowered in thought, then lifted to meet hers as he spoke quietly.

“Don’t stress too much.”

It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t casual. But coming from Nanami Kento, who she had already deduced did not hold his tongue by any means at all. That was practically a bear hug of encouragement. Y/n nodded once, then followed him as he pushed open the door. Inside, five pairs of eyes turned toward her.

Mr. Soraoka smiled warmly from behind his old oak desk, surrounded by Gojo, Suguru, Shoko, Utahime, and Nanami—who stepped aside to stand near the back. The room crackled with layered personalities and long-standing familiarity. And then there was Y/n. The outsider. She swallowed hard and kept her chin up. Time to find out what the hell this was all about. Or get on her knees and beg for him to have mercy. Mr. Soraoka’s warm expression brightened the moment Y/n stepped into the room. He sat up straighter in his worn leather chair, the aged wood creaking beneath him as he adjusted himself with purpose.

“Ah, Y/n,” he said, voice honey-smooth with that signature glint of affection only old mentors seemed to master. “I’m glad you came so quickly.”

His voice lowered in tone—not scolding, not stern, but something in between serious and apologetic. “First and foremost, allow me to offer a proper apology. What happened earlier… that introduction, the crowd, the chaos—it wasn’t right to spring that on you the way I did. That should’ve been a private conversation, not some grand stage reveal.”

Y/n blinked slowly but kept her gaze fixed on him, her posture stiff but not defensive anymore. His words—while they didn’t erase what happened—meant something. Enough to let her exhale, even if only just a little.

“I take full responsibility for the discomfort you endured,” he added. “It was unfair.”

She nodded, barely. Just enough. Mr. Soraoka’s eyes crinkled slightly, the smile that returned was softer this time—gentler.

“But I do mean what I said. You are the sixth counselor this year. That’s not a stunt. It’s not some filler role. It’s real.”

Y/n’s brows creased, but she said nothing.

He chuckled quietly. “I knew it from the moment we crossed paths in that shop downtown. You remember—the one you decided to redecorate with spray paint and attitude?”

The tension in her shoulders spiked immediately. Ah. There it was. The first true reaction. Her jaw clenched instinctively, but her gaze faltered—just for a second. The surprise, the unease at that being brought up in front of the others—until she realized… they weren’t reacting.A quick glance confirmed it: confusion colored the faces of Gojo, Suguru, Shoko, Utahime, and even Nanami. They didn’t know. Mr. Soraoka hadn’t told them anything. And that... was a relief.

She opened her mouth, her voice dry as dust. “I think you’re making a mistake.”

His brow rose, but he stayed silent.

“I didn’t come here to inspire anyone or… make kids feel magical or whatever. I’m just here to cruise through winter break and stay out of trouble.” She tried to keep her tone measured, but it wavered on the edges. “That’s it.”

Mr. Soraoka’s smile disappeared—not into disappointment, but into something far heavier. A solemn silence settled over him before he gently waved his hand toward the counselors.

“Would you all give us a moment?” he asked softly.

Gojo made a dramatic sound of disappointment but stood anyway. Suguru sighed, sharing a look with Shoko as they both gave Y/n a final, unreadable glance. Utahime said nothing, her expression unreadable. Nanami was the last to leave, giving Y/n a longer look than the others before quietly stepping out and closing the door behind him. And then it was just them. Mr. Soraoka and Y/n.

The old man leaned forward slightly, fingers lacing together atop the desk. When he spoke, his voice was low.

“You’re right. You didn’t come here for this.”

Y/n didn’t respond. Just stood stiffly.

“But Y/n… you’re not here by accident. You may not believe in fate, or timing, or second chances. That’s fine. I won’t try to change that today. But I will tell you this: I see something in you. The kind of something that Tengen dreamed this camp would uncover in people. Even if they don’t see it in themselves.”

Y/n’s lips parted slightly, unsure what to say to that.

“You’re not broken,” he added gently. “You’re grieving. And grief can make you feel ugly. It can make you act ugly. But it doesn’t make you unworthy of healing. Or of finding something beautiful on the other side.”

The words hit deeper than Y/n was ready for. She felt her throat tighten but shoved the emotion down like second nature. Mr. Soraoka leaned forward again, the lines in his face deepening—not from age, but from the weight of memory.

“You’re right, Y/n. You didn’t come here to be anyone’s role model. And maybe you think I’m making a mistake choosing you. But I didn’t choose you because I expected perfection.”

His gaze sharpened, eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her freeze.

“I chose you because I knew your father.”

Y/n’s lips parted, and this time she couldn’t hide the flicker of surprise that crossed her face.

“I watched Harukemi grow up at this very camp,” Mr. Soraoka continued, voice dropping to something close to reverence. “From the first time he stepped onto the ice, all knees and nerves, to the day he left with more confidence and kindness than most men twice his age. I knew him before he was your father. Before he met your mother. Before the world shaped him into who he became.”

Y/n’s throat tightened, but she remained still, unsure where this was going.

“I have things,” he said slowly, deliberately. “Items. Stories. Pieces of him that no one else alive knows about or has seen. Things that could help you understand the man he was… the kind of father he tried to be even when you weren’t looking.”

Her breath caught, lashes lowering slightly as if she could hide from the sheer weight of those words.

“But here’s the deal, Y/n. A gamble, if you will.” Mr. Soraoka stood now, walking around the desk until he was just a few steps in front of her. “Complete one full day. One. Be present, be part of this. At the end of that day… I’ll give you something that belonged to Harukemi. Something real. And I’ll tell you the story behind it.”

Y/n’s heart pounded.

“But if you walk away now,” he added, the finality in his tone razor sharp, “then you’ll walk away from all of it. No second chances. No pleading, no begging, no matter how much you want to know. The door will close.”

Silence stretched between them like the hush before a winter storm.

“You choose, Y/n. Stay… and learn something that only I can give you. Or leave… and carry that emptiness forever.”

For a long moment, Y/n didn’t speak. Her eyes, which usually carried the weight of indifference and veiled frustration, shimmered with something unfamiliar—something raw. The crack in her armor was small, but undeniable. Her fingers moved slowly, as if unsure of themselves, until they gently wrapped around Mr. Soraoka’s weathered hand. The contact was soft, tentative, but sincere. Her thumb brushed against a callus near his knuckle, and her voice came out quieter than even she expected.

“What do I need to do first?”

Mr. Soraoka blinked, surprised—almost taken aback by the sudden shift in the girl who’d spent every second resisting connection like it was poison. But his surprise melted into something warmer, something deeply paternal. He smiled—no, beamed—and with his other hand, he gave her knuckles the gentlest rub, like how a father might comfort a child afraid of falling again.

“The first day is the easiest,” he said gently. “Today’s just about getting to know the other staff. Mingle, talk, let people see you. Let yourself… be seen.”

Y/n swallowed hard, trying to process the flood of unfamiliar emotions that stirred in her chest.

“You’ll be spending the next sixty-eight days with these people,” he continued. “You don’t have to make best friends, not today. But I want you to try. And even if it takes a minute—or a few—just keep trying. That’s all I ask.”

His words sat with her like a small fire in the cold.

“If you make it through the day,” he added, giving her hand one final squeeze before letting go, “come to my office tomorrow morning. I’ll be waiting—and I’ll bring something of Harukemi’s with me. A story worth hearing.”

Y/n nodded once, the motion stiff but full of intent.

As she stepped back, her chest felt tighter—but not in the suffocating way it usually did. This was different. Something was pulling her forward now, however fragile the thread might be.And for the first time in a long time, she whispered inside her own head: Okay. Just try.

The first staff mixer of the day had quickly devolved into a teeth-grinding cacophony of I love love! and camp is like, totally the best way to discover your true self! sentiments. Y/n sat cross-legged in the circle of counselors and volunteers, her hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands and her expression utterly unreadable—except for the eye twitch that had made a persistent home on her left side. If she heard one more sentence that ended in “because love is the answer,” she might actually commit a felony... well another felony.

Would Dad be disappointed if I just… didn’t see this through? she thought, rubbing the back of her neck with a groan only she could hear. Her spiral of internal sarcasm was interrupted by a voice that struck her as familiar and annoying all in one.

“Huh?” Y/n asked, blinking as her focus snapped back to reality.

The same girl from earlier—the one who had pitched a fit about Y/n being named a counselor—was smirking at her with forced sweetness. But the second Y/n’s bored, flat tone hit the air, the smirk dissolved like sugar in water.

“I asked you a question. Are you even paying attention?” the girl pouted, clearly hoping to provoke something that just wasn’t going to come.

Y/n blinked once, slowly, then rolled her eyes and said absolutely nothing. Not today. She wasn’t going to get baited into a scene—not when she had something to prove. Something real. This girl and her issues weren’t her problem. Then, like a spotlight cutting through stage fog, a voice rang out over the chatter:

“Yo, newbie!”

Every head turned at the sound of Gojo’s voice—loud, smooth, and dripping with charisma he didn’t even try to contain.

“Come here,” he called, waving his long arm in a wide arc like a kid summoning a lost puppy. “All of us counselors wanna bond with you!”

There was a grin plastered on his face like he knew something she didn’t. Which made Y/n’s stomach twist with suspicion. What the hell does this guy want? She wondered, closing her eyes and grinding her molars together for just a second before forcing herself to stand up.

She didn't say a word to the group she was leaving behind—especially not to the pouty girl who now looked even more irritated at Y/n’s lack of reaction. She walked Gojo, who stood alone by an old totem pole wrapped in sparkling fairy lights and delicate snowflake garlands. Everything in the camp so far has screamed whimsical winter vibes—everything but the six-foot-something man himself. The closer Y/n got, the more aware she became of how tall Gojo actually was. He wasn’t just tall—he was tall tall. And it wasn’t just his height. His presence practically buzzed in the air, if chaos could wear sunglasses and crack jokes, it would look just like him.

Gojo’s bright blue eyes—so eerily similar to the icy wonderland around them—met hers. He smiled like the two of them were old friends even though they’d barely shared two words.

“Man, you’re tiny,” he said with a faux-pity sigh, resting his elbow on top of her head like she was furniture. “You sure you’re not here for the junior skaters' camp?”

Y/n glared up at him, deadpan. He was annoyingly even more good-looking up close. With how close they were, Y/n realized that he had healed cuts and scrapes on his face. Some of them looked as if they were deep and painful when they were first formed, but it did nothing to falter his beauty. Feeling as though she had been staring at him for far too long to be normal, Y/n opened her mouth.

“Touch me again and I’ll snap your arm like a twig.”

Gojo laughed—hard. A rich, full laugh that turned a few heads. But instead of being offended, he looked delighted. Almost as if the reaction Y/n gave is exactly what he wanted.

“Oh, I like you,” he said, taking a step back and motioning her to follow. “C’mon. We’ve got a game going—‘Two Truths and a Lie: Counselor Edition.’ You better not be boring.”

Y/n sighed but followed anyway. She had a deal to keep. Sixty-eight days. One day at a time. And if she had to deal with Gojo’s walking chaos generator of a personality to get there... fuck it we ball.

Y/n followed Gojo through the corridors of the camp, feeling the sharp bite of cold air through the large windows that dotted the halls. The camp was built like a small village, with sprawling cabins and wooden walkways that led to cozy rooms hidden away from the bustling activity outside. Gojo hummed a catchy tune as they walked, clearly unbothered by the chilly atmosphere, his hands tucked in his jacket pockets. Y/n, for her part, felt a prickling sense of unease, but she didn’t let it show—her mind was already somewhere else, counting down the minutes until she could disappear back into the shadows.

After a few turns, Gojo stopped in front of what appeared to be a newer small building that had a red door. He pulled out a key chain from under his shirt and inserted the key into the door lock.

"Alright, welcome to our little slice of peace," Gojo announced as he pushed the door open wide. Y/n stepped through, her eyes immediately scanning the room.

It was small—cozy, even—with soft lighting and plush chairs. A fireplace crackled in the corner, and a table was cluttered with snacks, drinks, and half-opened board games. But what stood out most was the atmosphere: the room was intimate, and there was a quiet, relaxed air to it that Y/n wasn’t expecting. Only the six counselors were inside, lounging around like old friends, casual and easy in a way Y/n wasn’t used to seeing from adults. This wasn’t the bustling mess of the camp’s main hall; this was a special break room, the kind of place that only certain people had access to.

“Okay,” Gojo continued, his eyes scanning the room. “We’ve got short-pint here, which means it’s time to get to know each other better. Two Truths and a Lie—camp edition. Don’t worry, I’ll play nice this time and keep it PG.”

Y/n glanced around, trying to get a sense of who the others were. There was the tall, gruff teen from earlier—Nanami, the one who had looked through her like she was invisible. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his usual stern expression softened slightly, though Y/n could tell that he was still sizing her up. Then there was Suguru, the one with the quiet energy, sitting on the armrest of one of the chairs, chewing on something that looked like a granola bar. Shoko, the girl with sharp eyes and a cool demeanor, was sprawled out on the couch with her feet propped up on the cushion reading some magazine. Utahime, the more composed one with a delicate smile, was seated at the table, sketching away in a drawing book.

Gojo, ever the center of attention, leaned against the doorframe with that infuriatingly confident smile of his. He glanced over at Y/n jerking his head ever so slightly to encourage her to find a spot to sit. Y/n opted to sit in the bright red bean bag chair conveniently away from everyone else's seats.

“Alright, two truths and a lie: 1) I’ve been to five countries before I turned 10. 2) I can tie cherry stems in my mouth with nothing but my tongue. 3) I can do fifty pullups if not more in less than ten minutes.”

The others immediately started muttering among themselves, trying to guess which was the lie. Except for Suguru; who seemingly already knew the answer.

Y/n wasn’t interested in playing. Instead, she stood at the back of the group, arms crossed, watching them all interact. The banter was lighthearted, but it felt... forced to her, as if everyone was playing a role they were expected to fill. Her gaze flickered to Gojo, she was confused on why he seemed so adamant about the "bonding" game. It was clear they all knew each other so why do this?

Nanami, not one for games, didn’t waste any time. “The amount of countries is the lie; You've travelled to far more. You probably have been banned in a few of them.”

“Hey! I am always on my best behavior.... in foreign countries.” Gojo protested with a mock offended expression, puffing out his chest dramatically. “But you’re right— I think it was twenty seven? I don't really remember. That’s was my lie.”

“Alright, my turn,” Suguru said, sitting up. “1) I strategically complete 1000 brushes of my hair at night. 2) I used to collect rare insects. 3) I can hold my breath for over five minutes.”

“Man, I’d like to see that first one. Mr. Barbie,” Shoko teased with a smirk. “You definitely don’t strike me as flower, gleam, and glow type”

Suguru shrugged casually, clearly unfazed. “If you're ever stuck outside my tower, I would not let my hair down for you.”

They went around the circle, each counselor revealing little facts about themselves—some true, some not. Y/n couldn’t help but listen, though she wasn’t quite participating. The game remained lighthearted among all of the teens. Even Nanami participated.. When it was Y/n’s turn, Gojo raised his eyebrows, clearly expecting some kind of spectacular reveal.

“Well?” he prodded. “Your turn, short-pint.”

Y/n didn’t answer immediately; she only frowned in annoyance from the already aggravating nickname. She wasn't even short; he was just a fucking giant. She let the silence stretch, allowing the weight of her words to settle. What should she say? Be honest? Lie? With a glance at each of the counselors, she finally spoke, her voice casual but flat.

“Um.. Okay. 1) I have three tattoos. 2) I once did a backflip on ice in skates. 3) My nipples are pierced.”

A small choking noise came immediately from Nanami's mouth as he looked away from Y/n. Shoko and Utahime doubled over in laughter at the blush rising on the blonde's face. Suguru smirked slightly before nodding in approval while Gojo's eyes flickered down to her chest, but came back up as he felt the hard shove from Suguru on his side.

"What? I just wanted to confirm." Gojo shrugged, holding back a laugh

“I wonder which one could be the lie?” Utahime asked, cutting Gojo off between her giggles.

Y/n didn’t respond, instead letting the silence drag on. There was something satisfying about making them work for her attention. Nanami let out a quiet sigh, adjusting the sleeves of his sweater as he finally looked back at Y/n. “The lie is the piercings” he stated firmly.

“Aw... boo... I had mad respect for you” Shoko pouted, tossing a piece of popcorn into her mouth without missing a beat.

Gojo laughed, “I think you just wanted to see them, Shoko."

“Like you weren't staring. ” Suguru teased with a small smile, to which Gojo gasped and elbowed his friend playfully.

“Now that,” Gojo said, “was for research nothing more.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “You both are exhausting. But yes that is the lie. ”

Gojo placed a hand over his heart. “What are you saying fuck me for? What did I do?”

Despite herself, a small chuckle escaped her lips. Just barely. It died quickly, but it had happened, and unfortunately for her, they all noticed.

“So,” Utahime said with a curious smile, “you really have tattoos? But you're so young though”

Y/n shrugged and leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms. “Not that young; I'm 17.”

“Definitely the youngest here. You're the baby now” Shoko said. “Utahime is the oldest so she'll take good care of you.”

Gojo tilted his head, watching her a little more closely now. “You're 17? Jeez, I feel old now. I almost 19.”

“You are only a year and some change older than me; relax buddy. Y/n replied, tapping her foot against the wooden floor lazily. "I'll be 18 soon anyways."

There was a brief silence, one that was more curious than awkward. It felt like—for the first time—Y/n wasn’t a ghost hovering on the edge of the group. She’d slipped into the fold without fully meaning to. She wasn't sure how to feel about these people as of yet, but it was clear that she was going to be around them often so being cordial was the best option.

“You’re an interesting one,” Gojo said, looking Y/n up and down with an unreadable expression. “We are gonna have so much fun together.”

“Is that so?” Y/n replied; despite her dry tone, she had the faintest flicker of a smirk playing on her lips.

Utahime stood and clapped her hands together. “Alright, enough bonding for now. Let’s get ready for dinner prep before people start trying to eat each other.”

Everyone slowly began to rise, stretching and finishing their snacks. As they filtered out of the room, Gojo lingered behind, giving Y/n a glance as he pulled open the door.

“You’re better at this than you think,” he said casually.

“I’m not trying,” Y/n replied, blinking owlishly at the man.

Gojo grinned, showing off that award-winning smile again. “Exactly.”

The mess hall had transformed. What once looked like a basic communal dining area was now buzzing with preparation and purpose. Lights dimmed just slightly, casting a warm hue across the wood-paneled walls. The long dining tables had been cleaned, lined with simple but elegant tablecloths, and set with actual cutlery—none of the flimsy plastic Y/n was expecting. She stood near the entrance, watching the chaos unfold like an outsider at a stage production. Everyone had slipped seamlessly into their roles, as if this dance had been rehearsed a thousand times.

Utahime was in full organizer mode, her brow furrowed in concentration as she hung subtle winter-themed garlands near the windows and placed small battery-operated candles at the center of each table. Her movements were quick, efficient, and entirely focused. Geto was at the far end of the hall, bent over the sound system tucked into a wooden corner shelf. Soft instrumental music floated from the speakers, nothing overpowering, just ambiance. He adjusted the volume, then turned to angle the small spotlight in a way that wouldn’t blind anyone but would still keep the area well-lit. He nodded to himself, clearly satisfied.

Near the kitchen entrance, Shoko stood over a series of prepared plates, moving with practiced ease. She wore an apron—probably stolen from a cartoon character’s wardrobe—that said “Too Tired to Function,” and yet she looked perfectly at ease as she added garnishes to the steaming dishes, inspecting each one before sliding it down to the next station. Gojo, unsurprisingly, had the least structured role, and yet somehow the most chaotic. He flitted between the stove and the prep counter, grabbing a small container of chili flakes to add a final kick to one of the trays of roasted vegetables. His sleeves were rolled up, and there was flour on the side of his cheek like some weird war paint. He whistled while he worked, completely in his own world.

Then there was Nanami. Clipboard in hand, glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose, he looked like the most intimidating camp counselor anyone had ever seen—but damn if things weren’t running smoothly under his watch. He kept a close eye on the clock and called out time checks every so often, reminding people of deadlines with all the grace of a seasoned drill sergeant.

Y/n swallowed hard. How the hell did they do this every day? It wasn’t just the physical labor—it was the energy, the care, the constant alertness to everyone else’s needs. She felt like her chest was tightening just watching it. It was too much. No one had ever expected her to take care of anyone else. Hell, half the time she forgot to eat herself. And now here she was, in a room full of people that made this look easy. She didn’t realize how long she’d been standing frozen near the door until she heard someone call her name.

“Y/n!” Shoko’s voice rang out, sharp but not unkind. The older girl glanced up from the stack of plates she was organizing and gave a slight nod toward the drink pitchers on the side cart. “Can you help pour drinks and set them out on the tables outside?”

Y/n blinked. “Uh… yeah. Sure.”

She moved toward the cart, grabbing a few empty glasses and a pitcher of lemonade. Her hands weren’t exactly steady, but she focused on not spilling anything. That was manageable, right? Just pour drinks. Carry them outside. Don’t trip. Don’t overthink it. As she stepped outside, the cool air hit her skin, a small comfort to balance out the buzzing anxiety in her chest. She walked between the tables, setting down the drinks carefully, letting the music and the warmth inside trail behind her like a distant hum. The scent of warm food and crisp winter air blended together as everyone finally took their seats at the long outdoor table, the sky now cloaked in hues of navy and deep violet. String lights overhead blinked softly like distant stars, casting a golden glow over everyone’s faces. Laughter was easy, and for a brief moment, the stress of preparation melted away into the steam rising from their plates.

Y/n sat toward the end of the table, a plate of food in front of her she hadn’t quite touched yet. Her eyes drifted from person to person, watching the way they filled the space around her—Utahime smiling politely between bites, Suguru teasing Gojo for putting too much heat on the vegetables, Shoko sipping from a mug that probably had more than hot chocolate in it, and Nanami chewing quietly but listening to every word. It was… weird. The ease of it all.

“Man, I can’t wait for the kids to get here,” Gojo said with a bright grin, his voice rising above the low murmur of conversation. “That’s when things really start. Chaos, excitement, and endless requests for extra dessert—what’s not to love?”

“They really are the heart of the camp,” Utahime added, folding her napkin neatly into her lap. “Some of them look forward to this all year.”

“Even the ones who pretend they hate it,” Shoko chimed in, arching a brow in Y/n’s direction.

Y/n blinked, caught off guard. She gave a noncommittal shrug and picked at a piece of bread on her plate.

Suguru leaned back in his chair. “You’ll see. First-timers are always a little overwhelmed, but when the kids get here… things shift.”

“I’m not really a kid person,” Y/n muttered under her breath, but no one seemed to hear her. Or maybe they just chose not to.

Nanami finally set down his fork, brushing his fingers with a napkin before clearing his throat in that quiet, no-nonsense way of his.

“Speaking of which,” he said, glancing at Y/n. “You’ll need to be tested before the week ends.”

Y/n’s gaze snapped toward him, her brows furrowing. “Tested?”

“Ice skating,” he said plainly. “You’re set to be one of the instructors this year. It’s one of the more popular activities, and we can’t have someone teaching if they don’t know the basics. Safety and skill go hand-in-hand.”

Y/n nearly choked on her water. “You want me to teach a bunch of kids how to ice skate?”

Nanami’s expression didn’t change. “It’s part of your counselor assignment.”

“Do you even know if I can skate?”

“That’s why you’re being tested.”

Gojo leaned in from across the table, grinning like a troublemaker with a front-row seat to the drama. “C’mon, it'll be fun. Worst case scenario, you fall on your ass, and we all laugh before taking to our best nurse, Shoko.”

"Nurse in training." Shoko correct, “But he's right. The best-case scenario though, is you impress us all and become the camp’s unexpected prodigy.”

Y/n stared down at her plate, lips pressing into a tight line. Why did it feel like everyone here was always ten steps ahead of her? Like they knew exactly where she was supposed to fit in, even when she didn’t? She didn’t answer—not right away, at least. But something about the way they were talking… they weren’t mocking her. Not really. They were including her, in the same breath they teased and pushed. Like she was already expected to rise to the occasion. God, her dad really had to be some kind of saint if this was the kind of world he belonged to.

Y/n finally picked up her fork and stabbed a carrot. “Fine. But if I break something, I’m haunting all of you.”

Gojo raised his cup like a toast. “Deal.”

After dinner, the warm, comforting chatter in the mess hall slowly gave way to the clatter of dishes being cleared and chairs scraping against the wooden floors. Everyone moved with purpose, each counselor seamlessly falling into their roles—Gojo cracking jokes while rinsing plates, Utahime stacking chairs with practiced grace, Nanami double-checking everyone’s assigned tasks, and Shoko wiping down tables in calm, efficient motions. Even Suguru, quiet as ever, was collecting the leftover decorations with a lazy rhythm.

Y/n did her part without complaint, but her hands were clumsy. Her thoughts spun in circles, spiraling fast. You’ll be tested… to see if you're fit to teach the kids how to skate. Nanami had said it so casually during dinner, but the words hadn’t stopped replaying in her head since. Skating. Teaching skating. Her stomach was twisted in a series of tight, painful knots—more like cramps now. She hadn’t skated in years. Not seriously, anyway. Not since... well, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that they expected her to be responsible for actual children. Children who would look to her for guidance and trust her to keep them safe on the ice.

God. She could barely take care of herself.

Once the mess hall was back in order, Nanami dismissed them for personal wind-down time. “Two hours. Be where you need to be.”

Y/n wasted no time slipping out. The cold air hit her like a slap the moment she stepped outside, but she welcomed it. The quiet of the night was a relief compared to the buzz in her head. By the time she reached her private cabin—one of the perks of being a counselor—she was moving on autopilot. Her fingers fumbled with the zipper of her jacket, and her eyes drifted toward the bed where her old skates hung loosely from the post. Mocking her. Daring her. She stared at them for what felt like an eternity before moving. Fifteen minutes later, she was slipping out the back of the cabin dressed in clothes she definitely hadn’t packed with skating in mind: form-fitting black flare leggings, a pastel pink tank top she hadn’t worn in months, and her zip-up hoodie drawn tightly.

The path to the rink was lit by soft, overhead bulbs strung between the trees like fairy lights, but her focus was razor sharp. When she finally found the main door to the rink, it was locked. That didn’t stop her. Locks were more like suggestions to someone with her history. She crouched down, worked quickly, and with a satisfying click, the door creaked open. She stepped inside, pulling it shut quietly behind her. The rink stretched out in front of her, vast and untouched under the dim lights. The stillness made her heart race. Her breath puffed out in soft clouds as she stepped toward the edge and slipped off her hoodie, folding it neatly by the boards. Now exposed to the cold, she felt everything sharper—each sound, each memory that the ice awakened beneath her skin.

She laced up her skates with shaking hands, trying to ignore the swell of bittersweet feeling pressing against her ribcage. The last time she skated… it had felt like freedom. Now it felt like pressure. Like expectation. With a slow inhale, she stood. The first step onto the ice nearly sent her sprawling. She caught herself against the boards with a curse and a wince. The cold was biting through her clothes and into her bones now, but she didn’t stop. She pushed forward, unsteady, her legs unsure, and her balance off. She fell. Hard. The second time, it hurt less. The third time, she didn’t fall; she began to remember.

It wasn’t graceful. Her movements were stiff, her knees too locked, her posture too guarded—but there was something there. Muscle memory kicking in. Every pass across the rink got a little smoother. Every fall hurt a little less. She kept going. Again and again.

By the time she glided toward the center of the ice without stumbling, her breath was heaving and her body was shaking—but not from the cold. It was something else. Something raw and strange. She closed her eyes. The ice was silent beneath her. Her father had skated here. Maybe even stood right here.

If you make it through all the activities today, I’ll give you an item that belonged to Harukemi and tell you the story surrounding it. Her fingers curled at her sides. There were things she needed to know. Y/n opened her eyes and took a deep, measured breath. She wasn’t ready for kids. She wasn’t ready to be seen, not really. But maybe she could try. If she kept falling, she’d just have to keep getting up. One skate pushed forward, then the other.

Gojo hadn’t meant to follow her. Honestly, he was just heading back from dropping off a crate of leftover pantry goods when he saw movement by the rink’s side building. The soft sound of the front door creaking open caught his attention. It wasn’t supposed to be open. Not this late. Not when everything was shut down. Curiosity piqued, he slipped into the shadows. He found himself leaning against the outer wall of the rink, tucked just far enough in the darkness to go unnoticed. Through the high glass windows, he saw her. Y/n.

At first, she was just a bundled shape by the boards, sitting still, head low, lacing up skates. He almost turned away—figured maybe she needed the ice to think, and honestly, everyone at this camp had their thing. But then she stood. And fell. Gojo winced a little, covering his mouth as a quiet laugh slipped out. It wasn’t mocking—there was something oddly endearing about it. The girl who stared everyone down with that deadpan glare was out here looking like a newborn deer on ice. She pushed herself back up, brushed frost from her leggings, and tried again. And again.

Each fall brought another smirk tugging at Gojo’s lips, an itch in his fingers to step out and help her up, make a dumb joke, pull her in close and show her how it’s done. But something about the way she gritted her teeth, how she refused to give up, made him hold back. She didn’t need saving. So he stayed there, in the dark. Then something happened. Without warning—like flipping a switch—her body began to remember. Her skates stopped scraping clumsily against the ice. Her posture straightened, her movements shifted. The unsure fumbling turned to gliding, then to spinning, then to soaring. Her arms flowed out at her sides, chest lifted, eyes half-closed like she was listening to music no one else could hear.

Gojo squinted; he had to be seeing incorrectly.

He reached up and pulled his prescription glasses from his head and slipped them onto his face. The world sharpened instantly, and his breath caught in his throat. Wow. That was all he could think. Y/n—this messy, sharp-tongued, dry-humored girl who barely spoke in full sentences—was glowing. Not just metaphorically. It was like something deep inside her had been ignited. Her usual dull aura, that heavy fog she dragged behind her like a second skin, was gone. In its place was something radiant. Beautiful. Light that didn’t just shine—it danced. It reached out and touched everything around her, rippling across the ice like sunbeams caught in snow.

She skated like she belonged to the air itself.

Her hair was freed from the makeshift hair tie she had and bounced with every move she made, arms cutting clean lines through the frosted night, her tank top clinging to her in soft pastel hues that contrasted the raw power of her movement. There was elegance there, but also pain. Precision and chaos, perfectly blended. Every turn of her skate, every breath she took—it was art. And Gojo couldn’t look away. His fingers curled slightly against the wooden paneling he leaned on. His heart didn’t race—he wouldn’t even call it that—but something in his chest shifted. Twitched. Pulled.

He didn’t understand it, not yet. But something about her—this girl who barely spoke, who looked at the world like it had already disappointed her beyond repair—was beginning to unravel a knot inside of him he didn’t know existed. She looked free and he wanted that freedom desperately. Her movements were strategically calculated like his were. She moved on her own accord and still managed to look graceful. He needed to feel that free at least once in his life; especially before his parents do anymore damage.

❄ Author's Note: I know this is long... probably the longest thing I have ever written. It started off as a drabble, but I got carried away. I plan to post part two sometime this week, but I really really am proud of it. I have always been a sucker for cheesy high school romcoms and decided that Gojo didn't belong in Shonen but a Shoujo so I am making it happen my damn-self. I plan for this to be finished in eight parts and have five major plot points to meet, and then random little scenarios that I have thought were cute and needed to see. This is a Gojo-centered fic, so no other love interests will be an option, but more characters will be mentioned, and Y/n will interact with everyone individually. I can answer any questions in the comments! Thank you to all who read the entire thing! You guys mean the world to me

[minniesmutt]

❄︎ ━━━━━━ 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲

❄︎ ━━━ PAIRING: SEUNGMIN X READER  ❄︎ ━━━ CW: DOM!SEUNGMIN, SUB!READER, MASTER!SEUNGMIN, PUPPY!READER, PET PLAY, BONDAGE/SHIBARI, SIR KINK, HOLE/CLIT INSPECTION, DEGRADING/PRAISE, CLIT SLAPPING, UNPROTECTED SEX, CREAMPIES [2[, PET/DEGRADING NAMES (BUB[S], PUP/PUPPY, MUTT), COLLAR + LEASH,  TRAFFIC LIGHT SYSTEM, ORAL (M. REC), DEEPTHROATING, CHOKING, PUBIC HAIR MENTIONS, BEGGING, COCK WARMING, EDGING, ALLUDES TO AFTERCARE ❄︎ ━━━ WC: 2K ❄︎ ━━━ NOTE:  ❄︎ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

     Seungmin made it look easy. Granted, Y/n had never actually watched her boyfriend wrap her body in rope. But it seemed like an easy task!

     She had watched a few videos before attempting it. Finding Seungmin’s stash of bondage rope, she stripped down and sat on their bed. Unraveling the rope and pulling and replaying the tutorial, messing up steps, and having to restart the damn thing all over again.

     Around the fifth or sixth time of trying to wrap herself up, she kind of succeeded. Not in the way she wanted which frustrated her. But now she was frustrated and got herself tied in a knot damn near.

     Y/n let out a frustrated groan before trying to untie the knots— she didn’t know how she did it. Trying to pull one end from another. Losing her hold on the rope or not managing to get a good grip to pull it apart. She groaned with frustration each time before her apartment door unlocked. Y/n froze and looked up towards the bedroom door.

     “You home bubs?” Seungmin called into the apartment. 

     Y/n got to work quicker. Trying to undo the knots before her boyfriend got into the room.

     “Bubs?” Seungmin called again as he made his way to their bedroom.

     Seungmin opened the door to their bedroom to the sight before him. His girlfriend was all tied up in rope, trying to get free. He looked over her body before his eyes landed on hers. Silently pleading for him to help her.

     “Get yourself stuck puppy?” Seungmin asked, dropping his bag and walking over to the bed, not trying to hide his smile

     “Wanted to surprise you…” Y/n told him as he got to their bed.

     “You did surprise me pup,” Seungmin reassured her and cupped her cheeks.

     “I did?” Y/n asked

     “Yes, puppy. Not every day I expect to come home and find you all tied up and easy for me to use.”

     Y/n yelped as he pushed her onto her back, pulling her to the edge of the bed. “Didn’t grab anything else?”

     “No sir, just rope.”

     Seungmin smiled and moved away from her, returning a few moments later. Fixing her collar around her neck and ears on her head. Seungmin smiled and ruffled her hair. 

     “Stupid little puppy,” Seungmin smiled.

     Glancing down at her exposed hole. Her lips glistened with her slick. 

     “Did you touch yourself too?” Seungmin asked, running his fingers through her folds

     “No sir,” Y/n shook her head 

     Seungmin hummed in response. Pushing two fingers inside of her. Seeing if she had fingered herself before he came home. Y/n let out a small whine as he slowly moved his fingers in and out of her. “Get this wet from trying to tie yourself up?”

     “Yes sir,” Y/n answered

     Seungmin pulled his fingers out of her and moved his thumb to graze over her clit. Ran his thumb back and forth on the bud just as slowly as he was pumping his fingers in and out of her.

     “Help Sir…”

     “Help with what? Use your words.”

     “Help with the ropes, Sir,” Y/n whined

     “Wanna get out of your little mess?” Seungmin asked, slowly pulling himself off of his pants so she didn't notice 

     “Yes, please. Want out of my mess sir,” Y/n whined

     “Alright, pup. Let me help you.”

     Seungmin pressed down more on her clit and slipped his cock inside her hole. Y/n moaned as he stretched her out, “Sir.”

     “Just helping you out pup,” Seungmin smiled down at her, “Gotta help you remember the rules while I’m at it.”

     There it was. Seungmin was a master at giving her a false sense of hope when it came to the bedroom.

     “Tell me the rules pup,” Seungmin told her and started thrusting in and out of her

     “Don’t touch sir’s toys,” Y/n whined as he grabbed onto a piece of the rope.

     “What other rule did you break?” Seungmin asked, rubbing her clit a little faster than he was before

     “Don’t get on the bed… without sir’s permission.” 

     “Good girl,” Seungmin pulled out of her and away from her clit, just to slap her clit a few times with the tip of his cock.

     Y/n arched her back up before he pushed her back down on the bed and slammed back into her. 

     “Haven’t forgotten your training, have you?”

     “No sir.” 

     Slowly Seungmin started pulling the knot apart. Getting her untangled all while still thrusting into her. Y/n felt her little self prison being loosened little by little. Eventually, she was just lying on the rope under her. 

     “Thank you, sir,” Y/n whined as he delivered a hard thrust into her. 

     “Good manners, mutt,” Seungmin spread her legs open, leaning forward a bit as he bullied himself into her. 

     Keeping a grip on her thighs as she tried to close them. “Sir,” Y/n whined, gripping their bed sheets

     “Use your words, puppy,” Seungmin growled

     “Wanna cum, please,” Y/n begged as her walls clenched around him

     “No pup.”

     “Please, Sir! I’ll be a good puppy. Just wanna cum!”

     Seungmin landed a slap on the inside of her thigh, making her jump. “Punishment pup. Broke two rules. Don't get to cum.”

     “Pleasepleaseplease.”

     Seungmin moved to hold onto her throat, stopping her begging. “Said no mutt. You don't get to cum till I say so. Just get to hold mine,” Seungmin groaned as he pushed in hard one last time and she felt his warm seed fill her up.

     She looked up at him with bleeding eyes as her walls milked him. After a couple of moments, he pulled his hand away from her neck and stood straight. Pulling himself out of her and watching some of his cum drip out of her. He pushed it back in with two fingers.

     “On your knees pup,” Seungmin instructed as he pulled his fingers out of her. 

    Y/n slowly got on the ground and sat on her knees in front of him, looking up and waiting. “Clean up.”

     Y/n leaned forward and opened her mouth. Maneuvering his soft dick into her mouth. She wrapped her lips around him and ran her tongue around him. 

   Seungmin grabbed the back of her head and pushed himself down her throat. Y/n moaned around his cock as her nose hit his pubic hair. Seungmin kept her there for a moment, getting harder in her throat then pulled her off. Y/n coughed and caught her breath as he tilted her head back to look up at him. 

     “Good job,” He kissed her lips which Y/n gladly responded to. Not noticing him reaching behind her for the rope till he pulled away and tucked himself back in his pants she saw it

     “Color?” Seungmin asked

     “Green,” Y/n answered 

     Slowly, Seungmin started properly wrapping her body in the rope. Making sure everything sat right on her and didn’t hurt.

     “There you go pup. Got your harness on,” Seungmin smiled, “Living room.”

     Y/n went to stand up only for him to push her down and tsk at her. He walked off for a moment and came back just to attach a leash to her collar and pull her onto her hands and knees. “Come on mutt.”

     Y/n crawled out of the room behind him on her leash into the living room. Seungmin led her over to the couch and sat down her at the foot of it, telling her to stay put. Wrapping the leash around the coffee table and walking off. Just leaving her next to the couch to do his own thing. 

     Y/n sat there on her hands and knees waiting. Seungmin came back after a few minutes and sat on the couch next to her. Smiling as he turned on the TV. Hearing the sound of an announcer, she knew his baseball game was tonight. 

    Going about everything like a normal night. Instead of cuddling up on the couch with him, he had her on a leash and the ground. 

     Seungmin glanced at her every few seconds to check on her. Smiling at how much of a good girl he had. 

     “Come here pup,” He said as he leaned down and unclipped her leash. 

     Y/n crawled over and sat in front of him. “Lap pup.” Seungmin chuckled

     Y/n climbed up onto his lap, straddling him. “Been so good for me,” Seungmin smiled and cupped her face, “Turn around.”

     Y/n got up and turned around. Seungmin pulled his cock out of his sweats again and gently guided her down to sit on him. Y/n moaned as he was fully inside her. Seungmin pulled her back against his chest and wrapped his arms around her.

     “Keep sir’s cock warm till he’s ready to use you again, okay?” Seungmin said behind her.

     “Yes, sir.” Y/n nodded

     Y/n relaxed into him, leaning back into his warmth. The idol rested his chin on her shoulder, watching his game. And opting to have a little fun with his girlfriend. His fingers ghosted her clit a couple of times. Her slight movements kept him entertained more than his game. 

     Pressing harder on her clit and rubbing circles while she tried not to move or make a noise. But none of her whimpers escaped his ears. Seungmin pressed on, bringing her close to the edge before pulling her orgasm from her. Only picking up the movements again when she was relaxed against him. Enjoying the whines as he edged her a few more times and then flipped their position. Pushing her face first on the couch. Ass up in their air as he plunged into her.

     Y/n moaned into the cushions as Seungmin picked up his pace from the bedroom. One hand held her down while the other grabbed onto the armrest of the sofa, leaning over her.

     His hips slammed into her ass while she moaned under. Being held completely still while he just used her hole. Bullying his cock into her till he hit that one spot inside of her and made her brain go blank. “Right there,” Seungmin chuckled as he adjusted and slammed his cock head into the spot again.

     He moved his hand from the back of her head to the bondage harness. Pulling her up, telling her to put her hands on the armrest. Y/n held herself up as one of his hands moved to hold her waist while the other went under her. Seungmin’s fingers found her clit again and rubbed quick circles along it while he kept aiming for her g-spot. 

     “Fuck,” Y/n whined. Between his previous edging and this, her orgasm was approaching it’s peak very quickly

     “Gonna cum for sir, puppy?” Seungmin grunted behind her

     “Yes sir! Please let me cum!” Y/n yelled into the room

     Seungmin said nothing but picked up the pace with his fingers. Rubbing her faster while he walls pulsed around him. Her begs filling up his ears. “Go ahead pup.”

     Y/n shook as her orgasm finally hit. Losing her place on the armrest to lay back down on the couch as she rode her orgasm out. Seungmin grabbed both her arms and held them against her back as he continued pounding into her. Walls tight around him but it didn’t stop him. Going as fast as he could to his own orgasm again before he was filling her up. 

     “There we go,” Seungmin groaned as he stilled inside her. Letting her sensitive walls milk him as she started coming down from her high.

     “Thank you sir,” Y/n whimpered as she turned her head to the side.

     “You’re welcome pup,” Seungmin replied as he finally pulled out.

     Y/n whined at the loss of his cock while Seungmin started unwrapping her bindings to get them both cleaned up.

     “Did a good job pup.” Seungmin said as he pulled her up and pecked her lips, “Let’s go get clean now.

     “Want more.”

     “Later.” Seungmin promised.

❄︎ ━━━━━━ M.LIST    TIP JAR

❄︎ ━━━ please support writers by reblogging and/or leaving feedback

© 2024 MINNIESMUTT. DO NOT COPY, REPUBLISH OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE

[mochatwiist]

❄Toshiro Hitsugaya bf Headcanons❄

I've got brainworms violently, actually, so take some Toshiro bf headcanons.

All fluff, nothing suggestive! We yearn in this household

• Toshiro is a tsundere through and through to no one's surprise.

• He's worked for a long time to be respected by his peers and tries very hard to maintain a serious demeanor while at work, but sometimes a bit of his soft side shows when you're around.

•You're walking alongside him, helping him carry some papers as you're mindlessly yapping at him to fill the silence you take an odd step on the floor and trip yet somehow manage to hold onto everything. You look up at him and give him a goofy grin and a thumbs up from the ground "Reflexes like a cat y'know?"

•He stares at you blankly for a moment, before his face cracks into a smile and he chuckles at you. He turns away, trying to stifle the laughter, but every time he looks at you he can't help but laugh, and now you can't hold the laughter in either. He finally manages to calm down and pull you up, but you're both out of breath and rosy-cheeked from laughter.

•His expression looks a few degrees warmer than before and a slight smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as you continue your walk, now in a comfortable silence.

•Unsurprisingly, Toshiro has a type-A personality. It is especially obvious when he's at work and when he plans dates. His off days are sacred and the outings you have together are immaculately planned; tickets always bought in advance, reservations confirmed, travel plans made. Sometimes it's hard to keep up, but that's why he always remembers how long you take to finish a meal or to get ready to go out.

•You once found a crumpled piece of paper that missed the bin with a list of times you woke up and how long different tasks took you all averaged. No wonder his planning was so scarily accurate. To be loved is to be known, I suppose.

•He just wants to make sure you don't have to worry about a thing when you're together. When he's taking you out, you're his princess and he just wants everything to be just right.

•Though he never asks you to stay, he really does enjoy working when you're around. The stacks of paperwork seem less daunting, Rangiku's pestering a little less bothersome, and it feels like the day goes by a little bit faster.

•He gets so invested in his work and doesn't realize the time and ends up staying up pretty late quite often. You pout and tell him it's not good for his health, but he always gives you an apologetic look and says "I'm nearly done, just a few more minutes." You have realized that giving him a couple of kisses at his desk provides sufficient encouragement to finish up as soon as possible.

•Once you said "If you're not done in five minutes, I won't kiss you tonight" and you've never seen him put his pen down faster.

•After a long day at work there is one thing he especially looks forward to. He'd never admit it, but he really loves laying his head on your lap while you're relaxing on the futon. You'll usually be reading a book and will mindlessly tousle his hair. Running your hands through his soft locks and massaging his scalp is just such a comforting feeling.

•Toshiro runs cold when he sleeps. Most of the time it's great- the pillows are always the right temperature and you never overheat. The problem lies in the colder months when he pulls you into bed but his hands and feet are freezing. He takes special joy in placing his cold extremities directly onto you.

[laughtalelogs]

❄frosted - ace x reader❄

❄ day 5 - cookies, holiday-themed contest, “that definitely looks… interesting?”, “that is exactly why you want a high-quality fire extinguisher right in the kitchen.” —the santa clause ❄ fandom/character(s) - one piece - ace x reader ❄ warnings - no beta reader, modern au, fem!reader, no warnings - just fluff, blurb ❄ word count: 617 ❄ description - you both suck at making cookies, but it's the thought that counts, right?

still working on the robin fic. I would just upload what I have, but I want to do my lady justice she's too fine to fumble

somethin' cute for the girls; this one was actually the 2nd blurb I had locked and loaded ready to go. tomorrow is law, and its about to be long asf too.

check out the rest of the days here

A bead of sweat dropped on your chin. The thick itchy wool felt suffocating as your tense muscles flexed. You grip the bag with a shaking hand. Every second you try willing your digits to stay still, tremors wracked through them more.  

“And....” You exhale, dropping the piping bag onto the counter, sliding down to the ground. One dozen down, another 3 dozen to go. “-done!”

“That definitely looks... Interesting?” A pang of annoyance rings through as you watch Ace glance from his station, a raised eyebrow. He picks up the frosted sugar cookie you just finished, holding the crude drawing up like it was fine china.

“Is this supposed to be a Yeti? It’s kind of sick.” 

You huff exasperatedly, “No, it’s obvious Frosty, dumbass.” 

His smile drops, as his gaze turns to you, the cookie, and back at you. He tries to clear his throat, but fails to cover his laugh. 

You puff your cheeks in embarrassment. “It’s not funny, baby.”

“Oh no, I wasn’t laughing at you, pretty girl, I was laughing at how creative you are,” He tries to fight back, but you reach on the top of the counter and grab the spatula, throwing it at him. 

He dodges with ease, mirroring the same look you had on your face.  “Sorry, baby.” 

“As if,” You scoff back, but an acrid stench burns the inside of your nostrils, a smoky haze covering your apartment. Your heart drops at the sudden beeping alarm.

“Ace! The cookies!”

“Shit-” 

You watch him run to the stove, and as soon as he opens it, a plume of fire fans out, licking at the fresh oxygen of the kitchen. Screaming, you scuttle underneath the cabinet, grab the canister, and pull the pin. A sea of smoke and foam finally fades, and you both sit staring at each other with wide eyes.

“Oh no... The cookies.” You glance back at the ones you just frosted, the frosty-yeti hybrid cookie buried in an avalanche of foam. 

He scratches the back of his head, smiling sheepishly.  “That is exactly why you want a high-quality fire extinguisher right in the kitchen.” 

“But- But-” You feel the whine bubble up your throat, looking at the destruction of the kitchen. Ace sighs, but smiles nonetheless, dropping to his knees beside you. 

“It's honestly my fault for even accepting the baking contest,” He admits, wiping what he can of the foam off his face, crouching to do the same for you with gentle fingers.

 You go to the counter, because, no, it was your fault for thinking you both had the patience for a task like this. Sanji wouldn’t have cared if you both didn’t bring cookies. It was the idea of making them with him that made you so on board with it. Before you could get anything out, his rambling trails off as he looks at you with a coy smile.

 “Has anyone told you look amazing in white?” 

“Piss off,” You burn hot, waving away his hand that cradles your face. You were supposed to be mad. “And now you look like Frosty.” 

“Well, you don’t have to cry, because I don’t plan to melt away,” He cheeses

“Ha-ha, corny ass,” You mumbled, leaning forward to let your head press into his chest, feeling his lips press against the top of your head fondly in response. You hum in content. Maybe it wasn’t the cookies that made the moment. Maybe it's the man who will not let you be upset for a moment more. 

“Why don’t we just buy some really nice cookies..” You offer finally, and he laughs in response, his voice rumbling in your head. 

“Sounds good to me, angel.”

just so you know this is canon! I actually talked with ace, he told me to tell you ‘hi baby’ and to kiss ur forehead<3

liked this? check out my other fics! (x)

[knyswapau]

🩷~KNY SWAP AU INFO PAGE~💚

🩷🩸☀️💚🌸💜🫐💙🩷🩸☀️💚🌸💜🫐💙

“Huff huff… This is taking forever! How does Tanjiro do this so fast?” Nezuo thinks to herself, leaving trails of her footprints in the snow. The wind blows through the woods, her hair threatening to come undone from the next tug. She fiddles with the strap so the basket won’t fall off, continuing to think about how much of a pain this journey is. She starts to feel pity on her older brother who walks up this hill almost every day to sell coal. “Wow Tanjiro… The patience you have is insane..”

It’s been a day since she went off down to the village to sell coal. She planned to be home by midnight but thanks to her dear neighbor, Enmu had let her rest and stay the night. Still eternally grateful for what he’s done, she mentally thanks him once again continuing up the mountain. She looks back up, out of breath like she’s ready to collapse and she notices the roof of her house just some trees away.

Finally, she reaches her stop.

Nezuko practically runs the rest of the way up to her home, smiling happily. Finally, she can rest again, finally she can talk to her family, finally she can hug them all in a tight hug, finally she can check up on their well being, finally she can do her old tasks.

She freezes, staring at the open door. It’d be fine to leave the door open, they tend to leave it open all the time it’s just… Why was it so quiet? It was… Too quiet.

“Takeo? Hanako? Tanjiro? Shigeru? Rokuta? Mom…?” Nezuko called out for their names, wandering around the outside of their house thinking all of this was just a silly game. “Perhaps they're still asleep? But Takeo doesn’t sleep late… Maybe they were worried about me? Haha, how cute!” the girl chuckles at the thought, they’ve all had those moments worrying night about each other- especially their big brother Tanjiro. 

I mean, nothing bad can go wrong right?

She goes back to the door, still open letting the cold air in. Nezuko felt uneasy, her mind kept screaming at her to run and not look back. Like what was inside her beloved house was now a nightmare. However, Nezuko doesn’t step back. She pushes her doubtful feelings away- there could be nothing awful in the house and if she's the big sister, she’ll take care of it! 

.

.

.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

🩷🩸☀️💚🌸💜🫐💙🩷🩸☀️💚🌸💜🫐💙

Hello! My OOC account is @kanaokanzaki-op but my main blog is @official-butterfly-sisters (don’t ask). This is a blog related to the well known KNY Swap AUs, but I’ve decided to do my own. Other than that, I want to thank you for taking time to read all this! I’ll try to update daily with some wips, headcanons and other things per request- I take a lot of those, don't be shy!

My only rules are no sexual content, hate or anything not related to the AU. I have my OOC account for a reason! I love getting to know people and I hope you guys like this AU! I am not good at promoting aha…

You can ask questions, give dares and much more, I’ll even hold events for such! Genuinely just wanna have fun with this AU and I hope you guys end up enjoying it! Thank you for your time!!

🩷🩸☀️💚🌸💜🫐💙🩷🩸☀️💚🌸💜🫐💙

Character Masterlist:

Kamaboko Squad:

🩷🩸Nezuko Kamado🩷🩸 ☀️💚Tanjiro Kamado☀️💚 🌸💜Kanao Tsuyuri🌸💜 🫐💙Aoi Kanzaki🫐💙 ⚡💛Zenitsu Agatsuma⚡💛 💙🪨Inosuke Hashibira💙🪨 🍉💜Genya Shinazugawa🍉💜

Upper Hashira:

🌑👁Michikatsu Tsugikuni🌑👁 ❄🪭Douma❄🪭 👊🩵Hakuji Soyama👊🩵 🪕👁‍🗨Nakime🪕👁‍🗨 💔😭Hantengu💔😭 🌊🐟Gyokko🌊🐟 ⚡💙Kaigaku⚡💙 💚🪓Gyutaro Shabana💚🪓 🥰🩷Ume Shabana🥰🩷

9 Moons:

🪨🪵Gyomei Himejima🪨🪵 🍃💚Sanemi Shinazugawa🍃💚 🌊❤Giyuu Tomioka🌊❤ 🧡🔥Kyojuro Rengoku🧡🔥 🖤🩵Muichiro/Yuichiro🤍🩵 🎶🩶Tengen Uzui🎶🩶 🤍🐍Obanai Iguro🤍🐍 🍡🩷Mitsuri Kanroji🍡🩷 🦋💜Shinobu Kocho🦋💜

Extra:

🌊👺Sakonji Urokodaki🌊👺 🪻👁Kagaya Ubuyashiki🪻👁 💜🪻Amane Ubuyashiki💜🪻 🪻🖤Kiriya Ubuyashiki🪻🖤 🩸❤Muzan Kibutsuji🩸❤ 💉💜 Lady Tamayo 💉💜 📜🩵 Yushiro 📜🩵 💕💤 Enmu 💕💤 🕸🤍 Rui 🕸🤍 ❤🌊Sabito❤🌊 🌸🌊Makomo🌸🌊 🦋💕Butterfly Triplets🦋💕 💧🩶Murata💧🩶 🦋🩷Kanae Kocho🦋🩷 🌸🩵Koyuki🌸🩵 ⚡🪨Jigoro Kuwajima⚡🪨

[More to be added]

🩷🩸☀️💚🌸💜🫐💙🩷🩸☀️💚🌸💜🫐💙

[viiirazja]

❄ Noel Snedronningen - Character Introduction

Housewarden of Glacemiro. Surrounded by a mysterious, cold aura, they seem to stray away from interacting with others. Rumors say they're a cruel, manipulative person beneath.

❄ Technical Information

Name Noel Snedronningen Japanese ノエル・スネドロニンゲン Other Names Little cod (by Floyd) Roi de Glace (by Rook) Voiced By Miyuki Sawashiro (as Bishamon)

❄ Biographical Information

Gender ? Age 17 Birthday December 21st Starsign Capricorn Height 163 cm Eye Color Icy blue Hair Color Quill gray Homeland Northern Snowlands Family Parents

❄ Professional Status

Dorm Glacemiro School Year Second Class 2-B Student no. 24 Occupation Student Housewarden Club Board Games Club Best Subject Magic Analysis

❄ Fun Facts

Dominant Hand Right Favorite Food Tiramisu Least Favorite Food Cod fish Dislikes Things not going by their plans Hobby Reading Talents Calligraphy

❄ Personality

Noel is an introverted individual, usually avoiding contact with others and preferring to do tasks on their own. Most people consider them intimidating due to their cold nature, though they don't take the hint and treat everyone the same, no matter their status.

Apathetic by nature, Noel doesn't express their feelings too well and stays ‘neutral’ about most topics. It takes a more attentive eye to notice their eyes lighting up when surprised or their tone shifting when pleased or disgusted. Noel frequently hides this side of them, not scared to show people a fake facade of affection and sweet words. Their smiles and acting is off-putting, though there's also something oddly inviting about it. Though, Noel only acts like this because of how they were initially treated when younger - choosing to play into the role when perceived as someone weird and unusual. From sweet words and affection, most of their behavior is an act.

Nothing will stop Noel from achieving their goals - they like it when things go their way. Everything has to go by their plans, starting from their routines and ending on what they eat during the day. Blunt by nature, they always express the opinion true to their heart, no matter what the other person may think. They find it weird when people don't express themselves honestly.

❄ Trivia

Noel struggles from a genetic condition causing them to be more sensitive to magic and blot accumulation. 

They're a natural at ice magic.

This causes their body temperature to be lower than the average (showing on their flushed skin) and makes them more prone to getting sick.

They're not fond of loud noises and being touched.

They became Glacemiro's housewarden in the middle of their first year.

[anmaje]

S&Co Sherlock recommended Vivaldi to John and I Lost My Mind

The fact that our Sherlock Holmes recommended Vivaldi to John so suddenly and apruptly is something SO personal! When I read a transcript of the mailbag episode (thank you @eardefenders ) I could NOT stop thinking about it, and have been listening to his many wonderful concertos since. I work in a church choir and am therefore somewhat classically trained, I have also played violin for many years as a child, and still do at times, so allow me to go on a geeky tirade about Antonio Vivaldi and Sherlock's understanding of John.

🎻🌱🌻🍂❄

In the second mailbag episode, a question is asked "If you could make a Spotify playlist for eachother of your own favourite songs, what would some of the highlights be [...] ?"

John answers with the rockband Elbow, who use orchestra and especially strings in their music. Which is why he recommends it to armature violinist Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock says that he would probably never make such a playlist, as he wouldn't find the task fulfilling, but he has an epiphany and IMMEDIATELY interrupts himself, not even finishing his sentence, and he simply says "Vivaldi". I have not heard the delivery of this line(cause I'm poor ✌), but the fact that the answer falls to him so suddenly and it simply MUST leave him immediately so John hears is delicious characterisation. Sherlock also answers with pop, as John likes popculture (a somewhat less personal answer, but still very considerate).

After another question it is established that Vivaldi isn't even a favourite of Sherlock's. He much prefers Mozart, Bach(I will come back to Bach) and Tchaikovsky.  Now Sherlock is a violinist, so there is no way he has escaped the genius of Antonio Vivaldi, like he's escaped pop. And so this recommendation is really because he feels John would like it.

But why does Sherlock think that? What would John Watson, a middle class everyman, like about Vivaldi?

Let me tell you:

When we analyse the symbolic meaning of instrumental classical(in this case baroque) music, we often look at the biography of the composer (Vivaldi gives us a little more to work with, which I will return to). I will start here. Antonio Vivaldi of Venice was taught the violin by his father and was ordained at 25 but didn't work as a priest for long due to illness. He instead became a violin teacher and composer. (Who else do we know that took up a very respected line of work but ended up where his father did? Why John Watson of course!) Vivaldi taught abandoned girls at an orphanage for more than 30 years, and saw immense potential in them and their education. The most talented of the girls stayed into adulthood as a part of their renowned orchestra and choir. He wrote most of his music for these girls and women to perform. He also took the talented singer Anna Tessiseri Giro and her sister under his wing, and Anna became his protégé. What a great guy! Supporting the talents of young women! Of course John would love him.

Going into Vivaldi's musical genius, we have to talk about baroque music. Vivaldi left a huge mark on the late baroque period. Especially the form of concertos which I won't bore you with (🤓), but also the general style of the period. That style is characterised by grand ornamentation (like the baroque in general), driving movement (in rythm) and contrast such as ascending and descending notes. All this produces beautiful an grand pieces. Additionally, Vivaldi used melodic  repetition(his critics say too much), which is what gets the new hit pop song stuck in our heads. Something our John is very prone to suffer under. Vivaldi also took a narrative approach to music. Not only through his many operas, but also in his concertos. Everyone knows his Four Seasons, whether you want to or not. He wrote four concertos, one for each season, and for each season there was an accompanying sonnet(which he presumably wrote). These concertos and sonnets depict both the gentleness and wrath of nature, all beautiful. But also people: herders, shepherds, drunk peasants celebrating the harvest and hunters. These are working people that Vivaldi chose to portray. John has a working class background, despite his social climb, he still shares most empathy with these people. Of course he would enjoy a celebration of their troubles and joys throughout the year.

Now back to Bach. A baroque man that Sherlock enjoys. The baroque ends with Bach, that is atleast what I've been taught. All of the period leads up to him. His complicated polyphonic(2 or more lines of melody at once) pieces are iconic and definitive of the period. And who inspired J. S. Bach? Well Vivaldi of course! Bach adapted several of Vivaldi's works and quoted him directly in his own compositions. Bach used bigger orchestras and different instruments (organ and harpsichord as he played them himself) and his works are generally more complicated than Vivaldi's Italian one-melody-centric works, but Bach is the metaphorical student! And Sherlock must absolutely be aware of this.

To me reading the mailbag episode, Sherlock started out uninterested, but the question had him think through his favourites. All complicated and very much not to John's tastes. But when thinking of Bach he went back to Vivaldi, which you must, and he is different. Vivaldi the sick priest, Vivaldi the teacher, the life long supporter of young womens' and abandoned girls' careers. Creative Vivaldi, Vivaldi the storyteller, which John is also. Vivaldi who celebrates nature and the dramatic lives of incredibly normal working people. Vivaldi and his repetitive melodies, although not in Sherlock's taste, fits John's so well. Vivaldi who inspired Bach. John who inspires Sherlock. ❤🎻

Tirade over! Thank you for reading. If you want to listen to some of Vivaldi's work I recommend The Four Seasons and a spot near a window with a suitable drink for the weather in your part of the world. For Bach you might want to look up whether your local church/music school holds concerts or similar events where Bach features, organ is a thousand times better live (if not, stick to his piano or string work).

[paddys-bulletin]

❄ It's Always Sunny Gift Exchange!

Let's celebrate the upcoming winter holiday season with a small digital gift exchange! Given the size of our fandom, we don't have any strict rules for this event; participants are allowed to create any form of art that fits the task. 

Event Schedule: Sign-up period: Nov 4 - Nov 11 Task given: ~Nov 12 - 14  Check-in: Dec 15  Gift reveal/posting: Dec 25 - Jan 1 ❄ Sign-up Form If you have any questions, drop them in ask inbox! Sign-ups close on November 11, 11pm PST.

[minniesmutt]

❄︎ ━━━━━━ 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬

❄︎ ━━━ PAIRING: CHANGBIN X READER ❄︎ ━━━ CW: SUB!CHANGBIN, DOM!READER, PRAISE, LEASH + COLLAR, LINGERIE, BINNIE LEARNING TO MULTI-TASK, ORAL (F. REC), FINGERING, MOMMY KINK, PET NAMES (BABY, BABE, BABY BOY, BUNNY, BUN) BEGGING, UNPROTECTED SEX, CREAM PIE ❄︎ ━━━ WC: 2.2K ❄︎ ━━━ NOTE: I don't often write male subs so if this sucks, my bad. ❄︎ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

     Changbin was very open with sex. Especially to his girlfriend. He wasn't one to shy away from trying something. Often finding things in porn or scrolling through Twitter while he was away from her and sending her a quick text to see if it was something he wanted to try. 

     That’s kind of how he got to where he was. Scrolling through Twitter and finding a video of a man wearing a collar and leash while fucking his girl who held the end of the item. Sending the link to Y/n is what started it. 

Binnie💋: Can we try this when I get back Y/n❤️‍🔥: we don't have a collar and leash bub Binnie💋: I’ll buy one Y/n❤️‍🔥: Didn't you wanna learn to eat me and finger me at the same time when you got back? Binnie💋: Pull the leash when I’m not doing one 😉 Y/n❤️‍🔥: Find a collar and leash Binnie💋: On it 🫡

     Found one he did. A blue fluffy collar and leash set for himself. He sent her a message that it would be there soon. Just a couple of weeks before he got back from tour. 

     Y/n did open it to see what he picked out for himself. Sending him a photo and a “cute” after it. Y/n had a couple of weeks left before he got back from tour so she set the items aside and figured she would surprise him. Knowing her boyfriend like the back of her hand, lingerie was the quickest way to his dick. Y/n managed to find a set in the same shade as the collar he had bought and instantly bought it. 

     The lingerie came a week before Changbin got back. She tried it on and thought about teasing him but didn't wanna ruin the surprise. Putting it away for a later date. 

     Changbin made sure to text her when he landed and that he’d be home within an hour or two. Y/n took that as her sign to get ready. She got in the shower and then put the lingerie under one of his T-shirts and sweats before going into their living room as if she’d been there all day. 

     Changbin unlocked the door to their apartment and put down his luggage by the door to find his girlfriend. He could unpack later. He had the next week off to just relax and he had one hundred percent planned to spend it with his girlfriend in their warm apartment.

     “Babe,” Changbin said before seeing her on the couch under a blanket 

     “Welcome home,” Y/n smiled as he laid on top of her and wrapped his arms around her. 

     “Missed you,” He mumbled into her skin as he tucked his head into her neck. Inhaling her scent that he missed for months. Her perfume just didn't smell the same without her wearing it. 

     “Missed you too.” Y/n smiled as she stroked his curly hair. 

     “I'm taking you with me next time. I hate being away from you for so long,” Changbin told her as he started kissing up her neck. 

     “Going to have to fight your company on that one,” Y/n told him

     “I’ll fight JYP himself to get you to come with me.” Changbin kissed up her neck to her face till he landed on her lips. Moving the blanket down to grab her hips and bring her closer. 

     “Not tired?” Y/n asked between kisses

     “Not when I'm around you,” Changbin replied

     Changbin removed the blanket from between them. Hands moving up on their own and pushing her shirt up. Y/n smiled as she wrapped her arms around him and opened her legs for him to settle between them comfortably. His hands reached up under her shirt before stopping and pulling away from her lips. “Wearing lingerie for me?” He teased

     “Find out for yourself,” Y/n smiled

     Changbin didn’t need to be told twice. He sat up and pulled her shirt off over her head and could feel his dick twitch immediately at the sight of the lacey fabric. He knew he was done for when he saw the matching panties when he pulled the sweats off.

     “Fuck I’m so lucky,” He sighed as he played with the hem of her panties

     “Come on,” Y/n got up from the couch and pulled her boyfriend with her. Changbin followed close behind her to their bedroom, stripping his shirt off himself. Y/n opened their door before getting on the bed with Changbin climbing over her and pressing his lips against hers again.

     “Gonna make you cum all night baby,” Changbin muttered as he started kissing down her neck and chest.

     “Got months to make up for,” Y/n reminded him

     “If you came on tour, I could keep you up in my hotel for after shows,” Chan glanced up at her as she reached over to his pillow.

     His eyes followed her and landed on the collar he had bought a few weeks back. He immediately hovered over her again as she unbuckled the collar and then wrapped it around his neck, adjusting it so it wasn’t too tight. “You look cute like this,” Y/n teased before hooking her leash around the loop and giving him a test tug. Hearing a little whimper from him. She was definitely going to have fun with this.

     “Down boy,” Y/n smiled

     Changbin got down between her legs, spreading them open for him as he kissed over the fabric of her panties. He just now saw that they matched the color of his collar. He moaned against her before peeling the fabric away from her, bringing her legs together to slide it off her legs and tossing them to his side of the bed.     Y/n gently tugged him closer to her as they both locked eyes and smiled at each other. Changbin licked up between her folds. Gathering her essence on his tongue before pressing his tongue against her clit. Changbin wrapped his lips around her clit and gently started sucking on her clit. Y/n let out a soft moan as Changbin moved to grab her thighs. Needing something to hold onto as he moved from her clit to her entrance. Licking the essence from the source.

     Y/n watched the tuff of curly hair between her legs. Licking her up desperately after not seeing her for months. “Fingers baby boy,” Y/n told him

     Changbin reluctantly pulled away from her cunt and dipped to fingers into his mouth to wet them. Taking them out a moment later and pressing one finger against her entrance. Slowly pushing in and watching her reaction. Feeling her walls around his finger pressed his dick right up against his pants.

     “Wrap your lips around mommy’s clit,” Y/n told him

     He did as he was told but not before grinding against their mattress. Something about her calling herself mommy turned him on more. Fuck he loved it.

     He gently sucked on her clit again before she tugged on his leash. He whimpered into her clit, remembering he need to use his finger too. Slowly he started curling his finger up into her walls while slowly sucking on her clit. He thought he was doing good! Maybe he wasn’t as bad at multitasking as he thought!

     Another pull on his leash. Not realizing he stopped sucking on her clit. He got back to sucking and rolling his tongue against her. Doing his best to keep up with both of them. He’s taking it slow as his brain reminds him of both things he needs to do at that moment.

     “Doing good bunny. Go ahead and put another finger in mommy,” Y/n said

     Changbin moaned at the pet name and pulled away from her clit. Y/n tugged him back towards the bud. 

     “Don’t stop sucking bunny. Need to learn to do both.”

     “Sorry Mommy.” Changbin made no further argument. Wrapping his pretty lips around the bundle of nerves and attempted to stuff her with another finger. He stopped playing with her clit twice before he was able to do it. His tongue flicked on the bud as two of his fingers pushed into her. 

     “Good bunny,” Y/n moaned, “Get mommy prepped for your big dick.”

     Changbins moaned in response which sent a little wave of pleasure through her. He moved his fingers in and out of her slowly while sucking on her clit. Trying to keep both going as best he could. 

     He was starting to get the hang of it. If he could learn to dance and sing at the same time he could learn to finger and suck his girlfriend's clit. 

     Feeling confident, he picked up his thrusting speed a bit. Y/n’s moans mixed in his ears with the squelching sound of her cunt around his fingers. 

     “Another finger in bunny. Doing— fuck— so good.” Y/n moaned and he felt her grip on the leash tighten but didn't tug. 

     Changbin pressed another finger up against her and pressed it in with the other two when he pulled them out. Tongue still playing with her clit. 

     “Good job bunny,” Y/n moaned

     Changbin moaned into her clit in response which had her bucking her hips against his face. Changbin pressed on with his pace. Confident in what he was doing right now and knew Y/n was liking it with how her walls were clenching around him. He wasn’t changing it unless she told him to. 

     He knew he didn’t need to as she started to ride his face before her orgasm washed over her. Changbin fucked her through her orgasm until she was finished. He moved down to lick up her release. Savoring the taste he hadn't had for months. 

     Kissing his way up her body till he landed on her lips. Pushing his tongue into her mouth as she wrapped her legs around his waist. “So proud of you bunny,” Y/n said between kisses

     “Let bunny fuck you. Missed being inside Mommy. Please.” Changbins moved his lips down her neck, sucking on the skin 

     “Go ahead bun. You earned that reward,” Y/n moaned

     Changbin sat up a bit and discarded the remainder of his clothing. Tossing them somewhere else into the room to deal with later. He spread her open again as he spread his precum of his length. 

     The rapper lined himself at her entrance bottoming out inside of her quickly as she arched her back for him. He kept his hands on the back of her thighs as he let her get adjusted to him. Y/n felt a bit impatient tonight and wrapped the leash around her hand once and tugged on it.

     Changbins whined but got the message. Pulling back and fucking into her. Immediately picking up the quick rough pace he knew she loved. 

     “Feel so good mommy,” Changbin moaned. Hips snapping into her and filling the room

     Y/n grabbed the pillow under her with her free hand. Taking in the scene on top of her. Her muscular boyfriend who worked so hard with everything he does collared and leashed up while pounding into her. Her walls tightened around him which made him moan. 

     “Fuck,” Changbin groaned 

     “More bunny. Give me more,” Y/n told him, “Play with mommy’s clit again.”

     Still confident from eating her out, Changbin moved one hand down and placed his thumb on her clit. Just the pressure alone of the sensitive bud had her contracting around him. He started moving in slow circles around her clit. Mainly focusing on keeping his thrusting pace. 

     Y/n didn't let it go unnoticed when his thumb faltered. Giving him a little tug in reminder and feeling his dick twitch inside her. “Like when I tug on that leash bunny?”

     “Yes, Mommy,” Changbin moaned, “‘M gonna cum.”

     “Not yet, bunny.”

     “Please, Mommy! Hurts. Need to fill you up,” Changbin whined

     “Make mommy cum on your cock first. She’s— fuck— almost there,”

     Changbins took the sign to rub her clit faster. She let out a louder moan as she threw her head back into the pillow. Changbins reminded himself of the two things he had to keep up with. Working towards the reward of filling her up. That reward seemed right there as her walls pulsed around him. 

     “Gonna cum on your dick bunny,” Y/n managed to warn him before she coated his dick with her essence. Pulling on the leash as she grabbed the pillow with both her hands. 

     Changbins whined as he was pulled forward and came inside her. Fucking her through both their orgasms till the leash went slack. Changbin came down from his high not long after her and planted his hands on either side of her, careful not to fall on her. 

     After a moment, he moved her legs to wrap around his waist before laying on top of her. Wrapping his arms around her and rested on her chest. 

     “Everything you hoped for?” Y/n teased as she played with his hair

     “And more. Should do that more often, Mommy.” Changbin teased back and kissed the top of her breasts.

     “Still need to practice. Maybe I should give you a visual demonstration.”

     “Think that would help a lot,” Changbin agreed. Dick twitched inside her at the thought. 

❄︎ ━━━━━━ M.LIST    TIP JAR

❄︎ ━━━ please support writers by reblogging and/or leaving feedback

© 2024 MINNIESMUTT. DO NOT COPY, REPUBLISH OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE

[lanabenikosdoormat]

Calamity Masterpost! ❄

My main (and really only w101 wizard, savior of the spiral, child of light and shadow, doombreaker, and disaster extraordinaire)

The Young Wizard hailing from Earth, though transported to the spiral far before the events of the first arc. Instead raised dutifully under Lydia Greyrose with Cal herself ironically taking into ice magic herself. Despite being the paragon of thaumaturgy, Calamity is anything but icy. Her warm personality and strong leadership makes anyone want to follow her into battle and yet she chooses to walk her path alone.

Since defeating Morganthe and her admittance into the illustrious Arcanum, Calamity finds herself with several apprentices, a mountain of petty tasks, and a blossoming relationship with one Dyvim Whitehart. Oh and saving the spiral. Again.

[misshoneyimhome]

Idk why but I love the idea of Willy with someone who works for the NHL at the Toronto HQ like maybe not in the media team but part of their global marketing division, and they have a great connection because she works with the Swedish office so often and they’ve created a great friendship outside of hockey but as she’s such a high power human and that would be an HR disaster they keep it at a distance. But everyone knows they need to bang so at a holiday party they get caught under the mistletoe together (caught meaning Auston following them around holding it above their heads like an idiot wingman, but also they’re glued to each others sides so they don’t make it easy on themselves) and the Maple Leaf lads aren’t going to let them get away without finally making a move, mostly because they’re tired of Willy’s pining!

Alrighty babe, I mist admit that I wasn't entirely sure where I was going with this 😅 But, I do hope that it caught just parts of what you'd imagined ❤️ otherwise, as always just hit me up 😉

➼｡ﾟ

Don't mix business with pleasure I William Nylander ✿❄︎

"Come on, Willy, just sleep with her already," Mitch's voice rang out in the locker room as the team prepped for practice. “I mean, you've only been into her for like six months already…”

William couldn't help but chuckle at his teammate's blunt comment, even though there was perhaps some truth in it.

"I can't just sleep with her... you know where she works, right?" William responded; a bit hesitant as he adjusted his hockey gear.

"Yeah, she's got a high-up job, but seriously, you two have been ogling each other since she first talked to you about Sweden," Mitch explained, letting it be known that the whole team was aware of the chemistry between you and their teammate.

Working at the Toronto HQ had been a huge achievement in your career, especially at your age in your mid-twenties. The promotion was a result of hard work and dedication, a significant step forward that you had relentlessly pursued.

And it was only a few weeks into your new position when you’d first encountered the Swedish forward, William Nylander. You and your team had invited all the Swedish players in for a meeting, as you were preparing for the up for the upcoming global series event set to happen in Stockholm, the capital of Sweden.

Being part of the global marketing team, you were tasked with managing the event schedule for this huge event, knowing that the Swedes, especially William, would be very much under the spotlight. He wasn't just a star player for the Leafs but also a familiar face in what he considered his home country -Sweden. And right from that moment, an immediate connection sparked between the two of you.

Sure, your professional responsibilities demanded commitment, but amid the discussions in the meeting rooms and event arrangements, there was an unspoken bond in the air - a mutual understanding that went beyond regular work interactions.

William's gaze was fixed on you from the start, as he quickly noticed your voice, gentle and warm, filling the room, a comforting tune to his ears, and your captivating smile and evident passion for your work were magnetic.

You were incredibly smart, and the way you weren’t afraid of speaking your mind, and man-handle those around you who gave you nothing but hell, merely because you were younger than them, had him all intrigued.

And he knew he had to at least try and be around you for more than just a few meetings.

So, days slowly turned into shared moments – casual coffees during breaks, filled with laughter, genuine talks about life beyond the sports arena, and a mutual admiration for each other's dedication to your careers. Yet, underneath this professional facade, there lingered an undeniable tension; an unexpressed longing held back by the responsibilities of professionalism.

You tried to keep things innocent, staying at arm's length and keeping a cool, business-like attitude. But his charm, laughter, and jokes easily cut through the formal work setup, reaching a deeper part of you.

Especially during the Global tour, when you, alongside all the coordinators and Swedes across the NHL-teams, Red Wings, Wilds, and Senators, spent endless hours together sorting schedules, doing interviews, signing autographs, and handling whatever else cropped up.

It became increasingly harder to stay far away from the lad from Stockholm. Yet, both of you knew you had to deal with this undeniable chemistry, sidestepping unspoken feelings that came up whenever you were together.

And perhaps you were a little bit better at it than William.

"Planning to root for us?" he teased during a discussion about the team’s marketing plans.

"Willy, you know I can’t take sides like that; I'm part of the NHL, remember," you replied with a sweet smile.

"Fair enough, but I wouldn't mind hearing you cheering my name one day... supporting the Leafs," he almost whispered, making sure not to make it too obvious to everyone around that your relationship was slowly becoming more than just colleagues. Perhaps even closer than just friends.

But you brushed it off, keeping your attention on your tasks at hand.

Meanwhile, the Maple Leaf lads, always keeping an eye out, couldn't resist teasing and joking around, fully aware of the growing attraction between you and William.

"Looks like someone's aiming high up there," Auston teased William as soon as he’d returned to the group. "So, that's why you're always hanging around, 'assisting' whenever the big boys are here."

"She's not involved in any of that," William defended with a chuckle.

And it did hold some truth to it.

However, he couldn't deny the way you looked in your stylish vintage suit-pants, your hair nearly flawlessly styled, and your makeup enhancing your natural beauty. It occupied too much space in his hockey-focused mind.

Thoughts of your figure lingered in his thoughts, and every time there was a game either at the Scotiabank Arena or elsewhere, he'd search for you in the crowd.

_

As the holiday season drew near, the team's cheerful vibe set the stage for playful banter and, not to forget, the big company Christmas party in Toronto, where the entire headquarters received invites, including the Toronto Maple Leafs players and management.

And amid the festive ambience, the players were casually dressed in their best business casual attire, chatting and mingling, across management levels and occupations.

However, it was Auston's smug look that caught William's attention, prompting him to swiftly turn his head, when you entered the venue.

Your semi-long red dress hugged your figure snugly, and your legs looked elongated by your tall heels, as a blazer draped over your shoulders, and you held a clutch close to your side.

"Hey, Willy, I think you dropped something," Morgan teased as the blonde Swede couldn't take his eyes off you from a distance.

"What?" William questioned.

"Your jaw," the defenseman jested, prompting chuckles from the rest of the guys.

William did his best to shrug off his teammates' playful remarks with laughter, but his gaze remained fixed on you.

And a few moments later, as you picked up a delightful glass of champagne, your eyes met his as well.

It was a tender moment as your eyes locked from across the room, and the atmosphere seemed to grow a bit more intense. You almost sensed his presence, feeling as if his breath was upon you, as the two of you stood almost motionless, the background noise gently fading away.

But then you shook your head, needing to break the intense moment and return to reality as Shannon Hosford's lively storytelling filled the room.

"I swear you have to make a move tonight," Auston chuckled, noticing the not-so-subtle shared moment.

"I wish…" William murmured softly, a faint smirk touching his lips. "Maybe there'll be a Christmas miracle," he chuckled lightly before turning his focus back to his friends.

And that idea sparked something in Auston's mind.

A Christmas miracle—or perhaps just a gentle nudge in the right direction.

As the night progressed, Cynthia Devine delivered a heartfelt speech, followed by Brendan Shanahan, and then a delightful three-course meal. You found yourself engrossed in amusing conversations with the Toronto Maple Leafs' staff. Given your recent close work with them, striking up casual chats felt almost second nature.

Then during the pivotal speech delivered by the NHL Toronto HQ president, William decided to make a move, as he sensed your efforts to keep a distance from him throughout the evening, yet he also felt that it wasn't truly what you desired.

So, as everyone stood, their attention fixed on the stage in the beautiful venue, William moved closer to you, positioning himself right by your side, his shoulder gently brushing against yours. You glanced slightly in his direction, catching a glimpse of his handsome features, before turning back to face the stage, a faint smile playing on your lips.

Just his close presence alone made you feel a sense of warmth.

Then something more tangible occurred.

William delicately and slowly nudged his right hand against your left, which hung by your side, and he lightly traced his fingers against yours, attempting to interlace two of his fingers with your palm, gently wrapping them around your little and ring finger.

Initially, your heart skipped a beat. You knew his touch was almost innocent, yet if anyone from the headquarters spotted you intertwining fingers with an NHL hockey player, HR would undoubtedly raise concerns. It would be deemed a violation of regulations and considered highly unprofessional.

But you found it hard to resist.

Gradually, you relaxed your tensed posture, allowing your arm to hang freely, permitting William's fingers to intertwine further with yours.

However, your actions didn’t go unnoticed.

As Auston saw the subtle finger play between you and William, he was quick to make his move. However, just as he was about to execute his plan, the speech concluded, prompting both you and William to swiftly pull your hands apart and join in the applause with the rest of the crowd.

The room filled with loud sounds as the clapping continued for what seemed like minutes, but it was minutes you relished simply standing next to the tall Swede. Then, as the applause gradually faded and the crowd dispersed from the floor, you took the chance to steal another glance at William. But you weren't alone.

Auston was nearby, and with a smooth move, he produced a small green plant from behind his back. Looking innocent, he whistled and casually raised his hand, looking in a different direction as he held the mistletoe just above your heads.

Both you and William couldn't help but chuckle at Auston's not-so-subtle attempt at matchmaking. Yet, there was an understanding that perhaps engaging in intimate contact with William under the guise of mistletoe tradition might make it more acceptable. Your eyes met his once more.

William immediately caught on and subtly moved a bit closer to you, if that was even possible.

It felt like an unspoken agreement. Both of you knew what you desired most in that very moment. However, the moment was interrupted naturally by a colleague calling you over, and once again, you had to separate.

Both Auston and William let out deep sighs, feeling the missed opportunity keenly. So close, yet so far.

Fortunately, no more than an hour passed before another opportunity arose. And this time, Auston was determined to have your lips connected with William's.

The dance floor was packed with guests, music blaring through the speakers, as you had just grabbed another drink from the bar when William approached you gently.

"Not sure if it's appropriate," he softly chuckled. "But you look absolutely amazing tonight."

His attempt to remain polite and professional, while also being charming and flirtatious, amused you. And you couldn’t deny that there was a part of you that simply wanted to give in to the temptation.

Glancing around and spotting none of your managers or colleagues, you leaned in with a confident, teasing expression.

"Only tonight?" you teased back, earning a light chuckle from William.

"I think we both know I think you always look amazing," he corrected himself with a laugh.

And once again, you both felt the tender moment burgeoning between you, as Auston slowly made his way closer.

And again, he took out the little green plant, holding it just above your heads casually, prompting more light chuckles. But this time, you and William silently agreed that it was happening.

As you took a deep breath, fully aware of the countless regulations about to be crossed, you leaned in towards him, meeting his touch halfway as he slowly inclined to let his lips meet yours.

His hands found the curves of your hips as you placed yours on his muscular upper arms, softly leaning into the kiss.

The moment was absolutely perfect.

William's lips felt just right against yours, his closeness feeling wonderful, and the shared breaths creating a heartfelt connection. Your heart quickened, and excitement surged through you with the intensity of the kiss.

But as much as both of you desired for it to last longer, you knew you had to pull away to avoid drawing too much attention.

So, reluctantly, you let out a breath, took a small step back, and willed your heart to calm down, mentally processing the rush the kiss had brought.

Even after parting, amid exclamations and chuckles from the players, the sensation of William's lips lingering on yours remained.

But you knew it couldn't continue, and so you made a painful decision and began to walk away. Heading straight towards the ladies’ room, conflicting emotions clashed with rational thoughts in your head.

And just as you were about to reach for the door handle, William's hand grabbed yours and turned you around, pulling you close to him.

"Willy," you exhaled, slightly bewildered by his sudden action. "Please, we can't…"

"I know, but..." His voice softened as he pondered how to articulate his thoughts. "I know we can't be together, not now and maybe not ever... but I need you to know, no matter what happens, my heart belongs to you."

His words were tender and filled with emotion, conveying a depth of sincerity that struck a chord within you.

And attempting to respond while standing close together in the hallway, grateful that no one interrupted your private moment, you began, "Willy..."

"You don't have to explain - I understand it's your career, and I don't want to jeopardize it - but I just needed you to know how I feel; otherwise, I'd regret it for the rest of my life."

Slowly untangling himself from your proximity, he then started to walk away. However, you couldn't let him leave like this.

After his heartfelt confession, even though circumstances seemed against you, you couldn't let him go without a response. Determinedly, you strode towards him.

"Willy," you called out loudly, causing him to turn around and face you again, just as you leaned in to connect your lips briefly once more.

"Just so you know, I'm not saying never."

A small smile graced the hockey player's face as he let out a relieved sigh, your words simply reassuring him that what was happening between you wasn't entirely off the table for the future.

[return-to-twisted-wonderland]

Reactions to Being Squeezed by Floyd

❄ 👑

Lixue: OH?! Are you feeling affectionate today?

❤️👑

Rosalie: UGH, YOU'RE CRUSHING ME!!!

🐰 🍀

Hugo: If you're goin-going to squeeze me, can you at lea-least wait until I'm done with this task?

🦁 🦁

Razaan: *sighs*

🌹 🌹

Cimarron: In a mood? Did someone upset you today?

���🌊

Lucien: *pinches Floyd's side* Needy? Bored? Just tell me what you want.

🦈 🦈

Brutus, patting Floyd’s head: Hahaha, I suppose you're getting restless again, huh.

🐍 🐍

Malik: Now, now, no need to squeeze me, what did you need today?

👸👸

Caligo: Hmhm~, feeling bored? Want to do something fun?

🐇 🐇

Coello: AH? I have time for you, what do you want to do?

🔥 🔥

Eirene: You're already heavy, Floyd. I suppose you tend on crushing me, eh.

🐲 🐲

Lirian: Upset or perhaps, you are happy to see me?

💖💙

Caelan, patting Floyd’s back while laughing: Did my unique Magic attract you to me?

Floyd's getting so many squeezes in.

[windscfchcngc]

Starter - @cookiejcr for Crunchy Chip Cookie! 🐺🍪❄

Wind Archer ventures forth as he was tasked with reaching the Faerie Kingdom in order to stop a uprise in evil with the awakening of the Beast Cookies, he traversed through the snowy lands as he soon realized that he was in what looked to be the Dark Cacao Kingdom.

He also couldn't shake off the fact that he was being watched as the wind was telling him to remain on alert, he remained cautious as he walked further.

[corner-stories]

matching pajamas jeankasa?? 🫶🫶🫶

Winter Vibes ❄

Grad School AU. 1113 words. (ao3.)

For a few merciful moments, Jean stands beneath a stream of water and washes the day off of him. He listens to nothing but the sound of the droplets hitting the floor. He scrubs himself with lavender soap, the warmth of the wash soothing the ache in his muscles and alleviating all the stresses and downfalls that come with spending hours behind a drafting table.

When everything is rinsed and sent down the drain, he turns off the tap and steps out, immediately grabbing a towel off the hook to dry off.

After securing said towel around his waist, he wipes the fog from the mirror, gauges the length of his beard, then deems shaving a task that ‘Future Jean’ should handle. He’s sure his advisor could handle him looking scruffy for another day or two. 

After taking a few minutes to rub shea-scented cream into his skin, he exits the bathroom as he fights back a yawn.

The walk between the bathroom and bedroom is short, as the space in their Villeray apartment often feels more constricting than liberating.

When he enters, he’s greeted by the hum of the city outside their window and Mikasa perched on the bed, exactly where he last saw her. She sits with her laptop on the mattress and her eyes affixed to the screen. She barely notices him when he walks by, focusing more on her typing speed as she adjusts the way her eyeglasses sit on the bridge of her nose.

“Okay, slight change in plans,” Mikasa says just as he gets to the dresser. 

“Oh?”

“I might have to meet with my advisor on the night that Armin gets here…” she begins, looking up for a brief second. “...so do you think you could drive to the airport and—”

“Consider it done,” Jean promises as he opens a dresser drawer. He glances aside to a mounted mirror on the wall, something placed at just the right angle to allow him to see her in the reflection. 

And in the mirror he sees her smile slightly, relieved. 

“You’re the best,” she thanks. “And please clean out your car.” 

Jean rolls his eyes, but nods along. As he rummages around the drawer, he wonders what task will be more difficult — organizing the clutter in his aging Toyota or dealing with traffic around the airport. He finds the bottoms of a flannel pyjama set his mother gifted him two birthdays ago, but not the top. He only rifles through the drawer for a few more seconds before glancing to the mirror again, where the other half of the sleepwear currently hangs off of Mikasa’s shoulders. Evidently, she’s already claimed the garment for the night no matter how awkwardly it fits her. 

A smirk creeps onto Jean’s face as he closes the drawer. 

“So… when do you think you’ll get off work?” he asks.

Without missing a beat, Jean drops his towel and pulls on the bottoms. He looks to the mirror again and witnesses his significant other now suddenly intrigued by the ongoings near the dresser. 

Once he’s more clothed, Mikasa refocuses on her laptop and adjusts her eyeglasses, flustered but refusing to let it show. “Why do you ask?”

Jean smirks as he grabs his towel off the floor and tosses it to a nearby hamper. “I just wanna know how many hours I’ll have to entertain your friend.”

He goes to sit on the edge of the bed and grabs his phone off the nightstand, mindlessly thumbing through notifications before sparing a glance at Mikasa’s laptop screen. As to be expected, he sees her very cluttered inbox and an alarming amount of open browser tabs, a telltale sign that her TA duties are beginning to intensify. 

“I should be here around seven. Seven-thirty if Dietrich’s feeling chatty that day,” she answers, then eyes him. “And if anything, Armin might nap. He’d still be on England time.”

Jean nods, adjusting his position until his back is against the headboard. “Makes sense.”

When Jean runs out of notifications to swipe through, he catches his breath and tries to visualize the week ahead of him. His usual fate of hiding in the depths of McGill’s School of Architecture comes to mind. With deadlines drawing close, he already knows he’ll spend hours hunched over his drafting table as he reaches for his third, maybe fourth cup of coffee. He can already imagine himself slouching in his chair as he files through food delivery apps in search of some kind of discount. At least on Friday he’ll have an excuse to stay off campus, even if it involves a drive to an airport and preoccupying his significant other’s childhood friend for a few hours. 

At least Mikasa has explained a thing or two about Armin. He had grown up alongside her back in Vancouver, similarly moved across the country for university reasons, then moved again when given the opportunity to earn his Master’s in the UK. Apparently, his dream of studying Marine Sciences was strong enough to bring him all the way across the pond, having settled in Newcastle for the last few years. 

His planned trip to Montreal will only last a night. Then after his reunion dinner with his childhood best friend, he’ll be on another plane to Vancouver to visit his grandfather. Their hours together are limited, but to Mikasa it’s more than enough after all the time they’ve spent apart. 

Mikasa types for a few more seconds before glancing back at her boyfriend by the headboard. “Are you nervous?”

“A little,” Jean shrugs. “I’ve never met any of your old friends before.” 

“Armin doesn’t bite.”

“I’m not implying that he does. I just… I’ve never met the guy.” 

Mikasa hums. “I feel like you two would get along.” 

Jean is still unconvinced, but manages a smile anyways. “And what makes you think that?”

She takes a moment to think, adjusting her glasses once more as her face remains neutral. “I just do,” she says as she turns back towards her laptop. 

Jean rolls his eyes as he adjusts his position once more. He eventually lays back and stares at the ceiling above the bed. As he relaxes, he wonders if his girlfriend’s answer is partially due to the current hour or to something else. Perhaps it’s instinct — an inkling, a feeling — something she just knows for sure without knowing why. 

Either way, the plans for next week are still set in stone. With that in mind, Jean finds it in himself to breathe. He closes his eyes, nestles one of his hands underneath his head, and doesn’t know how much time passes before he nods off.