#- supposed to be a couple or at least more than 'simple' friends

[thal-ent]

Old discourse but the "what if the curtains are just blue" talk did so much damage to how we analyse coding

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗻 𝗲𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 | eddie munson x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | based on a request from the lovely @ultraintrovertedgryffindor ; getting stuck in an elevator with his best friend (and secret crush) was absolutely not on eddie's morning agenda, but it leads to one of his most wild fantasies coming to life.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 3.8k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | SMUT (18+ only!! semi-public sex, oral m receiving, kinda pervy eddie but also slightly pervy reader with a balls fixation gee I wonder where that idea came from), best friends to lovers (but very very limited plot haha), pretty much exactly what it says on the tin y'all not sure what to say

Eddie laughed as he pressed his hands to the elevator doors, but it wasn't a laugh of amusement— it was exasperation, frustration, an is this really happening? laugh.

"Soonest we can get a crew out there is uhh... noon?" the voice on the emergency phone informed you.

"Noon?!" you yelped. "It's not even half past eight!"

"What did I tell ya?" Eddie recalled, hanging his head in defeat for a second. "Nothing good happens before ten."

"Just try to stay calm and we'll be there when we can," the operator suggested, like it was so simple.

You didn't even reply to that, just scoffed and hung up.

It wasn't like he'd been looking forward to his GED exam, in fact he'd almost been hoping for a way to put it off or get out of it... but this was definitely not what he was imagining. Of all the elevators to get stuck in, this generic government building where he was supposed to have his big test proctored was probably the most boring option.

He glanced over at you, and stopped himself from making a dirty joke: you heard that Aerosmith single, right? Love In An Elevator?

That probably wouldn't have gone over well. He used to say stuff like that when you were both a little younger, but he'd since given up hope of it ever actually... inspiring anything.  You two were probably better off as friends anyways; or, that’s what he told himself to make it sting a little less.

“Looks like we’ll be stuck in here for a while…” he mumbled instead.  “Did they say what the issue is?”

“Some kind of power failure?” you recalled with a shrug.  “It’s gonna take a while to fix, that’s the important thing.  Do you think they’ll call the fire department?”

“Who knows,” Eddie sighed, leaning against the wall as you sank onto the floor and dropped your head back against the wall.  “I guess we should just try to get comfortable.”

Which was easier said than done, but at least he was stuck here with you— you were generally pretty fun to talk to.  Of course, you weren’t exactly in your best mood due to the circumstances…

At 8:32, Eddie checked his watch.  “I’m officially late for my exam,” he noticed.

At 9, you checked your own; “And I’m officially late for work.  We'll see if I even still have a job when we get out of here," you groaned. "I was on pretty thin ice already."

By 9:14, the stuffiness of the elevator was becoming harder to ignore.  Eddie slipped off his jacket and vest in response to the heat, but resisted the urge to take off his Ozzy shirt. You'd seen him shirtless before, of course, but he figured out would be weirder without the right context.

"Fuck, it's hot in here," you whined quietly.

"I guess the power issue affects the A/C, huh," Eddie noticed.

"You think?" you scoffed, reaching up to unbutton the top of your shirt.

For some reason, he kinda liked when you were condescending like that; of course he loved it when you were sweet like usual, but when you got frustrated and sarcastic and looked at him like he was crazy... for whatever reason, it worked for him. And it was definitely working like never before when combined with your hasty efforts to open your shirt.

He expected you to stop after a couple buttons, but you just kept going, exposing more and more of your chest glistening with sweat. His eyes were glued to it, until you got low enough for him to see a glimpse of your bra, and he coughed as he turned his head quickly.

"Woah, hey, uh--" he stammered out awkwardly.

"Oh whatever, you've seen me in a bikini, it's the same thing," you rolled your eyes.

But it's not the same thing, because you were stripping, untucking the button-up from your tight skirt, fanning your flushed skin...

And he was tugging the crotch of his jeans down a bit when you weren't looking, trying to keep his oncoming boner from being too obvious. 

Leaving your shirt open, you sighed and sat down on the floor, splaying your legs out on the ground.  He could see how uncomfortable you were, and it made him press his lips together while he sighed through his nose.  Though he was a little afraid you weren’t in the mood for any friendly behavior as your frustration and stir-craziness increased, he walked across the elevator and sat down next to you.  “I was probably gonna flunk the test,” he decided.

“What?  No you weren’t,” you scoffed.  “You studied so hard!  I’m really proud of you, you know.”

“Just ‘cause we’re stuck in here doesn’t mean you should get all sappy with me—” he started.

“No— ‘cause we’re stuck in here I’m not gonna put up with you trying to be down on yourself,” you decided sternly with a little glare at him.  “You were gonna fucking ace it, I know you were.  You worked your ass off.  I know you wanted to act like you didn’t care, but you actually got your shit together and did it.”

“You… you helped me a lot,” he mumbled sheepishly.

“Please, I hardly did anything— mostly just kept you from getting too distracted,” you denied, blissfully unaware that he actually found you more distracting sometimes, but never minded it.  “Can you stop being a pussy and just admit you’re actually smart, and dedicated, and more than capable of nailing this?”

He blinked quickly and looked down into his lap, feeling his face warm up— not just from the heat.  How could you be so mean and nice at the same time?  

“And now it’s gonna go to waste, ‘cause of this godforsaken elevator,” you sighed, dropping your head back; a pessimistic end to a pep talk, but he couldn’t blame you.

"Think of it this way: it couldn't get any worse!" Eddie offered with a faux-upbeat tone.

Right then, the lights in the elevator flickered and turned off, plunging you both into darkness. "I fucking hate you," you announced after a short silence.

He heard a whirring sound from somewhere else in the shaft, and a dimmer orange lighting came on inside the elevator; some kind of emergency back-up generator thing, probably. It was enough to see decently well, especially as his eyes started to adjust, but still made it feel like you were both in an even more perilous situation.

“I didn’t sleep enough last night,” you admitted, “I might try to catch up on that.  Maybe if I can sleep this will go by faster…”

“I like that plan,” he decided, even though he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to do the same.  Eddie had a hard time keeping still and quiet, but he managed to do it so you could get your rest.

He suspected you had fallen asleep when your breathing seemed to slow down a bit— but he knew you had when you limply slumped to the side, your head gently landing on his shoulder.  This happened every once in a while, a sign of how comfortable you were with him. He supposed he should be thankful for it, but sometimes it just made him furious. Because what cruel punishment was this, to have you lay on him like this when he can't put his arm around you and kiss your head and tell you how perfect you are?

The half-boner he’d wound up with earlier when you unbuttoned your shirt had never really gone away, and it noticed your proximity with renewed interest.  Maybe it was just because he was so bored with literally nothing to do but think about you, but his mind kept coming up with all these fucked up ideas based on the eyeful he’d gotten.  

What if you’d taken off your bra as well and let him see the tits he’d been fantasizing about for longer than he cared to admit?  What if this had happened in winter instead and the elevator was brutally cold and you two had to hold your naked bodies together for warmth?  What if that guy on the phone said this thing was airtight and two only had an hour to live and you decided you wanted to go out with a bang, literally?  

He wondered if he’d be brave enough to tell you how he felt about you, if either or both of you only had an hour left.  For better or for worse, this elevator shaft had airflow, so you were more likely to die of boredom than anything.

He shifted slightly, stuck in a somewhat awkward position, but it didn't help much— though thankfully it didn't wake you up, either.  He just wished he could get some relief, somehow.

Obviously, he knew it was a bad idea. But the thing about his dick is it usually talked him into some pretty bad ideas…

He tested the waters with a whisper of your name, but you just kept breathing slowly— you were out cold. Maybe you were even more nervous for him than you'd let on, if you were that underslept.

Reaching up with his free hand, all he had to do was grip himself through his jeans to get some relief; he sighed through his nose, shutting his eyes.

His cock flexed impatiently as he unzipped the jeans as slowly as possible to avoid making too much sound. But god was it worth the wait— as soon as he slipped his hand into his boxers he had to bite his lip, it was so good just to get some attention for his poor, lonely dick.

This was far from the first time Eddie had jerked off to the thought of you. But he was sure he'd never done it while you were this close.

He did it once or twice in your bathroom while you were on the other side of the wall, that was probably the closest he'd come to this before. And that was chump change compared to this-- this was so risky it made his heart race and his hands shake with adrenaline, but it only made him more desperate for whatever reason.

He wouldn't have swiped his thumb through the precum at his slit if he had known how good it would feel— or maybe if he'd known how good it would feel, he would've been able to prepare himself for it. But the anxiety of getting caught had made him even more sensitive, so he hadn't really seen it coming, and when he did it he let out a little moan through his teeth that he couldn't stop.

You stirred again and he froze; when you lifted your head off of his shoulder, he hastily shoved himself back into his jeans, trying to cover up the open fly with the bottom of his shirt.

“Were you… jerking off?” you realized, and he felt sick with fear as his heart raced like never before.

“W-what?” he scoffed incredulously.  “I— are you crazy?”

“Ed,” you warned firmly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I— sorry—”

“Are you that bored?” you mocked with a snort, and he felt even more flushed; it made his cock flex under the mediocre covering of his shirt when you degraded him like that.

“N-no— well, yeah, I just— you put your head on me and I—”

“It was because of me?” you realized, and his mouth fell open.  He hadn’t realized that you hadn’t actually put that together yet; of course he’d ended up just digging himself deeper.

“W-well, uh— I mean, no, no I— well.  Kind of?”

“Kind of, as in…”

“Completely,” he blurted out.

You were quiet for a long time, and he couldn’t see your face well enough to even try to guess what you were thinking.  Although you probably could’ve given him a thousand guesses and he never would’ve guessed what you ended up saying: “You want some help with that?” you offered.

But before he could even answer— not that he really could, he was too busy having a short circuit in his brain— you were reaching for his lap.  And even if his mind was blown, his body knew to just lift his hands up and out of the way and let you do whatever you wanted to him.

You pulled up the bottom of his shirt and sighed a little when you saw his cock, still hard and leaking and curled up against his stomach.  You carefully wrapped your hand around it, and he swallowed thickly, wondering if he was dreaming or something— you were so… soft.

“Like this?” you asked gently, making his hips twitch up into your hand for a second.

“Y-yeah,” he nodded, eyes glued to the way your hand looked wrapped around him.  If only the lights weren’t out, he wanted to see it even better.

He looked at your face, moving your hair a little to make sure he could see you, but from what he could tell your eyes were trained on his lap.

“Fuuuck,” he whispered when you stroked him a bit more confidently.  He wanted to shut his eyes from how good it felt, but he didn’t want to look away from a moment of this in case you, you know, came to your senses and stopped.

“S’really thick,” you said, under your breath, a little bit shyly.  He groaned and ran his hand over your back, trying not to do too much in case it startled you but also totally helpless to how badly he needed you.  “I wonder if I can…”

You trailed off, and before he could decide if he should ask what you were going to say, you 

As soon as you leaned down and put your mouth around him, his back arched and his legs kicked a bit.  “Fuck, baby,” he choked out, melting into the warm feeling of your lips, your tongue— god, he couldn’t believe you were doing this to him.  He actually had to fight the urge to tell you so, to admit how much he’d imagined this; he settled for whining out your name and running a hand over your hair encouragingly.  “S’fucking warm, oh my god—”

You hummed around him, sucking a bit harder, swirling your tongue around the tip; who the fuck taught you that?  It made his chest burn with some targetless jealousy even while it made his cock flex proudly. 

Your hand still gripping the base, you took him a little bit deeper, moaning a little bit once again while you did it.  No way you actually enjoyed this, right?

You pulled your head up a bit— he took his hand away quickly, not trying to hold you down or anything— and just when he wondered if you might stop, you dropped down lower so you could run your tongue up from the very bottom all the way to his leaking slit—

“Jesus,” he laughed thinly, “what are you doing to me, baby?”

“Whatever I wanna do,” you replied— if he was a little braver, he would’ve asked what made you want this, how long you wanted this— but he was more than content to let you do whatever you wanted, so far you had some pretty fucking good ideas.

Your head sank even a little bit lower, and he pushed his jeans down just a bit in case they were getting in your way.  Boy, was he glad he did.  “Fuck,” he gasped, watching in shock as you looked up at him while your tongue ran over his balls.  “Sorry, they’re, uh, kinda sweaty…”

“Even better,” you purred; what the fuck were you doing acting so dirty like that?

“Baby,” he laughed thinly, “is this some kind of claustrophobia-induced psychosis or something?  Who are you and what have you done with my prude best friend?”

“Prude?  That’s unfair,” you laughed.  “Just ‘cause I don’t advertise every dirty thought that goes through my mind doesn’t mean I’m not as much of a freak as you…”

“Freak is an understatement,” he sighed, struggling to keep his voice even when he was literally watching you lick all over his balls like this.  “You’re a proper fucking slut.”

You hummed proudly, eyes getting a little heavier— when you looked up at him like that, he was totally helpless.  “It’s slutty to wanna taste your best friend’s balls?”

“F-fuck, of course it is,” he whined, cock flexing in your hand again when you licked a stripe up between then.

“Well then yeah, guess I’m a slut,” you agreed. 

“G-god, I— I’m gonna—” he tried to warn you, but it happened so fast— it happened the second you started to gently suck on his balls, in fact.  What was he supposed to do when you did that?!  How could he not shoot cum all over his now-definitely-ruined shirt?

“Oh shit,” you giggled— his cock was still flexing and you were already mocking him.

“What— what the fuck,” he began, trying to catch his breath, “made you wanna do that?”

But you were already straddling his lap, pulling up your skirt to your waist.

“F-fuck, baby, I— are you seriously—?”

He cut himself off and whimpered when he got a good look at your panties, the cute lacy kind— and pretty fucking soaked already.

“I-I don’t have a condom,” he warned you, cursing himself inside for finally throwing out the one in his wallet thinking he would never end up needing it.

“Don’t care,” you sighed, pulling your panties aside and guiding his tip right up to your entrance.

“Fuck, that’s—”

He was gonna say it was insanely hot, but you hardly noticed; you were already sliding down onto him, taking him in one motion right to the base.

“Oh fuck!” he nearly shouted, gripping hard onto your thighs.  “F-fuck, you’re so tight, fuck…”

You started moving right away, grinding on top of him for a second before lifting your hips and bouncing up and down.  “Fuck,” you sighed, “so deep…”

Was it wrong that he loved the way you were basically just using him?  You hadn’t even let him finish his sentence, you didn’t ask if he could handle it right after coming— you just started riding him, and far be it from him to complain about that.

“Take this off,” he pleaded, tugging at your unbuttoned shirt and trying to push it off your shoulders.

You helped him get it off, and before you’d even tossed it off to the side he was reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.  The gods of bra clasps smiled down upon him that day, because he was sure he’d never gotten one open so quickly, and if there was any time he really needed it, it was now.

“Fuck,” he groaned when he got a good look at them— not good enough in this dim orange lighting, but it would do— and instantly got a hold of your chest.  You didn’t seem to mind the clammy hands, considering the way you whimpered a little and clenched inside around him.  “God, baby, your tits…”

As much as he’d been waiting ages for a chance to see you naked, he couldn’t deny you looked way too good with the skirt, stockings, and heels still on.  He could already tell this was going to give him a complex.

He ran a hand up your leg as you moved just to feel the silky nylon; god, he hoped you didn’t get fired for the unexplained extreme lateness, if not just for your sake then so that you would keep dressing like this every day.  “So pretty,” he sighed, wondering if you could see in the dark how totally in awe he was of you.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, in that way he’d always imagined you would in a time like this.  Your head fell back and he couldn’t help but reach up and grab your neck— not applying much pressure, just holding you there, just admiring how goddamn perfect his hand looked wrapped around you.  

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Eddie sighed, “fuck, look at you go.”

You smiled a little, he could see it even with your head tilted back like that, and it was just amazing seeing you so… free?  So relaxed and totally shameless, giving in to your pleasure.  But it wasn’t enough: he wanted to see you lose all your composure, he wanted to hear you scream his name, he wanted to make you shake and cry and beg— that was why he grabbed a tight hold of your hips and pulled you down onto him, bucking his hips up to meet you halfway.  It forced his cock even deeper and you yelped a little.

“Not too big for you, is it?” he taunted.

“No, fuck, s’perfect,” you moaned, your voice deep and rough and so fucking beautiful like this.  “Fuckin’ perfect, Ed, o-oh god—”

“Keep saying my name,” he ordered.

“Eddie,” you said, again, but this time all needy and cute; it just made him fuck you harder, biting down on his lip to muffle some of his own noises— he just wanted to hear you.  He pulled you down and hugged you close, keeping you still so he could fuck up into you exactly how he wanted; you moaned right by his ear, fuck it was too precious.  

“I’m already close again,” he admitted with a thin laugh.  “Fuck, look what you do to me.”

You whined louder, clenching on his cock— he seriously did not know how much more of this he could take.

“Wanted you so bad,” he blurted out, unable to stop himself, “wanted this for so long.  Wanted to fuck you— I wanna make you come, fuck, please, please come.”

He felt you nod against his shoulder as you gasped, and he shut his eyes tight, just focusing on his movements and trying his best not to speed up too much just to chase his own high.  He needed you to come more than he needed his own pleasure, even if everything in his body was screaming for a chance to come inside you. “So close,” you panted, “fuck, Eddie, don’t stop— please don’t stop— yes!”

The lights turning back on suddenly startled you both, making him freeze and look around (and squint a little from the brightness), but that was nothing compared to the shock of the doors opening.  Behind them was mostly just concrete, the space between floors, but up top was about two feet of the eighth level, where a crew of firefighters could be seen peering in.

“Are they alright?” someone from the building asked as Eddie scrambled to grab his jacket from the corner and cover you up with it.

“Yeah, looks like they’re doing just fine,” one of the men announced as they broke out in surprised laughter.

[nicka-nell]

We've had Haiykuu toxic traits but can we have their green flags? Especially Sugawara, Oikawa and Kita (and anyone you want to include)?

Hi! Yeees omg I love that! Green flags are lovely. So here we go! 😍💚

Their green flags

Pairing: Iwaizumi x, Oikawa x, Akaashi x, Bokuto x, Sakusa x, Kita x, Atsumu x, Osamu x, Ushijima x, Semi x, Kuroo x, Ennoshita x, Sugawara x, Daichi x reader

Warning: just fluff

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

Iwaizumi likes to include you in everything. He doesn’t do this because he wants to show you off to others, but because he likes having you by his side. Whether it’s at home or when he goes out with friends. 

Well, maybe he wants to tease Oikawa a little about how lucky he is with you and how happy he is. But he would never admit that out loud. 

Even if it rarely happens, but when you argue with others, he always has your back, because nobody makes a fool of his girlfriend. No one is allowed to make you sad or tease you. 

OIKAWA TOORU

Oikawa maintains a healthy and good relationship with his family and is surprisingly responsible for the people he cares about. 

Even if you don’t believe it at first because of his appearance, Oikawa is someone who would share the household chores with you. Taking out the garbage, cooking twice a week, mowing the lawn and vacuuming are things that Oikawa would do so that you don’t have to do all the work alone. 

Actually, he wouldn’t say no to anything if you asked him, but don’t you dare ask him to put the folded laundry away in the closet. The poor guy has no idea how to categorize your clothes. When does he know at what point a sweater is no longer supposed to be put on a hanger and when it should only be folded and put in the closet? It’s a science for him. 

AKAASHI KEIJI

Akaashi is extremely supportive. If you tell him about any plans, he stands behind you or talks to you openly to show his interest. He also stops you in a calm tone if you go a bit overboard and set yourself unrealistic ideas or goals. 

Akaashi is also someone who maintains eye contact. Like… always!   

So when you talk to him, even if it’s just your daily routine, Akaashi listens to you attentively and always looks up to meet your eyes. 

BOKUTO KOUTAROU

Bokuto is such a simple-minded person and so positive. 

But probably his sweetest green flag is that he is always extremely happy to see you. Really, like a little kid getting his favorite ice cream as a present. 

You send him a picture of you during his training? He plays twice as well. You cheer him on in the stands in his jersey? He plays five times better. You’re already at home when he comes back from a hard training session? Oh, he quickly throws his bag away and hugs you from behind, lovingly and firmly, sways lightly with you across the room and enjoys your laughter while he gives you several little kisses on the back of your neck and tells you how much he has missed you. 

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

Sakusa’s green flag is probably something more normal. At least it should be normal. Because he always treats you with respect. Unless you’re really arguing, then he’s just moody and childish. 

But otherwise, it is important to him that you are equal. For him, there is no “better half” in a relationship. He respects you and would never talk down to you. The only thing he would agree to is when people say that there is a stronger partner in the relationship. Biologically, as a man, he is stronger than you in some things, but that’s it. 

KITA SHINSUKE

Once in an official relationship with Kita, he is fully committed to it. Kita weighs it up for a long time and it takes a really long time for you both to get into a relationship, but once you are in one, you can be sure that Kita will do everything to make sure that you are doing well as a couple or later as a family. 

It is important to him that you are happy. That you are both content and can grow together through everyday life and any hurdles. 

Besides this aspect, Kita is also a very hard-working person who never complains about his work, but simply draws a neutral conclusion at the end of the day, or if something great has happened, focuses on this event and very rarely has negative emotions. 

MIYA ATSUMU

Atsumu always compliments you. Even if they are sometimes hidden in teasing comments. 

The blond Miya twin and jealousy? Nah, never. He would never be a boyfriend who would tell you “don’t wear that, it’s too revealing.” Instead, he would look at you with bright eyes, mouth wide open before saying something like “babe, ya look hot as shit in that thing.” Does he sometimes have dirty thoughts? Yes, actually very often. 

Atsumu is also someone who is like your best friend. He loves to make you laugh, fool around with you and just be a kid again. Happy wife, happy life or something like that, right?

MIYA OSAMU

Osamu is an easy partner in many ways. Although he is sometimes childish towards his brother and even his closest friends, he is often very mature towards you. 

He always tries to include you in his plans. Aran invites him to a party? Osamu first asks if you can come too. Suna asks him if he wants to come over to play? He first asks you if you have any plans for that day and if it would be fine for you if he went to his friend’s house for a few hours. Not that you would forbid him. He knows that you have no problem with that, but he would like to let you know just to be on the safe side. 

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

Ushijima is blunt. But at the same time, he is also very honest. So if you get stuck or need an honest opinion, you know that Ushijima will always give you his straightforward opinion. 

Although it’s probably hard to imagine, Ushijima is a very responsible person who cares about the close friends and family (even if he doesn’t show it directly). You don’t have to remind him to take out the trash, for example. When the dryer beeps because it’s finished, he doesn’t wait until the beeping stops, instead he gets up and turns off the dryer and folds the dry clothes (even if he swears a hundred times because he doesn’t understand women’s clothes at all).

Ushijima may not understand when you have an emotional outburst, but he takes you in his arms and strokes your back. Wordlessly, because he never knows what to say, but at least he’s physically there for you. 

SEMI EITA

Semi is a good and attentive listener. When you tell him something, he doesn’t have a phone in his hand or do anything else. His attention is fully focused on you. With his eyes fixed on you, he waits and lets you finish until you look at him so that he can answer you. 

Even when you’re out, Semi is attentive to your body language. If he notices that you feel uncomfortable, he always puts his hand gently on your lower back or tries to involve you in conversations so that you don’t feel alone. 

KUROO TETSUROU

Kuroo’s green flag is probably the mix of adult behavior and somehow childish moments. 

Sometimes he teases you, but not meanly, more to make you laugh. He teases you when you’re sulking about little things so that your mood quickly lifts again. 

If you are really arguing and it is obvious that the conversation could escalate, you have a codeword that Kuroo usually uses and with this word you both stop arguing. You both take a deep breath and it is usually Kuroo who will come to terms with you, even if you started the argument. 

ENNOSHITA CHIKARA

Ennoshita is someone you can’t really argue with. He always tries to resolve conflicts calmly and in a healthy way. When you argue, it usually happens in such a way that you sit down together. He listens to your view of things and he tells you his point of view and then it ends with both of you reflecting and apologizing. 

Ennoshita is also very tidy around the house and willingly shares the chores with you. 

Moreover, Ennoshita is someone who is not jealous because he trusts you completely. 

SUGAWARA KOUSHI

Sugawara’s green flag is probably a mix of his humor, which always cheers you up and motivates you in sad moments, and his adult, sensitive personality. 

Sugawara can tell from the tip of your nose whether you are in a good or bad mood. If you are sad, he always tries to cheer you up with funny jokes, gives you a hug and literally attacks you with cuddles. 

If you text him that you have your period and want him to buy you tampons or pads, he won’t be disgusted or refuse because buying these products is “not manly”, but will buy them without hesitation and give them to you, making sure to get exactly the right size or the pads that have these little wings. Would you like a hot water bottle and a cup of tea? No problem, Sugawara treats you like a princess and pampers you with everything you need. But let’s be honest, that’s what he does 24/7, anyway.  

SAWAMURA DAICHI

Daichi is extremely responsible and mature. If anything happens, whether you’re feeling bad, you need someone to pick you up from a party or you have to go to appointments together, Daichi is there and you never feel like you’re alone because he’s always your main pillar of support. 

He’s never forgotten an appointment, whether it’s your anniversary, when he always buys you flowers, or your birthday, or night-outs with friends. Every appointment is in his head... probably every appointment is also saved on his phone, but that doesn’t matter. He remembers them all. 

He’s also not jealous at all. It’s probably because he’s quite mature, but Daichi has no problem with you talking to other men or having male friends. After all, you are his girlfriend for a reason. He knows that you love him and he has nothing to worry about. 

[helen-with-an-a]

would you consider a part 2 to be the best?

maybe everyone realises reader making an effort and she starts to get closer at team bonding nights etc. then gets angry and thinks everyone will go back to hating her but happy ending

Hiiii - so I hope you enjoy this - I might make another part, I might not - I'm not quite sure

Be The Best part 3

AWFC x Reader

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3

Description: R joins the team on a trip to the cinema

Word Count: 4.4k

Deciding what to wear – it seemed like such a simple task, yet it was the one thing consuming your thoughts. It was more than just picking an outfit; it felt like the key to unlocking your entire evening. If you could just figure out what to wear, then maybe everything else would follow. The outfit could set the tone, give you confidence, and make you feel ready to face whatever was coming your way. Or at least, that's what you kept telling yourself, over and over, as if the right choice of clothes could somehow solve all your other problems too. The pressure to get it right was overwhelming, as if choosing the perfect outfit would magically make everything else fall into place.

But it wasn’t even a special occasion – it was just the cinema. A casual, relaxed outing, nothing crazy, nothing formal. Just the cinema. You were going to watch a movie, sit in the dark for a couple of hours, and maybe grab a snack or two. No big deal. It wasn’t like you were going to a fancy dinner or an important meeting. Just the cinema.

And yet, it wasn’t just the cinema. It was the cinema with your friends, work colleagues, people you have definitely bullied at times. You knew you had to strike a delicate balance – casual, but not too casual; relaxed, but still put together. It wasn’t simply about the clothes. It was about perception, about how the others would see you and what they would think. Every choice seemed to carry a weight that extended far beyond fabric and fashion. Would they notice if you were too dressed up, standing out like you were trying too hard? Or would they judge you if you were too laid-back, as if you didn’t care at all?

For most people, it was just a routine outing, something they had done countless times. But for you, it was uncharted territory, an experience you’d only heard about or seen in movies themselves. The idea of sitting in a dark theatre, surrounded by others, watching a story unfold on a massive screen – this was completely new. You didn’t know the unspoken rules, the social cues that everyone else seemed to take for granted. How were you supposed to act? What was the right amount of enthusiasm or restraint?

And what about conversation? That was another minefield altogether. You knew the basic rule: no talking during the film. That part seemed straightforward enough. But what about before the film started, when everyone was finding their seats, shuffling in with popcorn and drinks? Was there a right way to initiate small talk in those brief moments of dimmed lights and hushed voices? Should you comment on the previews, ask about their day, or maybe even crack a light joke to ease any tension? Or would it be better to keep it simple, just a casual greeting before settling into the silence? The uncertainty gnawed at you, making it difficult to predict how you should approach those moments.

And then there was the aftermath, the part that seemed the most daunting of all. What would you talk about after the film ended? How do people usually transition from the intensity of the movie back to regular conversation? Should you start with your thoughts on the film, maybe offer an opinion or ask for theirs? But what if your opinions didn’t match? What if you missed a key detail, or your interpretation was off? Would you come across as clueless or out of touch? You didn’t want to be the one who misread the mood, who either overanalysed every scene or brushed off the film too casually.

What if they didn’t want to talk to you? That fear was the heaviest of all, lurking in the back of your mind and casting a shadow over everything else. Leah had promised that you were welcome to attend the team bonding event, insisting that it would be a good opportunity to relax and connect away from the pressures of the football field. But did they really want you there? Was her invitation genuinely extended on behalf of the entire team, or was it just a polite gesture, something she felt obligated to offer? The thought gnawed at you, making you second-guess every detail of the evening.

You had been so mean to them for so long – too long, really. Screaming had been your only form of communication, your voice always raised, always harsh, leaving no room for warmth or understanding. It was as if yelling was the only way you knew how to convey your thoughts, your frustrations, your demands.

Images of Kyra’s terrified eyes flashed across your mind, haunting you in those quiet moments when the noise of the day had finally died down. You remembered the way she would flinch whenever you called her name, her eyes wide and fearful, as if bracing herself for the inevitable onslaught. It wasn’t just once or twice – no, those moments were all too frequent, etched into the fabric of your daily routine. You could almost hear the echo of your own voice, sharp and cutting, as you berated her for the smallest mistakes, things that now seemed so insignificant in hindsight.

You had changed four times already, each outfit a different attempt to strike the right balance, to somehow capture the perfect blend of casual yet polished, approachable yet confident. Each time you thought you’d found the right look, doubt crept in, nagging at the edges of your mind until you found yourself back at the mirror, scrutinising every detail. First, it was joggers and T-shirt – too casual, you decided, too close to something you’d wear lounging around the house, not quite right for an evening where you wanted to make a better impression. Then came the one dress you owned – simple, comfortable, but suddenly it felt too much, as if you were trying too hard, the exact opposite of what you wanted.

You tried again, opting for a more relaxed outfit, a sweater and a pair of tailored pants, thinking this might strike the right chord. But as you stood there, looking at yourself, the reflection staring back seemed off, like you were wearing someone else’s clothes. You looked like you were going into a business meeting. It didn’t feel like you, or at least not the version of yourself you wanted to present tonight. So you changed again, this time into something more middle-ground, some baggy jeans and a top. But even then, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t quite right.

As you stood there in front of the mirror, surrounded by discarded outfits strewn across the bed, you wondered if maybe the clothes weren’t the real issue. Maybe it was the fact that no matter what you wore, you couldn’t escape the history you carried with you, the reputation you had built, and the uncertainty of whether any outfit could really make a difference in how you were perceived.

Your phone buzzed on the desk, the familiar vibration cutting through the thick fog of your thoughts. The sound startled you, pulling you out of the endless loop of doubt and second-guessing that had been consuming your mind for what felt like hours. You glanced over and saw the screen light up with your alarm, its insistent tone a stark reminder that time had finally run out. There was no more room for deliberation, no more opportunity to agonise over every detail.

It took you longer than expected to get to the cinema, your nerves slowing you down at every turn. The streets seemed unfamiliar, the route winding through a part of town that you rarely ventured into. As you navigated through the maze of side roads and intersections, you couldn't help but notice how different this area felt from your usual haunts. It was quieter, more residential, with an air of nostalgia that hung in the evening breeze. The buildings here had a certain charm, with their old-fashioned storefronts and quaint cafés, each one exuding a sense of history that made you feel like you had stepped back in time.

When you finally arrived at the cinema, it wasn’t what you had expected. You had envisioned something sleek and modern, a polished building with neon lights and a buzzing crowd. Instead, you found yourself standing in front of a place that felt like a hidden gem, tucked away from the busier parts of the city. The cinema was smaller, more intimate, and as you approached, you were struck by its unexpected charm. The exterior was unassuming, with a classic marquee that displayed the film titles in black letters against a white backdrop, the lights around it softly glowing in the dimming light.

Inside, the atmosphere was cozy and inviting, a far cry from the sterile, impersonal theatre you had walked past as a kid. It was cute – more retro than you had anticipated, with an ambiance that immediately put you at ease. The plush blue seats lined the aisles, each one a deep, rich shade that contrasted beautifully with the cream-colored walls. The seats looked like they had been carefully maintained, their upholstery soft and welcoming, as if they had been chosen for comfort rather than just practicality. The walls, with their creamy tones, added to the sense of warmth, their subtle detailing suggesting a bygone era when cinemas were more than just places to watch a film – they were places to experience something special.

"Hey, I'm glad you could make it," Kim said softly when she saw you arrive, her voice warm and welcoming. There was something genuine in her tone, a sincerity that caught you slightly off guard. It was as if she truly meant it, as if your presence was something she had been hoping for rather than just politely acknowledging. Her smile was gentle, her eyes reflecting a kindness that made you pause for a moment, unsure of how to respond.

You had been so wrapped up in your own anxieties, so convinced that your arrival would be met with indifference – or worse, thinly veiled discomfort – that her friendly greeting threw you off balance. For a split second, you hesitated, searching for the right words, something casual and appropriate to say in return. But nothing came out. Instead, you grimaced awkwardly back at her, your lips twisting into a half-hearted smile that you knew looked forced.

It was as though your body had betrayed you, refusing to cooperate in this moment of unexpected kindness. You could feel the tension in your shoulders, the way your jaw tightened as you struggled to mirror the warmth in Kim’s voice with an expression that didn’t come naturally to you. Inside, you were cringing at your own inability to respond with the same ease, the same natural friendliness that Kim seemed to embody so effortlessly.

Your grimace felt clumsy, a stark contrast to her welcoming demeanour. It was as if all the insecurities you had been trying to suppress suddenly bubbled up to the surface, making it impossible to relax and just be in the moment. You worried that Kim could see through your awkwardness, that she might pick up on the discomfort you were trying so hard to mask. Would she interpret it as reluctance? As a sign that you didn't really want to be there? The thought made your stomach twist, amplifying the awkwardness of the situation.

But Kim, ever gracious, didn’t let it faze her. She continued to smile, her eyes softening with understanding, as if she sensed your unease but chose not to dwell on it. Her kindness was unwavering, a quiet reassurance that perhaps, despite your own self-doubt, you were more welcome than you realised. “I think you’re the last one to arrive.”

“Sorry, it took longer than I thought to get here,” you said, your voice tinged with an apologetic edge as you finally caught up with Kim. You tried to sound casual, but the nerves were evident in the way you fumbled with your words. Your gaze flickered around the room, searching for something to latch onto to avoid the awkwardness of the moment.

“No worries,” Kim replied with a reassuring smile, her tone light and understanding. “Was there much traffic?”

“Uh, no,” you began, your voice wavering slightly. You cleared your throat, trying to steady your nerves. “I mean, there wasn’t much traffic. I just – I've, I’ve just not been here before, so …” You trailed off, the words sputtering out like a car sputtering to a halt. The sentence hung in the air, unfinished and awkward.

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and discomfort. It wasn’t just the unfamiliarity of the location that threw you off; it was the whole social aspect of the evening that felt out of place.

“Hey, you came!” Leah shouted from across the lobby, her voice ringing out with a burst of enthusiasm that cut through the low murmur of conversation. The suddenness of her greeting was a relief, taking the spotlight off Kim and saving her from having to respond to your earlier, awkward attempt at small talk. Leah’s energy seemed to fill the space, her bright smile and warm manner making it clear that she was genuinely pleased to see you.

“Hi,” you whispered back, the word barely escaping your lips as you struggled to match her enthusiasm with your own shaky confidence. You felt a pang of awkwardness, compounded by the realisation that you were still adjusting to the surroundings

Leah, unfazed by your quiet response, continued with her upbeat tone. “Do you want to grab some snacks before you go in?”

Snacks? The word hit you like a revelation. You had always thought of the cinema as a place where people just sat in darkened rooms and watched movies, perhaps grabbing a quick drink from a vending machine if they were really desperate. But the idea of having snacks felt almost revolutionary. The concept of indulging in something edible during a film was so foreign to you that you blinked in surprise, momentarily caught off guard.

You looked around, taking in the lobby’s setup with new eyes. It was bustling with people moving toward a counter where a variety of snacks were displayed. The counter was an array of tempting options: large tubs of buttery popcorn and colourful sweets. The whole scene seemed like an elaborate concession to comfort, something you had never considered part of the cinema experience before.

Alessia, who had joined Leah in welcoming you, turned to you with a warm smile. “What’s your go-to?” she asked, her tone inviting and friendly. Her curiosity seemed genuine, and it made you feel a bit more at ease.

You hesitated, glancing at the array of snacks before you, feeling a bit overwhelmed. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your uncertainty evident. The variety of choices seemed almost overwhelming, and you weren’t sure where to start.

Alessia laughed lightly, a sound that was both comforting and disarming. “Ah, a ‘see how you feel’ kind of person,” she said, nodding knowingly as if she understood your approach. Her laughter and casual attitude made it clear that she wasn’t judging you, but rather finding your indecision endearing.

“Um, no,” you replied, feeling a bit embarrassed as you tried to explain. “I’ve not been to the cinema before.” The admission felt awkward, and you braced yourself for whatever reaction might follow.

Alessia stared at you, her eyes widening in shock. “What do you mean?” she asked, disbelief evident in her voice. “Surely you went growing up? I know we don’t have much time now, but still.”

You shifted uncomfortably, the weight of your admission feeling heavier under Alessia’s surprised gaze. “Uh, no. My, uh, my dad said it was a waste of time,” you said, your voice trailing off. The memory of your father’s dismissive attitude made you feel vulnerable, as if you were exposing a part of your past that was uncomfortable to revisit.

Alessia’s surprise was palpable, her mouth forming a small “O” as she processed what you had just revealed. Her eyes widened, clearly taken aback by the information. It was as if the notion of someone never having been to the cinema before was a concept so foreign that it took her a moment to fully grasp it. Her reaction was a blend of shock and genuine curiosity, making you feel even more self-conscious.

You could feel your face flush with embarrassment as you watched her reaction unfold. The realisation that you had just divulged a personal detail about your upbringing – a detail that seemed to have left such an impact on Alessia – made you mentally kick yourself. Why couldn’t you have just gone along with her question, given a generic answer, and avoided this awkward revelation altogether?

As Alessia’s initial shock gave way to a more empathetic expression, you mentally berated yourself for not just playing along. She could almost hear the internal dialogue in your head: “Why did I have to be so honest? Why couldn’t I just say I like popcorn or candy and leave it at that?” You bit your lip, hard, gasping slightly at the familiar pain.

But as you watched Alessia’s expression soften into one of understanding, you also noticed the subtle shift in her stance. She seemed genuinely concerned and determined to make sure you felt comfortable. Her initial shock had transformed into a compassionate response, as if she was now more committed than ever to ensuring that your first cinema experience was enjoyable and welcoming.

“Well, usually I go for some popcorn,” Alessia said with a casual shrug, her tone easy and conversational. “But I decided on Pick ‘n’ Mix today.” She paused, as if considering the options and her own choice. Her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief and excitement, reflecting a genuine enthusiasm for the variety of treats on offer. “If you get some popcorn, we could share?” she suggested, her offer smooth and natural, as though it were the most effortless thing in the world.

“Y-you want to share?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. The shock in your tone was palpable, your words tinged with disbelief. The notion that Alessia, someone who had been so kind and welcoming, would offer to share something as simple as popcorn with you felt almost surreal. The gesture seemed magnified by your own insecurities and the weight of your past interactions with her

.

You stood there, momentarily taken aback, struggling to reconcile Alessia’s warmth with the harshness you remembered from your own behaviour. It was as if her kindness had momentarily suspended reality, making you question whether you deserved such a generous offer. You had been so accustomed to keeping others at a distance, to reacting defensively or with hostility, that the idea of someone reaching out to you with genuine friendliness felt foreign and unexpected.

“Of course, come on, let’s get some popcorn,” Alessia said, her smile broadening into a welcoming expression that seemed to dispel any lingering awkwardness. Her enthusiasm was infectious, a burst of positive energy that made you feel more at ease despite your earlier reservations.

Without missing a beat, she reached out and gently grabbed your elbow, her touch both firm and reassuring.

The film wasn’t necessarily your choice, but as it played out on the screen, you found yourself increasingly engrossed. You never really had time for films – growing up, your father had made you watch old matches and now, as an adult, you did the same. There was something about the action, the romance, the unexpected twist at the end that drew you in and kept you close.

Sitting wedged in between Alessia and Leah wasn’t too bad either. In fact, it turned out to be one of the more pleasant surprises of the evening. Alessia, seated to your right, had a laugh that was genuinely infectious. Each time something amusing or surprising happened on the screen, her laughter would bubble up – a warm, genuine sound that was impossible not to be affected by. It was the kind of laugh that seemed to fill the room with a sense of shared joy, creating a subtle but tangible bond between you and the rest of the audience. Her enthusiasm was both comforting and uplifting, making the film experience feel even more enjoyable.

Leah, on your left, contributed to the cozy atmosphere with her own unique presence. She kept up a quiet commentary throughout the film, her murmurs barely audible but filled with insightful observations and humorous remarks. Her comments were like little nuggets of insight, offering a fresh perspective on the film's twists and turns. You had expected that her talking might become distracting or irritating, but instead, it had the opposite effect. Leah’s commentary felt like a private conversation that added another layer to your viewing experience, one that was both engaging and endearing.

Rather than finding Leah's remarks bothersome, you found yourself appreciating them. Her thoughtful, almost reverent musings about the film’s plot and characters added depth to your own viewing experience. It was as though she was sharing a part of her own enthusiasm and understanding with you, making the film feel more interactive and immersive. Each comment was delivered with a subtlety that ensured it didn't disrupt your enjoyment, but rather complemented it, adding an extra dimension to your engagement with the story.

The combination of Alessia’s lively, infectious laughter and Leah’s quiet, reflective commentary created a perfect balance that made sitting between them a surprisingly enjoyable experience. It turned out to be a blend of energy and insight that enhanced the film’s appeal, making the whole experience feel more communal and enjoyable.

“Oh, my god. That was so good!” Stina cheered as you all left the theater, her excitement practically radiating from her. Her blonde ponytail whipped from side to side with each enthusiastic hop down the steps, creating a lively and contagious energy that seemed to spread through the group. Stina’s reaction was a burst of pure, unfiltered enthusiasm, her voice ringing with genuine excitement about the film you had just seen.

Conversations about favourite scenes and surprising plot twists began to bubble up, each person eager to share their thoughts and opinions on the film. It was as if Stina’s initial reaction had unlocked a wave of shared enthusiasm that everyone was eager to join in on.

“Yeah, that twist at the end was incredible!” Steph chimed in, her voice laced with amazement. “I didn’t see that coming at all.” The sentiment was echoed by several others, their faces animated with excitement as they recounted their favourite moments. The film had clearly struck a chord with the group, and the sense of collective satisfaction was palpable. Had this been what you were missing out on every time you declined an invite?

Before you could get too far into your head, Kim came up behind you, her shoulder gently nudging yours in a friendly, almost reassuring manner. The touch was light but deliberate, a small gesture that drew you back from your swirling thoughts and into the present moment. Her presence was warm and grounding, a reminder that you were part of a group, and her approachable demeanor made it easier to transition from the excitement of the film to the next part of the evening.

“So, what did you think?” Kim asked, her voice filled with genuine interest. There was a subtle anticipation in her tone, an expectation that your opinion would contribute to the collective conversation.

“I liked the film. It was very good,” you responded, your voice steady but still tinged with the residual excitement from the movie. You were still processing the film’s impact and the lively discussion that had followed, and Kim’s question provided a moment to articulate your enjoyment. It felt good to share your positive reaction, to be part of the enthusiastic response that had characterised the group’s reactions.

Kim’s eyes brightened at your response, and she smiled with a hint of mischief. “Good enough to come to dinner with us?” she asked, her tone light and inviting.

You froze for a moment, a sudden wave of uncertainty washing over you. Did Kim really want you to join them for dinner? The question seemed to echo in your mind, stirring up a flurry of anxious thoughts. The idea of continuing the evening with the group was both inviting and intimidating, and you couldn’t help but question whether you truly belonged in this social setting.

A twinge of apprehension gnawed at you as you considered the possibility of making a mistake. What if you inadvertently did something wrong or said something out of turn? The fear of misstepping or failing to live up to the group’s expectations loomed large. You imagined potential scenarios where your actions might not align with the group’s dynamics, leading to awkwardness or discomfort.

And what if you got angry with them again? What if you ruined the night? What if you did something wrong and they kicked you off the team? A tight knot of anxiety bubbled up in your chest, making it difficult to fully embrace the invitation. The prospect of making a good impression and avoiding past mistakes felt like a significant challenge. Taking a deep breath, you reminded yourself that Kim’s invitation was a gesture of goodwill, a sign that your presence was valued and welcomed.

“Umm, yeah, yeah, I think so,” you said, your voice gaining confidence as you spoke. “If that’s ok with you?” The question was as much about seeking reassurance as it was about confirming your participation. It was a polite gesture, ensuring that your presence was welcome and that you weren’t imposing on the group’s plans.

Kim’s smile widened, and she gave you a reassuring nod. “Absolutely, it’s totally okay,” she said warmly. “We’d love to have you join us. It’s just a casual dinner, nothing too formal. We’re all going to this great place nearby – should be a lot of fun!”

[helluvapoison]

heyy i was wondering if you could do like Lucifer x reader getting married if ,you want to ofc🫶

btw i love your work so muchh, thank you!!🫶(also english is not my first language so i hope i didn't write anything wrong)

Absolutely I Do

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

a little insight to your wedding with the king

[part ii (18+ only)]

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

• What would be a tamer version of a bridezilla? Not quite lashing out at everyone and their mother over the tiniest details but blowing a fuse when white roses arrive and he specifically asked for white gardenias?

• That would be Lucifer

• Asmodeus is his best man and the other Sins are his groomsmen, they’ll handle the flower debacle and any other matter that needs saving

• Good natured Charlie was given, arguably, the easiest task of holding onto the rings! She’s more than capable of planning the entire event on her own (and she asked to… twice) but Lucifer wanted her to enjoy this wedding as he wouldn’t be having another

• It’s part of why he wants this to go perfectly!

• He never thought he’d find another love after Lilith. He didn’t even realize that while you were delicately filling in the crater she’d left, he was falling more and more in love with you

• The other part, his pride and perfectionism aside, is that while it may be his second wedding, it’s your first. In his eyes you deserve only the best and he’ll be damned all over again if he doesn’t deliver

• You told your fiancé (FUCK he loved that word coming out of your mouth, almost as much as he was going to like husband!) to at least try to not go overboard. To which you received a “Me? Overboard? Darling, I would never! Simple and elegant, that’s what the headlines will say!”

• The many, many, many vision boards said otherwise. However you already knew damn well “simple and elegant” translated to grandeur and extravagant– and that’s exactly what it was. To Lucifer’s credit, it wasn’t gaudy or blinding. It really was a gorgeous spectacle

• Per his request it’s an all white event, a stark contrast to the overall location. The guest list is massive. After all, Lucifer’s still a king and certain people would be offended if they missed an occasion like this. Everyone goes all out. Bodies pour into chairs, everyone dripping head to toe in white garments and glamorous jewels

• Lucifer preened and primped, checking the mirror a couple hundred times and asking whoever was in the room if he looked ok. Anything less than “outstanding” had him groaning as he turned back to the mirror

• The wedding suddenly seems like a terrible idea. Not because he has cold feet (he’s rather sweaty, actually) but because the moment he sees you he just wants to steal you away

• You are positively and wholly breathtaking. The stars are jealous over how you outshine them! He can’t do anything but stare in amazement as you walk down the aisle

• Does he, Lucifer Morningstar, vow to protect, love, cherish and serve you for all eternity? Undoubtedly. He adds a few his own too like spoil you rotten, compliment you hourly, never ever never let you feel like you’re alone— all things he’s already done but wanted to make it “official”

• “It’s been an honor to be your confidant and friend… but I’m dying to do that and more as your husband.”

• Then do you take him to have and to hold, for better or worse, richer or poorer?

• “I do.” You answer proudly, squeezing his hands ever so slightly

• Forgetting present company, forgetting he’s a king and supposed to act dignified, Lucifer doesn’t wait to get permission to kiss you. He jumps slightly, knowing you’ll catch him instantly. Hugging your neck he crashes his lips onto yours

• You giggle against him, returning the kiss briefly before setting him down. (Hell knows he’d get carried away and forget much more if you didn’t)

• “I do believe you’re my husband now, Luci.”

• The entire wedding may as well have been a surprise party the way his eyes widened, as if it only just set in what the ordeal was for

• “Oh my golly, I’m your husband. I’m your husband! Hey everybody, I'm their husband!”

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ don’t apologize, you did great friend! thank you so mochi and i hope you enjoy

[cxtori]

Satoru Gojo ✭ Kiss Me Back

wc: basically 5k… it wasn’t meant to be lmao

summary: based off of this thought i posted a while ago

genre: angst, fluff, drunk “confession” but it gets misunderstood, friends to lovers, silly drunk Gojo

warnings: n/a

tori’s note: I finished this fic after having it in my drafts for almost a year. I kinda strayed from how my original prompt went lol. Idk how I feel about the second half of this, I’m not a huge fan of it but y’know, it be what it be. Hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Gojo doesn’t drink often. In fact, it’s more accurate to say he never drinks. He hates alcohol. The way it tastes, the way it burns, and especially how quickly it affects his system.

He’s always been a lightweight, it only taking a few shots before he was intoxicated. But for some reason, Shoko’s teasing pressure to get him to drink got to him a lot more tonight than usual. 

It was supposed to be only one shot, then just one more. But now, here he is, a couple hours later and 6 shots down, drunk and stumbling, leaning against you for support.

You grunt as you struggle to keep the tall man vertical and walk him down the street to your car. 

“You are amazing, Y/n,” Gojo slurs, wrapping his arm tighter around your neck. You huff and roll your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve said that 3 times already,” you laugh lightly. Gojo trips over his own foot, causing you to stumble and almost fall. Thankfully, you catch yourself and keep the two of you from crashing into the concrete. 

“Jeez, Toru! Are you serious?” You ask, unbelieving that he was so intoxicated that he really couldn’t walk straight. Gojo only moans miserably in response. “We’re almost there,” you sigh.

You knew how much he hated the repercussions of drinking and tried to stop him before it was too late. But he seemed to be feeling a little self-destructive tonight, so your warnings fell on deaf ears, much to your annoyance. Even so, you still felt empathetic enough to take him home yourself, turning down Nanami’s kind offer to do so.

After another block of walking and stumbling, you finally make it to your car, opening the passenger side and awkwardly shuffling around as you try to help Gojo into the seat. It felt like he was purposefully doing everything he could to make this simple task as complicated as possible. Which, honestly, you wouldn’t put past him. 

You eventually get him and his lanky limbs into the vehicle and hold back a laugh when he groans and dramatically drapes himself over your center console, arms spilling into the driver’s seat. You walk around to the other side of the car, moving his arms carefully before sitting down and pushing him to lean against the window. 

“Okay, tough guy. You still have the water Nanami gave you?” You ask. Gojo clumsily reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out the water bottle he somehow managed to fit in there. Damn men’s pocket sizes.

“Good, I want it empty by the time I make it to your place,” you state, turning on the car and pulling into the street.

“The whole thing?” Gojo whines. You laugh breathily, finding amusement in his drunk demeanor.

“Yes, the whole thing. Gotta stay hydrated so drink up!” You encourage. 

The white-haired man mutters a complaint as he cracks open the bottle, and you watch dumbfounded as he drains it in seconds. 

“I didn’t mean drink it all at once…” you say. Gojo shrugs and sinks further into his seat. 

You drive in silence for a few minutes, the pale, orange street lights whizzing by and the soft, white noise of the tires rolling on the pavement making the ride a peaceful, comforting experience. At least it would be if Gojo wasn’t staring holes into the side of your face. 

In his drunkenness, he’d somehow managed to misplace his glasses and blindfold, much to your dismay. You adore those brilliant blue eyes, but damn, if they weren’t intimidating as hell when they were staring you down. You do your best to ignore it, keeping your eyes focused on the road ahead of you. 

You feel your heart skip a beat when a cold, calloused finger presses gently against your temple before tracing your hairline, sweeping your hair behind your ear.

“You’re so pretty,” Gojo whispers, his words barely audible. Your breath catches in your throat, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. 

“O-oh, umm… I- th-thank you,” you stutter horribly. Gojo hums softly as though he’s satisfied with your reaction before laughing lightly. His hand leaves your quickly heating face as he turns back to the window, slumping against the cool glass. 

After what couldn’t have possibly even been a minute, you hear the faintest snore come from the man. You poke his arm, expecting some kind of reaction. But nope, he’s out.

You take a deep breath and start blasting the AC. It suddenly feels really stuffy in here.

You soon reach his house and pull into the driveway before parking the car and climbing out. You open the passenger door, being careful to not let Gojo dump out onto the ground. You shake his shoulders, whispering to him that he was home and needed to wake up. After some gentle-turned-vigorous shaking, the man wakes up bleary eyed and a bit confused. 

“Have a nice nap, sleeping beauty?” You tease, taking his arm and attempting to pull him to his feet. He grunts, reluctantly swinging his feet out of the car and onto the ground. The moment he stands, he leans back against the car, his eyes squeezed shut in discomfort. 

“Shhhhit, why did I do that?” He slurs, the alcohol still screwing with his brain. At least he’s more coherent than 30 minutes ago. 

“Not to be like that, but I did try to stop you,” you joke.

“Shut up,” he groans. His eyes open and meet with yours, but instead of holding the annoyed glare you were expecting, they were soft, appreciative. His typically pale complexion was still dusted pink, though not nearly as flushed as earlier, and there’s the faintest hint of a smile to accompany it. 

He leans against you, his arms snaking around your waist in a loose hug, and his head resting heavily on your shoulder as he sighs. “Thank you, Y/n.”

“Why don’t you thank me when I’ve gotten you inside!” You laugh awkwardly, pushing the large man off of you. 

Gojo pouts, his soft, pink lips protruding in a way that could only be described as borderline sensual. You tear your eyes away from him and link your arm in his to walk him into the house with much less stumbling this time.

You make it inside, Gojo dragging down the hall to his room while you dig in his kitchen cabinets in search of ibuprofen. Once you’ve found what you’re looking for, you grab a glass and fill it with water before making your way to Gojo’s room.

You knock on the door, the sound echoing through the cold, empty hallway. A muffled “come in” reaches your ears and you open the door. 

You step in and your eyes land on a half-naked Gojo sitting on his bed, stopping you in your tracks. He did say to come in, didn’t he?

He looks at you, a questioning expression written on his face. With everything he’s done this evening, it’s beginning to be hard to believe he’s not purposefully trying to fluster you.

You draw in a breath and walk over to him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you nervous.

“Here, for the potential hangover,” you say, handing him the pills and water. He takes it gratefully, downing the meds and water quickly. He sets the glass on the nightstand with a soft thunk, and an odd silence follows after. 

“Well, I’m gonna head home now. G’night, Toru,” you say, turning on your heels and heading to the door. Your hand barely touches the doorknob when Gojo says your name.

“Y/n,” he calls quietly. You stop and turn to him with a questioning hum, but he doesn’t give any response back other than a waving hand, signaling for you to come back to him. You shuffle awkwardly to stand in front of him, confused about what he wants. 

He stands up, his chest almost bumping against yours as he does so. You begin to take a step back, but before you can, his hands are on your waist, holding you in place. You look up at him to ask what he’s doing, but the words get stuck in your throat the moment your eyes meet his.

Those bright, cerulean eyes that were so often hidden from the world, were looking at you with such care and fondness that it made your chest tighten. 

Before you’re even aware of what’s happening, his warm, soft lips are pressing tenderly against yours. 

Your tense muscles relax and eyes flutter shut as your lips push back against his. His hands grip your waist as he pulls you closer to him before one lifts the back of your shirt, fingers dragging slowly over your skin. 

You sigh into him, your own hands traveling up his arms, to his neck, eventually finding home in his silky hair. His other hand moves from your hip to your face, cupping your cheek as he deepens the kiss. 

His tongue darts out and sweeps across your lips and the faintest lingering taste of bitter alcohol bites your tastebuds, snapping you back to reality. It’s only then that you remember who you’re kissing, where you are, and how you got there. 

Your eyes fly open and hands move to his chest, pushing him away from you harshly. Gojo loses his balance, landing back into a sitting position on his bed, his once peaceful expression now shocked and confused. 

Your hand covers your mouth, surprised by your own actions. It’s only a second or two that you stay there, staring at each other before you decide that you should definitely leave.

“I’m sorry, I need to go,” you say, wasting no time in leaving his room and ignoring his calls for you. You jump into your car and start the engine before your door is even closed.

What were you thinking? He’s the drunkest he’s been in ages, how could you let that happen? You curse yourself as you drive home, frustrated that you allowed such a thing when your friend was in such a vulnerable state.

 You make it home and park in the driveway, but you don’t leave. You sit in your car and stare blankly at the steering wheel as the full weight of regret begins to sink in. 

You’ve desperately wanted that man to kiss you for years now. But not like this! Not when he was intoxicated and most likely not thinking straight. You wanted a genuine kiss; one he gave you because he truly wanted to. Not because his drunk-self just wanted attention.

How are you supposed to keep your feelings for him under wraps after this?

You’ll just have to lie. You’ll tell him that it was just a slip up, that you were caught off guard. That he kissed you and- dammit, you kissed him back! And not only that, you were wrapping your arms around him. You can’t play off your feelings for him when you kissed him like that!

You groan painfully as you open your door and force yourself into your house, trudging your way to your room. You change your clothes and crawl into bed before plugging your phone in. The screen lights up with the red battery, which disappears quickly, revealing a missed call and several texts from Gojo.

I’m sorry Y/n. Can we please talk?

It wasn’t what you think

Y/n?

Hello?

He almost never texts you, let alone several times in a row. But you can’t find it in you to respond. You turn off your phone and stare at your ceiling for what feels like an eternity, the moment replaying in your mind on repeat. 

It wasn’t what you think? What is he assuming you think?

You raise a finger to your mouth, remembering how it felt to have his lips on yours as you trace over them. 

It was so warm, so sweet. The way he held you close to him, so strong yet gentle. The way his thumb stroked over your face so tenderly. Maybe… it was real.

No. You can’t allow yourself to believe it was genuine and get your hopes up, you can’t.

You roll over onto your side just as your screen lights up once more. You take a glance at it and find another text from Gojo. 

I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Please let me explain.

A new wave of anxiety washes over you when you realize you’ll have to see him tomorrow. You do work at the same school after all. You don’t have a few days to process this or even find a way to respond. 

You wrap tighter into yourself and painful tears fill your eyes, not taking long before they’re streaming down your face and soaking into your pillow. You just want the earth to open and swallow you. 

Your only comfort is in the slim possibility that he was still drunk enough to have a chance of not having clear memories the next day. Maybe he’d wake up, see the messages he’d sent you and not even remember what it was about. 

You know it’s a foolish hope. He wasn’t drunk enough during that kiss to have no recollection of it. Even so, it’s the only thought that calms you down enough to fall asleep. 

Okay, all you have to do is file a couple reports, meet with Ijichi and Nitta, and check in with Shoko on a new corpse. You don’t even have to be on campus the whole day, just do your few tasks and leave. 

You were not going to talk to Gojo today. You’re not sure your heart can handle it right now. You’ve barely even processed what happened last night. It’s like your mind is trying to convince you it was a dream. But the unanswered texts still sitting in your inbox say otherwise. 

You decided you would do your best to avoid the inevitable conversation. You’re sure that when he sees you, he’ll likely confront you about it. But, if you were with others, you knew he’d keep his mouth shut. You can’t hide from him, but you make damn sure he can’t catch you alone.

You know you’ll have to talk about it eventually, just not today. And maybe not tomorrow. Or the day after that.

You take a deep breath as you walk into the school and head for Yaga’s office. You’re not too worried about bumping into Gojo here as he usually avoids this part of the school simply because he’s afraid of running into Yaga and being asked to do something he doesn’t want to. 

You make it there without incident and knock on Yaga’s door before entering. Thankfully, your meeting doesn’t last long as you just have to turn in your reports and give him a quick rundown of your past week’s assignments.

Next was finding Ijichi and Nitta. Which meant going to the more common areas of the school. Which meant risking running into Gojo.

At this point, you were just hoping he decided to go MIA today as he typically did. Or maybe he’d be too hung over to even bother getting out of bed. Whatever the case may be, you just hoped he wouldn’t be behind the door to which you are about to enter.

You turn the doorknob quietly and poke your head in, finding no one but Ijichi sitting at a desk looking over a stack of papers, and you feel relieved. You step inside and Ijichi looks up, a small smile appearing once he sees it’s you.

“Ahh, Y/n. You’re a bit early,” he greets kindly. 

“Haha, yeah. My meeting with Yaga didn’t take as long as expected,” you laugh softly as you walk over to the desk and take a seat across from the man. “Where’s Nitta?”

“She’s currently out with the first years. They were sent to investigate the disturbance you reported a few days ago. Turns out it was just a few Grade 3 curses roaming around.” Ijichi replies.

He shuffles the papers spread out on the desk into a few separate piles before picking up each one, shaking them into neat stacks and paper clipping them together.

“Oh, that’s good to know,” you say with a smile. “So, you said you and Nitta needed something?”

“Oh, yes. We wanted your opinion on-”

“Gooood morning!” A familiar voice calls happily as the door swings open. You hunch over in your chair and glue your eyes to the papers in front of you, not daring to look at the man. You didn’t think you would run into him this soon.

“Oh, goodmorning, Gojo,” Ijichi says.

“Ijichi,” Gojo greets and nods to his co-worker.

He turns to you, your eyes still studying the reports laying in front of you. It was obvious you weren’t reading them though, considering they were upside down to you. “Y/n,” he says quietly.

You still refuse to look at him, mumbling a barely audible “good morning” in return.

Ijichi, sensing some tension, clears his throat and returns to the matter that brought you here in the first place. He only had a few questions, wanting your opinion on which recent cases should be assigned to which students. It wasn’t long before you had fulfilled your need and could leave.

You say your goodbyes, stand from the desk and make your way to the door, still having not spared Gojo, who was leaning against one of the couches, even a glance.

Despite hiding his eyes behind that dark blindfold of his, you could tell he’d been staring at you the whole time. You could practically feel his gaze burning holes into your skin. But, just as you expected, he didn’t dare bring up anything about the previous night with Ijichi in the room.

You walk out the door, thankfully leaving Gojo behind it. But you weren’t sure how long he’d stay there. You make your way quickly through the halls as you head towards the morgue. You open the door and step inside, the cold air making your body shake with a chill. 

You walk through, but find no sign of Shoko. Deciding that she must be in the office, you turn and start making your way over, it being just a couple doors down the hall. 

You step outside of the morgue and about jump out of your skin when you’re met with blinding white hair. Gojo. Of course. You should’ve known he would catch up to you. 

You stand there for a moment, him standing in the doorway and therefore blocking your exit. You still can’t bring yourself to look at him, not really, only giving him quick glances. It must be so easy for him to make “eye contact” when he doesn’t really have to.

“Can we talk?” He says, his voice taking on an unusually shaky and serious tone, and you suppress a sigh. Any hope you had of him not remembering last night shattered with those three words.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you say quietly, desperately wanting to avoid the impending conversation. 

“Y/n,” he says, his large hand reaching carefully for your arm. You move quickly, avoiding his grasp.

“I don’t want to talk,” you say and push past him, making it through the doorway. You speed walk down the hallway to the morgue office, thankful that it’s just a few doors down. Gojo begins to say something but before he can, you’re knocking on the door, shutting him up quickly.

Shoko opens the door only a moment after you’ve knocked, silently stepping aside to let you in once she sees it’s you. Her neutral expression breaks a bit when she sees who’s behind you.

“Gojo, wasn’t expecting to see you today,” she says, referring to the rough condition he was in last night.

“I’m full of surprises, aren’t I?” He chuckles. He looks at you as he says this and you feel your face grow warm. Shoko walks over to her desk and shuffles through the various items in search of something.

“How are you feeling? You haven’t had that many drinks in a long time,” She asks curiously.

“I feel great actually. Y/n is a pretty good caretaker,” he says, once again looking over at you. “She’s the reason I’m not hungover.”

Yep, you certainly were. Maybe you should’ve skipped the water and ibuprofen. But that was before what happened. Past you had no idea that future you would be cursing that decision.

“He wasn’t too much trouble was he? Gojo’s always annoying when he’s drunk.” Like he’s not annoying when he isn’t drunk.

“He was fine,” you say plainly, wanting to move on from the topic.

“Fine is one way to put it,” Gojo says, an obnoxiously flirty smirk on his face. What happened to the serious and borderline nervous Gojo you had just a moment ago? Bring him back please.

“Maybe I should’ve let Nanami take you when he’d offered,” you mutter. Shoko turns back around to you, confused by the comments being made.

“Is that really what you would’ve wanted?” Gojo asks. 

“If it means we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, then yes.”

Shoko looks between the two of you, reading the looks on your faces and expertly deciphering that this was not a conversation she needed (or wanted) to be a part of.

“I’m not getting involved in this,” Shoko mutters as she collects her things and quickly leaves the room, abandoning you in this anxiety-inducing situation. “We can meet later, Y/n.”

“Ah! Wait, Shoko!” You call, but she ignores you and walks out the door. Well, this certainly isn’t what you wanted to happen. Now you had no excuse to leave and apparently didn’t have anyone to have your back. You knew Shoko saw your plea for help in your eyes and she actively ignored it. But, it is Shoko. She always avoids getting involved in things that don’t concern her.

The silence that follows Shoko’s leaving is so incredibly deafening and you hope the ground will open up beneath you. You debate leaving, but you know that Gojo will just follow you. There was no escaping it now. Dammit, and you were so close to getting out without speaking to him.

You cross your arms over your chest and lean against the desk, your eyes glued to the floor.

“Y/n,” Gojo speaks softly. You refuse to look at him. You can’t. You don’t know what will happen if you do. “Y/n.” He steps closer to you and you sink further into yourself, feeling your throat tighten. “Let me explai-”

“What did you mean?” You close your eyes, finding yourself talking before you can even comprehend the words leaving your mouth.

“What?” Gojo says, confused. You sigh, annoyed with yourself now for having said anything.

“Your text. You said it wasn’t what I thought it was. What did you mean?” Gojo looks at you. Well, you assume he’s looking at you. He could be looking at the wall behind you for all you knew.

“I…” Gojo starts but doesn’t finish. He sighs quietly and leans against the chair in front of you. He doesn’t attempt to speak again for a long moment and you begin to wonder if he even plans to. And you’re right, he doesn’t speak. But instead, his hand reaches for the dark blindfold hiding his eyes, and he pulls it down around his neck, his snow white hair falling into his face.

You tear your eyes away as soon as he does, not able to bear even the thought of looking at him directly in those blue irises. Luckily, you’re not tempted to as he keeps his head down, his hair shielding his eyes from your view.

“I remember everything from last night,” the man says finally. You feel your heart sink. You knew he remembered, but for some reason, hearing him say so only made your anxiety worsen. “You didn’t give me a chance to say goodbye last night,” he says with a mild, teasing tone, though it was made with minimal effort, the tension in the room making it hard to joke playfully.

Your arms tighten around you and your throat burns, your eyes remaining focused on everything but him. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be leaving in such a hurry either,” you say, risking your voice breaking into tears. Gojo chuckles.

“I thought you’d stay for a bit longer after the way you were kissing me,” He jokes, and this time it has his usual lightheartedness to it. Despite that, you feel your blood run hot through your body and for a moment you forget that you’re avoiding looking at him. Your eyes whip over to see him already looking at you, a smirk on his lips.

“Wha- you kissed me!” You whisper yell, afraid that someone outside may hear you. You can’t believe him. HE made a move on YOU, and yet he wants to talk about the way you were kissing HIM?

“Buuut, you kissed me back!” He says accusingly but airily. You close your mouth at this. He’s right, you did. And this is just what you were afraid of, him realizing that you kissing him back meant you actually enjoyed it if only a little. You couldn’t hide it.

“And I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry,” you say quietly. You turn your gaze away just in time to miss the way Gojo’s face twitches and his smile drops. Before you can’t stop yourself, you continue to speak, the coil in your throat snapping and the tears beginning to well in your eyes.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you back. I shouldn’t have let you kiss me to begin with. But please, I don’t want to hear what you have to say about it. I know you were drunk and it was a mistake just… Please, don’t tell me that.” 

The silence that follows your statement is so quiet that you can hear Gojo’s uneven breaths alongside your own. You feel the urge to run, to walk out the doors and never turn back. To find a hole somewhere to bury yourself in, never to resurface.

“You think I made a mistake?” Gojo’s words barely reach your ears, his voice so soft you almost have to strain to hear it. He looks at you, completely dejected. “Even if I did feel that way, do you think I’d come here to mock you for it? Do you think I’d be that cruel?” The hurt in his voice is so obvious that you can feel it yourself.

“I… I don’t know.” Truthfully, you did know. You knew he wouldn’t do something like that. He may be annoying, but he’s not cruel. It was out of your own fear of the outcome that you were avoiding this conversation. But then, two words in his statement stand out to you. 

Even if. 

Meaning even if it was a mistake. Meaning he didn’t think it was?

The tears welling in your eyes begin to fall when you dare to look up at him, his own already on you. But you don’t look away this time.

“Would you have kissed me if you were sober?” You ask quietly. Gojo’s shoulders slump and his face grows longer at your words. He takes a cautious step towards you, testing to see if you’ll back away. And you don’t.

“Y/n, I didn’t kiss you because I was drunk,” he replies, his voice smooth as silk. He takes another step forward, this time reaching out a hand to place on your arm, and you don’t pull away.

“That’s what I meant when I said it wasn’t what you thought. I knew you figured it was an alcohol-influenced choice. And while the alcohol admittedly may have had something to do with it, that wasn’t why I did it.” Your vision blurs as you begin to cry, your tears feeling like rivers of fire as they flow down your cheeks.

“I did it because I wanted to, Y/n,” he admits. He lifts a hand to your face, wiping your tears as he strokes your cheek with his knuckles.  “It wasn’t a mistake. It was a choice. And one I don’t regret.”

You close your eyes, not being able to see with them open anyway. His other hand moves from your arm to swipe at your tears, both hands now cupping your face tenderly.

“I don’t know what to say,” you mumble. You raise your hands to wrap your fingers around his wrists, your thumbs stroking over the back of his hands. You open your eyes, your vision clear enough to see him looking at you fondly, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His soft lips that, in the back of your mind, you’ve been thinking about all morning.

Your gaze must have lingered on his mouth for a moment too long as his smile widens. He comes closer to you, his head towering over yours and his hands guide your face to continue looking at him.

“You don’t have to say anything right now. But.” He leans his face to yours, his warm breath against your lips. “I would like to kiss you again. And I hope you won’t run away this time.” His voice lilts in that familiar, teasing tone and your heart twists.

“I won’t,” you say with a breathless laugh. 

His large hands continue to hold your head as he moves forward, wasting no time in putting his lips against yours in a passionate but tender kiss.

And this time, you let yourself kiss him back.

©Cxtori 2024 please do not copy, plagiarize, repost or translate. reblogs appreciated

[heyheydidjaknow]

Two in a row! We’re back in business! We aren’t going for three in a row but I do want to at least acknowledge that Dazai exists if we’re doing the bsd thing now.

Kindling

You were supposed to be fun.

He remembered the day he met you in that coffee shop. He had an hour to kill before a meeting. The shop was dead— the local schools had not been let out yet— and you stood behind the counter, eyes flickering from the clock on the wall above the door to the textbook in front of you. He had never been there before. He never had much reason to bother around largely residential areas before then. He had never seen you before. But you were nice to look at, so he approached the counter.

He liked the look you gave him. Cold, annoyed, almost indignant, desperate in the overblown way students often are: it took you a moment to remember your manners. You must have been new in town. “How may I help you?”

“One black coffee, please.” He smiled politely.

You straightened yourself up, not bothering to hide the way your gaze flitted between him, your book, the clock. “How much sugar?”

He blinked. “I said—“

“You’re not a black coffee drinker,” you answered dismissively, clearly distracted. “I’ve served three guys today already who asked for black coffee and then asked for cream and sugar and— no offense, guy— I’m so not in the mood to waste more of my time.” You picked a pencil from between the pages of your book, grabbing a notepad from your apron. “So, how much sugar, and how much cream?”

“Do you know who I am?”

You paused at that, giving him a once over. “No,” you said. “Should I?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, an easy smile crossing his bandaged face. “No,” he replied. “You shouldn’t.”

You tapped your foot against the ground. “Fascinating. So—“

“May I ask you a question?” He nodded at the book. “How come you’re studying so hard at this time of day? It’s not midterm season already, is it?”

You looked down at the floor. “No.” Your brow furrowed. “Why is this your business, exactly?”

“It’s not.” He shrugged. “I’m just curious.”

You swallowed. “Huh.” Regret. “I’m sorry for snapping at you; I’m in a bit of a rush to get this stuff done.”

“What sort of stuff?”

You held the pencil between your forefinger and thumb, rolling it back and forth between them. “I’m helping a friend with a project. I owe him one, and he’s in a different time zone so my part is due in a couple hours.”

He went on his toes, peering over the register to read the textbook’s text. “Forensic pathology,” he noted. “Is your friend a criminologist?”

You shook your head. “A writer,” you explained. “He needs a comprehensive explanation of how corpses rot, and I’m the only one he knows with an understanding of that sort of thing.” You pursed your lips. “What he doesn’t know is that I’m taking this class as an elective and that I also have no idea how a corpse rots. But I can’t tell him that, because then I’d be letting him down, and he’s put so much trust in me and helped me so many times—“

He stopped you. “That’s all?” He held his hands behind his back. “Well, that’s simple enough. Most anyone downtown can tell you that.” His smile brightened. “How about we make a deal? If you pay for my drink and promise that this won’t take…” He looked back at the clock. It was an hour off. He wondered if you knew. “If you promise it won’t take longer than forty-five minutes, I can give you all the grisly details of human decomposition, with added notes accounting for weather, location, and time of day.”

The look of hesitant relief on your face brought him a sense of satisfaction he had not felt in a long time. You took a deep breath. “Sir,” you nodded, “you have yourself a deal.”

“Call me Osamu.”

You were easy. That was what first drew him to you. You had no reason to lie to him, so you did not. You had no reason to respect him, so you treated him like anyone else. The two of you— at least on the slice-of-life flavored stage the two of you played on— were equals, which he appreciated. Not many people offered him that luxury. The ones who did tended to disappear in the night for one reason or another, but you had no reason to, so you did not. Your problems were largely emotional. You stayed out of trouble. You were consistent. You were simple.

More important than your being simple, however, was the fact that you thought of him as a liar.

He remembered the conversation well. It was a Thursday. He had a couple hours before he was scheduled to help his newest apprentice train. The coffee shop was as slow as it always was and you, as always, stood behind it with a casual dismissiveness that would have gotten you beaten were you in different company. You had been in town long enough to know of the mafia— about a month— but had not yet accepted all of the stories you heard as true. You were recounting one of those stories to him, weight leaned against the counter as you described an incident regarding a teenager with phantom black limbs that could, without his so much as lifting a finger, murder a building’s worth of people in an instant.

“It’s bullshit, obviously.” You took a sip from your water. “I don’t get what they’re trying to prove; if they wanted to scare me, they’d come up with a half-decent lie.”

He did not have to smile around you— to you, he was nobody— but he did regardless. You were fun. “I know him,” he said. “I tutor him.”

You scoffed. “Yeah? What do you tutor him in?”

“Martial arts.” He took a sip from his coffee, which was thoroughly diluted with copious amounts of sugar and cream. You were right; it was bitter. “He’s not very good. He keeps trying to think of himself as a hand-to-hand combatant when he’s much more suited for support and has such a large inferiority complex that he loses all sense of strategy in exchange for a slavish need to validate his existence. In other words, he is close to useless.”

And, of course, you groaned tiredly. “Why are you encouraging them?” you asked. “You already know I know it’s bullshit; what kick do you get out of me already knowing?”

“I’m not lying,” he insisted, knowing you would not believe him. “I’ve been with him on hits before; a couple months ago, we killed thirty people in cold blood.”

And you laughed half-heartedly— as you should; to any regular person who did not know about how many bodies they had hidden, these claims were beyond ridiculous— and said, “Well, I knew the man that trained you, and I know he has a small dick, so what do you think of that?”

“I’m just glad to know he isn’t a pedophile.”

“Shut up and drink your coffee.”

He wondered what you thought of him sometimes. For the first week or so, you asked him questions, but you learned quickly that he was never going to give you satisfactory answers. You probably thought he was an ass, but you still talked to him like you would a peer, so he kept showing up. You must have thought he was a dick. He was sure that he was by your standards.

Once, on a Sunday, he had to attend a funeral. He had some time to kill before, so he walked into the coffee shop, clad in clothes nicer than what was typical, and ordered.

You looked him over. “You got a date?”

“No,” he replied, cheerful. “I have a funeral in an hour.”

You set his cup in front of him. “Oh. For someone you know?”

“My boss,” he explained. “He died the other day so we’re doing a service.”

“Oh.” Your brow furrowed, sympathy making way for confusion. “I’m… I’m sorry, but did you like him?”

He shrugged. “He was alright.”

“How long were you under him?”

He considered it. “A couple years?”

“Oh.” You nodded. “So enough time for your nonchalance to be weird. Cool.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s not as if he were my father.” He leaned back in his seat. “He was bound to get shot eventually; I’m just surprised it took this long.”

“He was what?”

“Shot,” he repeated. “In his sleep.”

You lowered your voice, looking around the cafe like someone would come out to shoot the two of you. “What,” you mumbled, “like an assassination?”

He nodded, looking around courteously. “Exactly. But it’s alright; they won’t stick around too long, I’m sure.”

“How come?”

He leaned his head on his hand. “I don’t imagine whoever did it could get very far out of the city. People are upset that he’s dead; I’m sure someone will lash out.”

You crossed your arms, swallowing thickly. “You know most people don’t speak so casually about people getting shot or whatever.”

“Well,” he shrugged again, “it happens often enough. It’s not like being formal is going to bring him back from the dead; who cares?”

“Don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Aren’t you…?” You searched for the right word. “… I don’t know, shaken? He was a coworker, wasn’t he?”

He took a sip from his coffee. “Yeah.”

“So, isn’t his death a bit shocking?”

“Not really.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, actually, that’s a lie. It means I’m in line for a promotion, and I thought I’d have to wait for him to die of a heart attack for it, so I’m happy about that.”

You cradled your head in your hands. “I don’t think you get my meaning,” you insisted. “Do you not feel anything for his death?”

He set the mug down, meeting your eyes. “No,” he repeated. “I don’t.”

Your questions were simple. “Why?”

“Because,” he answered, “His death was inevitable and his life’s impact on mine was nearly nonexistent. All he did was give me orders; why would I care if he died?

You stared at him, meeting his cold, bottomless eyes with ones aflame with passion. “You sound like a serial killer,” you said.

His smile was as vacant as the rest of him. “I feel like one.”

You were fun until you were not. If asked to identify when your relationship— acquaintanceship, friendship, whatever you called it— stopped being fun, he would point to an otherwise inconspicuous Monday morning three weeks after the funeral. The two of you were splitting a cinnamon roll. It was your break and you got a discount and you had no desire to eat a whole one. You were talking about something silly— a friend of yours had broken up with your other friend— when you had stopped in the middle of a sentence to look out the window, seemingly distracted by something. Witnessing this development, he turned to look out the window too, only to see that the scene outside— an overcast sky, street populated by people rushing on their way to work— had not, in fact, changed since he last looked out the window. “What are you looking at?” he asked.

Your words were soft, eyes transfixed on the window. “I need to buy a decent camera,” you murmured. “Or write. Or paint.”

“You want to take a picture?” He looked out the window again. The scene was still the same. “Of what?”

“Leave me alone, Osamu.”

“I’m not messing with you,” he said. “I just have no idea what you could possibly be looking at.”

“Sure you aren’t.” You gestured with your fork, not looking in his direction. “You have a reputation. I refuse to indulge you in something you’ll clown on me for.”

He sighed. “You are being so over dramatic.”

You shot him a glare. “I told you my friend’s boyfriend got stabbed last week and you said, and I quote, ‘I wish I could say the same.’”

“Yeah, but that was a joke.”

“Jokes are supposed to be funny.”

He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not my fault you have a lame sense of humor,” he protested. “Why won’t you tell me?”

You peeled your attention from the window. “You wanna know what I think?” You gave him a cold smile. “I think you’re so neurotically obsessed with knowing everything that whatever joy you’ll get from knowing will be totally outweighed by the amount of pleasure I get at getting to make you squirm for once.” You stuck your tongue out. “You’re the nihilist. Suffer under the weight of your ideals, dipshit.”

He raised his eyebrows at you. “Do you seriously think I can’t get you to tell me? Is this the hill you want to die on?”

“What if it is?” You crossed your arms, mimicking his pose. “What if it was really emotionally impactful to me? What if it was literally nothing and I’m just fucking with you? What, are you going to torture an answer out of me?” Your smile grew. “I get why you do this now; this is fun.”

He huffed. “You’re such a child.”

“No, you’re just easy to read.” You reached for your drink, cradling it to your chest. “Lenin gave himself a heart attack when he came to power, you know; it’s not healthy to obsess like that.”

He crossed his arms. “It was a stroke,” he grumbled. “He died of a stroke.”

“See, like that. You have issues.” You crossed your legs. “ Maybe it’d be good for you not to know.” You covered your mouth as he leaned forward and adopted an all too familiar smile. “And so help me if you try and seduce me into telling you what I saw so help me I will laugh you out of the room.”

His face soured. He stared you down, and you stared back, unphased, because why would you not? The two of you were equals as far as you were concerned; this was how you treated your peers, and despite the fact that the two of you barely knew each other in any meaningful way, you knew him enough to know what the rules of the game he was trying to play were even if you did not know what it was called. “I could kill you,” he said. “I know plenty of ways to do it. I know how to make it hurt, too.”

And you, knowing you had won, replied, “You could, but you won’t. Who would serve you your coffee?”

The two of you stared each other down one last time. Finally– and mercifully, he liked to think– he looked away. “You win.” He tossed his hands up. “That’s all my cards.”

Your smile softened at the edges. “Good.” You sat up. “I’m not going to tell you what I was looking at, but I can tell you how to see it, if you want. That way you get to know but you don’t get to be all smug.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved you off. “Because I’m not allowed to win, right?”

“If I knew you weren’t going to try and rule-lawyer me, I would just tell you.”

“I spend too much time here.”

“You said it.” You set the fork and the cup down on the table. “Close your eyes.”

He groaned. “I am so not into meditation.”

“Is that backtalk I hear?”

“No, no,” he relented, closing his eyes. “I’m with it or whatever. Now what?”

Your voice lowered. “Breathe in.”

He inhaled.

“And out.”

He exhaled.

“Now,” you continued, “what do you hear?”

“You talking to me.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You asked.”

You huffed. “I– look, besides me, what do you hear?”

He paused, considering it. “People outside,” he said. “And the air conditioning unit. And the milk steamer.”

“Good.” He heard you sit back in your seat again. “And physically, what do you feel?”

“Isn’t this a panic attack thing?”

“Answer my question.”

He considered it. “It’s cold in here.”

Your voice was soft. He wondered how exactly this place stayed in business for how quiet it was. “What do you taste?”

“For giving someone who was just talking about flirting–”

“I have a point. What do you taste?”

He meant to say, ‘My mouth.’ What came out was, “Cinnamon and icing.”

He heard you smile. “Good. Open your eyes.”

He did, blinking at the light. You were back to looking out the window; the scene had not changed.

You nodded towards it. “Now, look and tell me what you see.”

He looked between you and the window. “A tree,” he said. “And people.”

“Look at the tree, first.”

The tree itself was, by his estimation, the same sort of tree that could be found just about anywhere in this part of town. There were fewer as the years went on, he knew– there was some government initiative to get rid of the trees on the side streets– but the tree itself was unextraordinary. “It’s dead,” he noted.

Your eyes didn’t leave the window. “It’s overcast.” You sounded a million miles away. “The light from the sun is hitting it from the other side, so the side that we’re on is dull and dark. It’s casting a shadow on the table, on your face.”

He looked down at the table. Sure enough, in the low light, cold shadows laid across the table like faint veins.

“The people,” you continued. “What do you see in them?”

He shifted his attention to the passersby. “People going to work.”

“How are they dressed?”

“Warmly.”

“What color are their clothes?”

“Dark. Are we at the point yet?”

“Almost.” You took a breath of your own. “Now, take all of those things together, and look back out the window again.”

He did.

Nothing had changed. His heart caught in his throat.

“It’s more now, isn’t it?”

He looked back at you.

You witnessed that mundane scene with the seeming awe of an acolyte before their god. It was as though you had never seen a street or a tree or the sun before, as though you would never see it again.

With a horrifying ache in his chest, he realized that he had never seen anything quite so beautiful or enviable as you in that moment. “So,” he asked again, voice tinged with an entirely unbecoming and uncharacteristic reverence, “what are you looking at?”

“I’m not looking at anything,” you replied. “I just remembered how lucky I am to be alive, here, with you.”

He wondered if you would mourn for his indifference like he would.

[pandapetals]

The Wedding

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

You and Logan get MARRIED! I know y'all been waiting for this one.

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

also thank you to @coocoocachewgotscrewed for the idea of logan keeping the pen reader gave him and using it to write his vows.

"It'll be a small wedding," Logan grumbled, scratching the back of his neck with that familiar, slightly awkward air he got whenever something made him uncomfortable. He stood in the middle of the living room, looking like a bear that had wandered into a tea party, completely out of place.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing up from the pile of bridal magazines scattered across the coffee table. "Small? Logan, there's at least a hundred people living at the mansion alone," you said, your voice somewhere between amused and exasperated. "It’s not exactly going to be 'small' with that kind of guest list."

Across from you, Jean nodded, sitting cross-legged on the couch with a wedding planning book perched in her lap. "My wedding had three hundred guests, remember Logan?" she chimed in helpfully, flipping through a page on flower arrangements.

"Our wedding," Scott corrected from the armchair beside her, not even looking up from the paper he was reading.

Logan groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Exactly why we should skip all this crap and just get hitched already," he muttered, his voice low and gruff.

You shot him a playful look, shaking your head. "What happened to 'you can do whatever you want, darlin'?" you asked, mimicking his gravelly voice with a teasing smile.

Logan’s mouth twitched, almost into a smile, but then his eyes flicked back to the growing mountain of wedding plans, suggestions from friends, and magazines full of over-the-top ideas. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he stood just a little too rigid like he was bracing for an attack.

Truth be told, you were feeling the weight of it too.

At first, you had been excited—three months of engagement bliss, giddy over every little detail. The idea of a big, beautiful wedding had seemed like a dream. But now? Now it felt overwhelming. Everyone had an opinion, from the color scheme to the type of cake to the seating arrangements. You loved your friends, but the constant suggestions had turned into something else, something bigger than you and Logan. It had started to feel like the wedding wasn’t really yours anymore.

Jean leaned in, holding up a sample invitation. "Oh, and I was thinking," she began, clearly not picking up on Logan’s discomfort. "You could have this gorgeous ice-blue theme with silver accents—it would match the winter season perfectly."

Logan shot you a look—one of those looks that said I’m two seconds away from walking out of here. You couldn’t blame him. The more Jean talked, the more you realized something had shifted inside you. Somewhere along the way, you’d gotten caught up in making the perfect day, and forgotten what this wedding was really about: you and Logan.

Not the flowers. Not the guest list. You two.

Logan cleared his throat, trying once more to gently steer the conversation. "Listen, all this sounds real nice," he said, his voice tight with barely restrained frustration, "but what if we just kept it simple? Y’know, courthouse, couple of rings, call it a day."

Jean blinked, clearly baffled. "A courthouse? Logan, this is your wedding! It’s supposed to be a special day, something beautiful."

You opened your mouth to agree with Jean, to defend the idea of having a "proper" wedding. But then, you looked at Logan again. His eyes—those deep, hazel eyes—were watching you closely like he was waiting for you to decide. Not just about the wedding, but about what you wanted, deep down.

Suddenly, it clicked. You realized that Logan was right. You didn’t need a grand affair. You didn’t need three hundred guests or ice-blue color scheme or a designer dress. You didn’t need all the noise and spectacle. What you needed—what you wanted —was something that felt like the two of you. Something real. Something simple.

You smiled softly, the decision made. "You know what?" you said, standing up from the couch and tossing the magazines aside. "I think Logan’s right."

Jean’s eyes widened. "Wait, what?"

Scott finally looked up from his paper, equally surprised.

Logan raised an eyebrow, his usual gruff skepticism tinged with curiosity. "Really?"

You nodded, crossing the room to stand in front of him, resting your hand on his arm. "Yeah," you said, your voice quieter now, more certain. "I don’t need the big wedding. I don’t need all the fuss. All I need is you. " You smiled up at him, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders as the words came out. "Let’s just get married. Just us."

For the first time in days, you saw Logan’s shoulders relax. He let out a low breath, his lips twitching into that half-smile that always made your heart skip a beat. "You sure?"

"Absolutely," you said, your hand slipping down to intertwine with his. "Let’s get hitched."

A week later, you found yourself standing outside the courthouse, the sun just beginning to set in the late afternoon sky, casting a warm glow over everything. It was quiet, just the way you wanted it. No crowd, no elaborate decorations, and no endless chatter. Just you and Logan, and the soft hum of the world around you.

You looked down at the simple dress you’d chosen—nothing fancy, just something that made you feel good, made you feel like you. Logan, dressed in his usual button-up, looked handsome in that effortlessly rugged way only he could pull off. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned at the top, a teasing glimpse of his chest visible, and his hair styled in those little tufts as always, the white streaks more visible. 

"Ready?" you asked, your heart fluttering in anticipation.

Logan’s eyes met yours, steady and calm. "More than ready."

As you both stepped inside, the courthouse was quiet. There was no fanfare, no grand entrance—just the two of you, walking hand in hand, a quiet sense of peace settling over the moment.

The ceremony itself was simple, just like you’d wanted until Logan surprised you. He cleared his throat, looking a little awkward as he reached into his jacket pocket.

"I, uh... I’ve got somethin’ for you," he muttered, his voice rough but filled with something soft underneath. From his pocket, he pulled out a pen. Not just any pen.

Your breath caught in your throat. It was your pen—the one you’d given him two years ago when he had started his first-day teaching history at Xavier’s. A "good luck" charm, you had called it, but it had become something meaningful to Logan.

You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes as Logan handed it to you with a small smile. From the same pocket, he pulled out a folded piece of paper, slightly crumpled, like it had been carried around for a while.

"I wrote somethin'," he said, his voice low as he unfolded the paper, his eyes flicking nervously to yours. "Figured you deserved more than just... y’know, me wingin’ it."

He cleared his throat, glancing down at the paper. Then, with that same rough tenderness that was so purely Logan, he began to read.

"I ain’t great with words, darlin'," he started, his voice softening. "But I figure you already know that. So, I’ll keep it simple. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I ain’t perfect... never will be. I swear to you, I’ll spend the rest of my life doin’ whatever it takes to make you happy, keepin’ you safe, and showin’ you that you’re loved. 'Cause you are, more than I ever thought I’d love someone."

By the time he finished, your vision was blurred with unshed tears. You didn’t need any more words. You didn’t need anything grand or fancy. In that quiet courthouse, with Logan standing before you, holding the pen you had given him long ago, you had everything you could ever want.

"Logan," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion, "I love you. I never thought I could be this happy, but every day with you... you show me something new. You make everything better."

He smiled then, a real, full smile that softened the lines of his face and reached his eyes—a rare sight, but one you cherished every time. He stepped closer, his hand warm and rough as he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch grounding you in the moment.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a low, steady rumble that sent warmth spreading through you, just like the way his presence always did.

You held each other's gaze as the quiet world around you seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you standing there. Together, you exchanged rings—simple gold bands that glinted in the soft light, but they felt like so much more.

Logan leaned in, his lips brushed yours, sealing the vows with a soft kiss. It was as steady and certain as the love you had found with him. It was simply perfect.

[qiqi-media]

Don't know if it's because of the new movie release but I've been seeing a lot more of descendants the og movies resurfacing on different social medias and the Audrey comments have started back up again. One in particular that I've never liked

"Why is she doing all of that over a high school break up?"

For starters Descendants was about teenagers, all of their relationships were high school relationships. The "true love" couple had their true love's kiss while they were both still in high school. So to refer to Audrey and Ben as a "high school" relationship that's purposely downplaying her feelings and their relationship. I get being confused because Descendants goes back and forth with the canon. At the end of D1 she was fine and in Wicked World her life didn't drastically change because of their breakup. But in D3 that is what happened, her life drastically changed and she was treated like shit.

She lost all of her friends "There's nothing to lose when you're lonely and friendless" & "Why is she here." There was no reason why that had to have happen, Audrey was never shown to be so terrible to the point where if she wasn't dating Ben that everyone had to abandon her. Especially in D1 her actions were no worse than Jane's and Jane still kept her friends and were friends with the VKs. Jane in my personal opinion was worse than Audrey, at least to the Vks in D1. Her worst crime was laughing at Jane's hair and I'm not understanding why that's unforgivable in comparison to Mal trying to manipulate her with said hair. Chad was even more social in Auradon but Audrey is completely shunned and for what? Because she's not dating Ben? People were straight up ignoring her when she spoke and in canon Audrey up until that point hadn't done anything so cruel to where that would make sense. She wasn't any snarkier than Chad or Jane on occasions and definitely not worse than things the Vks did. The only explanation we can come to is that when she wasn't Ben's girlfriend she didn't matter to people anymore.

That's not even addressing her shitty ass family, they treated her like dirt because she wasn't in line for the throne anymore. (those were never Audrey's intentions btw) Her cousin, her mother, her Grandma all acted like she was a failure because she wasn't with Ben and more specifically because she "lost" Ben to their Family's enemy. Like she had any choice in the matter, Ben didn't even have the choice of when and how they broke up. So if she couldn't turn to her friends or her family who did she have?? Nobody she was isolated and alone. Other adults? Look at Belle she talked shit about her too. She had Chad but because Audrey knew she couldn't return his feelings she stopped relying on him after a certain point.

All of this because she and Ben broke up, because she wasn't next in line to become Queen of Auradon. (That's another thing, her acknowledging that if she and Ben stayed together forever would end up with her being Queen isn't her being thirsty for the crown. It's her preparing for her future that, yes she was looking forward to but she wasn't thirsty to marry him because if she was, her family seemed more than open to an arranged marriage. But there was never one, they were simply boyfriend and girlfriend.)

She lost her life long best friend too: Ben. Even if they truly made up post D3 we know their relationship would never be the same.

So trying to act like Audrey had an entire breakdown over the simple fact of their high school relationship ending is false.

"How was she not supposed to tie her self worth in dating Ben when people started treating her like a waste of space when she wasn't with him?"

[bonbonshideout]

Ticci Toby headcanons

Pre-Slender

♤ He's clingy. If he likes someone or is even remotely comfortable, he would follow them around just to feel comfortable.

♡ He's... playful, he isn't the brightest, but he would try and play some pranks if he can, usually learn about you and see what can get you upset & use that on you.

◇ Mf got that crow brain. He would see anything shiny and take it. He's got a growing collection and even looks for things to give to his favorite people. Lyra originally gave him a box to store the items in, but it started growing a bit 'out of control', and so he has shelves and other boxes with random nick-nacks.

♧ His little cow? Lyra, 100%. When he was younger he had a lot to deal with and Lyra wasn't always able to be with him so she saved up some birthday money and bought him a cow plush, due to it being from his sister, he's kept it and carried it literally everywhere with him. Multiple rips and tears, but his mom always fixed it up for him. He loved it and would take to around as he grew older, though he didn't have it out in public like he did when he was younger.

♤ His hoodie is one of a kind and handmade. His mom was the one to have made it. Originally, he wanted a hoodie that was like any other, but he couldn't puck between a couple of them; his mom, in the end, decided to create a simple looking hoodie for him.

Post-Slender

♤ He doesn't remember much. Yeah, he might get occasional flashbacks, but they leave him confused. He wants to figure out what they mean but at the same time he's a bit scared of doing so.

♡ His hoodie? he loves it, covered in patches of different colors, or at least he tries to color match.

◇ He still has his cow, but he doesn't carry it around as much. He keeps it in a safe place; having a connection to it but not knowing its origins anymore. He baby's it occasionally when he does take it out of his little storage area. That thing has gone through way too much, put it out of its misery already.

♧ Lyra's spirit haunts him, but it's not supposed to be much of a tormentor; though he sees it that way, Lyra is trying to guide him in life. I believe the operator's doing some shit to his mind that's causing him to see Lyra's spirit as vengeful, or it's simply creating an image of Lyra and whispering into Toby's mind about he's at fault for everything.

♤ He's still got that crow brain, still finding things to give to people (Natalie) , a pretty rock, maybe a button, anything he finds, he takes it and saves them.

♡ He's strangely affectionate, he isn't the type to be overbearing, but he likes to hug Natalie whenever he can, usually she accepts them, but there are times where she isn't in a good mood and it upsets him a little— he gets over it quickly though.

◇ He's terrified of cars and probably motorcycles, too (blame Nat for that one). Occasionally, though, he is forced into either one due to Natalie for faster transportation. He hates it and curses her out through the whole ride, but he does see how convenient it is.

♧ In Spanish, there's a term for kids who don't know anything, the "no sabo" kid. He is that type of kid, but with German. He knows very little, and even then, he can't form proper sentences. He's trying to learn when he isn't busy murdering people or starting fires. Usually asking Natalie to help him out— even though she doesn't speak German— he just wants someone to practice it with.

♤ He HATES being seen as vulnerable or lesser than. He doesn't really know why to the full extent, but he does know that it just sucks. He wants people to know that he can do as much as anyone else can, heck, maybe more and better.

♡ I wanna say he had an ego, but it's more playful. He jokes about having a huge ego, but he could care less if 'someone offends him' (aside from the previous hc).

I feel like some of these collide with some headcanons a friend might have? idk, I honestly forgot his entire essay 💀

[musicalbl00m]

Comforting embraces

Summary: Something is off with you after you and the Winchester boys all split up for separate hunts. Sam is determined to find out what is wrong and comfort you.

Word count: 1.2k

Early seasons!Sam x reader

no use of y/n

Not beta-read

Something was off about you, Sam knew it for sure. You and the boys were supposed to split up for one hunt, all of you having found cases that seemed simple enough to do on your own. While you were a little younger than the brothers, you had just as much experience in the hunting fields. Knowing this, Sam was surprised when he saw your caller id popping up on his phone after he had just finished his own hunt. 

You were distressed, to say the least. Sam had never heard you so panicked before. Something was wrong, very wrong about your case.

He had driven to you as quickly as he could to burn the bones you had laid out on the shore, sitting neatly in a pile with matches next to it. But when he arrived, you weren't on the shore. He had screamed your name while burning them, and after a little while he found you trying to haul a body onto the shore. Your victim hadn't made it, and Sam could tell it hit you harder than it usually would

After he dropped you off at the motel he booked for the two of you, he decided he was going to try to cheer you up by getting you your favourite treat. He was only gone for ten minutes, but when he came back he found you sitting on one of the beds, completely spaced out.

You hadn’t heard the door opening, nor the heavy footsteps of Sam placing the food on the table and walking over to you. Your mind was restless, and Sam could tell. 

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” He asked you, but there was no response. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on your shoulder. That seemed to snap you out of your trance.

“Hi there.” He said softly, giving you a gentle smile as he crouched in front of you to look at your face.

“Are you alright, Sweetheart? You seemed spaced out.” Worry laced his voice as he asked you, and he gently took your hands in his.

Sweetheart.

He always called you that. 

Both the Winchester boys knew you preferred to be called a nickname, as you’d never really got attached and identified yourself with your birth name. To Dean, you were Chipmunk. He gave that to you because he said you were ‘skittish, and you liked salty little snacks.’ He loved seeing your annoyed expression when he called you that, mostly because he knew that deep down, you loved the nickname.

But to Sam, you were always Sweetheart. 

The nickname always made your heart race. You and Sam had always been a little more close than you and Dean. There seemed to be a tension between the two of you that neither dared to venture beyond. 

After you realise Sam asked you a question, you softly shrug, looking down at his hands holding yours. 

“I don't know, Sam.” You whisper.

He looked at you for a little bit, unsure of how to comfort you best. He slowly lets go of your hands, sitting beside you and opening his arms, offering you a hug with a gentle smile. He knew you were affectionate, and lord knows sometimes you two were a little too close to be just friends.

You hesitate for a second before leaning into his embrace, your arms snaking around his waist and stuffing your face into his chest. He tries to gently angle your body to face him a little more, and you slowly pull one of your legs onto the bed to place over his lap. His hands gently stroke your hair, before soothingly rubbing your back. 

“What’s wrong, Sweetie?” He whispers to you, his face next to your ears as he softly rests his head against yours. 

You stay silent for a couple of seconds. Slowly but surely, Sam could feel your body start to tremble in his embrace as sobs start to fall from your lips.

“She looked so much like her, Sam.” he could hear you whisper against his chest, your face still hidden there.

“Look at me, Sweetheart.” He says gently, trying to lift your head up so he could look at you. 

“Tell me what’s going on.” 

He’s using that tone that makes you completely melt, some kind of mix of gentle caring and persuasion. It has you drying your eyes to look at him, but not without some soft sniff still coming from you.

“The victim, she… she looked so much like my mom, Sam. It was terrifying.” There was a small break in your voice, and it made Sam want to hide you in his embrace and keep you safe from the world forever. 

He knew what happened to your mom, The accident with a spirit when you were only 16. You had never said it out loud, but he knew that after all of these years, you still blamed yourself. You still thought it was your fault that you couldn’t save her, even though you were a child. You had grown up way too quickly, finding out about the supernatural only a year before your mother’s death. You had always been far too mature for your age, but the responsibility of being a hunter made it all much worse. 

He knew all too well what could happen to a person when they were given that responsibility too young. He saw what it did to his brother Dean, and it broke his heart to know that the same happened to you. 

One of the hands that was rubbing your back moves up to  stroke your hair, and he looks at you with a sad smile. 

“Sweetie, you know it’s not your fault. You did what you could for the victim, just as you did what you could for your mom. You can't blame yourself forever.” He says softly, his tone nothing but sweet and sincere.

“I know, i just… if i had just hadn't been so stupid, maybe i could have saved her.” You say, your voice still sounding a bit distressed.

“Hey, Look me in the eyes.” He tells you, smiling at you once you do.

“I’ve never met a more caring, hardworking and kinder soul than you. It wasn't your fault, you were a child. You shouldn't have had the responsibility of protecting your mom from all of this, and you shouldn't put yourself down because of what happened.” 

You can’t help but smile at his words, the smile on his face taking some of the stress from your body. Deep down, you knew he was right. You knew that you shouldn't have to blame yourself for your mother’s death, but you were alone at such a young age that you didn't have time to process it. 

“You know, I have an offer that might cheer you up.” He says to you softly, cradling your cheek. “I bought you your favourite, how about you go eat and we cuddle for a bit afterwards, okay?” he asks you, giving you those beautiful puppy dog eyes of his.

“I like the sound of that.” You say as you stand up from the hug, wiping your eyes and grabbing the food. 

The rest of the evening is spent eating food in bed with Sam, cuddled up against each other. That night, you fall asleep in the arms of the man you love, and Sam gets to admire the person he loves the most in the world. Not that he would ever tell Dean that.

[bootybumper808]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 SUNNY DAYS

YES, MY HEART IT’S FULL OF YOUR SMILE, YEAH.

denji / fem!reader (modern au drabble)

SYNOPSIS: one school morning, you were dozing off and mere inches away from falling asleep. The lack of sleep from last night was at fault. You could hardly keep your eyes open. That was until your desk neighbor tapped your shoulder and handed you a note.

—YOUR TEACHER WAS PROBABLY talking about something important or so. Not like you were listening. Well, you really couldn’t with the war you were fighting. A fierce battle against fatigue and shame.

One side wanted a well deserved rest after pulling an accidental all nighter whilst the opposing side refused to as your classmates would be well aware of how tired you were.

You’d feel even more shameful if you fell asleep and fell off your chair or slept talk. Your average reputation you tried hard to uphold would immediately be replaced by ‘girl who talks to herself in her sleep’ or whatever the hell these psychos at school would come up with.

If the person in front of you turned around, they’d probably think you’re having a seizure. You’re head would slightly fall limp until you’d knock yourself conscious and your eyes were struggling to even stay open for a simple second.

This was an actual hell. Maybe you shouldn’t have stayed up all night. What were you even doing? Man, you can’t even think properly.

All you could hope was that class ended soon so you could walk around to waken up.

The dread lasted for a few more minutes until the person who sat next to you tapped your shoulder and whispered your name soon after, catching your attention.

“This is for you.” She handed you a folded note with haste, seeming worried that she’d get caught by the teacher. You were grateful for the gesture as it woke you up from being half asleep but now you were confused.

A puzzled look manifested on your facial features as you stared down at the folded paper. On the side that faced up was written, ‘open!!!! [Name] only!!! fartbombing any1else who does!!!!!’

The writing was actually kinda really messy, took you a bit to decipher it. When you did you found it odd. Who uses fart bombs as a threat? It sounded stupid and childish.

…On second thought, it might actually be a really good threat. Especially if the fart stinks really bad. It could probably kill a person. Honestly, way better than literal bombs. At least it won’t destroy buildings.

You had to resist a chuckle before you unfolded the paper. Revealing even more writing. It was just as bad as the previous writing if not worse. Whoever was writing this needed serious help because you can not read it for the life of you.

It just looked like scribbles with the exception of a couple letters. The spelling was kinda bad too. Your exhaustion from earlier was slowly returning the more you stared at the paper which did not help.

A couple times passed but you couldn’t tell how much. With whatever time you spent, you managed to figure it out. ‘go owt wit me plez! b my gurlfrend?’

Below it was two choices, yes and xtra mega yes (said letter for letter—mind you), with an empty box below for you to check. Little doodles were all around the paper such as a couple doggies, hearts, and a stickman with heart eyes.

It was funny. And cute. You couldn’t lie about that. But how were you supposed to answer without knowing who it was from? Your eyes searched all over the side of the paper that faced you but nothing.

You tried the other side and there it was. In tiny little letters. The name Denji. You’d like to say you knew him well. You’d get grouped together often in team projects and exchanged numbers even, which is how you became friends.

He was easy to talk to and had humor. He was really nice too, willing to do almost anything you’d ask for… you barely did though. You felt to bad making someone do work for you.

His sweet personality overtime made your mind race at night. His smile almost made your heart break your ribcage. Overall, you liked him back. Obviously.

How did you not recognize his writing earlier? It’s easy to tell. Unconsciously, the corners of your lips lifted, forming a nice little smile. You could feel your heart pick up its beat and all of a sudden, all your fatigue was gone. In replacement, you felt happy and a little nervous.

For what? You didn’t even know. You picked up your pencil and checked off the second yes. He didn’t even give you an option to reject. Not like you would have anyway.

Folding it back up, you tapped the girl who had handed you the note. “Thanks, could you pass it back? Please?” You spoke in a hushed tone, careful to not alert the teacher.

She nodded and turned to the person behind her which created a sort of chain. You glanced back to the desk where Denji sat, only to be met with his own eyes that stared back. A light pink dusted his cheeks and you smiled even wider, an act he returned before you faced forward.

You waited with an anxious heart for the moment the paper would reach the owner. You wished you sat in the back too so you could see his reaction.

The only indication you got was a quiet, “yes!” and a thud that soon followed after, causing practically the whole class and the teacher to turn towards him.

You turned also, softly laughing with your hand covering your mouth as he rubbed his elbow with a pained expression. Did he hit it on the table? Denji was quick to recover and apologized to the class before meeting your eyes with a shy smile you absolutely adored.

NOTE : yall this is my apology for not updating apple cider ☠️ literally im so brain dead i cant think of anything 😭🙏. + I DONT GIVE A FAWK THAT DENJI IS SUPER EXTRA OUT OF CHARACTER I MADE THIS ON A WIM HAVE MERCYYYY 💔… I SWEAR ILL TRY TO GET SUM OUT THIS WEEK

[kaiser1ns]

love it when my fellow pals make deals with humankind. you are the cutest when it comes to temptations, saying how you won't give in but guess what ... you do give in and regret it later! well, i know dear ol' endo likes to make his deals not only to satisfy himself but also to help people like you see things from a different angle. i wish you the best of luck, my little puppet! oh, send him greetings from me when you see him, and now enjoy making deals with the devil.

𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗻!𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗼 𝘆𝗮𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗼 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

DEVIL ALWAYS TEMPTINGㄑword count :: 9669 ▿ does it matter that the boy you appeared with at the party to make your ex jealous, is actually a demon hungry for deals and human souls. that sounds fun, right?

CHOOSE ANOTHER DIMENSION IN WEIRDMAGEDDON

Friday nights were supposed to be fun and relaxing, you were supposed to be with your boyfriend sitting in front of a mirror, laughing and taking ridiculous pictures as you tried Halloween costumes together. He’d tease you about the silliest ideas you thought of like dressing up as peanut butter and jelly, or Sulley Sullivan and Mike Wazovski. You could still remember how his face lit up with that precious smile when he agreed to be a pirate and you as a siren. But tonight, you were the one drowning in tears of the deep ocean called love.

Instead of brightness and laughter, there was darkness and silence. The only light thing in your room came from the dim glow of your phone screen, showing how late it was, as you lay there on the soft mattress and now the weight of your thoughts pressed you down as hot tears escaped again. You wanted to stop crying, you were hurt and you couldn't open your eyes, you didn't even want to look at yourself knowing how miserable and pathetic you were right now.

Two weeks ago, Umemiya Hajime had ripped your heart from your body with a simple break-up and his reasoning was I’m sorry…I love you but I don’t feel the same anymore. It’s better to end this. We can always be friends, right? Be friends your ass, how can you still be something after everything that happened, after he broke up with you out of nowhere. The big party you'd been looking forward to was creeping up, and you had to show up … with a date. That was the worst part, you had to show up eventually if not with him at least with your friends. They were kind enough and tried to suggest people, but it felt forced and awkward. No one seemed to make a move on you, or they didn’t want to be your “pity date”.

And why would they? You were the one Hajime had dumped, the girl who wasn’t part of the perfect couple anymore. The butterflies were long gone and the pit in your stomach deepened every time you thought about that party, about him.

A big trash bag sat in the corner of your room, filled with reminders of the love that had once been around. Everything he had ever given you—every piece of clothing he bought because he thought you would look so cute, stuffed animals and merchandise, all inside ready to be thrown away. It hurt more than you wanted to admit. It meant so much to you, but you don’t need to keep memories from the past that will only add to this sorrow, and you knew better than to not dwell on the past for too long.

You could almost hear your friends’ voices amidst the chaos in your head telling you to get up, to find someone to go with. They said it was supposed to be fun, but fun was the last thing you wanted to experience as you had no date to go with. No one you knew wanted to go with you anymore because most of the boys you hung out with were Hajime’s friends. So what now? Would you go alone or just stay home? Finding some stranger to be your date seemed equally painful — pathetic even. You don’t know which is worse … going alone or pretending everything is okay. Sighing and letting the tears fall now, sinking deeper into the dark, suffocating from the emptiness as you closed your eyes, hoping that when you opened them, things would be different. But you knew they wouldn’t.

“I’m sick and tired of this.” but you couldn't just snap your fingers and be fine, it just had to happen, unfortunately in the most absurd way. "I hate men." Reaching for your phone you took it as the bright light immediately flashed before your eyes, and it took a few seconds to get used to it. What else could you do now besides watching videos on TikTok and Instagram? As quickly as you open the apps you immediately close them. What on earth is this algorithm showing you tarot readings, heartbroken quotes, and whatnot?

Ugh ... As if the universe wasn’t already cruel enough. You sat up, staring at the ceiling. If only there were a way to escape all of this sadness. Suddenly your phone buzzed because you forgot to turn it off, and a video popped up on the screen, grabbing your attention. It was some girl with bright eyes and a confident smile, talking about shifting and manifesting your desires. It sounded like another piece of nonsense you had seen a hundred times before, but something about the way she explained everything made you watch it till the end.

“But please be careful, okay guys?” she warned, her voice more serious, “If you see a tall black figure, it’s said to be the devil. He’ll want to make a deal with you. Do not look at him and run away. Trust no one.” She laughed softly at the end, maybe to make the viewers less scared by the information she just dropped. But you know what they say curiosity killed the cat. Shifting? Manifesting? A way to control your mind and your reality? You’d heard crazier things. Right now though, you were desperate and had nothing better to do. What else did you have to lose?

Wiping your face from the last tears, you took a deep breath and followed her instructions. Slowly, you calmed yourself, your breathing became even as you focused on the mental images she described. First came the colors—shimmering blue hues like the ocean, soft pink like the cherry blossom, and glowing golds. Then, shapes, doors, corridors, and rooms that were upside down twisted in the most impossibly and inexplicably ways. 

No, wait. You were dreaming. Your mind was creating all of this. It felt strangely lucid, as if you were half awake, half asleep in this vivid and colorful dream world. The corridors around you stretched out, leading to endless doors, each different from the last. But one door stood out from the rest. It was black, with tints of teal and all kinds of symbols drawn—triangles, stars, Roman numerals—it was like the graffiti that you see in town every day.

Without thinking, you walked towards it, your hand reaching before your mind could catch up. It’s just a dream, right? Nothing can hurt you here.

The door cracked open, revealing a large living room. The walls were adorned with paintings, most abstract as they gave more life to the black and white furniture. A massive couch sat in the center, inviting but oddly out of place. You stepped inside, scanning the room and on the nearby table, papers were scattered everywhere, filled with drawings. Picking one up, noticing how detailed it was. A wolf and a cannon and the word Frank stylized under it. Every line and stroke was done to its perfection, maybe the artist poured their soul into the work.

But just as you were about to check another one, something snatched the paper from your hand. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked up. A big mistake.

There it was. The black figure.

It loomed over you, tall and shadowy, no face or nothing. Its form is undefined and menacing. You couldn’t make out a face, the presence was enough to freeze you in place. Panic made its way through you and you bolted towards the door. Run. You have to run and get out of this place. Oh, no. The door is locked and it doesn’t want to open, no matter how hard you pull the handle. This is just your dream. You can change it. You can control it. 

Stopping dead in your tracks, closing your eyes. A big, fluffy cat, you thought. That’s what it should turn into. Something harmless. 

When you opened your eyes, the black figure hadn’t turned into a cat. Instead, standing where the shadow had been was a boy. He looked about your age, his skin covered in tattoos—the same symbols that are drawn on the door, now etched across his arms, neck, and even fingers. His black curly hair fell slightly into his eyes, and he wore a sleeveless black tank top, a checkered jacket thrown over his shoulder, and dark pants. He looked completely normal, and even reminded you of the famous singer you adored.

“It's rude to come uninvited, you know?” he didn’t even look at you as he organized the drawings, which you assume were his. “It’s even more rude to stare at someone. Cat got your tongue, doll? You don’t like it here?”

You swallowed hard when you heard his voice. It was calm but had that teasing tone, almost mocking you in some way but at the same time it was nice, it wasn’t impolite. You wondered what to say, how to answer this mysterious person, and all that came out was a weak whisper. “I… I didn’t mean to …”

He chuckled slightly, leaving the stacked papers on the table as he looked over at you and you closed your eyes. Do not look him in the eyes, do not open them at any cost. The black-haired male raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Don’t be shy now. I was thinking of making changes to this place anyway. Do you have suggestions?” His eyes were sharp, piercing through the haze of your dream but you stayed quiet, nails digging into the palms of your hands. “What a pretty and sweet thing. Come one, open your eyes. I don’t bite…” Your heart pounded in your chest when you felt fingers under your chin tilting your head up. “Unless you want me to.”

You realized that, somehow, this boy wasn’t just a figment of your imagination. He was and felt very much real. He turned your head slightly, you couldn't see him but you could feel his eyes on you, lingering, waiting. What’s happening? You wanted to look, you wanted to see him again. You wanted to ... Then why don't you do it? It's just a fantasy, a dream. There is no logical explanation for what we dream, it just happens. 

You were imagining all sorts of horrors the boy could unleash, but instead of something terrible, you were met with an unexpected warmth. Slowly, almost unwillingly, you peeked through your lashes. There he was. Not menacing or cruel, but sweet. Warm. His blueish-teal eyes were soft as they locked onto yours, the light in the room reflected in them. His features were sharp, but not harsh, with the kind of effortless charm, the perfect balance between beauty and mystery that made your heart about to burst out of your chest. Is this the man of my dreams? You weren’t sure, but the longer you stared, the more your world started to turn upside-down, the more you felt the dizziness.

“Hi,” he finally said, his warm smile morphing into a devilish grin, and your stomach dropped. “Took you long enough, angel. Making eye contact is important when you meet new people.” He tilted your chin up with his hand, making sure your gaze stayed on him before letting go, running his fingers through his tousled black hair as he casually walked to the couch.

He sat down with his legs straddled, sinking into the cushions like he owned the place, his confidence radiating. With a lazy wave of his hand, he motioned for you to come closer. But you stayed pressed against the door, unable to just go to him like you were the best of friends.

“Who are you?” you blurted out, voice shaky. Your back stayed glued to the door, not ready to take any steps forward just yet. “And why are you in my dream?”

For a moment, his expression shifted. It wasn’t a surprise, more like he was amused as if he expected you to ask this but still found it entertaining. He raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the couch.

“Who am I?” he echoed, tapping his chin like he was deep in thought. “Well, I’m a single lady waiting for someone to put a ring on my finger.” You blinked, staring at him in confusion. Was that supposed to be funny? He looked at you, expecting a reaction, but you just gave him a blank stare. 

“Not funny?” He tilted his head, his grin faltering. You shook your head, still baffled. The corner of his mouth twitched as if suppressing a laugh, and then he shrugged it off. With a snap of his fingers, the click echoing in the quiet room, you were no longer by the door. You were sitting right next to him. "I'm many things, I can't tell you exactly who I am." he wrapped his arm around you pulling you closer to him, and you felt the warmth of his body.

Every time you blinked different types of food and drinks appeared on the table in front of you. You were very confused and still had no answers to your questions. It's just a dream, you tried to convince yourself, but you couldn't concentrate with the stranger’s hand on your shoulder. "And can I know your name so that I can take your sou–” he paused before clearing his throat and giving you a slight squeeze. “I mean soup recipe! I have been dying to try new things, so hopefully you can help me out.”

You glanced at the table again, more confused than ever. Soup recipes? This is ridiculous. But… maybe ridiculous was exactly what you needed right now. Slowly, you began to relax, letting the strangeness of the situation wash over you. Nothing bad can happen. It’s just a dream.

“I’m Y/N,” you said, testing how it felt to reveal something so simple. “And… well, is that even the right thing to tell someone new?”

“Shoot,” he replied, not missing a thing as he casually got a piece of cake from one of the plates. He took a bite, chewed a little loud, then held the fork towards you, offering a taste. You hesitated but then leaned in, accepting the bite. The cake melted in your mouth, unexpectedly delicious. I will do it, I guess? It wasn’t that bad, free food and a hot stranger. It was nice indeed.

You swallowed, and before you could stop yourself, the words came tumbling out. “So… my boyfriend, well, now ex broke up with me. And I just feel so… ugh!” You groaned, waving your hands in frustration. “I’m sad and angry and… just everything. He lost feelings? Like, what does that even mean?!”

His eyes widened, and leaning in slightly. “No way!” he gasped, playing into your exasperation as he talked with a full mouth. “Is he for real?”

“Yes!” you blurted, grateful for his dramatic reactions. “For real! He said he lost feelings out of nowhere and just ended things. It’s like I don’t even know what I did wrong! How do you just lose feelings like that?”

He made a face, shaking his head. “Do you want him to lose his mouth so he can stop with the bullshit?” You blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion, though there was a part of you—maybe a very small, vengeful part that found the idea almost tempting. “No, I mean… is that even possible?” you asked, your curiosity rising despite yourself.

He grinned, leaning back into the couch now drinking from a cup that you were not sure if it was a real skull or not.  “Sweetheart, look around you. Everything is possible.”

You took a breath, looking around at the room that constantly shifted and changed with every blink of your eyes. He wasn’t wrong. Everything here feels possible. You shook your head lightly, laughing at the absurdity of it all.

“So…” you began, narrowing your eyes slightly. “If everything’s possible, does that mean you can finally tell me who you are?” You leaned in, feeling more comfortable now. “It’s only fair, right? Sharing is caring.”

He chuckled softly, his gaze flickering with that same mystery. “Fair enough.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at you and suddenly the atmosphere changed, you could feel the tension. “But where’s the fun in giving away all my secrets so soon?” Glancing at you again, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe you’ll figure it out. Or maybe…” He paused, his voice lowering into something more suggestive and dangerous, “I’ll tell you when I’m ready. Either way, angel, you’re in for a ride.”

Was this boy real? Or was he just another part of this wild, impossible dream?

But for now, you didn’t care. Something about him made you want to stay in this dream, even if just for a little longer. You trusted him, but at the same time, would you really trust someone who doesn't exist? They say that a person you don't know, but just passed by can appear in your dreams. It must be that, but why was it all so ... real? His touches, the taste of food, reactions, and feelings. 

“You’re no fun,” you teased, rolling your eyes as you reached for another bite of the various cakes displayed on the table. But before you could take it, he laughed and it wasn’t a genuine and comforting, more like a mocking laugh. “We’ll see about that pretty soon,” he said, his grin widening. 

Suddenly, everything vanished. The food, the room, him…all of it blinked out of existence in an instant. You gasped, finding yourself surrounded by pitch-black darkness. There was nothing but silence, your own breath echoing in your ears. Where did he go? As you stood there, frozen in time and nothingness, trying to make sense of it all.

But then, just as quickly as the darkness came, you blinked and opened your eyes—this time, for real. Your room greeted you with its familiar shadows and the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains and shining upon the many posters of your favorite band on the walls. You were back in bed, breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady yourself. Sweat clung to your skin, your hands trembling slightly.

It was just a dream. Nothing more, you told yourself. You inhaled deeply, letting the cool air calm your nerves. It felt so real, but it wasn’t. It couldn’t have been, you wanted it to be. The nameless boy who gave you the attention and comfort you sought and longed for.

You shifted under the covers, pulling the fluffy blanket closer to your body, sinking into its warmth. The tension began to go away as you reassured yourself again. Just a dream. A strange one, but still… just a dream. Relaxing fully, you let your eyelids grow heavy, your mind slowly drifting off once more, feeling peaceful and safe in your own world.

What you didn’t know, however, was that you weren’t alone.

As you slipped into a deep slumber, a presence quietly joined you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close into a snug embrace. You felt the warmth against your back, but it was subtle, comforting enough that it blended into the haze of sleep. Fingers gently traced through your hair, playing with the strands, and a soft whisper tickled your ear.

“Good night, doll.” the familiar voice murmured, but you didn't hear or feel him because he was no longer a fragment of your imagination, but a real person...at least for what he would present himself to be.

And then you drifted off into the deepest, most relaxed sleep you’d had in weeks, unaware that the stranger from your dream had followed you into your reality.

The next morning, the first thing you felt was warmth—an unusual, comforting heat that made you snuggle deeper into your blankets. Your face nuzzled against something soft but firm, and without thinking, you wrapped your arms around it, sighing contentedly. You had no intention of waking up. It’s Saturday, no need to rush.

"Good morning, sunshine." the voice was sweet and teasing, as you let out a sleepy groan, burying your face further into what you assumed was your favorite plushie. “Mmm, five more minutes…” you muttered, your voice muffled by the warmth. You squeezed tighter, expecting to feel the familiar softness of your stuffed animal. But instead, your fingers brushed against something warmer, something that wasn’t soft cotton or fabric—skin.

Your eyes shot open, heart pounding as you jolted upright, realizing that what you were holding wasn’t a plushie but a human body. You gasped, scrambling back and tumbling off your bed with a loud thud on the cold ground, trying to piece together what was happening.

A head poked out from the top of the bed, black curls and teal eyes sparkling with nothing but playfulness. It was him—the boy from your dream last night, the same one you were sure had only existed in your imagination. But now he was, in your bed, looking down at you with that familiar devilish grin.

“I thought I was supposed to fall for you,” he said, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “But apparently, the roles are reversed.” He chuckled softly, clearly enjoying your reactions and how he could smell the fear and panic. Your heart raced in your chest as you opened your mouth to scream, but before you could make a sound, he snapped his fingers. Instantly, your voice was gone, leaving you mute. You clutched your throat in horror, your mouth still wide open, but no sound came out. You tried again—nothing.

He leaned over the side of the bed, looking down at you with a smug expression. “Be quiet now, angel,” he said, his voice low and calm. “I don’t want you screaming…not yet.”

Your mind raced, thoughts going from point A to point Z. Who is he? How is he here? What is he? You crawled backward, pressing yourself against the wall, eyes wide with fear. He watched you, his head tilted slightly, clearly enjoying your reaction because to him this was just another game with humankind. He loved it when they showed fear, how afraid a person can become when they see him out of nowhere. It was priceless, the reactions and the emotions. You should see your face, he can’t stop staring at it.

"I know you have questions," he said casually, stretching his arms as if waking up from a peaceful nap. "But we'll get to that in a moment." He paused, looking around the room and how you decorated it, he will take some inspiration to his own if you don't mind. "First, let's make sure you didn’t hurt yourself with that fall, okay?"

With another snap of his fingers, you felt your body lighten. The fear that had gripped your chest was starting to leave, and though you still couldn’t speak, the panic was slowly being replaced by confusion—and maybe curiosity. You looked at him, trying to make sense of everything, but nothing added up.

"Better?" he asked, leaning back on his elbows, clearly far too comfortable in your bed. Managing to nod slightly, though your mind was still racing from the supposed dream to this pleasant morning surprise. Just what exactly was going on?

"Good. Now, let’s have a little chat, shall we?" he said, flashing you that grin again. You stood up and didn't sit on the bed next to him, but on the chair in front of your desk, pointing to your mouth, showing him that you really can't talk “Oh, yes. Sorry, doll.”

Watching him move around your room as if he belonged there. Every gesture, every glance he gave you made the air in the room feel heavier. His presence was suffocating, yet alluring in a way you couldn’t explain. He walked like he had always been there, but when he turned to look at you, it was as if he already knew what you were thinking—like he had known you for far longer than just this dream.

"So you want to make that jerk jealous, right?" he asked, his voice casual but sharp enough to pierce through your thoughts. You didn't answer right away, instead staring down at your hands as you played with your fingers.  “Eyes up here, darling,” he commanded, and despite not wanting to, your gaze lifted to meet his. It felt unnatural like some kind of spell was pulling you in, forcing you to obey. The moment your eyes locked with his, you felt that strange magnetic pull again, something dark yet engaging about him.

“I do… yes,” you finally answered, your voice quieter than you intended, because something was unsettling about how easily he was reading you, how he seemed to know your desires before you even thought about voicing them.

"And you want me to help you with that," he continued, circling you like a predator eyeing its prey, his smirk never faltering. "But, of course, you know that I’ll want something in return." His tone was teasing, yet you could sense the serious undertone that followed.  You stared at him, swallowing hard. “My soul right?” you asked, knowing full well who he was by now—though you were still processing the absurdity of it. Making a deal with the devil was a gamble and usually, the mortals always lose.

"Straight to the point. I like that. A bit impatient, but we’ll work on that." He chuckled, his fingers trailing over the objects in your room touching every piece of your life. His eyes flicked over to your wall, landing on a particular poster. It was of a musician you had a bit of an obsession with—tattoos, piercing on his eyebrow and mouth, the typical bad-boy image.

“The dude with the tattoo sleeve on the poster. You like him, huh?” he asked, turning his gaze back to you. Your face heated, embarrassment rushing over you. It was awkward enough to have a stranger in your room, but a boy commenting on your obsessions? That was a whole new level of awkwardness.

“Yeah, but what about it? You think you can pull off looking like him or something?” you fired back, your tone slightly defensive as you crossed your arms.

His grin grew wider, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Even better, sweets. Even better.” And with a snap of his fingers, you found yourself pressed against the wall, his body close, caging you in. Your heart raced as you stared up at him, your mind spinning at how effortlessly he had shifted reality.

“Let’s make a deal,” he whispered, his eyes flashing a deep, unnatural black, and for the first time, you noticed the small horns beginning to grow from his head. A black tail curled around your leg, sending a chill through your body. “I’ll be your boyfriend for the party, and you…” He leaned in, so close you could feel his breath ghosting over your lips. “You’ll pay me back when the time comes. Don’t worry about it.”

You were both stunned and terrified, his presence overwhelming as his words echoed in your mind. Was this even real? Could you trust him? The truth was, you knew the answer already. You couldn’t trust the devil. But the temptation was there, and it made you desperate to unfold it and take it.

“How can I trust you?” you whispered, your voice shaking. His head rested on your shoulder as he chuckled softly against your skin, the vibration making goosebumps appear as you tensed at his sudden physical affection.

“My little puppet… wait, that’s not my line,” he murmured, the grin evident in his tone as he lifted his head to meet your eyes again. “My sweet doll, I can do things you wouldn’t even dream of. With a snap of my fingers, I can teleport you to the future, change the present, twist the past. I can give you everything you want.” His words were hypnotic, each syllable wrapping around your thoughts, making you wonder—what if?

It was true, everything about him screamed power. And you knew you deserved better than what your ex had given you. But this? Making a deal with the devil himself?

"You know you deserve better than that scumbag," he said, his hand grazing your cheek. "So, my offer stands—I’ll be your date to the party, and when the time comes, you’ll pay me back. Simple as that." His eyes glowed as he leaned closer, the danger in his smile was more than just a warning.

You took a shaky breath, trying to think rationally, but it was hard with him so close, his offer so tempting. "You know about the party? How?"

"I told you, I know everything." He stepped back slightly, giving you room to breathe as a swirl of blue flames danced in his hand. His grin widened as if he could sense the battle raging inside you. He stretched out his hand, the flames flickering and welcoming you.

“Deal or not?” He needed to convince you because you were perfect and he loved when girls turned up to him for help, especially with their love lives. But the thing is you never searched for him, you just found him on accident and that to him was something new. This never happened before, he was always summoned but seeing how scared to how comfortable you could get with him in seconds ... He wanted to have you all for himself.

You stared at his hand, the weight of your decision pressing down on you. This was a perfect opportunity, but was it right? You wanted to show up with a date, and you did want to take revenge. But you have morals, at least you thought you did. If Umemiya can't love and satisfy you then another man will. And yet…what would the cost be?

But before you could stop yourself, your hand was in his, shaking it.

"Endo Yamato, pleased to date you," he said with a sly grin. The blue flames also engulfed your arm and you expected them to burn you, but they were surprisingly warm and didn't cause any pain. Looking around you saw most of the objects were in the air, you were also levitating until the flames disappeared and everything fell into place.

"Y/N is everything alright?" your mother's voice echoed as you heard the footsteps approaching. Still holding his hand and panicked because, in a few seconds, your mother would see you with a strange guy in your room. What would she think, finding you and him? Surely, she’d freak out. 

"I-I..." you looked at Endo expecting him to help you but he just grinned, clearly enjoying the chaos, making you sit back down on the bed as if nothing had happened. He, however, took a seat at your desk, turning on your computer and launching a random game as if he’d done this a thousand times before. It was disturbingly domestic like you were truly a couple who had just spent the night together again.

The door opened, and instead of the explosion of anger you expected, your mother greeted you with a warm smile. She walked in with a plate of cake. "Oh, Yamato! What a pleasant surprise, I didn’t know you were staying over." She didn’t even blink at his presence, as if he had always been a part of your life.

Your heart nearly stopped. How did she know him? You stared at her, mouth hanging open, while Endo merely smiled, leaning back in the chair with waving his hand, pausing the game he finished in milliseconds, and it took you a whole week to do it.

"Good morning, ma’am! Y/N told me you make the best cake. Figured I'd stay and have some," he said, and you could almost hear the teasing in his voice. Your mother chuckled, completely unfazed. "Well, I’ll get another plate for you then. I’ll be right back." She turned and left the room, leaving you in a dead silence.

The door clicked shut, and you quickly turned to him, eyes wide. “What the hell just happened?”

Endo didn’t look concerned. If anything, he looked pleased with himself. "Relax, sweetheart. I just adjusted things a little. In your parents’ minds, I’m your new boyfriend. They know me, they like me. I even got your mom to bake me a cake. Now that is what I call power." He winked, leaning forward in the chair.

"You… you messed with their minds?" you stammered, scared of how much he messed up with their minds and you hope he only did that and nothing else.

"Yeah.." He stretched his arms lazily getting up from the chair. "Now I exist to them. To everyone who matters, I’m your charming boyfriend, Yamato. And no one will think twice about us going out together or hanging around. I made myself part of your world."

You sat there, heart racing, trying to process it. It felt like you were in some type of movie, in Wonderland but after everything else—the dreams, the flames, the deal—it was hard to deny. He really was in your life now. And worse? He was making himself comfortable.

"So," he continued, his eyes sparkling with what you want to think of was the life he took from you, "how about we go shopping for those Halloween costumes? I want to make sure we’re the best-looking couple at this party."

You blinked, trying to shake off the lingering shock. “Costumes? Already?” He grinned, standing up from the desk. "Why not? You want to look perfect, right? And I’ll be the perfect date. Trust me." You hesitated, but part of you, maybe the reckless part, was curious. This strange, devilish boy had thrown your life into chaos, but he offered something hard to resist: a way to take control, to show up at the party with someone who’d make your ex regret everything.

"Fine," you muttered. "But, I need to get dressed first."

"Sure," he said, not moving. Instead, he leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, and didn’t mind if you changed in front of him. But you did mind because you wanted your privacy, at least whatever you can call alone time now.

"Please get out!" you repeated, voice more forceful this time, pulling your shirt halfway up your stomach before realizing he wasn’t leaving. His gaze lingered, his lips curling into a smirk. He was like a snake, a beautiful but venomous snake ready to strike you down anytime. "Why? You’re my girlfriend now. You shouldn’t be shy around me," he teased, his eyes trailing down to where your skin was exposed. The way he said it, so matter-of-factly, made your stomach flip.

You flushed, face hot with embarrassment and frustration. Grabbing him by the sleeve of his jacket, you marched him toward the door. “Go eat some cake while I’m getting ready,” you muttered, pushing him out. Endo chuckled, hands raised in surrender. “Alright, alright. But don’t take too long, doll. We’ve got a date to plan.” He shot you a wink before disappearing down the hall.

You closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a deep breath. What have I gotten myself into? You couldn’t deny the thrill, but the danger was just as real. Endo Yamato wasn’t just some ordinary guy—he was trouble in every sense of the word. And now, he was your devilishly charming boyfriend.

Was this the biggest mistake of your life? Maybe. But there was no going back now. With one final look in the mirror, you shook off the nerves. If anyone could make Umemiya Hajime regret breaking up with you, it was Endo Yamato. And you will embrace your new life, whatever it offers you will take it. You just signed a deal with the devil, so take advantage of the luxury.

The mall was full of people as ever, the noise of chatter and music echoing in the background as you and Endo wandered through store after store. His hand was warm in yours, firm, yet oddly comforting despite the strangeness of everything that had happened. It had been his idea to treat you, to buy you something nice, and while the gesture was sweet, it left you feeling... a bit out of place.

You stood in front of a full-length mirror, dressed in a short white dress that hugged your figure in ways you weren’t used to. Your boyfriend stood behind you, watching with a satisfied smirk as you hesitated, his reflection staring back at you. He held a few more clothes in his arms, ready to spoil you with more options.

"You look so good," he said, his voice soft but confident. He reached out and held up the same dress in different colors. "There's also a pink and blue one. Which do you like more?" But instead of picking, you just stared at yourself, a sadness creeping over your features. You weren’t used to wearing things like this. It fits you perfectly, accentuating curves you usually hid beneath looser clothing. When you were with Umemiya, he never cared what you wore—he let you stay in your comfort zone, never pushing you to try anything new. Now, here you were, feeling exposed and unsure, your usual self-confidence slipping away.

Endo noticed immediately. He glanced at you in the mirror and saw the doubt on your face. His smile faded slightly, replaced with something more thoughtful, "What's wrong?" You hesitated, still looking at the reflection instead of him. “I’m just… not used to dressing like this,” you murmured, “What if people stare at me?”

Ah, so that was it. His eyes narrowed slightly, and his grip on the clothes tightened as he processed your words. He could tell you were beautiful, no matter what you wore, but he also understood. You were stuck in a box, never exploring past the boundaries you’d built around yourself. You deserved more than what you’d allowed yourself to have. He had something in mind for that. 

He turned to you, his expression more serious now. “I’ll be honest with you,” he began, stepping closer so you could still see his reflection standing tall behind you. “No one’s going to care. And if they do stare, let them. Who are they to you?”

His words hit hard. You looked up, meeting his eyes in the mirror, and they were trying to convince you. "Nobody," you said softly, realizing that he was right. The people out there, the strangers, their opinions didn't matter. But still, that nagging self-doubt clung to you.

Endo’s gaze softened as he gently placed a hand on your shoulder, turning you slightly to face him. “You can’t let yourself stay trapped in this comfort zone forever. If you do, you’ll keep missing out on new things, new sides of yourself you haven’t even discovered yet.” He was deadly serious now, his tone steady. “You’re beautiful no matter what. But you deserve to see how much more there is to you than what you’ve been hiding behind. So don’t let anyone, not even yourself, make you feel less.”

You sighed, your eyes flickering between him and the clothes he was holding. You knew he was right, but stepping out of that comfort zone was easier said than done. Still, something about his words made you feel… braver. You could take that step, even if it was small. Finally, you took the clothes from his hands.

“I won’t even try them,” you said, suddenly resolute. “I’ll just buy them.” Endo’s lips curled into a proud, satisfied smile as he watched you head back into the dressing room to change into your original outfit. When you emerged, his eyes lit up, and he couldn’t hold back a wide grin. "Now, that’s my girl."

You smirked back, feeling lighter than before. “You’re paying, though.” He laughed, seeing how he provoked you into doing something so simple. “Of course, doll. Anything for you.”

As you walked together to the cashier, hand in hand, you couldn’t help but feel like things were changing. Maybe Endo was right—maybe this was the start of something new, a side of yourself you hadn’t known before. Whether it was him or the situation, you weren't sure yet, but you knew that stepping out of your comfort zone felt a little less terrifying. Having the devil as your boyfriend was an experience of its own: both thrilling and exciting, and you couldn’t wait to see Umemiya’s reaction. 

After Endo paid, the two of you walked out of the store, your hands weighed down with at least three shopping bags filled with clothes that were far beyond your usual style. You felt strange and satisfied yet guilty at how much you bought. But somehow, that discomfort that had followed you earlier was fading. Maybe it was his influence or the fact that he had pushed you out of your little box, but the worry was no longer coming at you. 

The devil walked beside you, his hand still casually intertwined with yours, his other hand holding his bag from one of the stores where he insisted you pick out something cute because spoiling you was part of his fun. He is your boyfriend, it's his duty to make you feel good and enjoy yourself.

"We’ve got you new clothes," he said, glancing down at the bags swinging by your side. “Now, for the Halloween costumes... What do you want us to be?"

You hadn’t even thought about the party since all this craziness started. But Halloween was coming up in just two weeks, and you needed to decide. The two of you made your way to a nearby Halloween shop, the sound of spooky music and the bright displays pulling you inside. You wandered through the aisles, surrounded by racks of costumes and props…You were not using the costumes you bought with Umemiya, totally not. So it’s time to think of something new.

“Maybe something simple?” you suggested, looking through the shelves of cheap costume accessories. Your hand landed on an angel halo and some flimsy white wings. You held them up and smiled, “I could be an angel.”

Endo raised an eyebrow, “How fitting,” he said, voice laced with irony as he reached up to pat the small horns protruding from his head. “You know I don’t need a costume, right?” Somehow, you forgot what happened in the morning and how he turned into his true form with horns and a tail, wrapped around your leg. Good for him, because he can pretend they are real unless someone wants to try them on. Oh, well that’s a problem for the future.

“Right, you already come with the horns and tail. Guess we’re going as the classic angel and devil couple, then.” You tossed the wings and halo into your basket and turned to see him eyeing some fake devil horns hanging on a rack. He glanced at them before shrugging. “I think I’m good,” he said, pointing to where his horns were supposed to appear.  “I’ll just wear what I’ve got.” 

Once you had everything you needed, the two of you left the store, the cool evening breeze hitting your face as you walked out of the mall. It was such a good day today. Going towards the parking lot, Endo stopped for a second, turning toward you and before you could ask what he was up to, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. 

You froze, your heart skipping a beat as warmth flooded your face, your cheeks burning bright red. The butterflies you thought had long since died after Umemiya’s betrayal? They were very much alive now, fluttering like crazy in your stomach. 

He pulled back, his smirk widening as he took in your reaction. “You’re blushing,” he teased, eyes full of satisfaction. You couldn’t deny it, the heat in your face said it all. “I-I’m not!” you stammered, trying to play it cool, but the way your voice wavered gave you away completely. You know this boy for not even 24 hours and he is already making you feel like this. It’s the magic, most definitely you will blame it on his magic.

“Sure, angel,” he said with a chuckle, wrapping his arm around your waist as you both made your way back to the car. “But I think I’m starting to grow on you.” You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, letting out a small sigh as you rested your head on his shoulder. Maybe this wasn’t going to be the biggest mistake of your life after all.

“Wait, hang on…” you asked removing your head from him as you looked at him, because why are you in a car, and not at the bus station? “We came with the bus, how do you suddenly have a car? And so much money?”

“Less questioning, more watching the pretty sunset.” his hand gently turned your face to the window to watch as the sky was tinted with pink and yellow hues, making you forget about everything as he stepped on the gas. Maybe deals with the devil don't sound so bad after all.

It was October 31st—Halloween night. Ever since Endo had stepped into your life, he had turned everything upside down. He wasn’t just the devil you made a deal with, he had become the best boyfriend you had ever had. He was doting, caring, and spoiling you beyond measurements. One night, while your parents were asleep, he teleported you away to Paris to have croissants under the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower. Another time, you skipped school just to marvel at the Sistine Chapel together. Whatever you asked for, you’d get. But you were careful not to ask for much because the payment would escalate quickly.

The magic wasn’t just about the exotic trips. Endo made you feel more confident, you were finding yourself in ways you hadn't before, and he loved watching you fly with your new wings. He encouraged you to push boundaries, be bold, and stand up for yourself. It wasn’t just a Halloween costume you were slipping into tonight; it was a new version of yourself, and you could tell he was proud of that.

Tonight, though, he was being extra annoying, and was testing your patience. Standing behind you in the bathroom as you applied your makeup, his tail had found its way around your waist again, tugging you close as you tried to focus on getting ready.

“Yamato, I told you to stop wrapping your tail around me,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm as you swiped the red lipstick across your lips, making a satisfying pop sound. Pulling away from the mirror, examining your reflection. The white dress, the halo perched above your head, the wings—it all screamed angel. But what kind of angel were you really? A fallen one perhaps.

He grinned, his sharp teeth peeking through as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Can’t help it, angel. You’re stuck with me.” His voice was playful, reminding him how much he enjoyed teasing you. You rolled your eyes. “Remove it before I cut it off,” you warned, turning slightly to meet his gaze. His tail loosened immediately, slinking back, but his grin remained as wide as ever.

"What happened to ‘I love you’, ‘You are the best’, ‘Please, harder and fas–" You put a hand over his mouth and he pretended to be defeated, but there was pride in his eyes. He was happy to see how much you had changed over the past two weeks. The girl who once doubted herself had become confident and bold, and he loved every second of it. 

He watched as you adjusted the final touches of your outfit. “Look at you now," he said, his voice low and almost admiring. "Such a pretty and bossy woman. I love that new side of you.”

You slipped on your white heels, the final touch to your angelic costume. But as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t help but question. What was even angelic about you anymore? You had let him claim you in every possible way. Your body, your soul, everything was his, and you didn’t regret it as everything happened so fast that you wouldn't be surprised if he used his magic to make Halloween come faster.

Grabbing your phone, you prepared to upload another Instagram story with your devil darling. Ever since you posted him for the first time, everyone who had ignored or unfollowed you was suddenly watching your stories again. Funny how that worked. You smirked, knowing that tonight’s post would send them reeling and you will know the gossip because of your friends. They always tell you if someone is talking behind your back, someone like Hiragi insulting Endo, or Tsubaki being disappointed in you…and Umemiya saying he is fine but he isn’t fine.

“Showing me off again?” He asked, leaning back, watching you swipe through your phone. You nodded, snapping a quick picture of the two of you in the mirror. “Of course. People love the drama between me and Umemiya.”

You were no longer the quiet, shy girl who stayed within the lines, living by the rules set by others. You had stepped out of the zone and were living in a big mansion, filled with adventure, luxury, and a man who encouraged you to rise higher instead of keeping you stuck in one place. The devil had taught you something valuable: first, to believe and love yourself, and second, to choose a man who would elevate you, not hold you back.

“Ready for tonight?” he smiled, his horns gleaming in the bathroom light, perfectly matching your halo. “I’ve never been more ready. Let’s show them what a real angel and devil look like.”

Match made in Heaven—is what he enjoyed telling everyone and only the two of you knew the meaning. One thing was clear: You were in love with the devil, and he didn't just want your soul for the deal—he wanted everything from you. Endo Yamato wanted you. Make sure to repay him fully because the devil is always tempting, and he hates to wait too long.

It was like time had stopped, and you couldn’t help but glance at him, hoping he hadn’t done anything that involved magic for this dramatic entrance. Everyone turned their heads to watch as you walked through the crowd with Endo. But his smirk told you he hadn’t done any tricks, much surprising to you—tonight you were simply the topic of discussion.

His arm tightened around your waist, and the big room was filled with whispers and glances, and it made you uncomfortable at some point and he sensed this, leaning down playfully whispering in your ear. “Just ignore them, angel. We're just giving them a free show~”

Well, if it wasn’t your best friend the fate itself when you found yourself face-to-face with none other than your…ex. He was accompanied by Hiragi and Tsubaki, the two friends you’d once spent so much time with. Umemiya looked at you and you could see the surprise, confusion, and maybe even regret in his eyes. He managed a weak smile, but couldn’t take his eyes off Endo, who only gave him that signature devilish smirk.

“Hi,Ume!" you greeted cheerfully, waving to Hiragi and Tsubaki, trying to make this less awkward and with how Umemiya barely reacted, still, clearly caught off guard by the presence of your devilishly attractive date. “Hi,” he muttered, eyes lingering to Endo.

"So what do you want to talk about?" you asked wanting to just have fun without thinking so much about past relationships. Umemiya'a was a wonderful boyfriend, but Endo was out of this world. 

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group until Umemiya finally cleared his throat, "Y/N, can I talk to you for a second?" he asked as you glanced at your boyfriend, and he just shrugged, releasing his hold on you, as if he knew that whatever conversation you had with Umemiya, it wouldn’t change a thing. “Go ahead,” he said, giving you an encouraging nod.

Taking a deep breath, you followed Umemiya to a quieter corner of the room, away from prying eyes but close enough that you could still feel Endo's gaze, watchful and reassuring, grounding you in your decision to move forward.

“So...uh,” Umemiya began, keeping his eyes on yours trying to search for an answer, trying to search for the real you. “You really...you’re really with him?” 

“Yes, I am,” you replied, keeping that calm and confident tone, because you needed to assure him that everything was fine, even without him. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?” Umemiya’s jaw clenched, and he looked away as if trying to gather his thoughts. 

“Look, I know things got...weird between us. I never thought you’d—” He hesitated, eyes flicking back to Endo, who was currently chatting with some other partygoers, yet somehow still looked every bit as menacing. “I mean, him, really?” 

“Yes, him. If you are going to judge me, just let's drop this conversation and have fun?” you said, getting a little annoyed but you understood his concerns. However, he is an ex for a reason. “He treats me well, listens to me, and I’ve been happier. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Umemiya frowned, he was frustrated “I didn’t think you’d… move on so fast.” He looked at a loss for words, struggling with the effects of his own choices. You took a deep breath, finally feeling closure start to settle over you. Whatever you’d once wanted from him—an apology, an explanation—no longer mattered. You’d moved on. “Look, I hope you will have fun despite everything. Past is past, forgive and forget, right?” you said, ending the conversation with that same smile you gave to him when he was feeling down.

As you turned to walk back to Endo, you felt at peace. Your past with Umemiya was just that—your past. Rejoining him by the drinks, he looked down at you, so curious. "You came back very quickly. How did it go?" he asked handing you a drink which you drank immediately. He knew how it went, what the conversation was, after all, he is the Devil... he has eyes and ears for all evil. "Nothing much. He's just sad, I guess. But I don't care." He just nodded and looked at you with that look, as if you were something so sweet and lovely, like a dessert ready to be savored. He was sure to savor every last bit of you when the time came for you to repay him.

"Yamato, are you listening?" waving your hand in front of his face you slightly worried for him. "Yeah, yeah. You wanted to fix your make-up?" He chuckled, leaning down closer to you. Smiling, you took his hand, guiding him through the crowd toward the restroom. As you walked, people parted to make way, their eyes on the angel and the devil, perfectly matched.

By "fixing your makeup” you hadn’t meant making out, but Endo had other plans. His lips met yours as he leaned in, pressing you gently against the wall. You closed your eyes, letting the world fall away. His hands found your waist, holding you close as he deepened the kiss, and your mind went blank as his lips brushed against your neck, leaving traces of his dark lipstick on your skin. You weren't the only couple being all over each other, so who cares what you do?

When you finally caught your breath, you opened your eyes, only to see his smirk—sly and devilish as he pulled away, leaving you flustered and breathless. "Why did you stop?" You didn’t immediately realize why he’d pulled back until you followed his gaze. Standing a few feet away, looking as if he had seen a ghost, was Umemiya. Endo’s teal eyes were exactly like his flames, burning and full of what one could say is lust and joy, as he caught your ex’s gaze and, finally showed his real black eyes and sharp fangs.

It was Halloween, after all. Strange things are bound to happen, and if anyone asked, it was just an impressive costume trick, okay?

Endo’s hand found its way back to your face, and he kissed you once more, gentler this time but no less possessive. "Just relax and give your soul to me," he whispered against your lips, the words a promise that felt as luring as his embrace. "Give me everything so I can give you so much more."

You closed your eyes again, the feeling of being in his arms somehow made all your doubts, insecurities, and the heartache you’d carried from your past with Umemiya fade away. For the first time, you felt completely, unapologetically loved.

When you finally pulled away, the Devil watched you catch your breath, your heart racing as he could feel how you were wanting and begging for more. "Come on, angel," he said, brushing his thumb over your cheek with a grin. "This party is boring. Let me show you how demons like to have fun." Tonight, you were in his world, where the rules didn’t matter, much more than any exes of yours.

Tonight he will show you how much fun is to make tempting deals with the Devil, so enjoy yourself to the last bite of the apple—temptation is the key to your soul.

WEIRDMAGEDDON VICTIMS :: @maruflix @exkiusme @17020 @stunies @y2kuromi @seneon @littleplantfreak @meidiary @heartkaji @nyxypoo @ryescapades

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work

[moonstruckme]

On Thin Ice

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

This was requested by anon, but I'm not including the request because I'm going to write at least one more part and I don't want to spoil anything. But thanks so much for requesting, anon my love! I'm really having fun with it :) Also, just a disclaimer that I know next to nothing about figure skating, so while I tried to look most things up, there may be some inaccuracies

summary: when your usual figure skating partner Regulus is injured, you're forced to prepare the most romantic routine you've ever done with Sirius Black. You've known Sirius since you were little and have always found him irritating, but as you spend more and more time together, your feelings towards him start to change

cw: mention of injury (no details), Sirius Black is a relentless flirt

Figure Skater!Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 3.3k words

You want to be kinder to your friend, but you’re a bit angry with him. You’re not great at hiding it, either.

“It’s not like I can fucking help it.” Regulus rolls his eyes, and you do your best to undo the petulant pout of your lips. 

“I know,” you sigh. “I know that. I’m sorry, it’s just, seriously? Why can’t Coach give me someone else?”

“You know why.” 

You blow out another huffy breath, because you do know, but that doesn’t make you like it any better. Sirius is our best bet, your coach had told you, firm and impassive to your protests. He’s great on the ice, he always scores well, and Reg can teach him the routine while they’re at home. If we used anyone else, we’d lose time while they learned it. You’d sulked, and he’d given you a stern look. So suck it up. 

And you’re trying. Kind of. You wouldn’t ordinarily consider yourself an ill-tempered person, but Sirius Black brings out the worst in you. Always has. He’s Regulus’ irritating older brother, always around to pull your pigtails when you were little and make fun of everything you and Reg enjoyed as you got older. And in everything you love about your best friend, Sirius is the opposite. Where Regulus is restrained, Sirius is brash; where Regulus is content with a few close friends, Sirius needs an entire posse around him at all times; where Regulus has a quick, quiet wit, Sirius seems to feel a joke isn’t worth telling if everyone can’t hear it. He’s loud and facetious and insufferable, and now he’s your partner in the most intimate routine you’ve ever done.

“I know,” you groan again, falling back onto Regulus’ bed. “I just wish I could change it. Who do I have to bribe to get you a miracle recovery?”

Regulus scoffs, but he lies down beside you sympathetically. “The doctor said it should be better by next season, but a fractured ankle doesn’t fix itself in a couple weeks.” His voice turns bitter. “Trust me, I asked.” 

You wince guiltily. You’re not the only one suffering from Regulus’ incapacity. You’d both been practicing this routine for weeks. It was one of the most challenging and showy either of you have ever done. You were both supposed to have the chance to really shine, showing off your skills with complicated jumps and throws, some of which you’d never attempted before. But now Reg wouldn’t get the chance.

Ironically, it had been a fairly simple routine that had taken him down. One of your go-tos. You’d been performing it together for years, but maybe that sense of security was dangerous too. It’s too easy to land wrong, and one tiny slip had fractured Regulus’ ankle right in the middle of competition, forcing your coach to come help you get him off the ice. 

You’d cried more than he had as the on-site medics had inspected it, completely unhelpful but unable to bear seeing your best friend’s features twisted in agony. It turned out that was nothing compared to the look on his face when they’d told him he wouldn’t be able to skate on it for months. 

“How does it feel?” you ask, more gently now, and Regulus’ scowl softens in response. “Does it still hurt all of the time?”

“Not really, only when I walk on it. And they said I should be able to do that without much pain soon, just no jumping or anything.” 

Your heart aches with sympathy, and you have to resist the urge to reach over and touch his hand, his hair. Regulus has never much liked being touched, which you understand, but it makes him a difficult person to comfort. You resort to your method with the highest success rate: distraction. 

“Well, at least the cast is a fun accessory,” you say, forcing levity into your voice. “We could draw on it, it’ll be like having tattoos.” 

“Pass,” Reg replies disinterestedly. “Tattoos are more my brother’s aesthetic than mine.”  

“Ugh.” You roll your eyes, unable to stopper your irritation at the return of the conversation to Sirius. “Do you think Coach will let me have a new partner if I kneecap him?”

“If you’re going to kneecap someone,” comes a cool voice from the open doorway, “it’s probably best not to ponder your scheme so loudly in their house.” 

You raise your head to find Sirius leaning against the door frame, arms crossed insouciantly in front of his chest. He looks at you with the eyes he shares with his brother, but where Regulus’ tend towards cool grayness, Sirius’ always seem to waver between gray and blue, like the sky during a storm. They’re flashing now, amusement mingled with cunning, as you meet them with a glare. 

“Maybe I’m just giving you a red herring,” you say smoothly, “so you’ll never see my actual plan coming.” 

“I wouldn’t put it past you, shortcake,” Sirius replies, grinning when your face goes hot at the nickname, “but I think I’ll start wearing protective gear just in case. Reg, think you could revoke this one’s key until after the competition?”

Regulus pretends to contemplate this, staring up at the ceiling. “No, she’ll only start coming in through my window again.” You grin at him, and the corner of his mouth twitches in response, remembering all the cuts and bruises you used to have when you were younger from climbing the old tree outside his window, late at night when you were both supposed to be asleep. The first few times you’d tried, rotting branches had broken and fallen from beneath you, but you’d kept at it until you’d plotted a safe course. You’re sure Reg would have snuck downstairs to let you in the front door if you’d asked him, but better you get in trouble than him. “Anyway, it’ll be entertaining to watch.” 

“Whatever happened to brotherly loyalty?” Sirius feigns hurt, but gets past it quickly. “Well, I suppose you’ll just have to keep in mind that if I can’t perform, there won’t be a performance. I’ve already learnt half the routine, and I think you might struggle to find someone else skilled enough to catch up in time.” He winks at you, and you scoff, pointedly unaffected. “So I’ll see you at practice on Monday, sunshine,” he gloats, and disappears down the hallway. 

You wait until you hear the click of his door to lay back down, passing a hand over your face exhaustedly. “I can’t believe I’m going to have to deal with that all of the time,” you moan. 

Regulus chuckles wryly. “Welcome to my world.” 

☆ ☆ ☆

“Y/N,” Coach calls frustratedly. “You have to let him throw you, not jump.” 

You’ve almost just followed in Regulus’ footsteps for the upteenth time today, which isn’t exactly in line with your plan of getting Sirius injured, but you figure will do in a pinch. The truth is, your focus has been off all day. Switching to a new partner is always hard; you’re used to Regulus, you’ve spent years learning how to skate together, to anticipate the other’s movements, and finding that rhythm with another person takes work. But learning how to skate with Sirius is more challenging than even you had expected.

He’s distracting, for one thing. He keeps smiling at you, making faces when you mess up, and whispering obnoxious little pointers when you’re in the middle of a complicated move. And his own movements are bigger and more elaborate than you’re used to, lacking Regulus’ control. You can see, objectively, how it works for him. It gives his performance that extra bit of artistry that Regulus has often been accused of needing, but it makes him more difficult to anticipate. He’s stronger than Reg, too, so he throws you higher, flings you farther, grips you tighter. It’s a lot to learn, but your coach doesn’t seem very sympathetic to your plight. As far as he’s concerned, you’ve wasted almost an entire day of practice and are undoing weeks of hard work learning the choreography with your repeated mistakes. 

You nod at him again, moving to reset, but Sirius slides in front of you. 

“Hey,” he says, “I can feel you tensing when I go to throw you. Is something wrong?”

You cross your arms in front of your chest, breath still puffing into the air between you from the exertion of your leap. “No,” you reply shortly. “I’ll fix it.” 

And really, you should have been able to fix it a dozen tries ago. You’ve practiced throws with Regulus for years now. You’re supposed to push down on Sirius’ shoulders, use the momentum of your spin to give you a little boost, and let him do the rest. But you can’t seem to manage the last part. Sirius’ hands on your waist had discomposed you from the first try, and you keep finding yourself trying to jump off the ground before he has a chance to lift you. It doesn’t work, you know it’s never going to work, but it’s like some fight-or-flight instinct takes over every time Sirius’ hands get close to you. You suspect it’s because you’re so used to Regulus’ touch aversion; this routine is meant to seem romantic, but between the two of you, it had always felt chaste, more about the mechanics of the movements than the meanings behind them. Sirius loves to be touched, though, probably too much. He teases you about how cold your hand is in his, the tentative way you touch his shoulder when you’re supposed to grip it, how you jolt a little when he rests his hand on the small of your back. You’re on edge every second he’s around you, which by the very nature of the routine, is often. 

And so you keep jumping, which causes Sirius’s throw to be stunted when he can’t get a good grip on you, which causes you to fumble your landing. Every. Time. 

“You can trust me, you know,” Sirius persists, looking half earnest for once in his life. “I’m not going to launch you too high or anything. Just let me do the work.” 

“I’ve got it,” you growl, and Sirius raises his hands in mocking surrender, moving out of your way. You glide back into position, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You don’t need his advice, you’ve been doing just fine without it for years. You’ll get it on your own. 

☆ ☆ ☆

“Why is it,” Regulus drawls, coming into your room, “that when you mess up at practice, it’s still my problem to solve?” He sits on the edge of your bed, careful not to disturb the open bottle of nail polish you’re using. “I’m not even your partner right now, but both Coach and Sirius are complaining to me that you can’t sync up with him.” 

You keep your eyes on your fingertips, sweeping the brush across your nails in careful, measured strokes. “I’m working on it.” 

“What’s the problem?” He sounds more puzzled than frustrated. “Sirius is annoying, but he’s not actually an asshole. He won’t sabotage you.” 

“I’m not accusing him of anything,” you say. “I just…I can’t get it right. I don’t know. He’s so different to you, and I can’t figure out how to make it work.” 

“Well, you’d better figure it out soon,” Regulus replies, not without sympathy. “There’s only a couple of weeks until comp, and it seems like the both of you will need all the practice you can get together.”

You know he’s right, and that’s exactly what you’re dreading.

☆ ☆ ☆

The next practice goes about the same, the only difference being your coach’s mounting exasperation. Actually, no, there is one other change: Sirius’ movements become smoother, more sure, as he grows increasingly familiar with the choreography. 

So basically, he’s getting better while you’re getting worse. 

Though you all know there’s no time to waste with the competition coming up, Coach ends practice early in his irritation, letting you go with strict instructions to get your shit together before you meet again tomorrow. You promise him you’ll try, though you’re both coming to know that won’t be enough. 

You take your time unlacing your skates, shrugging on your jacket and stopping to buy a hot chocolate from the vendor up front before going out into the brisk autumn air. You’d started this new routine after your first practice with Sirius, stalling so that he’d have a head start and you wouldn’t have to walk home in the same direction, but you take two steps outside before you realize your plan has been foiled. 

“Coach will kill you if he catches you with one of those,” you say, and the cherry of Sirius’ cigarette burns orange as he takes a drag, eyes lighting with playful defiance. 

He blows the smoke away from you. “You won’t tattle on me though, will you, sunshine?”

“Reg won’t like it either.” 

“He knows,” Sirius says, as though Regulus’ opinion is of little concern to him. “You took your time in there. Ready to go?”

You don’t try to keep the suspicion from your face. “You were waiting on me?”

“I figure we could use some extra practice.” He drops his cigarette, stamping it out half smoked. “If you’re not too tired, I mean.” You give him an indignant look, and Sirius grins. “C’mon, it’s too cold out here for those leggings.” 

You follow him reluctantly, sipping at your hot chocolate because damn it, he’s right. The wind had been cool when you’d gone into practice, but nightfall has stolen the little bit of warmth the sun provided. You wouldn’t be surprised if you woke tomorrow to find the trees prematurely bare of their leaves. 

The Blacks’ house isn’t far, and your eager pace gets you there in a hurry. You’re thinking you’ll go to Regulus’ room as soon as you get inside, ditching Sirius and whatever humiliation he has planned for you, but when you approach the house, every window is dark. 

“They’re at my aunt’s for dinner,” Sirius answers your unasked question, unlocking the door. “I begged off because of practice.” He laughs as you follow him inside. “Try not to look so happy about it, shortcake.” 

You roll your eyes, starting up the stairs that go to the bedrooms. “When will Reg be home?”

“Late.” Sirius’ voice is close behind you. “You’re welcome to wait for him, of course, but we may as well make use of the time.” On the top step, you whirl, relishing the opportunity to look down on him for once. 

“Fine. What are we doing here?”

You don’t know if you’d hoped he’d be intimidated, but Sirius appears as unbothered as always. “Like I said. Practice.” He brushes past you, leading the way into his bedroom. After a moment, you follow grudgingly.

Like everything about Sirius, his room is loud. Almost every inch of wall space is covered in band posters, medals from competitions, pictures of his friends. There are clothes strewn across the bed and shoes scattered about the floor, but if Sirius is even conscious of the mess, he doesn’t mention it. 

“What did you have in mind?” you ask.

Sirius turns, and when his eyes meet yours, they’re surprisingly determined. “We need to figure out whatever it is that’s been holding you up,” he says. “We’ve gotta get past it.”  

You feel like stomping your foot, but very maturely refrain. You’re about done with the subject of your failures for the day. “I don’t know what it is.” 

“I think you do,” Sirius says cooly. “Wanna know how I know?”

“How?”

He grins. “Because you just admitted it.” 

“You—I just asked how,” you splutter angrily. 

Sirius gives you a knowing look. “Right, so it has nothing to do with you being afraid of me touching you?”

Your face heats. How could he know that? You look at him for a moment, and he looks back at you with that cool, even gaze, like he thinks he’s got you all figured out. As much as you resent him for it, he’s right. You’ve got no shot at a decent score in this competition if you can’t get past your mental block around Sirius. “I’m not afraid.” You roll your eyes, downplaying the admission. “I’m just not used to it, okay? I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but you’re not exactly a carbon copy of my usual partner.” 

Sirius grins again, and for the first time you get the sense that he’s laughing with you instead of at you. “I have been made aware of that a few times over our lives, yes. But okay, you’re not used to it. Let’s get you used to it.” 

You cross your arms over your chest, not sure where he’s going with this but fairly sure you won’t like it. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m going to throw you until you can handle it without flinching. Sound good?”

You look at him like he’s stupid. “The rink is closed, and there’s nowhere for me to land here.” 

“Sure there is.” Sirius pats his bed cheerfully. You stay right where you are. Something changes in his expression, and you think you might detect a bit of kindness behind his teasing tone. “C’mon, sweetheart. I don’t know what Reggie’s told you, but I don’t actually bite.” 

You huff, but go to stand in front of him. He’s shed his coat, revealing the plain black shirt underneath, and the sleeves grip his biceps. Even in the poor lamplight, you can see his eyes changing colors like schools of fish as they swim. Now blue, now gray. 

“Alright.” Sirius sets his hands on your waist, and you tense automatically. “See, that’s the habit we have to break. Relax for me, shortcake.” 

His words certainly don’t help, but you do your best, unclenching the muscles in your stomach and legs. 

“Perfect,” he says, then launches you into the air. You barely have time to gasp before you’re landing on his bed, springs squealing in protest. “Okay, next time, try to spin or something.” 

“I wasn’t ready,” you protest. 

Sirius laughs. “I know. Sorry, couldn’t resist. Let’s try to do it like practice this time, yeah? So you go over there,” he motions to the door, “and run towards me. When I throw you, try to spin if you can, but don’t try to stick the landing or anything. Just land on your butt.” 

You roll your eyes, moving to the door. “Yeah, I’m in no hurry to break my ankle like Reg, thanks.” 

He winks. “Just making sure.” He spreads his feet a bit, bracing himself. “Alright, let’s give it a try.” 

It’s easy to remember Sirius is an older brother when he gets all bossy like this, but you comply, gaining as much speed as you can on the way to him before he’s gripping you around the waist, tossing you into the air. You manage a half-turn before your back end hits the bed. 

“Better!” Sirius exclaims, beaming at you. “You still seemed a bit tense, but at least you didn’t try to jump by yourself. Again?”

You can’t help a little smile of your own as you nod, pushing up off the bed and repositioning yourself at the door. 

☆ ☆ ☆

When Regulus gets home, he finds you sprawled on Sirius’ bed with his brother sitting beside you, both thoroughly worn out. 

“Did you fix it?” he asks.

You grin at the ceiling, wondering if it’s your pride or Sirius’ you’re feeling in the air, or both. “I think so.” 

“Coach might get the chance to be mad at me instead, tomorrow,” Sirius laments. “My arms are fucking dead. Too many throws and I might drop you on the ice.” 

“Don’t break my partner,” Regulus says warningly. 

“Yeah,” you second, hauling yourself into a sitting position and going to meet Regulus at the door, “please don’t.” 

You can hear Sirius’ eyes rolling as he says, “I won’t. See you at practice tomorrow, shortcake?”

It’s harder than usual to muster up annoyance for the teasing nickname. “See you tomorrow.” 

[bambisnc]

dreams come true? i sure hope they don’t. [ft. h.yj]

pairing : han yujin x f!reader <3 genre : so so crack. + lil bit fluffy cw/tw : uneditted + beverage mention + lmk if there r more sobs wc : 0.6k !! <3

“wait so let me get this straight- you like someone.. and instead of doing anything rational, or god forbid even half-normal about it; you’re trying out wikihow rituals to manipulate her dreams?!”

yujin at least has the decency to look sheepish. yeah okay so maybe he did have a crush on a certain someone, namely you, and yeah maybe he was a little too anxious to approach you.

and.. yeah maybe he happened to come across an article which taught him how to alter your dreams via a simple ritual. 

writing out the name of your ~beloved~ along with a detailed description of the dream you wished for them to have on a piece of paper, place 9 orange and purple streaked moonstones on it and crumpling up the paper – was, as the site declared confidently, enough to be able to make yourself a constant presence in the dreams of whomever you wished.

as long as he remembered to loudly announce the exact minutes for which he’d known the aforementioned beloved before starting, that is.

well, yujin thought, it seemed harmless enough.

except some part of him did consider it necessary to do a couple of trial runs. he wouldn’t want you to start having dreams of, say, student council member ahn yujin or that new girl choi yujin who had been a little too friendly with you these past few days. there were a lot of yujin’s around weren't there..

which is what lead to you having a series of rather odd dreams. and the subsequent amount of time you spent lowkey freaking out about them. 

“gyuvin i swear i wasn’t even thinking about greek gods at all before i fell asleep,” you vent to him one day at lunch, “but i was somehow a mermaid god or something?? AND hades, you know, the god of the underworld, was kinda beefing with me for no reason?!”

your friend who is unfortunately sworn to secrecy by yujin tries his best to distract you, “c’mon dreams are contractually meant to be weird; stop overthinking it! and besides-”

“BUT LISTEN when i woke up the first audio i heard, i think some video that yujin sent me, was about greek gods!! this has happened way too many times for me to put it off as a coincidence!!”

“i think you’re just delusional (like some other people i know..)”

you simply sigh out, “sorry, what was that?” not too willing to expend more energy in trying to convince him that your problem is very valid; and he’s just being very unsupportive of you right now.

"..." you suppose you'll have to make peace with the fact that your subconscious was probably just in a silly phase.

-

distant sounds of students leaving after evening classes, rustling of trees with a gentle breeze.. and a flick to your forehead?!

your eyes flutter open, more than eager to chastise whoever had thought it okay to break your comfortable reverie. but when your gaze lands on him, han yujin, you feel your complaints dying down. he’s holding out your favorite beverage to you; a soft smile adorning his face. 

before you can let out a single word though, there’s.. another flick to your forehead?? what do people have against you..

your eyes flutter open (again?), more than eager to reprimand whoever thought it okay to break your .. wait had you been dreaming just now? 

you find yourself with your cheek resting against a table. the one who flicked your forehead yet again appears to be yujin. 

his eyes seem to twinkle slightly as he says, “i thought we were going to get our science assignment done yn? or did you plan on doing it while asleep? i so did not expect this from yo-”

“hey.,” you interrupt, “han yujin. you’re free now right? wanna go on a date with me?”

safe to say that you received a very positive response, especially with his now-flustered appearance.

gyuvin really should learn to keep his mouth shut, huh?

notes : @mellowdyverse MAIIII here u go love <3 i hope this wasnt horrific im struggling tm w writers block + [m.list] + woah the coloured text is going crazyy js ignore that hehe <3 song rec : nightwalker by ten tho. it has nothing 2 do w this but its so yumi likee

[thewulf]

Don't Go || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - Reader is head over heels for Hotch but always assumes he doesn’t feel the same way. It’s around s7 and he gets together with Hotch and she withdraws over time. When Emily says goodbye she tells reader she is always welcome with her in London if she needs to leave, and after another couple months she takes Emily up on the offer.... Read Rest Here

A/N: Love this guy. Thank you for the request. Loved writing this one!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Y/N

Word Count: 3.1k+

Six Months Prior

“You know, I’m just a phone call away. I’d be happy to hire you as an agent.” You nodded at your best friends words. It didn’t seem possible that you’d ever accept the offer, but you couldn’t deny her either. Not right away at least.

“I’ll think about it Em.” Hugging her tightly you stifled the small cry that wanted to come out. She’d become a best friend to you over the years. The one true person you could trust through and through entirely The one who knew you better than you knew yourself.

She knew all about you crush on Hotch and how you’d never do anything about it. She tried for years after Haley’s death to get you to do something. You never did. He never did. It wasn’t meant to be.

She hugged you back squeezing you tightly into her embrace, “Please do. I’m being serious. Just a phone call away.” Her smile looked sad as she took one last look at you before getting into the security line.

You pulled away nodding at your friend, “Good luck Em. Call me when you land.”

She squeezed your hand once more. A gesture of love you’d grown to care for over the years, “Thanks for driving me. I’ll call you the second the plane lands.” She waved as you walked back to the garage. Man, you sure did hate goodbyes. You knew you’d see her soon but it still hurt.

You watched as she walked off into the airport. It certainly wouldn’t be the last time you’d see her, but it sure did suck you wouldn’t get to see her every day. But it was good for her. A promotion she desired. Maybe you would think of her offer. Maybe, just maybe. You took a mental image of Emily as she waved once more before disappearing.

Present Day

Maybe you weren’t supposed to hear it. But when you walked by Hotch’s office to drop off some files and Derek was already there you had to listen in. Had to, how could you not? But you’d regretted it the second you heard it, “My girlfriend and I went there this weekend.” His voice, your bosses voice, spoke through the doorway.

You heart sunk but Derek’s apparently soared. He hooted and clapped his bosses shoulder, “You did it? You asked Beth out?”

He nodded. You took a step back making sure you weren’t seen. Clutching the files to your chest you kept listening in, “Yeah. A few weeks ago. It’s been good. Jack seems to really like her.”

Damn. That was it then. Your chance was gone and over. You were the fool though. He’d given you years to make a move. You leaned back on the wall paralyzed. Knock on the door? Walked away? Keep listening to the horror show?

Paralysis won, “I’m happy for you Hotch.”

He hesitated. What did that mean? You took a step backwards before hearing him once more, “Me too. She different. Calm job that she loves. Relaxed all the time.” Everything you weren’t it felt like. Ouch.

Walking back down to your desk you checked the time on your computer. Nine in the morning, which meant that Emily was probably still working. You pulled your phone out of you back pocket sitting down in the office chair. Maybe it was time for a change. Nothing was happening for you here. Hotch was happy with somebody else. Not even the smiles and simple conversations between the two of you enough to satisfy. You’d harbored a stupid little crush that he never seemed to reciprocate. He didn’t hate the attention you gave him, no. He loved it dearly. He didn’t know much he loved it. Not until you began to withdraw from him.

It was the small things at first. Instead of looking at him when he spoke you kept your eyes on the case file or to the person beside you. You decided that smiling at him was no longer an option either. So, when you continued smiling at everybody in the office except for him it started to drive him crazy. Your smile actually dropped when you noticed he walked into the room. You stood up straighter in your chair and sucked in a breath. What in the hell was happening with you?

You were still kind. Still nodded in acknowledgement. Still recognized him as your boss and your boss only. You had to do this, for yourself. Had to break away. Start something new. This life was quickly becoming toxic.

It’d taken you months to find the courage to ask Emily for a transfer. But after you’d heard Hotch gushing about Beth once more it was the last straw for you. You didn’t want to hear about Beth and how fun she was. You didn’t want to hear about any of it. It wasn’t your place to tell him to cool it on her, so you had to do what you needed to do. Transfer to London.

Your knees bounced up and down in the smaller conference room you’d reserved to talk with Emily. You gulped when you heard her pick up from the other side on the line, “Y/N. How are you?” She asked you.

“I’m okay Em.” You let out a silent breath

She paused for a moment, “What’s up?” She knew you. Knew you deeply. Something was bugging you.

Might as well just spit it out, “I thought about your offer. Interpol.”

“Oh?” She sounded genuinely surprised that came out of your mouth. Such a homebody wouldn’t have ever dared to make this kind of decision.

“If you were being serious that is.” You wanted to clarify quickly. Maybe even she didn’t want or need you.

She nodded, but you couldn’t see it, “Of course I was! Absolutely yes. Let me just call Hotch and put the transfer in.”

You let out a breath, “I haven’t told him.”

“Why not?” She asked more as a friend rather than a future boss. How interesting all of that was going to be.

“I don’t know.”

She wouldn’t let you get away with that answer though, you knew that much, “Yes you do.”

You looked around the small conference room seeing all notes scribbled around. Looking ahead you watched as your coworkers walked around smiling and chatting with each other. You saw as Aaron looked around, maybe for you, maybe for somebody else. Your heart clenched when you looked back down at your phone, “He has a new girlfriend Emily. He’s head over heels for her.” You chewed on your already worn-down fingernails waiting for her response. A nasty habit you’d never been able to break in all your years.

“Oh sweetheart.” You heard her sigh from the other end of the phone, “Are you sure about this? Transferring? I don’t want you to feel like you’re running from your problems.” That’s what you’d admired most about Em.

You sat back down at your desk and waited. Waited for God knows how long. He didn’t call you into his office that day. Nor the next. It had been when you had gotten back from a case down in Miami that he asked you to stay behind on the jet for a moment. Nobody thought anything of it, but you knew. You knew exactly why he asked you to stay behind.

“A transfer?” His voice low once Spencer was out of earshot and down the stairs.

You couldn’t bear to look at him, so you just looked straight ahead, “Yeah.” You stated. Plain and simple. What else did you really have to say.

“Why?” He asked walking in front of you. He needed to know. More than ever, he craved to know what in the hell was happening with you. He’d adored you from afar for so long. The loving smile you always wore. The overly optimistic attitude often rubbed off on him. But it was fading. Fading so fast into the night that when Emily called he wasn’t surprised. Just hurt. Hurt that you wouldn’t have told him. And hurt that you wanted to leave him.

“I need a change.” It wasn’t a lie. You did need a change. You couldn’t just pine for your boss who was in love with another woman from afar. No, that was far too embarrassing. And exhausting. You had to go.

His eyes roamed your face for any tell. You were stoic as ever though. Hiding the waves of crashing emotions behind a big ass wall you’d never let come crumbling down. Shields that guarded your mind.

“You can find change here.” He started.

Shaking your head quickly you rebuked him, “I can’t. I’m stagnant. Tired. I can’t do this anymore.” You motioned your hand out to him before grabbing it back in towards your body.

“Can’t do what?” His eyes glazed over in curiosity as he studied you further. Trying to understand the person he thought he knew. Turns out he hadn’t a clue.

Your eyes narrowed. You weren’t actually going to tell him. Might as well keep him tapdancing on his toes, “This. I’m going crazy Hotch. I have to leave. Move on. Start a life.”

“What are you talking about Y/N?” He was either playing stupid or he genuinely hadn’t the faintest idea how you felt about him and that might’ve hurt worse.

You let out a little laugh, smiling because fuck it, might as well lay it all out for him clear as day. Something you never thought you’d have to do for a profiler. Leave it to Aaron Hotchner to act like a man in this situation, “I’ve been working with you for what? Five years now Hotch? I’ve been through a lot with you. You’ve seen me at my worst, and I’ve seen you at your lowest.” You sighed knowing you were just rambling now. Might as well rip the Band-Aid off, “I like you Hotch. Way more than an employee should. More than a friend should. I’ve liked you for so long and I’ve been too much of a coward to move on. So, I’m finally doing something for me. I can’t watch you fall in love Hotch. I just, I can’t. And I’m sorry. I’m weak.” You spilled out.

He shook his head reaching out. You took a step back involuntarily. Your brain reminding you that he had a girlfriend, “You’re not weak Y/N.” He frowned seeing you take a step back. You liked him? Had he never noticed? Had he never thought about it? Had he always seen you as just a friend?

You let out a full-on laugh, “I tell you I like you and that’s your response?”

He looked over your features for what felt like the first time. You were beautiful. Breathtaking even. He never let himself look at his coworkers like that. Things never turned out good when they did. Then you walked him. He knew how stunning you were. Then you were the kindest person he’d met on top of that? He was sure to be a sucker for you. But he blocked those thoughts out fast. He’d just have to enjoy your friendship. That was all. Plus, you were so much younger than him. Had so much more to look towards.

Through the years your smile never faltered. Not when Haley had been killed and he broke down right in front of you. Not when he needed it most. You were there and held him in your arms for hours whispering encouragement to the man. You were always there for him. Always there when he didn’t need you but wanted you to be there. You were always there, in the best way. You’d integrated yourself so seamlessly within his life he couldn’t stand the thought of losing you. That was when he knew he’d fucked up. He’d fucked up with Beth by leading her on for so long. He didn’t want her. He wanted you. Who gave a damn about your age when you wanted him. When you initiated the charge. All bets were off now.

He'd always wanted you but tried to deny it. He hid it away in a locked-up box in the back corner of his brain, “Don’t go Y/N.”

You shook your head tears rushing to the forefront of your eyes, “You can’t do that Hotch. Not now. You have Beth. I have to go.”

He shook his head taking a step forward to match your backwards one, “You don’t have to go. Please. Let’s just talk. Take a seat.” He wanted to punch himself for being so formal with you like he always had. If he was going to try and break down that mental shield you put up being a stiff board certainly wouldn’t help.

You cocked your head to the side unsure of what you’d heard. You thought this was going to be quick and that was certainly not turning out to be the case here, “Okay.” You thought you’d owed him that. You were close not that long ago. That ended when Beth crept into his life taking hold of the crevices of his mind you’d used to hold so closely. How had he not even noticed? How was he this fucking blind?

He leaned forward once he sat on the couch at the back of the jet next to you, not daring to go back to the seat he was previously sitting in. He needed to be closer to you, “Don’t go.”

“Aaron.” You closed your eyes unsure of what to do. Certainly, unsure of what to say.

He shook his head, “Please. I… I can’t let you go.” His voice wavered as his own watery eyes looked onto yours. Damn. Your heart sped up at the sight feeling things you really shouldn’t have at that admission.

You squeezed your eyes shut, “Why?” You needed to know.

When he didn’t answer you opened your eyes. He was just looking at you. Carmel eyes tracing over every feature on your face. He smiled slightly when your eyes met his. You felt the blazing blush rise across your face as he kept studying you so obviously. The tension in the air grew thicker with every passing second of silence. As if he knew you couldn’t take it anymore he finally answered you, “I’m an idiot. I don’t want her Y/N. I want you. I may not have always known it but now that I do, it’s supposed to be you.”

You shook your head quickly in utter disbelief, “Don’t say that. You have Beth. You have a life here.”

His eyes grew serious as he scooted closer to you. His knees brushed yours as he leaned forward once more, “I need you to hear me right now. I don’t want her. I want you. Just… just let me clean this up.” He pleaded taking one of your hands in his. He knew he was onto something when you didn’t pull away from him.

“Aaron…”

He cut you off, “Please, just don’t go. Please. Let me fix this.” Every part of him begged you. The most emotion you’d seen since Haley had passed. It sent shivers down your spine as you thought about it. He was being vulnerable with you.

You swallowed unsure of what the fuck to do now. This was certainly not on your short list of items that could possibly have happened to you when you did this. Aaron Hotchner begging you not to go? Impossible. Yet here you were with his hands in yours and pleading eyes.

When you didn’t answer he continued, “Please. Don’t go.” He took your other hand in his. He too had to make a scary confession just like you had moments prior, “I may have been too blind to see it before but sweetheart I… I like you too. And I’ve been missing you. You’ve been here but you haven’t been present. You have been with everybody else but me. I don’t want a life without you in it. So please, please don’t go.” He would ask a million more times if that’s what it took. He’d do anything you asked. Go anywhere you wanted. Be anything you needed really. He always knew it was you. He was just playing by the rules for too long. You’d snapped him right out of that though. He couldn’t actually let you go to London. No way in hell. He’d normally do anything for his employees, but he couldn’t let you go. He’d find you a better job here if that’d what it meant for you to stay.

You gave in. You weren’t thinking right with his big hands covering yours so easily. A steady rub from his palm sent shivers up your arm sending your mind into a frenzy. A moment you were so scared for turned so intimate.

You nodded your head mumbling out a soft, “Okay.” Before being brave and turning your eyes up to his big brown ones.

The relief that washed over him at that was evident. He threw his head back in relief. A big smile crossed his face when he came back to looking at you, “Really?” He asked, not believing it himself.

“Yeah. You have good puppy dog eyes Hotch.”

He shook his head scooting you closer to him, “Call me Aaron, sweetheart.” You heart sped up once your legs tangled with his. Two oblivious idiots soon to be in love trying it for the first time together. Awkwardness and all you soaked it in. His touch. His smell. His presence with you right there on the jet.

“Alright, Aaron.”

He smiled that gorgeous smile you’d grown to love but never saw often enough. Rarely that smile would make its presence and when it did it blew you away. You smiled right back at him as looked you over once more, “Let me drive you home.”

“What about my car?” You asked the most obvious question it felt dumb coming out.

He shrugged, “I’ll pick you up before work tomorrow. No worries.”

You didn’t want to oblige but you really wanted the alone time, “If you’re sure.”

His smile only grew. He stood up and pulled you up right with him, “I’m positive. Now, let’s get you home.” He didn’t drop your hand as he led you down the stairs and over to the parking lot not that far from the air strip. Your smile didn’t falter as he led the way so utterly sure he’d made the right decision, finally.

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