#CLASS EXCHANGE GIFT GONE RIGHT

[travellingarsonist]

[lale-txt]

EXOPLANETS ; Iwaizumi x gn!reader

five times Iwaizumi almost kisses you and one time he does

contains: gn!reader (no pronouns or gendered terms), strangers to lovers, 5+1 things, fluff, mutual pining, diy tattoos, alcohol mention, weed mention, Oikawa mention, shotgunning, five slightly suggestive lines if you squint, a lot of easter eggs and cross-references. written as a gift for @eggyrocks ♡

word count: 4.5k

✧. ┊ ONE

It’s Kyotani’s birthday party and you’re sitting outside on the fire escape, covered in five buckets of fake blood and rolling yourself a cigarette. The wind is icy on your face and the air would smell like early snow if it wasn’t for the dubious popcorn experiments happening in the kitchen right now. You weren’t allowed to smoke inside anymore after someone set one of the dried up houseplants a little bit on fire when stubbing out a cigarette on it (it was just once but the pot was fuming for two days and a half).

Kyotani always brings a mix of the strangest people together. There’s you and your other fellow students from your gender studies class, then guys from his former highschool volleyball team. There is also a bunch of men with face tattoos and a criminal record from his underground fight club (who are currently nailing the choreo to Rihanna in Just Dance), some nerds he met at a Pokémon TCG tournament (you and him once bought a hundred booster packs together while high and he thought he could recover from the financial ruin by winning one of these things) and the small group of housewives from his DND group who he meets once a month.

It’s unclear why Kyotani asked everyone to dress up for this but you’re not mad about having an occasion to drench yourself in fake blood and call it a night. In true Patrick Bateman fashion you also spent hours with excessive skin care prior to the party while you watched your best friend and roommate Atsumu zip himself up in the skimpiest maid outfit you’ve ever seen. It may be early December but that wouldn’t hold him back from showing off his thighs and a bit of his ass cheeks–maybe at heart he was just a 2000s British party girl trapped in the body of a 6’3 athlete. You shared the same cheap cherry lip gloss before heading out in the cold. 

A few drinks into the night and your head starts to hurt, which is when you retreat outside through the kitchen window to your usual spot on the fire escape. With the rolled cigarette dangling from your lips, you pat down the pockets of your suit in search of a lighter. You let out a frustrated groan when you realize you lent it to two guys dressed as Melody and Kuromi and that you’ll probably never get it back, which sucked because it had a kitty cat leaning on an eight-ball while smoking on it and you got it for free from your local conbini girl in exchange for a hand-crocheted triangle bikini top.

Someone taps your shoulder and you almost drop your cigarette if it wasn’t for the stranger’s quick reflexes, catching it for you before it would be gone with the wind. His fingers tilt your chin up a little and he puts the cigarette back between your lips. You look up and meet the gaze of Inuyasha.

Or well, a guy dressed as Inuyasha, but it might as well be your childhood crush come to life. Tan skin, sharp snaggleteeth that weren’t part of the costume but still fitting, and a pair of eyes that feel like they’re piercing straight through you. Your stomach does the little flip thing and you briefly wonder what was in the drinks you let Atsumu mix for you, but that was something to ponder on later. For now you only stare back at him, nodding when he asks if the seat next to you is free.

He sits down close to you and then reaches for something hidden in his sleeve and pulls out–your lighter. 

“Sorry about my friends. They have a knack for never returning things,” he huffs and you snatch the lighter from him, your face cracking into a smile. 

“Very noble of you,” you say, then hold up the light for him when he reaches for the cigarette behind his ear and puts it between his lips as well. His hand comes to cup yours to shield the flame from the wind and for a second your faces are close, so close, before you lean back again, taking a deep inhale of your cig. 

“Cool costume. You watch a lot of movies? Me too,” he says and rests his chin on one palm, looking at you. There’s something about his gaze that makes you feel drawn to him and you briefly wonder what he’d look like without the cheap white wig and also if he’d keep the costume on if you were to hook up with him and ask him nicely about it. 

“Is that so? Name every movie then,” you retort and it makes him laugh. Fuck. He has a really nice laugh.

You lean over and brush a few strands of the plastic hair behind his ears because the combination of the wind and the lit cigarette seems like a potential fire hazard (you learned a lot about fire hazards this year) and you’d kinda hate to see him combust too soon. 

What you don’t expect is him leaning in, almost nuzzling his face into your palm when you do, and looking back at you with a flicker that can only be described as drunk and lovesick. It makes your heart stumble in your ribcage a little. 

“Or you can just tell me your name. Unless you want me to save your contact as ‘Inuyasha’ in my phone. I can do that too,” you add when you pull your hand away, as if you’ve burned yourself by getting a bit too close to the sun. You put your cigarette between your lips and pull out your phone, tapping the screen a few times before glancing up at him again.

“It’s Iwaizumi. Hajime Iwaizumi.”

You think a lot about kissing Hajime Iwaizumi for the rest of the night.

✧. ┊ TWO

Osamu and Suna share the apartment directly below yours and when they text you that they made weed brownies, you didn’t really think about just how many of them they made. Together with Atsumu you shuffle downstairs, not expecting a bunch of other people to be there. Maybe then you would’ve worn something that wasn’t Atsumu’s old highschool club shirt and a pair of velour track pants you bedazzled yourself so it would read “soup” across your butt, but here you are. 

“Is this some kind of side business now?”, you ask Suna when you pull him aside. He has the biggest, shit-eating grin known to man plastered across his face and shakes his head. 

“A bunch of guys from his culinary school said they didn’t know how to bake weed brownies and Osamu offered to teach them, and somehow it turned into a ‘bring your own weed, get a tray of brownies’ party,” he replies and leans a little closer to you, which you know means he has a piece of juicy gossip to share. “One guy here totally got scammed, too. Spent ¥24,000 on some, can you believe?”

You almost choke on the piece of brownie in your hand. Osamu pressed it faithfully into your palm the moment you entered the kitchen, knowing he could trust you with it. Both of you had a very loose definition of trust–to Osamu it meant believing you won’t be dumb enough to eat more than one piece of the brownies, to you it meant you won’t change the contact names in his phones to soup ingredients again, no matter how high, and you both respected that.

“What, was it gold-dusted or something?” You cough and laugh, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes while Suna pats your back with empathy. “What a guy. Introduce us, I need to add him to my dream blunt rotation.”

Your eyes follow the direction Suna is nodding at, somewhere in the living room, and you meet the gaze of Iwaizumi Hajime slash Inuyasha from the fire escape. You start laughing again and head over to him, the sulk written all over his face.

“Not a word. I know, I know,” he groans when he makes space for you next to him on the couch. You squeeze in beside him and hug your knees to your chest, then catch the pillow he’s throwing at you when you can’t stop laughing the second you look at him.

“It’s okay. Actually, it’s kinda cute.” “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?” “So what if I do?”

Iwaizumi huffs again and his arm just happens to be behind you on the couch, his fingertips ghosting over your shoulder. Appreciate it, he grumbles, and eventually his face softens when you start telling him some anecdotes of your high life that definitely make the ¥24,000 weed purchase seem a little less dramatic. 

It’s loud in the apartment, with music blasting and people chattering, but you barely register any of it; too absorbed by his eyes that dart to your lips every now and then, and his tongue poking out from between his lips when he does, and the rattling desire in your chest that he could kiss you right here, right now. 

His fingers grab your chin and tilt your face up again, just like they did last time on the fire escape, except now he’s brushing over the corners of your mouth, collecting a few crumbs that were still there. He brings them to his lips, licking them off in one clean swipe of his tongue, and you’re pretty sure you’d let him devour you.

✧. ┊ THREE

Mattsun–the Kuromi from Kyotani’s party–and his friends from the forensics science department are hosting an Addams Family themed christmas party on their floor of the dorm and this time you don’t make the mistake of giving your lighter away. Atsumu is on a noble mission to “get laid by one of the goths” and you’re on your own, but not for long. 

“Oh, it’s you! Almost didn’t recognize you without all the fake blood,” Makki–the Melody from Kyotani’s party–shouts across the room when he spots you in the crowd and squeezes past all the people to clink his drink against yours. “You left quite the impression.”

“That so?”, you ask with a raised eyebrow and Makki gives you a boyish grin. You already have a feeling where this conversation is heading.

“Hajime won’t shut up about you. Like, ever,” he says and links his arm with yours, dragging you to the other end of the hallway. “He’s here too, by the way. Last time I saw him he was winning some kind of arm wrestling contest, but if you ask me people just wanted to ogle at his biceps. Can you blame them?” 

Speaking of the devil, you find Iwaizumi stumbling out of the bathroom, stilling when he sees you. His hoodie is tied around his waist and he’s wearing some baggy jeans and a tight, sleeveless compression shirt that does show off his arms nicely. Very nicely. So nicely you forget what to say for a brief second. 

Makki shoves you into Iwaizumi’s arms before heading off somewhere else, probably asking Mattsun to push him against the nearest wall, and you’re alone with the boy again. He caught you by your shoulders, his hands now resting on top of them while he looks you up and down. You wonder if he’ll do the chin thing again, and maybe if third time’s a charm and he’s gonna kiss you tonight for real. 

Instead he asks, “do you want to check out the tattoo station they set up in the other room?” and because your impulse control has vanished the moment you entered his orbit, you agree without a second thought. Maybe not even a first thought. Ten minutes later you’re wearing a pair of black latex gloves and hover over Iwaizumi who is lying shirtless on his back in front of you.

“Kinda sad you don’t want a tramp stamp. It’d look good on you,” you sigh with feigned annoyance while rubbing an alcohol soaked pad over his hip bones to disinfect that part, trying hard to keep your eyes pinned on there, but it’s kind of an impossible thing to ask of you. It would be a shame if you didn’t appreciate the canvas in front of you.

“Maybe next time,” Iwaizumi exclaims with the confidence of a man who simply doesn’t do the whole ordeal of regretting. It’s admirable, really. “And I let you pick the design of this one, didn’t I?”

That he did. You drew a wonky oval shape on the stencil paper which was kind of impressive as it was, given the drinks you had prior to that. Iwaizumi took the pencil from you and added a similar one, overlapping with yours. 

“That’s two eggs,” you muttered, tilting your head to the side and trying hard to focus–which again, was a hard task at hand, given that Iwaizumi leaned over your shoulder shirtless. He smelled nice. You noticed that the first time you met already. Something between fresh laundry, a spritzer of YSL Y on the side of his nape and a hint of sweat, but not unpleasant. It made you want to dig your teeth into the curve of his neck and shoulder.

“It’s a heart, dumbass,” Iwaizumi huffed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, second to how much both of you were thinking about kissing the other. 

✧. ┊ FOUR

When Kenma invited you over to his place for the Bouncing Ball winter party, you were promised free unlimited food and a goodie bag, but all you got was ancient rage and a badly rolled cigarette passed back and forth between Iwaizumi and you.

“I will fucking kill Oikawa with my bare hands,” you mutter under your breath and squeeze the can of lychee soda (branded with the Bouncing Ball logo) that you’re holding a little tighter. 

“Believe me, I’ve tried many times in the past but this bastard always comes back. Like some demon lord or something.” Iwaizumi takes an angry drag of the cigarette before holding it between your lips again. His fingers brush lightly against your skin when he does and it’s the only thing that calms you down a little. 

“Like. The blue shell right before the finish line felt so personal, right?”

Kenma had sent both of you into timeout outside when you almost flung the unstrapped Wii remote towards the flatscreen and Iwaizumi might or might have not punched a hole into the shoji door after Oikawa won the third round of Mario Kart in a row and was being awfully smug about it.

You’re sitting on the backstairs together, huddled close to each other from the cold and the unspoken desire to kiss the other one stupid. With every minute you spend like this your anger vaporizes little by little, until all you can feel is the body heat radiating off Iwaizumi’s body and how calloused his hand is when he takes yours into his.

He’s wearing the hat you crocheted for him, an apology for the crooked hand poked tattoo you gave him a few days prior to today which now adorned his hip bone. At least it wasn’t infected which was a tiny miracle given the circumstances. His face lit up when you handed the hat to him, wrapped in some tin foil because neither you nor Atsumu own gift paper and that’s the most festive you could do with the utensils you had at hand. At least you threw in a little bit of confetti which was now stuck in his dark hair.

You pick some of it off his strands and Iwaizumi leans a little closer. It reminds you a lot of a big cat asking for head scratches. 

“‘s nice, with you,” he mumbles without looking at you and gives your hand a small squeeze. His thumb rubs over your knuckles with unexpected gentleness and your head sinks against his shoulder.

“Really nice,” you agree quietly, allowing yourself to close your eyes. 

The moment could have been perfect. Just the two of you, the stubbed out cigarette at your feet and the sweet taste of artificial lychee on your lips, the slowly falling snow. If only it wasn’t for the backdoor being flung open again, carrying the chatter and the music from inside towards you and a too familiar voice that will surely haunt your nightmares chirping “yahoo~”, making Iwaizumi next to you groan in agony. 

You spend the rest of the night losing another ten rounds of Mario Kart and Oikawa manifests as your sleep paralysis demon from now on, but at least you got to hold Iwaizumi’s hand under the table a little longer.

✧. ┊ FIVE

Hinata is back home from his semester abroad in Brazil. He texted the groupchat a photo of him (wow, he got really tan and buff, you think) and the three giant boxes of oranges that he brought with him and invited everyone over for an impromptu reunion party at his place. 

It’s not as excessive as other parties of your friends, more of a get together that lasts an entire weekend with everyone dropping by and going as they please, as long as they take a few oranges with them. 

You quite literally ran into Iwaizumi on your way there, your hands full with a bunch of books you borrowed from the library prior to that and him almost crashing into you when he skated around the corner on his longboard. He wore the hat you crocheted him again (with less confetti this time) and offered you his scarf and a ride. You almost wish Hinata would live at the other end of the world just so you’d have an excuse to sit cross-legged on his board in front of him while he pushes it slowly for a little longer. 

Maybe he’ll give you a ride home if you ask him nicely. Maybe the right words would fall out of your mouth this time. Maybe he’ll kiss you on the threshold, with his fingers tracing your jaw and your lips parting for him so willingly.

At Hinata’s place you find your way underneath the kotatsu with Iwaizumi by your side. The air smells like hot punch and christmas cookies and you listen for hours to Hinata talking about the things he experienced while abroad. You swipe through photos on his tablet while around you people come and go, and the entire time Iwaizumi sits so close to you that your knees keep touching underneath the table. Occasionally his hand brushes over the small of your back or pulls you a little closer towards him when someone else squeezes beside you, his touch lingering but never overbearing. 

It’s getting late and you should probably go home soon, considering the last looming deadline you still had to tackle before your winter break, but it’s not easy to peel yourself away from Iwaizumi. Not when he draped his jacket over your shoulders and his fingers brushed the nape of your neck, and especially not when he starts peeling oranges for you and starts pushing the slices directly between your lips when you’re too lazy to lift your head. 

You watch him quietly as he does, his fingers that are usually a little bruised and roughed up now impossibly gentle as he digs through the citrus skin, peeling away layer after layer. It’s beautiful, you think. He’s beautiful. You wonder if he could do the same to you, tearing through every bit of resistance you put up to protect your heart, or maybe if it was already bare in front of him the entire time, ready for him to sink his teeth into your flesh.

You hope he’ll peel a thousand more oranges for you in this lifetime.

✧. ┊ ONE, AGAIN

It’s winter solstice and Atsumu and you decide to host one last party at your home before the year ends. Together you go out to buy liquor and one mistletoe (for the festive spark of it all) but the lady from the flower store insists you take all of them for free since they’re closing soon and she would throw them out anyway. So now there’s around fifty mistletoes hanging from every ceiling of your apartment and the entire hallway of your floor, and you briefly wonder just how many mistletoes it would take for Iwaizumi to kiss you tonight.

Osamu begrudgingly agrees to prepare some food since you’d end up raiding their fridge around 2AM anyway if he doesn’t, meanwhile Suna shows you some paparazzi-esque photos on his phone that he took of Iwaizumi and you over the span of this month. For once you’re grateful that he snaps a photo of everything and everyone, because swiping through these makes your heart do a little flip in your chest.

There’s one with both of you smoking on the fire escape, leaning in close to catch the flame of the lighter. You with your legs thrown over his lap on their couch while waiting for the weed brownies, his arm resting behind you on the couch. The moment when Iwaizumi takes his tight compression shirt off in front of you (it’s slightly blurry and Suna blames it on the goths and their shitty lighting). Iwaizumi and you pinning Oikawa to the floor and a Wii controller on the verge of becoming a murder weapon. You napping with your head on top of your folded arms, a plate with some orange peel in front of you, Iwaizumi’s hand in the back of your neck while looking down at you fondly. 

To be adored by Iwaizumi Hajime feels tender and mellow. There’s something magical about it; never loud or overwhelming, and yet never leaving room for doubt how he does love you with his entire being. It comes to him as natural as breathing. A love as toasty warm like a black cat basking in the sun, storing sunshine in every fibre of your soul. 

When you open the door for him later that night, he hugs you longer than usual, his arms caging you in his embrace. He murmurs something about all these mistletoes against the shell of your ear and you laugh.

“I think it’s a dumb tradition, but they’re quite beautiful, aren't they?”, you ask and Iwaizumi pulls back slightly to look at you, his hand cupping one side of your face now. 

“More than just beautiful,” he mumbles, not talking about the mistletoes.

You learn that night that Iwaizumi doesn’t dance (other than Oikawa and Atsumu who are currently destroying the Dance Dance Revolution dance pads in the living room), but he’ll happily spend hours watching you do your DJ thing. Anything as long as he can be in your proximity. He’s leaning back in the chair in the corner behind your pult, a cold Tiger beer in one hand, his chin resting on the other and his gaze never leaving you. It’s like he’s your personal bouncer for the night. You quite like that. It’s an oddly protective gesture but it makes you feel warm and giddy. 

“Someone just asked me if they can snort protein powder off my biceps,” he tells you when you return from the bathroom back to his side. He holds up a cigarette he rolled for you meanwhile. You lean down and let him put it between your lips before he reaches for your lighter stored in his pocket. 

“And did you let them?”, you ask, your face illuminated for the flick of a second when he lights up the cigarette for you. You’re standing between his spread legs and Iwaizumi reaches for your hips, making you stumble a little closer to where he was sitting. His chest is heaving now, his pupils dilating when he lets his eyes wander over you. You’ve seen this expression before, you think. It’s been the same from when you touched him for the first time, back then on the fire escape.

“Told them I was already taken,” he murmurs, almost not audible, and even in the dim light you can see the tip of his ears dusted in a dark pink color. His eyes flick up to yours and his expression is something between pleading and demanding. Oh. 

How brazen. 

He lets out a labored breath when you push him back in his chair, making room for you to straddle his hips. His hands find your thighs, fingers digging into your supple flesh and it’s clear that he doesn’t plan on letting you go for the rest of the night. Or, forever maybe.

You take a long drag of your cigarette and this time it’s you cupping his chin, tilting it up and hovering above him. Iwaizumi doesn’t need to be told what to do, his head falling back, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly before he parts his lips and lets you blow a mouthful of smoke into his lungs. It’s greedy, how he swallows it so willingly, watching you through half-lidded eyes. Hungry. Begging. Adoring. 

He’s in love with you like no one else ever was. 

“I need to kiss you or else I’m going insane.” 

His voice is hoarse, strained. As if he is clinging to the last bit of his resistance and sanity. In one swift movement he snatches the cigarette from your lips with one hand and carelessly drowns it in his half-empty beer bottle, his other hand wraps around the back of your neck and pulls you closer to him again.

“Please,” he huffs and it sounds like he’s pierced with ten swords, in agony over not feeling your lips against his. “Pretty please.” 

Your arms wrap around him and you kiss him. During the longest night of the year it’s like the sun is rising just for you. You don’t think, just let the feeling wash over you as your body melts against his. Iwaizumi lets out a quiet growl and kisses you back, gently at first, until your tongue slides against his and his calloused hands against your bare skin start trembling slightly. He’s using every ounce of self-restraint so he wouldn’t devour you on the spot. He knows you’d let him and that is a problem. 

“Took you long enough,” you mumble against his lips once you pull apart to breathe, which could have been an hour later or a lifetime. Time becomes a blur under the soft caress of Iwaizumi. He mirrors your smug smile, stealing another kiss from your lips.

“I’ll make up for it,” he rasps, closing his eyes when you rest your forehead against his. His hands on your waist pull you impossibly closer again, his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, caressing the sliver of skin there. He lets out a quiet hum, a sound very close to purring. “Gonna kiss you stupid till you forget your own name and can only remember mine.”

“Silly,” you huff back and kiss him again. “Is this a threat or a promise?”

“Both. With you, it’s both.”

a/n: hi eggy ily!! your wishlist was spectacular and i had a lot of fun writing this for you (at some point it got a little out of hand i'll admit lmao). hope you enjoyed your gift and that the rest of your 2024 will be warm and tender. trying not to get sappy here, just know you always leave such a mark with anything you write, it's something i deeply admire. happy holidays & all the love for you <3

[starmapz]

what you know - ch7: yuletide || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 11.2k.

❦ a/n ; happy holidays to those who celebrate! this was originally intended to be a little bonus chapter but as you can see, it kinda got away from me LOL. so i hope you enjoy <3

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

“Kunaaaaaaaa!”

Walking back from Choso’s friend’s house, Sukuna inhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m right here, quit yelling, brat.”

“You’re not listening though!” Yuji pouts, tugging at his arm until he kneels down.

And god, Sukuna’s head pounds the moment he’s lowered himself down to his little brother’s height. His mind is practically screaming at him, begging him to lay down in the dark and sleep just a little bit longer.

With a sigh, Sukuna rubs at his temple. “What, Yu?”

“Cho’s friend said they’re having a big, big Christmas dinner with turkey and stuffing and veggies and- and- potatoes, and they have a big tree and decorations and they have family traveling to see them-”

Sukuna lowers his hand from his head slowly, eyes narrowed in an attempt to fend off the effects of his hangover following his night of drinking, partying, and chicken fingers as he listens to Yuji go on about the holidays.

Christmas.

Aside from saving a bit of extra money to get gifts, Sukuna hasn’t exactly had the luxury of stopping to think much about it. He supposes he could have, and probably should have focused on that yesterday rather than going to Gojo’s party, but he needed a night to himself more than ever before with the lawsuit weighing down heavily on his shoulders.

He’s not thrilled that in his drunken stupor he dragged you into the fray of his issues with his step-mother, if Sukuna even dared grace her with such a name, but somehow it doesn’t seem quite as dire with you on his side.

“Seeeeeeee!” Yuji groans, catching Sukuna lost in thought. “You’re not listeningggg!”

His jaw tightens. “I’m listening,” he grumbles, gritting his teeth as he drags his palm over his face.

He casts a glance at Choso, who’s blankly staring at the exchange between his older and younger brothers, and Sukuna wonders if the twelve-year-old is worrying about him right now. He wonders if this is one of those moments that his own kid brother is contemplating his well-being.

With a pang in his heart, he grimaces and gives Yuji his full attention. “You wanna have a big Christmas?”

Yuji nods eagerly. Swallowing hard, Sukuna prays he can provide that and not dull the light behind his eyes. The reality is that no matter what he does, there won’t be a big extended family, or a turkey, or even a big tree. The most he can manage is a small tree, a couple of friends, and some decorations from the dollar store.

Yuji isn’t old enough to remember the holidays with their dad, and his mom was gone so soon after he was born that Sukuna doubts he remembers her at all, let alone a holiday with her. Choso surely remembers both, though during their first holiday as just the three of them, Sukuna destroyed the illusion of holiday merriment and the joys of waking up on Christmas morning to gifts from Santa.

It wasn’t on purpose, but he had no clue what he was doing. He wasn’t in a good place mentally, nor did he have the money for much more than a hoodie Choso had wanted. The closest thing they’d had to a Christmas that year was Uraume surprising them by coming over and cooking dinner. Since then, it’s become tradition. Uraume never expects a gift in return for cooking a full Christmas dinner and even leaving the leftovers, but Sukuna makes an effort regardless to return the favor.

With a huff, Sukuna stands at his full height, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he gives in to his little brother’s request. That’s how he finds himself pushing a cart through the dollar store with his brothers in tow and a mean hangover that seems to have no intention of relenting anytime soon as the sterile white lighting beats down on him.

“What about these?” Choso holds up a stack of Christmas plates and napkins.

With a glance at the price, Sukuna mutters a ‘sure’, only because nodding makes his head absolutely ache.

Leaning over the cart, Sukuna watches Choso grab reasonable items, while Yuji shovels anything and everything he can into the cart.

“No,” Sukuna mutters each time a plush, massive wreath, or Christmas themed cookies make their way into the cart.

“Kuna, can we pleeeaaase at least get these?” He begs, holding up a pair of light-up antlers. He clicks a button on the ears, causing the lights to flash.

“No, Yu. Put ‘em back.”

Yuji pouts, staring down at them in his hands as he fiddles with the fabric of the ears. The little boy glances back up at Sukuna with wide, glassy eyes and sure enough, his resolve crumbles.

“Fine. Grab a pair for Cho, too.”

Yuji parades around the cart with a series of ‘yay’s and ‘thank you’s, and even Choso’s eyes light up as Sukuna leans further over the cart until the wheels are squeaking in an effort to support his weight.

The aisle is a blur of pink hair as Yuji bounces around the decorations, lips pursing into a big ‘o’ as he points at a small Christmas tree with lights strung around it. With a yawn, Sukuna mildly watches as Choso tries to talk the pink-haired child down from the tree that’s on the more expensive side for the dollar store, but even his eyes go wide with wonder as Sukuna reaches over them and sets it in the cart.

Remember when everything at the dollar store used to actually cost a dollar? Sukuna certainly does.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Sukuna sighs, leading the way towards the exit as Yuji talks his ear off about how he wants to watch Christmas movies. As he goes on about how he’s never seen Home Alone, Sukuna watches the cashier scan their items, his brow furrowing as he sees Choso pull a Santa hat out from the pile in the cart. “No,” he scolds, holding his hand out to his brother expectantly.

Usually the reasonable of the two kids, Sukuna simply raises a brow when Choso continues his motions, placing a second Santa hat on the counter. The poor employee has paused with an uncertain expression, taking note of the debate going on between the two siblings.

“Choso,” Sukuna growls, holding his hand out more expectantly.

The boy grabs a third Santa hat, placing it on the counter as well.

“Choso,” Sukuna hisses, reaching forward to grab the hats off the counter but the little boy snatches them away first.

“Please, Kuna.”

“No. Antlers or hats, not both.”

Yuji grabs his brother’s hand in solidarity, pouting up at Sukuna.

“No, brat. That won’t work twice.” Losing patience, Sukuna pulls out his card, silently threatening to pay and leave if they don’t choose.

“Kuna, please. I won’t ask for anything else,” Choso pleads.

He falters, his thumb running over the chip on his card as he shoots the dark-haired Itadori a glance from his peripherals. Why the hell does he want these hats so bad? He’s not sure he understands, but the extra few dollars won’t kill him, and if he’s being honest, there’s another reason behind his sudden leniency with the two kids.

There’s a small nagging thought in the back of his mind that this might be his last holiday with the brothers. It’s not something he wants to consider, not when he thinks his guardianship for the last three years over the two of them should count for something in court, but he can’t deny the feeling of unease that has him giving in to another request.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, using his spare hand to massage between his brows in an effort to dull his headache. “Fine.”

Yuji cheers happily as all three hats flop onto the counter. The cashier shoots an uncertain glance at Sukuna, who scowls down at the hats at the realization that there’s three of them, which means one’s for him, but he keeps his mouth shut as they scan the last of the items.

With a tap of his card, he tucks it back into his wallet, handing each of his brothers some small, lighter bags, while he grabs the tree.

The walk back to the apartment is grueling between the excited ramblings of Yuji, the overcast sun assaulting Sukuna’s hungover senses and the melting snow that’s giving way to a particularly icy sidewalk. How convenient.

Finally reaching their apartment, Sukuna lobs the tree down on the ground and unceremoniously tosses himself over the couch. At his height, his legs dangle over the edge of the couch, but it’s such a relief to lay down that it feels comfier than ever. He drapes his arm over his eyes to shield himself from the natural light flooding in through the windows as his brothers take it upon themselves to decorate the apartment.

He must have drifted off, because the feeling of Yuji tugging on his hoodie jolts him awake very suddenly. Dazed, he drags his hands over his face harshly before cracking his eyes open. His headache has dulled enough that he can function without the sharp pain of a pounding head, but he could definitely have used some more sleep.

“Will Rume be here this year?” Yuji asks as he tugs at Sukuna’s hood.

“Christ, brat, you’re gonna choke me,” Sukuna gruffs, pulling the collar of his hoodie back down. “Yeah, they’ll be here,” he confirms, carding a hand through his hair. Much like Sukuna, Yuji hasn’t quite gotten Uraume’s name down, but they’ve never seemed to mind.

Yuji bounds off with tinsel in-hand, tossing the glittery strands of foil over a kitchen chair. With a yawn, Sukuna sits up and takes a look around. “Oh, fuck me,” he mutters under his breath as he realizes that the apartment is no longer just overrun with beaded lizards, but there’s now tinsel strung up on every surface that the two boys could reach. The apartment practically looks like a craft store threw up in it.

A muscle in his jaw ticks as he stares at the absolute fire hazard that the stove is looking like right now and he sighs, pushing himself to his feet to get his laptop. The two kids go barreling past him in a fit of laughter, nearly bowling him over if he weren’t so steady on his feet.

“Hey. Hey! No tinsel on the stove, you two know better!” Sukuna barks. They don’t even cast him so much as a glance, but Sukuna can’t be bothered to deal with the issue himself right now. Flopping down on his bed, he leans against his headboard and opens his email.

He scarcely remembers letting you know he got home last night as you’d requested, having passed out shortly after sending the email, but he’s somewhat surprised to find that the timestamp from your email is from late last night as well. You must have stayed awake until he emailed to make sure he was safe. Something stirs in his stomach at the thought, but he quickly pushes it aside.

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:42 AM

Good to hear, Kuna! Get some sleep, thanks for the ice cream!! :)

He lets out a breath of relief at seeing you type his nickname, thanking any god that will listen that you aren’t upset with him anymore. Especially with how much he’d fumbled his shitty apology, completely ill-prepared and inebriated. Even sober, he doesn’t think he would have been prepared, but drunk and high? It’s a miracle he pulled it off at all.

“Kuna?”

Sukuna peers over his laptop to the doorway, his usual disinterested stare falling on a head of messy pink hair. He doesn’t respond, but Yuji knows he has his brother’s attention as crimson eyes look over his hopeful expression.

“The stove is clean.”

“Good.”

“Sorry,” Yuji fiddles guiltily with the hem of his Sonic the Hedgehog shirt. 

Sukuna hums in acknowledgement.

Yuji continues to fiddle with his shirt before hopefully asking if Sukuna is inviting you to Christmas dinner. His eyes are wide and full of optimism as he takes a step towards Sukuna.

“She’s probably spendin’ Christmas with her family,” he replies mildly, reaching up to scratch his jaw.

“But we do dinner on Christmas Eve anyway,” he points out, a tradition started to make sure they could include Uraume.

Sukuna sighs, clicking on the reply button to your email as he mutters out a “fine.” Yuji jogs over to him and leaps up onto Sukuna’s bed, crawling to his side to watch as he types out an email to you. Sukuna huffs, grimacing at his little brother before typing out a message to you.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 1:08 PM

got christmas plans?

“That’s it?”

Sukuna’s brow furrows. “What’s wrong with that?” He grumbles, the full pain of his headache beginning to return at the judgment from the five-year-old.

“Ask her to come over!” Yuji insists.

Frowning, Sukuna playfully shoves Yuji’s face away from his screen. “Go finish decorating with your brother,” he huffs, watching the giggly kid hop off the bed with a bright expression. “If, and I mean if she’s free, I’ll ask. Got it?”

Yuji nods, running towards the door excitedly before pausing. “Oh! Can we also invite-”

Sukuna sighs as he begins rattling off a couple of Choso’s friends, as well as his own from Kindergarten.

He’s definitely in over his head this year.

–

With one final piece of tape, you secure a red ribbon over a small green box, setting it alongside two bigger, more slender boxes. One for Sukuna, and one for each of the boys.

Piling the gifts into a bag, you set them at the door and finish getting ready.

Your holiday plans had gone very quickly from a video call with your family and a cozy movie night alone with your laptop to a brunch with Suguru’s family, a dinner with Satoru’s, and dinner with Sukuna and the boys. Of course you appreciate Satoru and Suguru for making an effort to include you, but there’s something deeper to the idea of having Christmas dinner with Sukuna that you can’t deny.

Over the past week, you had helped pick up the kids from school a couple of times, so Sukuna had presented this as a way of ‘paying you back’, but your conversations with his little brothers had you thinking there was more to this than just paying you back. Yuji talked non-stop about Christmas movies and a big dinner and how he was beyond excited for the big day. Sukuna seemed tired at the mere concept, but Yuji was adamant that you had to be a part of it, and there’s no world where you’re willing to let down the sweet little boy.

Picking the kids up from school had also given you the opportunity to scheme with Choso about Sukuna’s gift and you’re pretty sure you nailed it.

With a final once-over of your outfit, you nod to yourself in the mirror. A cute red wool Christmas sweater hangs over your frame decorated in stitches that form the shape of reindeer and snowflakes, with a pair of black leggings adorning your legs. You make your way to the door and pull on a pair of knee-high heeled boots to complete the look, pleased with the cute and festive outfit.

When you arrive at Sukuna’s door with some fresh-baked Christmas cookies (those cute Snowman ones from Pillsbury that are to die for), and the gifts for all three brothers tucked into a bag hanging around your arm, you hit the button for their intercom and wait for a response. After a few rings, the buzzer seems to die and the door doesn’t budge. Blinking a few times, you pull out your phone to check you have the right date and time.

December 24th, 3:00 PM.

With a furrowed brow, you juggle the cookies and gifts to hit the buzzer again. Maybe they just didn’t hear it. It rings once, twice, three, four times, and you’re sure it’s about to die when static sounds over the speaker and excited screams can be heard. Not unusual, but it sounds much more chaotic than usual.

“Hello?” Choso’s voice finally sounds in the brisk afternoon winter air.

“Hey Cho, it’s me!”

He doesn’t reply, but the door buzzes as it unlocks for you to make your way up. Before you can knock, Choso pulls the door open for you with a toothy smile, his cheeks rosy.

“Hey, Cho!” You grin and take your boots off as he closes the door behind you and adjusts his absolutely adorable reindeer antlers with sparkling red and green LEDs.

You’ve hardly taken a step into the apartment when the madness of the apartment hits you, quite literally.

Yuji barrels into your leg in a hug, matching antlers to Choso’s adorning his head as he giggles and grins at you. “Merry Christmas!” He cheers, tugging you further into the apartment as you set down your gifts and cookies at the door.

Tinsel is spread across every surface below waist-level, which makes you think the boys did most of the decorating, while a small tree sits on the floor near the TV, lit with sparkling red and green lights. Garland is spread across light fixtures and the warm glow of colorful fairy lights illuminates the dining room. You hadn’t taken Sukuna as the type to decorate to the nines, but it’s heartwarming to see just how much cheer and spirit is spread throughout the otherwise fairly dark apartment.

The real shock as you’re pulled into the living space, is the sheer amount of people all crammed into the living room. Mostly kids between Yuji and Choso’s ages, and one other person who seems to be around the same age as you with snowy white hair, while Sukuna sits on the floor. Displeasure twists his every feature as his youngest brother runs back up to him and a girl around his age with short brown hair. The little boy takes a string of red garland from the girl, clambering over the tattooed man as he strings it up around his broad shoulders. A couple of boys chuckle at the sight of Sukuna decorated like a Christmas tree from where they sit playing MarioKart.

Sukuna grinds his teeth, his jaw clenched as he just barely manages to tolerate his little brother’s antics. You giggle at the sight, pulling out your phone to snap a photo of the sweet interaction, catching Sukuna’s attention finally.

“Don’t,” he hisses at you, fists clenching at his sides.

Biting your lip to conceal your smile, you hold your phone up to him, snapping a photo just in time before Sukuna’s pushing off the ground suddenly. The action of his chest and shoulders rising pulls the garland taut before it splits under the tension, falling from his frame to the dismay of the kids.

Holding your phone tight to your chest, you gasp playfully at the realization that Sukuna’s darting towards you, intent on deleting the photo. You duck quickly away from him, unable to hide your smile as you slide into the dining room where Choso and a couple of friends seem to be playing with Pokemon cards.

“Delete it,” Sukuna growls as he closes the distance between you in a few short strides. An unceremonious squeak parts your lips as he catches up to you and slips a strong arm around your middle, using his other hand to reach for your phone and hold it up to you. You push against him, but he’s not budging even an inch. The feeling of his chiseled abs pressing against your back is dizzying, and you almost forget why he has you tucked into his warmth, until he hisses out another “delete it, brat.”

“It’s so cute!” You protest, wriggling against him in an attempt to slip from his grasp.

Sukuna falters for a split second, swallowing hard as your endeavors to escape from him has your ass brushing against him just right and he prays you don’t feel his body involuntarily reacting to you as his cock twitches in his jeans. Blinking, he scrambles to think about something unpleasant to counteract the thoughts beginning to race through his mind. You twist in his grasp, and he’s reminded of what he’s doing in the first place, pulled back to the present. “It’s not fucking cute. Delete it.”

“It’ll be a good memory for Yuji and Choso!” You insist, putting your full weight against Sukuna’s arm that has you caged against him. He doesn’t move a muscle, not needing to so much as tense to keep you up, he’s just that strong.

His brow furrows as he considers your words, finally huffing as he releases you. With your full weight being supported by him just seconds ago, you barely manage to catch yourself before you go tumbling to the floor, grinning triumphantly when you find your footing.

“If that sees the light of day, I ain’t joining you for lunch anymore,” Sukuna grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

Standing up straight once more, you tilt your head innocently up at him. “It won’t,” you promise, tucking your phone into a pocket on the side of your leggings.

With a frown, Sukuna rounds the couch and takes a seat beside his friend with white hair cut into a bob. You follow after him, plopping down on his other side. He states your name, casting a glance between you and them. “This is Uraume,” he tells you.

Your eyes light up with recognition, grinning as you wave politely.

They return your wave with a kind smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” they comment with a knowing look to Sukuna that he shoots down with a scornful frown. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too!” You grin, happy to finally be able to meet one of Sukuna’s friends. He’s slowly allowing you further into his little world, giving you a piece of him that very few get to see. Though, looking back at the door where your bag of gifts resides, it occurs to you that you had no idea there would be seven kids and three adults here, and you haven’t brought nearly enough for everyone. “Had I known you would be here, I would have brought you something for the holidays,” you comment sheepishly.

“Did Yuji not tell you?” Sukuna arches a brow questioningly as he leans back into the couch.

You shake your head. “No, was he supposed to?” You cast a glance at the little boy wrapping the torn garland around his friend, the two giggling up a storm.

Sukuna sighs. “I figured he would have, the kid wouldn’t shut up about today and Uraume’s been a part of our holidays for a few years now.”

“It’s fine, anyway!” They pipe in, shaking their head. “I don’t need a gift and I certainly wasn’t expecting one.”

“And don’t worry about the kids. They’re all headin’ out for their own dinners soon, but Yu wanted a big Christmas this year, so…” Sukuna trails off, his gaze flitting between both brothers. You know what’s going through his mind, you can see the hollow distance resurfacing in his eyes as his mind grapples with the idea of this being their last Christmas together.

But you aren’t about to let him give up without a fight, so you snap him back to the present with a prod to his shoulder. “So, what are you cooking?”

“I’m not,” Sukuna replies, casting a glance at Uraume, who explains that every year their gift to Sukuna and the boys is a full Christmas dinner, though they replace the turkey with chicken given that they’re in college and that’s one pricey bird.

The afternoon carries on with excited laughter from the kids while you and Uraume learn about one another, while also poking fun at Sukuna, who’s relatively quiet as usual. The kids’ parents slowly begin to pick them up over the course of the evening, and Uraume occupies themself with cooking as the sun sets over the horizon. A merry glow casts over the apartment as fairy and holiday lights shine over the tinsel and shimmer along the walls.

Though not exactly Christmassy, you can also see what Sukuna meant at Gojo’s party when he mentioned his house was overrun with bead lizards. They seem to be strewn across nearly every surface as well, with tinsel tied to them like a second tail.

As the last of the kids file out, Yuji and Choso turn to the Gamecube that Sukuna has long forgotten is yours. You prefer it this way anyway, for it to get some use from the kids than to rot in your storage.

“Have you spoken to, uh, Kento?” Sukuna asks curiously over the sounds of clanking pots and utensils and video game music.

You nod. “He’s willing to help. He has something for me from my parents anyway, so he said we can meet at a cafe when he gets back and he’ll have his friend tag along.”

Sukuna raises a brow. “Does he know he’s doing me a favor, not you?”

“He does!”

“I’m sure he was thrilled to hear it,” Sukuna grumbles, slumping into the couch with his arms crossed over his chest as he stares blankly at the little tree on the floor. His gifts to the kids sit on the floor, nearly blocking the tree itself given its small stature.

“He’ll come around,” you assure him. “He hasn’t really had a chance to get to know you.”

Sukuna hums, his gaze remaining trained on the little Christmas tree. “He’s from your hometown?”

You nod. “Him and Haibara.”

“Mm.” Sukuna drums his fingers over his bicep. “Why didn’t you go home with them?”

With a tight-lipped smile, you join him in staring at the Christmas tree, suddenly finding its intrigue. “I couldn’t afford to.”

Crimson irises tear away from the tree to take in your bittersweet expression. He knows that feeling all-too-well, but it’s never occurred to him that it could be a sentiment you would share. He’s never made any assumptions that you’re rich, and although he has no clue how much or little it costs for you to get home, he did assume that wouldn’t stop you from spending Christmas with your family.

“Mm.” He supposes maybe you aren’t as different as he once thought. Perhaps you aren’t from different worlds, but rather two sides of the same coin. “‘M sorry.”

You turn your attention to him, your usual cheerful expression taking over again. Always looking on the bright side, like a ray of sunshine that seems to find its way through Sukuna’s darkness to light up his life.

He’s only known you for a couple of months, but he wonders when you became such a staple in his life, one that brings warmth to an otherwise cold and hardened man.

“It’s fine,” you assure him. “There’s always next year.” Your eyes crinkle at the corners as you regard the two boys playing Mario Party. “It’s nice to be here, anyway.”

Sukuna follows your gaze, his eyes befalling a game of Mario Party nearing the end that he fears will also end in tears if he knows anything about that game. He blinks a couple of times, taking in the thought that this is the first time in a while that his house has been so filled with life.

One year after another his holidays had diminished in size, beginning with the kids’ mother moving for a job, followed shortly by his father passing away. Along with the passing of his father, Sukuna’s mental health had followed, and what resulted was a Christmas so hollow that he struggles to remember that year, hidden deep within the carefully guarded recesses of his mind.

Yet when he needed them most, Uraume had made their way into his life and bit by bit, they had helped him pick up the pieces and find his footing. Just when he needed you most, you found your way into his life as well, though you were little more than the source of his disdain at first. He considers himself lucky that you’re so resilient when it comes to his snide demeanor, because for the first time in a long time, something occurs to Sukuna.

You and Uraume may not fill the same roles that having parents would have, but you’re both important figures in the kids’ lives and they need the positivity that you bring that Sukuna doesn’t provide. He’s aware he isn’t the best influence for two impressionable young kids, something that he wrestles with daily, but one reassurance remains a beacon when he finds himself doubting his abilities.

Your declaration that he’s their hero.

He’d never considered it before, but he sees it in the way Choso worries for him and understands, even at such a young age, that Sukuna is struggling. He sees it in the way Yuji runs to him to show him the latest basketball trick he’s learned.

So he’s gotta be doing something right.

After an extended silence, Sukuna finally finds the footing to reply to you. “We’re glad to have ya, princess.”

Uraume begins setting out dishes, requesting help as they work on the dinner’s finishing touches. The three of you work together to set the table, complete with a little candle in the center as the smell of chicken floods the apartment.

You narrowly avoid a meltdown by the looks of it as Choso is winning Mario Party by a landslide when Sukuna calls them over, asking them to shut off the TV for the night. Bounding to the table, you let the kids pile their plates high with chicken, stuffing, and potatoes, both completely avoiding anything that so much as touched vegetables. With a scowl, Sukuna reaches over to scoop some veggies onto their plates, met with a guilty frown from Choso and a groan from Yuji.

Once their plates are full, Sukuna insists that you and Uraume go first before he loads up his own plate with enough food to feed a whole family. You can only imagine what the grocery bill looks like for two growing boys and the wall of muscle that is Sukuna.

“This is all amazing, Uraume.”

They grin at your compliment, a warm blush dusting their cheeks. “Thank you.”

“Where’d you learn to cook? I know you’re in the history program with Sukuna, but I’d believe you if you said you were in the culinary program,” you continue, reveling in the flavor of the potatoes.

The shade of their reddened cheeks darkens and they chuckle lightly. “I appreciate that, but I’ll leave the culinary degree to Choso,” they smile, casting a glance at the little boy whose eyes sparkle at the mention of a culinary degree. You suppose that explains why he loves to follow you around in the kitchen so much. “I’m self-taught. I learned during our first year when I got sick of ramen and eating out.”

“I wish I had that same dedication,” you giggle, shaking your head as you go on to mention that the amount of times you’ve had eggs this week should be criminal.

Sukuna shoves his face full of food as he quietly listens to you and Uraume chat, while Yuji chimes in every so often. He can’t remember the last time he had a meal that wasn’t takeout or something he cooked mainly for the boys, who could be a bit picky, which often meant he was having the same few meals with a protein smoothie to tide him over. Apart from the leftover mac and cheese you cooked a little while ago, he thinks the last time might have been a full year ago to the day.

He doesn’t even notice that he’s smiling until you nudge him. “Doing alright, Kuna?”

He raises a brow questioningly, his mouth full of potatoes.

You smile, shaking your head. “Don’t worry about it. How’s your dinner?” You decide not to push him, your heart full when his expression eases as he sits up, leaning back in a relaxed manner.

“Fuckin’ great,” he mumbles through a bite of chicken, going back in for more immediately.

“How many times have I told you to stop swearing in front of your brothers?” Uraume scolds, a playful air to their words.

Sukuna huffs, rolling his eyes. “If I start countin’ how many times you tell me not to swear or smoke, we’ll be here all day.”

“They have a point,” you poke fun at him with a shrug.

“It’s Christmas, get off my case,” he grumbles, leaning over the table.

“Quitting smoking would be a suitable Christmas gift for me, you know,” Uraume points out with a mischievous grin.

“Your gift,” Sukuna growls, no real bite to his words as he points his fork at them, “is learnin’ how to drive. Take it or leave it.” He shoves the piece of chicken into his mouth with a scowl in their direction, grunting when Uraume laughs.

“I suppose I’ll take the driving lessons,” they sigh humorously as though they’re settling.

Sukuna’s narrowed eyes are met with laughter from the table as conversation flows naturally throughout dinner. By the end of the meal, Yuji is practically vibrating with excitement as he casts glances towards the tree where a few wrapped gifts are sitting. Even Choso seems a bit restless, shifting constantly between sitting cross-legged on his chair and kicking his feet.

The moment Sukuna’s second plate of food is clean, Yuji pipes in. “Can we open presents?”

“Let me clean up, Yu,” Sukuna sighs, pushing his hair back from his forehead. It seems a moment’s rest is too much to ask for with two eager kids awaiting presents. Splaying his hands on the table, Sukuna pushes himself to his feet, piling all of the plates onto one to carry to the kitchen.

You gather empty glasses and follow after Sukuna, setting the dishes on the counter.

“Go sit,” Sukuna mumbles without casting you a glance as he rinses off plates and loads them into the dishwasher.

“I don’t mind, really!” You insist, bounding back to the table to grab the leftover potatoes. When you spin around, you’re met with Sukuna’s chest, startling at his close proximity. He pulls the bowl of potatoes from your hand, smirking as you purse your lips.

“Sit.” With his spare hand, he presses down on your shoulder until you’re back in your seat.

Uraume stifles a laugh, exchanging a glance with you as your cheeks warm. “Every year, I cook and he cleans up afterwards,” they explain. Clearly, he intends to keep it that way, giving you a chance to get to know Uraume better.

“How long have you known each other?” You ask as Sukuna continues to clean up, gathering the leftover food into tupperware to keep in the fridge while the two kids talk amongst themselves.

They tilt their head in thought. “Around four years now, I sat beside him on the first day of History 109.” They lean back in their chair, resting their hands in their lap with a chuckle. “He drank my coffee.”

“I thought it was mine,” Sukuna groans from the kitchen.

Uraume smiles wider. “I’m not sure how you thought that. You were drinking black coffee and mine had cream and sugar.”

“I thought classes started at ten, not eight,” he huffs as he pulls more dishes from the table “I was tired.”

“I suppose you needed the caffeine more than I did,” Uraume laughs, their eyes crinkling gleefully at the corners. “But it did mean that he owed me a coffee,” they continue their explanation. “Our friends got along well, and here we are.”

“God knows Toji needed someone to keep him in line,” Sukuna mutters.

“Toji… you mentioned he got you kicked out of Gojo’s once?” You question with a tilt of your head as Sukuna clears the last of the dishes from the table.

Uraume hums. “Sounds like the right Toji. He can be a handful. We can introduce you when classes are back in.”

“I’d like tha-”

“Kunaaaa, can we open presents nowwww?” Yuji interrupts, doing his very best to remain patient.

You giggle at the poor kid, who’s just about bouncing off the walls like a ping pong ball at the rate he’s vibrating in his seat.

Sukuna sighs, shutting the last tupperware lid over the remaining vegetables. “Go wait in the living room.”

Both boys’ chairs scrape the floor as they dash into the living room, excitedly yelling about who gets to open their gifts first.

The tattooed brother watches them with mild interest, returning to the table where he leans over the edge on his hands. “Can you entertain them for a minute?” He glances between you and Uraume. You nod in unison and watch as Sukuna pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Sliding one from the pack, he balances it between his lips and opens a drawer in the kitchen, pulling out a box of matches and striking one.

His cigarette burns like a lone star in the night sky against the backdrop of the twinkling apartment. He inhales as he whips the match through the air to put it out, tossing it in the sink to cool as he waits until he’s on the balcony to exhale smoke.

Before he shuts the door, he frustratedly murmurs something about having lost his dad’s lighter. The door closes with a thud, and he leans over the balcony, his back visibly rising and falling as he sighs.

With the kids excitedly seated in front of the tree seemingly entertaining themselves, Uraume uses the opportunity to turn towards you with a more serious expression, though they remain smiling.

“I appreciate everything you’ve been doing for him. I know he won’t ask for help, but he needs it. He doesn’t seem as burnt out lately.”

You return their kind smile, nodding. “He doesn’t make it easy, but I’m trying.”

They roll their eyes, chuckling. “He certainly doesn’t, does he?” As their laughter dies down, they cast a glance at the kids. “I’m surprised he told you about his brothers though.”

Shaking your head, you blow air from your nose in a wry laugh. “He didn’t. I ran into him after he didn’t show up to work on our project.”

“Oh? In that case, I’m surprised he’s let you in at all.”

“You and me both,” you scoff, shaking your head. “I think most of our friendship has hinged on the fact that he thinks he owes me.”

“Sounds familiar,” Uraume quips, getting to their feet as Sukuna makes the motions of putting out his cigarette outside. He rolls his shoulders backwards in an effort to stretch his muscles before stepping back inside. You follow after Uraume, quickly making a motion to grab the gifts, as well as your forgotten cookies.

“Oh! I- um- brought some cookies,” you hold out the tupperware as you make your way into the living room, setting the container down on the coffee table with the bag of gifts at your feet.

“That’s so kind of you!” Uraume delights, opening the box.

“They’re nothing compared to your cooking, but they were always a tradition back home for me,” you smile to yourself, heat rising to your cheeks.

Finishing the cookie in only a couple of bites, they shake their head. “They’re delicious, and it’s still very kind of you.”

You find yourself grinning, glancing at Sukuna who hums in agreement as he takes one as well. The brothers are close behind as they practically scarf the treats down, their eyes shining.

“Alright you brats, there’s one for each of ya from me, and one to share.”

“Wait!” Choso cries out, scrambling to his feet as he runs down the hall. You watch curiously as he rounds the corner with three santa hats. Adjusting his antlers, he holds them out to you, Uraume, and his older brother, met with two ‘thank you’s, and an adamant ‘no’.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out which of the three of you is scowling down at the hat held in his hands.

You nudge his bicep with your elbow, a gleeful smile donning your lips. “C’mon, Kuna. Just wear it for an hour. Look how excited they are.”

Sukuna follows your gaze, deep red irises flicking between the two kids before resting on the hopeful look his middle brother wears. With a sigh, he gives in to both your and his brother’s wishes, pulling the hat on over his tousled pink hair. Even with his familiar grumpy scowl, he looks surprisingly cute in the Christmas spirit.

Though you’re sure if he realized that, the hat would disappear in an instant, so you keep that secret to yourself.

“One at a time. Youngest goes first.”

Yuji scrambles excitedly with the first of his gifts, tearing at wrapping paper around a gift box that’s practically his size. Tossing the paper aside, he flips the box towards him, eyes wide at the five-year-old sized basketball. He gasps in excitement, holding it up triumphantly. “A new basketball!” He proclaims, immediately trying to tear it from the cardboard.

“Slow down, Yu. There’s one more thing in there.”

Yuji curiously peers down at his lap, now noticing the black and red material he’d missed previously. He holds it up, gaping at the realization that Sukuna’s gotten him a custom jersey with his last name scrawled in big red text across the back with his favorite team’s logo on the front.

“No WAY!” He cries out excitedly, standing up and immediately pulling it on over his t-shirt. It’s a bit big on him, but Sukuna figured it made the most sense to get him a bigger size given how fast he’d been growing. “Thank you thank you thankyouthankyou!” Yuji cries, hopping up and down excitedly.

Sukuna’s chest swells at the sight of what he hopes is a Christmas living up to his brother’s dreams while you and Uraume grin at his sides. Even by his own standards, he thinks he could enjoy Christmas if it’s like this every year.

Like a shot to his chest, his mind suddenly reminds him of the impending lawsuit, but he pushes the thought aside, subconsciously pressing his knee against yours.

You cast him a glance at the feeling of his leg knocking against yours, but you can’t make out whether he’s aware of how close you are. Your cheeks warm as you search for a meaning behind the action, but Sukuna’s mirthful expression gives nothing away about his lingering doubts. Likely thinking too much into the action, you let it go.

“Your turn, Cho.”

Sukuna points to a smaller gift wrapped as neatly as Sukuna could manage (which is to say not neatly at all) in snowflake-covered light blue wrapping paper.

Choso grabs the gift, much more timidly opening it. He pulls out a set of kid-sized knives along with a pan sized appropriately for him. “Thank you, Kuna!” He grins, testing out the weight of the pan in his hand.

“Be careful with those things,” his elder brother mutters as Choso examines the knife set. “One more thing in there for you too, Cho.”

Deep brown eyes widen and he peers down so suddenly his antlers nearly fall from his head. Sure enough, beneath some tissue paper at the bottom of the box is a black apron, also a bit big for him, with his name embroidered across the front in deep purple.

In a much more subtle show of gratefulness than his little brother, Choso holds it up with a look of wonder, running his thumb over his name. In disbelief, he too gets to his feet and throws it on over his head, tying it at the back.

Choso’s grin widens and he runs up to Sukuna, practically hopping over the coffee table in an attempt to get to him. “Thank you, Kuna,” he repeats himself again as he clings to his brother’s sweatshirt.

“Mm.” Sukuna ruffles his hair with a small smile. “Go open your last gift with your brother,” he urges. “And you two better share.”

Choso hops back towards his little brother as the two excitedly unwrap their last gift from Sukuna. Within a small box sits a copy of Sonic Advance for their Gameboy.

“No way!” Yuji proclaims excitedly, turning back to Sukuna. “You’re the best, thank you!” He cries, scrambling to his feet to hug his brother. Choso follows suit, each kid finding a place on either side of the tattooed man.

He blows a breath out through his nose, smirking as he pulls them in. In a rare moment of genuine happiness, he hugs them close. You cast a glance at Uraume, who seems just as happy to be a part of this moment with Sukuna’s little family. They may not be perfect, but they care a great deal for one another, that much is clear.

Uraume leans forward and hands the boys a card. “This is for both of you.”

“You didn’t have to get them anything,” Sukuna mumbles to his friend. “The dinner is more than enough.”

“I didn’t have to,” they agree, “but I wanted to.”

Choso tears the envelope open, reading the card out to his brother before peering down at the three papers that fall from the envelope. “Sonic the Hedgehog 3 movie tickets?” He gasps with wide eyes, looking up at Sukuna.

“Tell me the third ticket is for you,” he grumbles to Uraume as Yuji hops to his feet to hug them.

“Nope! I checked with both of your work schedules, you can make it,” they grin at him, bursting into laughter at the grimace that pulls Sukuna’s lips into a frown.

As the cheers and laughter dies down and the brothers make their way back over to the tree after hugging Uraume, you pull out two long, slender boxes and hand one to each kid.

Sukuna sighs, his brow knit tightly together as he avoids your gaze. “You didn’t have to do all this either. You do more than enough for them too.”

“It’s Christmas, Kuna. I wanted to.” You shrug. “Open them at the same time,” you instruct, watching Choso gingerly rip the paper off as Yuji is already eagerly tossing it aside. With wide eyes and gasps, they both hold up Nerf guns, a purple one for Choso and a red one for Yuji.

Sukuna groans as the two boys exchange an excited look, showing their gifts off to one another. “You’re gonna give me a damn headache, woman,” he grumbles, leaning forward on his palm with his elbow resting on his knee.

Yuji bounces to his feet, running to give you a hug as he thanks you over and over, followed shortly by Choso. You wrap your arms around them both, rubbing both of their backs softly. Adjusting your hat so it doesn’t fall off of your head as they pull back, you’re about to grab your gift for Sukuna when Choso gingerly shuffles in place in front of you.

“We- um- have something for you guys too,” he proclaims in a voice barely above a mumble. With a shy smile, he runs off to grab what you can only assume is the gift, leaving the three of you in an air of confusion.

Yuji returns first, followed shortly by Choso. Hidden in their fists are three woven friendship bracelets each. Your lips part, forming an ‘o’ as you gasp at the sight. The two boys are positively too cute.

Holding out your wrist, you watch with tear-filled eyes as Yuji’s tongue sticks out while he ties a red and white striped bracelet around your wrist. It’s the type of bracelet that isn’t coming off anytime soon, but you don’t mind one bit. You’ll treasure it for as long as it’ll stay on your wrist.

Yuji moves on to Sukuna with a red and black checkered bracelet while Choso ties a purple and blue striped bracelet around Uraume’s wrist, his face scrunched in concentration. Unbeknownst to him, Sukuna’s knee presses harder into yours, a somber look crossing his eyes for a split second as he stares down at the checkered bracelet soundly wrapped around his wrist. He swallows hard, twisting his wrist to better see the woven jewelry.

With a glance to either side, he watches with a barely-contained frown as Choso ties a purple and black checkered bracelet just below Yuji’s on his wrist, moving along to add a purple and white striped one to yours.

Both you and Uraume grin, while you obviously fight tears of joy at the simple, yet meaningful gift. Sukuna's stomach seems to twist and he forces down the bile that threatens to come up, chewing on his lower lip.

The idea that this could be the last gift he ever receives from his brothers is fresh in his mind, plaguing his thoughts like an endless nightmare. His muscles tense as he returns his gaze to the two checkered bracelets around his wrist, one much cleaner looking than the other, but that’s not what matters to him.

With a tight-lipped smile that barely masks his underlying anxieties, he’s just about to open his mouth to thank the kids when you speak up first.

“This is so sweet, you two are so talented!” You beam, eyes glassy as you continue to fight tears.

Your knee gently brushes his, a silent acknowledgment that you recognize the paralyzing distance crossing over his eyes. Your quiet offering of support doesn’t go unnoticed and Sukuna uses the opportunity to compose himself. With a sharp intake of breath, he forces a smile that reads more real than the tight-lipped one he previously wore.

“Thanks, kiddos.”

“They look wonderful,” Uraume agrees.

Returning to their gifts, the two kids distract themselves by tearing into whatever cardboard they can get their hands on in an effort to free the basketball and Nerf dart guns. As they busy themselves with their new gifts, you pull out one more box for Sukuna with a cute little bow wrapped around the gift box.

He peers down at the gift as you hold it out to him, shaking his head.

“I don’t need anything,” he grumbles, his mind still somewhat fuzzy as he grapples with the stress of the lawsuit.

“Just take it, Kuna.” You hold it out expectantly to him.

He sighs, taking the box into his hands with a glance up at your timid expression. Pulling at the ribbon, he unwraps it and slowly opens the box, his lips twitching into a frown as he picks his Type O Negative shirt up from inside the giftbox.

“My own shirt,” he comments with a sarcastic edge to his tone at what he’s sure is a joke gift, though he’s actually somewhat relieved you didn’t get him anything.

You giggle at his disdainful expression. “You’re just as bad as your brothers. Unwrap the shirt.”

His brows knit together as he slowly unwraps the shirt. Hidden between the layers of fabric is none other than his dad’s lighter, with the cap back in place, shining like the day Sukuna pulled it from his father’s belongings as though it’s been freshly polished.

His jaw subtly falls open as he drops his shirt into his lap, flipping the cap of the lighter open and watching as he turns it and the flame comes to life. He blinks a few times, his throat tightening as he turns the lighter, the ‘Itadori’ engraving no longer dull and barely visible, but full of life and a stark contrast to the rest of the metal.

Shutting the cap, he runs his tongue over his lower lip once before biting down a bit too harshly on the plush skin, a metallic tang penetrating his taste buds. He pays it no mind, finally looking up at you.

His expression is unreadable and your stomach flutters with nerves as his words seem to fail him when he opens his mouth, fiddling with the lighter.

“You fixed it?”

You nod. “I mean, a professional did, but yeah. I hope- I thought you might appreciate it after the whole lighting yourself on fire thing.” Your voice is quiet, wavering slightly. You catch a questioning gaze from Uraume, but they don’t dare interrupt the moment.

Sukuna stares down at the lighter for another moment, flipping it again. Your stomach does a flip when he rubs his face harshly and you can’t tell whether he’s frustrated with you or thankful.

He’s so damn near tears that it takes him a moment to compose himself before he lowers his hand back down the lighter. “Shit, princess,” he mutters, his throat raw with emotions that he can’t identify.

Unable to tell if that’s a good or bad reaction, you wrap your arms around yourself, tilting your head. “I hope it’s- um-” you stammer, trying to find words, but it’s not like you can undo what’s been done to the lighter, having taken a leap of faith to begin with, even if the gift was Choso-approved. “Sorry, I-”

“Shut up.” Sukuna’s tone isn’t nearly as assertive as usual as he shakes his head at the lighter, unable to meet your gaze out of fear that his eyes might be red again, though this time not from weed. “I appreciate it.”

Your brow raises and a smile finds your lips as relief washes over you. “Yeah?”

He blows a humorous breath out through his nose, nodding. “It means a lot.”

Your smile stretches to a grin that you exchange with Uraume, who seems to know the meaning behind your gift just as well as you do.

“For the record, Uraume’s still right, you should quit,” you point out, earning a sharp stare. Giggling, you nudge his shoulder playfully. “But I know what that means to you, so I thought- you know,” you shrug, thankful you got the right impression from the fact that he continued to use the lighter long after it had broken.

“You two are pains in my ass,” Sukuna huffs, shoving the lighter into his pocket as he finally finds himself back in the moment as the source of your teasing. Reaching up to scratch his chest, he leans back against the couch again. “When did you nab my lighter anyway? It disappeared on a night when I don’t think I saw ya.”

You shoot a smirk at his middle brother, who’s carefully loading foam darts into his toy gun, completely oblivious to the conversation going on between the adults.

“I see,” he hums. Your accomplice glances up as he feels three pairs of eyes on him, tilting his head curiously until Yuji grabs his attention and his impending question is long forgotten. Swallowing, Sukuna gets to his feet. “I have somethin’ for you too.”

He disappears around the corner towards his bedroom, and you’re left exchanging a glance with Uraume, who shrugs. You hadn’t expected anything from him, simply grateful to have company in the absence of your family over the holidays.

You glance back in the direction of the hall when his door clicks shut and he re-emerges, a single piece of paper held carefully in front of him. He sits between you and Uraume once more, turning to face you with a furrowed brow. “Here.”

Gingerly taking the page from him, your jaw drops at the sight. In his traditional graphite and charcoal style, an artistic rendition of you smiling at something off to the side of the page’s line of sight is scrawled across the paper. A clear amount of care has gone into capturing each of your features, deliberate shading and lines framing your complexion.

Bringing a hand up to cover your gaping mouth, you barely manage to whisper, “you… drew me?”

Sukuna’s somewhat glad you haven’t looked up at him yet, his face burning red hot as he brings a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “You loved the project piece so much, I figured…” he trails off, staring down at the piece in your hand when he catches a glimpse of your trembling hand holding the paper.

You chew on your lip as tears prick in your eyes, butterflies threatening to burst at the seams in your stomach as your heart practically rolls over itself in your chest. Whether he returns your feelings or not, one thing is beyond clear.

Sukuna cares a great deal about you, to have poured so much time and effort into something like this, but one more thought lingers in the back of your mind. A thought that has you teetering dangerously close to spiraling into thoughts of uncertainty.

Sukuna thinks you’re beautiful. The proof is in the care that went into each stroke of his pencil and smudge of charcoal to portray you just as he sees you.

“Shit, are you…?” Sukuna mutters when he hears you sniffle, taken aback when you set the art aside and leap forward to hug him. His arms stiffen in the air as he stares blankly at the wall, uncertainty clouding his actions.

“Thank you, Kuna,” you mumble meekly, tears stinging at the edge of your tone as you do what you can to hold them back.

Silence hangs between you, interrupted only by the sounds of clicking plastic as the boys figure out their Nerf guns. Uraume smiles from behind Sukuna at the sight of their friend struggling to wrap his mind around you hugging him. It takes a moment, but gradually his muscles relax and he wraps his arms around you in return.

“Mhm.”

Your eyes flicker open, catching Uraume’s warm smile as you pull back from Sukuna, whose gaze trails to the art. Following his line of sight, you pick the piece back up and hold it gently in your lap.

“It’s gorgeous, thank you.”

He opens his mouth to reply, when a stray foam dart hits him square in the jaw and tumbles down to the ground at his feet.

“Watch it, brat,” Sukuna glowers at Yuji, whose toy gun is pointed a little too precisely at his forehead for his liking.

Unfortunately for the tattooed man, this doesn’t deter his little brother one bit.

With a plastic click, another foam dart is sent careening through the air, colliding with the man’s forearm as he lifts it to block the attack. “Brat!” He barks, getting to his feet and stepping over you. A giggle and pattering of small feet against the hardwood can be heard as Yuji skitters around the corner and out of sight.

With a sharp glare and intent to chase his brother, Sukuna stops, turning to you and bending down to your seated height. He points an accusatory finger at you, his face close enough to make your mouth go dry.

“This is your fucking fault,” he hisses, sans any malice. Despite the fire behind his glare and the accusation dripping from his tone, you spot the telltale sign that Sukuna’s having fun. His lip quirks just the tiniest bit at the corner, giving him away as he straightens and grabs the wall to send himself flying around the corner after his brother. “C’mere you little shit!” He calls.

“No swearing!” Uraume reminds him, but their reminder is met only with cacophonous laughter and the sound of foam darts hitting the wall at a near alarming pace. Yuji comes sliding around the corner, one hand tightly gripping his antlers in an effort to keep them on his head. He scrambles away from the foam darts that bounce harmlessly off the ground behind him before diving towards the couch.

You set the art in your lap on the coffee table before the youngest Itadori can clamber into your lap for protection.

The plastic sound of a gun cocking rings in the air as Sukuna points it squarely at you. He sports his usual scowl, but amusement swirls in his eyes.

“She ain’t gonna protect you, brat,” Sukuna threatens.

“You wouldn’t dare shoot us, would you?” You stick out your lower lip pleadingly, pouting as you play along.

Without missing a beat, a dart collides with your cheek.

“Ow!” You gasp in disbelief, although the dart didn’t truly hurt you at all. “Okay, so maybe you would,” you grumble, rubbing at your cheek. “Choso! Shoot him!” You point at the oldest brother.

Choso, who had previously only been watching, hesitates for a moment as he glances between you and the oldest sibling, before firing a shot at Sukuna’s arm. Sukuna’s attention is pulled to Choso, his teeth grit as he fires back a shot at the boy’s shoulder.

“Run, Yu!” You whisper to the little boy, who bounds down off the couch and into the kitchen in a fit of giggles.

Choso gets to his feet and runs into the hallway as the three brothers engage in a Nerf war, bringing a smile to both your and Uraume’s faces.

“I can’t help but feel as though you should have gotten one for Sukuna as well,” they laugh.

You settle into the center of the couch where Sukuna had been seated, laughing alongside them. “Seems like it.” Turning your attention towards them, you shake your head. “I’ll be honest, I thought Nerf guns would annoy him.”

“Oh, they will. I give it a week,” Uraume pointedly nods and you find yourself laughing alongside them again.

“A week is too generous.”

“A day, perhaps?” They laugh.

As the air between you settles, warmth washes over you. You’ve seen small moments like this in the apartment, ones where the three brothers are all smiles and laughter, even Sukuna, but this one seems different somehow. Less fleeting, as though the burden and weight of Sukuna’s responsibilities aren’t bearing down quite as hard on him right now, even if it’s only for a night.

You don’t believe in miracles, and certainly not Christmas miracles, but if they existed, you think this is what it would look like.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this before.”

You turn your head towards Uraume, tilting your head. “Never?”

They take a moment to contemplate it before shaking their head, their lips pressing into a thin line. “He’s been playing the role of parent so long that I think he sometimes forgets he’s their brother.”

A pang of sadness floods you as a stray dart flies across the kitchen, clanking as it hits a glass that didn’t fit in the dishwasher before it falls to the floor. You’ve seen glimpses here and there of the version of Sukuna that gets to be just a brother and student, it’s hard to believe it’s a side of him that Uraume’s never seen.

“You know,” they comment, setting their elbow along the back of the couch as they lean on their palm, “he seems a lot more relaxed these days. Is that your doing?”

“I guess, maybe,” you shrug. “I’ve been helping take care of his brothers here and there.”

They smile. “I’m glad he has another reliable person to lean on.”

Heat crawls up to your cheeks, but before you can reply, Sukuna trudges into the living room and slumps into the couch with a huff.

“You know, suddenly the Sonic movie doesn’t seem so bad,” he grumbles with a sly look in your direction.

You roll your eyes playfully, nudging his knee with your own. “Oh, don’t act like you aren’t having fun.”

He doesn’t reply, reaching up to pull his Santa hat off and set it aside, running a hand through his hair. He lets out a breath, leaning his head back on the couch. There’s a sense of calm to the silence held between the three of you that Sukuna’s grateful for. A certain understanding that even if only for a moment, he needs this escape.

“Thanks. Both of you.” In an uncharacteristically serious tone, he folds his arms over his chest, relaxing into the couch as he spreads his legs in typical man fashion. “I think Yuji got what he wanted.”

There’s an undertone to his words that you catch, one that gives away what he’s thinking, but before he can slip into a distant world of worries, you set a comforting hand on his bicep. His eyes flicker down to your hand, his expression unreadable.

“Merry Christmas, Sukuna. You too, Uraume.”

He blows air through his nose in a wry laugh, his expression relaxed as your hand drops back to your side. Carefully moving the art of you aside, he kicks his feet up on the coffee table.

“Merry Christmas.”

With a content sigh, Uraume gets to their feet. “I think it’s time I head out. I have an early breakfast tomorrow.”

“Oh! So do I,” you follow suit, beginning to gather your things. “Do you need a ride?” You ask, having taken note of the fact that Sukuna’s gift to them was driving lessons.

“That would be great,” they reply with a smile as you both begin gathering your things. Sukuna calls the kids over to say goodbye before you leave as you pull your coat over your Christmas sweater.

Yuji thanks you both, adorably referring to Uraume as ‘Rume’ as he hugs them, before hugging you. Choso follows suit, both pairs of auburn eyes shining brilliantly as they stand at Sukuna’s feet.

“Thank you for the bracelets,” you grin, kneeling down to Yuji and Choso’s level. They both have three matching woven bracelets on each of their wrists in true friendship bracelet fashion, and quite honestly you could cry at how sweet that is.

Yuji leans in to hug you again, pulling back with a bounce to his step as he cries out “Merry Christmas!”

Choso repeats the merriment more quietly, waving at you both.

“Don’t forget your cookies,” Sukuna hands you the tupperware, but you shake your head.

“If I eat nineteen cookies on my own, I’ll be sick,” you giggle. “Let these two have them.”

Yuji excitedly rocks forwards and backwards on his feet at the prospect of having nineteen cookies that his oldest brother is almost guaranteed to not want.

Sukuna sighs, grimacing as his hand falls back to his side when you refuse the cookies, but he keeps his mouth shut.

It’s Christmas, he supposes his brothers can have some cookies, so he relents.

“Got your gift?”

You nod, unable to help the shy grin on your lips as you hold up the bag that the art is safely sitting at the bottom of.

“Good. Lemme know when you’re both home.”

“I’ll email you,” you confirm.

“Get a phone, Sukuna,” Uraume scolds, only to be met with a sneer as Sukuna’s lip curls in irritation.

“Bite me,” is all he replies, unwilling to admit that he needs to save for a lawyer before he can save for a phone.

He can worry about a phone once this is all over. For now, it’s Christmas, and he wants to put whatever focus he can into granting Yuji the only thing he actually asked for this year.

A big Christmas.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

❦ a/n ; i know i'm a bit late for the holidays and i'm sure many people will be reading this outside of that time period anyway, but i could nawwwt resist giving them a warm and cozy lil holiday together <3 not sure what happened but when it hit 10k words i figured i'd just make this a full chapter. aaaanyways i hope you all enjoyed the sweet fluffy glimpse into their family christmas because i have some angsty plans coming up 😶 forgive me!! as always, thank you for the love and support <33

❦ taglist ; OPEN. please comment here or on the masterlist if you would like to be tagged. age MUST be easily visible on your blog.

@yenayaps @rinachains @aiicpansion @fushitoru @gojoscumslut

@hellish4ever @kasukuna @theonlyhonoredone @catobsessedlady @timetoletmyimaginationfly

@clp-84 @coffee-and-geto @candyluvsboba @favvkiki @gojodickbig

@spindyl @ohmykwonsoonyoung @kyo-kyo1 @officialholyagua @coldluminarykoala

@ieathairs @cinnamxnangel @nessca153 @aerareads @after-laughter-come-tears

@tillaboo @thepassionatereader @erencvlt @v1sque @a-girl-with-thoughts

@lauuriiiz @blueemochii @paradisestarfishh @erenxh @call-me-doll8811

@toulouse365 @dabieater @janrcrosssing @satsattoru @moonchhu

@privthemis @captainsarcasmandsass @ryomeowie @vitoshi @kunasthiast

@axxk17 @toratsue @bluestbleu @yuji-itadori-fave @totallygyomeiswife

if your handle is on this list but you have not been tagged, please check your settings.

writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune

[hyukascampfire]

IT WIŁŁ COME BAC₭ ⠀,, k.th

it’s a small world. you knew this, but you came to really believe it when you ran into an old classmate at the grocery store on a snowy vacation. how strange is that? even more so when he shows up once more at the door of your cabin, frozen from the cold and needing your help. ִֶָ. ´-

⸺ listen to the playlist

ㅤㅤ៶ㅤ ( 🗝️ ) ･ 6.9k

����airings ˒ yandere!taehyun 𝑥 reader

ℊ ; smut ˒ thriller ˒ yandere

𝖜arnings ˒ dubcon!!, baby trapping, dark & yandere themes, taehyun has a warped view of the world, doggy, rough sex, mentions of breeding, stalking, he’s slightly off putting, possessiveness & jealousy… duh!, hard dom!taehyun, nasty freaky stuff, corruption but like not conventionally?, unprotected sex, mentions of not taking birth control, creampie, biting and hickeys, obsession, DDNE please read these and decide for yourself if you’re comfortable reading! let me know if i’ve missed any tags.

✎୭ ashlynn's note this one is a delicious gift from 🍵 anon!!! i’ve never gone this dark. IM KINDA NERVOUS. i really hope you like it!! please let me know if i miss any tags!

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

“Taehyun?”

The man turns around, brow pinched and eyes searching for who’d said his name. When those sharp, intelligent eyes land on you, familiarity passes over them. In the black, there’s a shine, and the shape of them softens into something else; something you’re more used to, on him.

“Hey,” he says. His arms are full of supplies and groceries. Knitting his strong brows together, he says, “What are you doing out here?”

You toss the chips you’d been grabbing before you noticed him into your cart. It falls with a crinkle down onto the mountain of other snacks just like it. You should probably pick up some real food, too. The others shouldn’t have made food your job. If it was up to you, the cabinets would be stuffed with an array of quick snacks. Cooking isn’t really your strong suit. 

“I’m gonna spend a few nights at a cabin here with some friends. We wanted to find some snow, since it never snows back home,” you say, and then you laugh at the absurdity of finding someone from your hometown all the way out here. What are the odds of that? Especially since everybody graduated and scattered out into their own moving lives. “What are you doing out here?”

He reaches up to push his glasses up his nose, an easy smile on his lips. The sight of it brings back memories.

Taehyun and you had not been the closest in high school. You were in different crowds, and he kept to his own anyway. But the few times you two did interact, by some assigned group project or an incidental brief exchanging of words, he was nice enough. 

He changed a lot, though. If someone were to ask you yesterday if you remember him from school, the image you would’ve imagined is at stark odds with the man standing  in front of you now. Where the long, lanky limbs and unsure demeanor of a boy once was, there is now all the confidence of a man. The angles of him are sharper, more defined and chiseled. And, his shoulders… He’s gotten broader, too. The butterflies in your belly are strange; It’s strange feeling like this over a man you might not have looked twice at years ago. He wasn’t ugly by any means, back then. You just… had an eye out for other things. Your palate was different.

He answers, “Touché.” Stepping back, he lets another customer push their cart through the gap between you. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. What have you been up to? Back home for break? It seems like everybody from school moved on. It’s nice seeing someone from our class.”

It’s not an answer to your question, but the snow gear and thick jackets in his arms tell you enough. He’s seeking snow, too. Snow birding is really the only way that you might see snow, here. Snow really only ever comes to the mountain peaks. Speaking up over some storewide announcement that makes the bustle around you impossibly louder, you say, “Oh my god, right? That’s what I was just thinking.” You make your tone light—the kind of saturated sweetness that comes with small talk, all manufactured and stilted. It’s not necessarily awkward; you just are clumsy with this kind of conversation. You just ramble to fill the space. “I… Just have been working. Never went to school. Did I tell you that you look good? What have you been up to?”

For a moment, you think you see a glimpse of something… strange pass over his eyes. Something that makes you feel weird—one of those hair-rising feelings that you cannot explain, but feel innately to your core. A primal hunger being fed, a twitching of his lips, as though vindicated. It’s gone in nothing more than a blink of an eye, and barely even was there in the first place. You’ve got a mushy brain from driving all day, anyway. What a strange thing for your mind to make up, though.

“Nothing much. Work for me, too,” he says, shrugging. “Finally got the chance to get away from it, and decided to come out here.”

Another shopper comes shoving themselves between you. Clearly, your catching up is an obstruction on their very important, very urgent shopping trip. Taking the hint, you tell Taehyun, “I get it, believe me. But…” You gesture at your groceries. “I’ve gotta finish up shopping before everybody gets here. It was nice seeing you! I wish I could linger, really.”

He offers you an easy smile, letting his crossed arms fall away from his chest and shaking his head. “No big deal. I’ve got some stuff to pick up, too. Have a nice one, yeah? Don’t get caught in the blizzard, or anything.”

Snorting, you dip your head  goodbye and say, “I’ll try not to.”

❅

The hardwood floors creak beneath your flustered pacing. “Are you serious? How long is it gonna be?”

“I’m sorry? I didn’t expect someone to slash our fucking tires?” Your friend’s voice cuts in and out through the speakers, one of the few hollow sounds in the cabin. Aside from you and the decor, it’s empty. “I’m sorry that you’re stuck out there, but there’s nothing we can do. You’re going to have to wait it out for a few days. At least until we can get there.”

Gritting your teeth, you give her a tactful Okay, bye, and thumb the big red button. The sound of the call ending echoes, too. Curling your arms around yourself, the whole place feels big and haunting. The howling of whipping wind and snow against the windows doesn’t help.

Someone had slashed their tires, and now you’re going to be here alone. For days. If being alone wasn’t already making knots of your belly, that was. It’s startling: going out of your way to slash someone's tires, but making no attempts at stealing the car or anything in it. Either it’s personal, or somebody just wanted to ruin somebody else’s day. Both leave a sour taste in your mouth.

Your every limb goes rigid at a thump, and in the corner of your eye, there’s movement. When you whip your head to look fully in that direction, all that moves in the window is snow like haze and the trees bending in the same violent wind. Nothing but night and the storm.

Beside yourself, you inch toward the window to look closer. Tugging a thick, willowy curtain to one side, you do a scan.

Sat in the snow, dusting over with heavy white flakes as you look, are a pair of glasses. You are not stupid enough to go out and get a closer look. 

❅

With the fireplace roaring, the place doesn’t feel so empty. 

You waited all day for the snow to stop coming down so hard. If you’re going to be alone here for days, you want to go out and spend the daylight away around other people.

Really, you just don’t want to be in this cabin all by yourself. You have a bad feeling. It;s unfounded, maybe. But you do.

The snow does not stop falling, and the wind does not stop blowing it into thick piles. It’s everywhere: the whole entire yard is coating thick with it, and so is your car. Could you even drive away in this, if you needed to? Maybe after thirty minutes of plowing snow. You’ve at least kicked enough of it away from the porch to open the door.

At some point, hope for doing anything but toiling around in here dwindled away. With what embers of excitement for vacation you have left, you tugged on some knitted socks and played Christmas classics off your phone.

You’re still playing them as you decide to cook something up. You’re not the best cook, but what do you have to lose? It’ll only be you eating it. If it goes awry, you’ve still got snacks to make into a meal. 

The kitchen comes alive while you work. You tug out all the pots and pans that the cabin owners provide, clicking the stove on while you dance and hum along to the songs that you’d seemingly come out of the womb knowing. Pulling the fridge open to the song of Silver Bells, you decide on something ambitious and set ingredients out over the counters. 

You don’t even get to slicing before there’s a knock at the door. Three very solid, very resounding knocks. The knife makes a clattering sound as you let it drop to the cutting board.

There shouldn’t be anybody out here. Maybe your friends got the car up and running, and forgot to let you know. Your heart thrums a wild, crashing beat, as you swipe your phone up to shoot a quick text.

At the top of a screen, a text comes in from an unknown number. Your belly does a frantic swoop, a thousand different thoughts swarming and shoving to be the one at the forefront of your mind. 

+1 [678-999-8212]

Hey, it’s Taehyun.

+1 [678-999-8212]

I’m sorry if this is weird, but I’m the one who just knocked at your door. I wanted to hike up to my cabin but I’m lost as hell right now, and recognized your car outside

+1 [678-999-8212]

Thought it would be better to ask you for help instead of a random.

You take a moment to blink at the glow of the screen. Taehyun was the one knocking on your door? That both settles you and kicks up more questions. What are the odds that you both rented out cabins from the same people? The world is small; you’re reminded that a lot, these days. 

Sliding your phone into your back pocket, you head for the door. He’s got to be freezing. It’s coming down hard out there.

The door swings open to Taehyun’s face just as frost-glazed as you expected. His jaw chatters and his nose and cheeks are a deep, winter-pink. Despite it, his mouth pulls into a friendly smile—the kind that illustrates in the humorous corners that he is aware of the absurdity of his situation, as well. He keeps his hands tucked into his pockets, a thick winter jacket zipped up to the top dusted at the shoulders with fat snowflakes just the same as on top of his coal-black hair.

“Oh my god,” you say. A laugh seeps through the cracks. “I’ve got the fireplace going hot. Do you wanna come in? How long have you been out there?” Stepping to one side, you offer him entry into your home. Temporary home, that is. 

He tries to rein in the shivers, you can see it in the smile he’s got plastered on his face and the way he buzzes and trembles around the edges like the bitter cold is trying to push against his skin and escape him. “If it doesn’t bother you,” he says, stepping in past you. When he passes, thick in the air, he smells like smoke and the dark woods—it’s musky and familiar, but also haunting in the way that the wilder edges of a forest could be. 

He smells nice. Really nice. The kind of blend of manly musk and cologne that makes a woman look twice. It makes you look twice as he passes, at least.

Him standing there now, eyes roving over the cabin’s wood walls and the knitted blankets and the fire whispering from the living room, you realize how strange it is to be here with an old classmate that you haven’t seen for at least three years. How awkward it is. 

“It doesn’t bother me at all. You did scare me a bit, though,” you say, shooing the wispy chill away with a close of the door. “I’d rather you not freeze to death out there. It’s, like, ten degrees.” You tuck your arms across your chest. “What made you go hiking in this? It’s been nasty today. I haven’t even been able to leave.”

His cheek twitches with a dimple. Even back in school, you noticed that. Then, it’d fit right into his face. Now, it’s a delicious contrast against his angled face. “Sorry I scared you. I knew it’d be weird, but… Yeah, I was freezing out there. I seriously thought I was going to die.” Hair brushes over his eyes, their cunning and sharpness something that draws you in. Like two swirling, black pools of swirling water, they beckon you in a way that you can’t quite digest. “It wasn’t too bad down by the car, and I didn’t know there was a whole damn trail up here, so I… yeah. It got bad.”

Snorting, you nod. “I bet.” You’re not sure what else to say; your mind freezes over in an impermeable frost. You tap around with a pick to try and find words, but there’s no getting through it. You hardly know him. What do you talk about? What are you going to talk about, considering the fact that he’s no doubt going to be here for some time? Until it stops blizzarding so hard outside, at least. 

Charging through the tense moment with a brassiness that you do not remember him carrying back then, Taehyun nods a gesture toward the kitchen and the dinner you’d been in the middle of making. “Making something?” he says. The low, warm light of the cabin washes over him and make his face something cozier than it’d been standing frozen at your front door. It also makes a show of the angles of his cheek as it turns, and the tall line of his nose. Something on him is missing. You can’t capture the notion or put your finger on it, but somewhere in the depths of memory, you feel like there was something there that isn’t here with him now. Maybe it’s a different styling of his hair from the last time you saw him, wind-swept as it is now. Or maybe you’re just stir-crazy. 

“Yeah.” You nod, watching in place as he ventures into the kitchen. Narrowing your eyes down, you try to pinpoint the thought. Is it something small? A pair of earrings? “I was gonna cook up something warm for dinner, but I’m not the best cook. I don’t burn anything, but… it’s never great, you know?”

Taehyun tugs his jacket off his arms, and you confirm that it’s not a certain jacket or something. “I’ll help,” he says, discarding the heavy thing. “Make myself useful.”

“Oh!” you say, bringing your hands together in realization. “Are you not wearing your glasses? Holy shit, I’ve been staring at you thinking something was wrong, but I couldn’t tell what it was.” 

He furrows his brows, corners of his mouth twitching. The look passes over his face in nothing more than a split-second, before something else plasters over it. He crinkles his nose and says, “Huh. I didn’t even notice…” The knife you’d left to let him in glints as he picks it up to assume where you’d left off. “Didn’t you say that you were here with some friends? Is everybody asleep already?”

You trace the lines of his face where those brown glasses had rested the last time you’d seen him. He must’ve forgotten them in his cabin this morning, or something, before he went out. You grab a pot and fill it over the sink for noodles. “Actually, they all got caught up back home. It’s literally just me here for days. I’ve been so bored.” Over your shoulder, you add, “I’m just making some fettuccine and chicken.”

“Caught up?” he says, voice casual and occupied. The sound of the knife against the cutting board as he slices follow his words.

“Yeah. Someone messed their car up bad… Like, knife to the tires and the windows were smashed in all over the seats. It was fucking terrifying.” Clicking the stove on, you set the pot to boil. 

Taehyun doesn’t answer for a few minutes. You look over your shoulder and find him working in the chicken still. He answers, his eyes dragging up to you for a quick moment before making sure he doesn’t cut a finger off, “Did they steal anything?”

Turning to him fully as you wait for the water to bubble and turn over, you say, “That’s the weird thing. They didn’t steal or anything, they just fucked it up and… left.”

“Huh,” he says, furrowing his strong brow down at his working hands. “Yeah, that’s weird. That’s some personal shit. Maybe someone had a shit day.” The end comes out around a breathy laugh.

“Yeah, maybe.” You crack open the cardboard flaps and pour the noodles into the pot. “Still… scary.”

Taehyun takes over the cooking, and you’re happy to entrust dinner to him. He works diligently, and the sight of his back as he stirs and chops and seasons—it’s mouth-watering. This way, you can fully admire him as he does. You’re not much help, anyway. Instead, you just start the gentle hum of Christmas music once more and stay out of his way.

It’s nice to have somebody here. The howling of the wind and the echoing of your own movements back to you has started to become haunting. Maybe having Taehyun here is a bit unconventional, and it really should be your friends here with you, but having him here is the better outcome than some creep being the one knocking at your door. It’s nice to have him here in case that does happen, too.

It’s not like he’s bad company, or anything, either.

When the entirety of the cabin is full with the smell of warm dinner and your conversation, you swoop back in to offer help with something you can manage. Stepping beside him, indulging in his rich scent once more, you plate the dinner he’d made for you. Steam dances up from it and beckons your tastebuds. “You’re, like, a Michelin chef. What the hell? Thank you.”

He doesn’t answer, and in the corner of your eye, you catch his knuckles going white around the counter’s edge where he leans his weight into the arm. Frowning, you go to look up at him.

It leaves his face when you catch it, but you find him looking down at you… different again. Darker, as though the pupils at the center have grown hungry and eaten up the chocolate there. You think you see his jaw tightening and a hard swallow bobbing in his throat, too. His face is so close like this, you can see the plush turn to his lips and the darkness beneath his eyes, and even the chap of his lips.

Flustering, you take a step back and do your work there. You’d stepped way too close to him. Does he think you’re weird? You’ve always been the type with a scarce personal bubble; you forget that others don’t work the same.

“It’s nothing much,” he finally says. It’s cool and collected once more. “I make this all the time. It’s one of my favorites.”

Handing him his plateful, the chicken glistening with glaze and the noodles a swirl of cream and garnish, you say, “You’ll have to write down the recipe for me, or something. I totally want to make it for myself.”

Accepting it with another easy grin, he says, “Yeah, sure.” He forks a bit of chicken off the plate.

The smile does not reach his eyes.

❅

The longer you look at it, the worse the feeling gets.  Black and scrawled in wobbling lines, jagged and dark in places where he’d gone over a line a few times, you just… feel like you’ve seen it all before. It’s a smokey, tainted memory, far-off and obscured no matter how you squint your eyes.

Why do you remember it? Why does the sight of it crawl like dread under your skin and wilt? Sure, you went to school with Taehyun, but you don’t really think recognizing his handwriting should feel like this. Who even pays attention to the handwriting of somebody you interacted with once or twice, anyway?

God. You are dramatic. You kick your legs out of the comforter, swelteringly thick and quilted with a gaudy winter pattern of reds and browns and whites, and fold up the paper to place it on the darkwood bedside table.

The click of you flicking the white switch on echoes off the bathroom’s tiled walls. You reach for your toothbrush on the counter, and then the world goes dark around you.

You freeze, eyes frantically blinking and straining against the blackness to adjust. The power had gone out. There’s a few beats of you stricken in place, toothbrush in hand, thrown for a loop.

Then, the whole cabin goes out as the power to the heater dies, too. You swear. 

Your journey down the hallway is a stumbling of legs and the grooves of the wood-paneled walls against your fingertips. It’s the pitch black of night out here, too. The only thing you can see is the static that fills up the gaps when it’s dark. “Taehyun?” you say. Is he asleep already? You don’t even know where the room he’d taken for the night is, relative to where you are now.

Nothing answers you for a few moments, and then from an opening door, light floods like a miracle. The shape of him, the light from his phone’s flashlight just enough to dimly illuminate his features, comforts you. His hair is ruffled, like he’d just drug himself from bed.

“Power went out,” he says. It’s awfully loud, now that you two are the only sounds in here. 

“Yeah, I think I just had a little heart attack. I was up brushing my teeth.” Why hadn’t you thought to use your phone’s light? “The heater… We’re gonna freeze to death. Do you think they have a generator, or something? The fireplace doesn’t really do much…”

He features glow in as he moves the phone. “Mine didn’t. It’s fine, my room’s got a fireplace in it. We can close the door and get it warm in there.”

“Better than nothing,” you say, shrugging and following him in.

You plop on his bed, the surface of it cold and plush, while he works on kindling a fire. “This is, like, nowhere near where I thought I’d be for vacation.”

He readjusts the logs, dry and perfect for burning, into a point. Poking and prodding, Taehyun says, “Not having fun?”

You snort at the dry and flat delivery. “Friends haven’t even gotten back to me, I’m snowed in, and I’m locked in here with a total stranger.” You draw out the last word as a joke, your smile painting the tone playful, but it’s the truth. You don’t know Taehyun one bit. It’s just as strange and unpredictable as the other things on the list of things that have gone awry. “I guess I had a good dinner, so I can’t be complaining too much.”

Curling up to his full height, he takes a knee and settles into the bed beside you. “Make some room for this stranger, won’t you? We should probably try to use our body heat.”

Laughing, you go to say something to rift off his joke. It dies in your throat when he doesn’t join you. In an awkward sort of panic, you wince and say, “Yeah, it’s cold as hell. We’re gonna freeze to death in our sleep.”

And, ridiculously, you crawl under the covers. You don’t know why you do it; maybe it’s because he’s completely serious and watching you, or maybe because it’s true that you might actually get so cold in your sleep that you die if you don’t. Either way, you do. You don’t know which way to settle: facing him or with your back turned to him. Both are strange, but which is stranger?

Facing him, you decide that turning your back to him just doesn’t settle in your soul right.

“Weird night,” he says, sliding himself under the blanket’s covering. The same blanket that you lay in. “But…” he says, eyes flickering over you laid there. He looks as though he’s going to say something else, but he decides against it. “Good night.”

He does you a favor and turns his back to you.

❅

Night still holds the world in its claws when your eyes flutter open.

You shift to try and find that perfect position that’ll lull you back into sleep, slipping your legs over the sheets and shifting your cheek against your arm and wiggling your hips against the solid pressure behind you.

The pressure behind you. Stilling, your eyes fly open.

The weight of Taehyun behind you, his chest rising and falling, and the warmth of him, pierce through sleep’s haze like a white-hot knife. You’re all the way on his side of the bed, pressing your bottom into him. Shame creeps its wicked way from your chest and then out through your skin, blazing the skin of your cheeks. You push up on an elbow to scoot back to your side of the bed as slow and covertly as you can manage.

Fingers like teeth, biting the skin of your waist, stop you. Your heart jumps.

“Don’t move.” Taehyun’s breath and words curl out over the juncture of your neck like a chill. He lets you sit in that for a moment, your heart thumping like a frightened bird in a cage, before he says, “It’s weird. Weird that when I suggested you sleep in my bed, you looked so nervous. But, look where you are now.”

Your voice comes out strangled. “I’m sorry.”

When his palm slides down from your waist to brush over your belly, you begin to think that it’s not an apology that he wants. Your stomach does untamed dips and rolls. It’d been the cold that you were afraid of, but now it’s the blistering heat that blooms where his touch goes that grips you. 

“That didn’t take very long.”  Like a trail of growing, raging fire, he takes that hand and brings it down the lengths of your body. Over your hip, and then down the supple curve of your ass, and then down the back of your thighs, where he toys with the notion of slipping it between the seam there. “It never did take much for you to give those men your body. Give them what was mine. Don’t worry, I’ll make it right. I’ll make you right.”

Your mind turns over itself, a thousand stray, blinding thoughts bursting at the seams and all asking for your attention. You don’t know which to start with; you don’t have the slightest clue what he means. Asking any of them out loud seems absurd, and the notion crumbles to dust when he brings his arm down your front to cup your heat.

“Face in the bed, ass up.” He commands it in your ear like ice: absolute and biting. “It’s how you like it, isn’t it?”

Doggy is how you like it. You don’t know how Taehyun would know that. What you do know, though, is the way the simple words kindle hungry fire in your cunt. Dragging yourself from the heat of the mattress in a bleary, glazed-over mess of limbs, you paint yourself into an obscene picture: your cheek presses into the mattress, blazing with disbelief, your eyes wide and gone and the mess of your hair obscuring them, and your back the delicate arch of sex and sinfulness as you display your ass high in the air for him.

When you look at him to see how he likes it, you don’t find the man that you saw in the grocery store, nor the man that you let into your cabin. The look you find, vacant and overflowing with an untamed hunger, raises the hair on your skin. It’s off. 

“Taehyun,” you say. It’s really just to speak—you don’t have words. 

He runs a hand down the curve of your back. His voice comes from behind you, now. “This should’ve been just mine. But you never did look my way, did you?” Your body jumps when his hands find your hips and the fabric in the way of your skin there. Hooking his thumbs under both the waistband of your bottoms and your panties, he drags them down your thighs in a slow crawl. Each inch of blazing skin bared to the air tingles against the cold and under his gaze as you feel his eyes eat it up. 

That’s what his eyes do: they eat and they eat, taking up the space around them like ever-hungry blackholes until there is nothing but their absence of light and their heaviness. That was the pull you remember in the store—a force like gravity beckoning a perverse finger at you and leaving you nowhere to go but toward him.

He pulls the fabric until it’s bunched at your knees. Prodding a finger, just the very end of it, at your hole. You flutter around it, belly turning. “Why didn’t you look my way?” he asks. The rustling of him working on his pants has you twitching and shifting hot against the covers. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” You’re only able to choke out the words, heart jumping up into your throat as he takes his hand up your back, pins and needles following his path and pushes your head into the mattress by the back of the neck.

Breath hot over your cheek, he says, “Is this what you want? To be fucked like an animal?” You know he means the position. Your mouth goes dry. “You’re better than that. But, if it’s what you like, I’ll fuck you like it.”

You have a thought. It’s fleeting and fuzzy like the rest of your mind, but you catch it just long enough to turn it over once. When you’d seen Taehyun, you were struck by how he looked more like the kind of guy you might go after than the lanky, off-putting one you remember. And, now he’s set on how you like to get fucked.

The tip of his cock at your entrance sends the thought to smoke and the aftermath clogs your cognitive function. Your mouth falls open as he presses some inches in, slow and enriching. But then he pulls the slight length out to collect some slick and tap his cockhead to your clit. You jolt against the sheets.

When he slides back in this time, he makes sure to brush your hair out of your face to watch every last inch of you taking him reflected in the furrowing of your brows and the glassiness of your eyes and the pink of your cheeks.

He stills when he reaches the hilt, his hips flush to your ass, his shadow falling over you as he leans to bring his ear to your mouth. “You should’ve looked my way. Things could’ve been so different. It’s okay—I’ll make you realize. I know who you really are. I’ll wash this all away and clean you up and make you good again.”

He doesn’t leave space for words or thought. Not enough for you to taste the rust like rot over his iron words. Planting his heels on the bed and shoving your face further into the bed, he starts his hips in a rhythm that has your breaths stuttering and achy wines clawing out from the prison of your chest. He does not move precisely, nor is the bucking of his hips pointed, but it’s a crashing sort of ruin. It doesn’t matter if he finds that spot inside of you. He’s going to consume your every sense: he steals the taste in your mouth and replaces it with himself, steals your hearing with his pants and grunts, steals your sight as his cock twists your insides up, and steals your ability to feel anything but him. He steals your breath, too. Just as a wicked little souvenir. 

“Hhh—fuck, Taehyun, holy shit,” you say. A procession of crude and mewled cries come tumbling out your mouth after your words. No matter now you filter your sounds to try and maintain your decency, he just drags them from you anyway. 

Bringing his hand up to splay his hand over the entirety of the back of your head rather than the delicate back of your neck, he grits out, “Filthy-fucking-mouth.” He punctuates the words with a hollow smack of his skin against your ass. It’s the sound of sex incarnate—your skin burns hearing it clashing against the rest of your debased sounds. “And it’s just for me, now. Isn’t that fucking great? None of those vile pigs are gonna touch what’s mine again. Not after this. You—” His voice tightens when a certain spot he nudges in your cunt sends it clinging to him and sucking him back in at every return. “You were really testing the limits to my patience. Do you know that?” He drags his hand over your face, smearing obscenity over you with just his tainted touch. “Of course you fucking don’t. You don’t notice shit. It’s why you let this world walk all over you. It’s why you need me.”

As hard and fast as he fucks you, he doesn’t exchange full strokes for it. He pulls completely out of you each time he snaps his hips back, and then meets your ass in burning collisions when he slips his cock right back into you. You struggle for breath, trying to feed your oxygen-starved brain to contend with his snarled preaching. Never once do you catch a full chest of air, though. It turns your thoughts liquid, stupid and simple. “Taehyun—Taehyun,” you say, throat tight. The sheets are stifling against your clammy skin, and the hair around your neck is damp. You take fistfuls of the bunches fabric and his other hand on your hip to ground yourself. 

You are beyond grounding. All that floats in your head, one bare thought, is the beginnings of terrifying tightness in your lower belly. Only the sharpest things shove through the shadow permeating your mind. Nip. Bite. He drags his teeth over the soft curves of your shoulders and the expanse of your back. Anywhere he can reach, really. His mouth paints you in aching splotches—the kind that will speak of him should anybody other see your body. The kind that speaks already of who they belong to. You eyes and throat burn.

Taehyun brings that hand he’d been molding into the fat of your hip and curls the muscle-corder forearm across both of your hip bones. A bar. A cage. His solid chest works similarly as he blankets himself over you, speaking into your wild tousle of hair. “Fuck–Gonna cum now.” The friction of his cock against your walls becomes something more unpredictable. The tightening of that knot, just on the verge of a snap that might reverberate through you and crush you into nothing more than bitten flesh and eroded virtue, sits on the horizon. It’s a terrifying thing to be rushing toward. “A—and then they’ll realize that you’re mine. They’ll never put their goddamn hands on you again. Not when your body will have me written all over it.” You can hear the tightness of his gritted jaw, the words seething like black, festering corruption. They fall over your skin and taint you, too. No longer do you shake and tremble against him with innocent little squeaks. Gilt with his words as he speaks them, your body stiffens and your cries go hoarse and pitiful. You try not to think about how you sound. “Isn’t it so good? We’re perfect together. You’re perfect underneath me. Do you know how many—how many times I fucked my fist thinking about you like this? All I ever wanted was for you to realize that we are so much better than the rest of them. It’s always meant to be us. Why did you let them touch you? Dirty your skin?”

All you manage is a heaved cry. He pins you to the mattress and begins fucking you into it. In the black of your eyelids, you watch purity go to dust.

“Take my load, baby. Stay still,” he says. His voice goes soft, like whispers. Like he’s gotten everything he’s wanted, now. 

You squirm beneath the weight of him, hips reining against the arm he holds you there by the hips with. Alarm bells ring, booming and thunderous, but in this state of mind, they sound like the music of climax. To the beat of the bells and his hips, blazing through your reddened bottom and your utter inability to breathe, you go tumbling toward that terrifying release. 

Taehyun’s steadfast pace stutters. “It’s okay,” he tells you, clearing your clammy face of hair once more. His face is right in yours, his eyes heavy and consumptive. “Just let it happen. I’m gonna breed you up, and then it’ll be forever. We’ll be forever. Can’t let you get away again. Not when I’ve got you now. I need you to take it. Can you do that for me?”

Managing one last mhm, all your sounds catch in your throat. You stop meeting halfway, muscles twisting and turning and raging against the profound, terrible wash of it. Eyes flying open, your cunt clings to him, insides fluttering and rippling in a way that begins delightfully, but toes the line of dreadful as his cock continues to tighten them further. Lightning strikes from your core, crawling and crackling from it. It moves your thighs, convulsing them in tandem with the same release wreaking havoc in your stomach.

Cursing low in your ear, he fucks you frantically, fingers planted on your hips. His cock twitches against you a few times, and then the arm he’s supporting himself on collapses down to the elbow and he’s pinning you and shooting white-hot cum right into you. Your shoulder takes the imprint of his cheek as he nips the shoulder he hangs over. His hips twitch, rolling to ride out his high with deep, chesty groans, and then jumping up to spurt a little bit more into you. His panted breaths fall against your skin like fire. 

You blink bleariness away from your eyes. For a few long minutes, that’s all you do. Your chest races so much so that you feel the pulse in your neck and the thumping of it where it rests. Your insides are liquid and intangible, blood slow just as slow as your thoughts.

When reality seeps back through your veins, though, Taehyun’s tugging his chest from your sweaty meeting of bodies. His fingers dig right into the reddened skin where his hips had abused your bottom to hold you open. To view you, and the slow oozing of his seed from your hole. The weight of his gaze sends you fluttering. With the movement of your hole, more of the hot and thickness comes seeping out, slow like molten passion down the shape of your slit and then over your clit and then dripping down onto the bed from you.

The feel of it has you swallowing hard. Holy shit, you are stupid. So painfully stupid. So, you’re just letting men cum inside while you’re not on birth control, now? Ones that you haven’t seen since school? Ones that talk like… that?

Tapping your thigh and pressing a hot kiss to your outer hip, Taehyun says, “I’m gonna go check the breakers. You take it easy here for a second.”

Whiplashed, you nod. There goes that pristine, normal mask again. You watch him go, heaving yourself up from the nasty bedding to be greeted by the musk of sex humid in the air. You think a thousand little thoughts, watching the wall as you go far away in your mind.

Everything that he said… That was not just a little weird, or a little kinky. It was bone-chilling. The taste in your mouth, still tainted by him, sours.

You pull out your phone. Pressing it to your ear, your blood runs sluggish still. 

The cabin owner’s voice comes staticky through the speakers, asking you what you need help with. You ask about the power outage and where the breaker might be, debriefing him on Taehyun ending up here because he wasn’t able to make it to his own cabin, and how you think that the storm outside might be why the power’s gone out.

The cabin owner’s answer makes you pale.

It’s not a crashing realization. Not a thundering storm reaching its climax, nor a firework plasma and explosive at its center but flashy as it sparkles, nor a searing knife to the gut. It’s a slow, dreadful feeling, sinking to the depths of the ocean with a weight around your ankle and the realization that there is no getting back to the surface. It is drowning with water in your lungs, knowing that you swallowed that water down. 

You know why you recognize that hand writing, and you know why Taehyun was missing his glasses, and you know why he had your number even though you have no connections, and you know why he was able to find your cabin by your car despite never having seen it, and you know why your friends never made it here. He, long and spindly legged, the spider, did not even panic when you grazed by the hints toward what he really was. You were all ready in his web, anyway. All he had to do was wait it out and watch you, caught, oblivious, squirm. And, squirm you did.

“What other cabin?” 

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

✎୭ ashlynn's note AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! i’m sorry this one came out later, i had to make that ending tie up well.

﹙📋﹚ @hmusunoo , @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @joycelyjjj , @sunoolver , @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @apeachty , @fandomtrashsblog , @bewitchless , @yezzns2 , @hhoneyhan , @ethystclove , @darkdayelixer , @calumcxke , @biteyoubiteme , @bamgeutsz , @soobabby , @little-shiny-starr , @bambammtori , @bunniebun-posted , @heeambi , @bunnisoobin , @hwanghyunjinismybae , @bakugosbottombitch , @304files , @cherricola-star , @lickingan0rchid , @ashistrashhhhhh , if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[vibelladonna]

𝒸𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓂𝒶𝓈'𝓈 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓁 𝜗𝜚 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝑜𝒾𝒸𝑒!

· ─────── ⋆⋅♤⋅⋆ ─────── · 

This Christmas special was inspired by Valentine's Special [2nd Love Interest] by @fantasia-kitt (the creator!)

For this Christmas, I decided to write this fanfic while running errands with family for the holidays, so please bear with me if there are any mistakes. 

I was thinking about writing something for New Year’s Eve, like a party fic, but I feel like this Christmas special is enough for now while I take a short break and catch up on some upcoming projects (three of them with deep plotlines!).  Also, this ties in with Tkatb’s 1st anniversary, which was yesterday, the 23rd! I’m super proud of how far this little game has come.

And yes, I saw the update on the plans and progress. It looks like I might start working on some of my other favorite fandoms since the game will be on hold until the major update! I’ll still be keeping an eye on the progress as a Soulmate on Patreon, and you can always ask for a fanfic if you’d like! I’ll be responding to the messages in my ask box soon!

Anyway, happy reading! Wishing you all a wonderful holiday season!

The crisp, cool December air wrapped around you like a familiar embrace, the kind that reminded you of winter's quiet power. You stepped out of the lecture hall, your final class a fading echo behind you. 

The world, for a moment, felt as if it had been held in stasis: college was finally behind you, and relief surged through your veins like a slow, satisfying exhale.

You almost burst out laughing at the thought. Thank God that's fucking over. It totally drained you, and ate away at your insides until you felt there was nothing left but pure exhaustion. But then, as it all started to sink in, this weird emptiness crept up, like that quiet moment right before a storm hit.

The goodbyes, those last waves, and parting words were still stuck in your chest, kinda just out of reach, weighing on you like you were still tied to something that wasn’t done.  

Then your phone buzzed, snapping you out of your thoughts. You looked down at the screen and spotted Brittney’s name.

— Brittney: REMINDER! Gift exchange on Christmas Eve, my place at 7! Don’t be late, or you’ll owe me extra cookies.

You scoffed and let out a soft chuckle. Brittney had this incredible thing for making demands with a level of authority that was, somehow, oddly charming. As much as you rolled your eyes at her, you couldn’t deny that her quirks always brought a smile to your face. Still, as your gaze flicked back to the message, a groan bubbled up in your chest. You scrolled back through her earlier messages to confirm what you already knew. 

"Great," you muttered under your breath. Brittney had really gone all out this year, assigning everyone a specific person to shop for, and, of course, you ended up with Crowe. 

You exhaled, frustration bubbling up. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him—he was one of your closest friends—but trying to find a gift for someone who had everything felt like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. You could almost hear his voice in your head, teasing, cutting through whatever you picked out: “Really? This is what you think of me?” Of course, he’d never say anything like that—but what if he didn’t like it? What if he hated whatever you got him? The thought twisted uncomfortably in your chest.

You shook your head and continued walking toward the bus stop, the weight of the decision hanging over you. Simple wouldn’t cut it, but anything too over the top would make him throw a sarcastic comment at it. You had to find something that hit that sweet spot—the kind of gift that felt thoughtful without making him retreat into one of his jokes.

As if your thoughts weren’t already tangled enough, your phone buzzed again. You hesitated, almost instinctively glancing down. 

— Hyugo: Hey, what are you doing Christmas Eve? Sol and I are planning to check out the lights walk at the park. You should come!

A smile tugged at your lips. Typical Hyugo—direct, unfiltered, full of energy. His message was as breezy as his personality. And then there was Sol’s name, and that grin only deepened. The two of them together were a comedy show on legs—Sol’s quiet balance countering Hyugo’s endless whirlwind of ideas and antics. 

You stood still, fingers hovering over the screen. Christmas Eve. 

Oh no… For a moment, the thought of walking through the park with them, bathed in twinkling lights, was tempting. It would be the perfect kind of distraction, a night filled with laughter, just as you’d imagine. You pictured Hyugo pulling you and Sol into whatever wild antics he’d planned, Sol trying (and failing) to keep everything in check with his usual, resigned eye rolls.

But then, as your thumb hovered over the screen, your thoughts drifted back to Crowe. 

Last week, in the group chat, Crowe had mentioned something cryptic about "making big plans" for the holiday. He’d shrugged it off when Brittney pressed for details, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he had something in mind that involved the whole group. You felt the weight of his words in your mind. Would it be weird to bail on him now? 

You sighed, tucking your phone into your pocket as the bus stop loomed closer. 

"Why is it never simple with these friend groups?" you muttered under your breath.

Now, you had two conflicting decisions on your hands: find the perfect gift for Crowe, and decide whether you were spending Christmas Eve with him and his friends or tagging along with Hyugo and Sol on their sparkling adventure.

Your mind raced with the uncertainty, and the thought of making the "right" choice felt more elusive than ever.

The mall was buzzing with the kind of chaotic energy only the holiday season could bring—families weaving in and out of stores, the sound of Christmas music drifting from every corner, and glittering displays of tinsel and fairy lights winking at you from every window.

You hadn’t stepped foot in a mall in ages—mostly sticking to the convenience of online shopping and the hunts of thrift stores—but here you were, begrudgingly dragging Brittney along in your quest for the perfect gift for Crowe. 

“I still don’t get why you’re this stressed about it,” Brittney said, effortlessly balancing a caramel macchiato in one hand while gesturing with the other as she walked beside you. “It’s Jericho. He’ll probably be smiling no matter what you give him. Honestly, wrap up a rock, and he’ll love it anyway.”

You let out a long, drawn-out groan, clutching your coat tighter as you passed yet another store that screamed not Crowe enough. “That’s exactly why it’s stressful! If I give him something random, he’ll think I didn’t put any thought into it. And if it’s too thoughtful—well, you know how he gets.”

Brittney raised an eyebrow, her heels clicking against the tile floor like the beat of a very judgmental drum. “You’re overthinking it, as usual. But fine, we’ll find him something perfect.” She paused dramatically, then grinned like the cat who’d just caught the canary. “Right after we fix this.”

She motioned toward you like you were a mannequin in need of serious intervention. 

“What are you talking about?” you asked, narrowing your eyes, already dreading whatever plan she was about to hatch.

“Oh, come on,” she said, practically yanking your arm as she steered you toward a clothing store. “You cannot show up to my place tomorrow night wearing your same old flare jeans-and-sweater combo in dull colors. It’s festive! It’s Christmas! You need to bring your A-game.”

“I thought this was supposed to be a small get-together,” you protested, resisting her tug.

“It is. Small but fabulous. Which is why I, as your friend, am going to make sure you don’t look like you just rolled out of bed.” She pulled a sequined dress from a nearby rack with the kind of flourish reserved for Broadway stars. “What do we think? Too much?”

You stared at the dress in horror. It was so sparkly it could probably be seen from space. You shot her a flat look. “If I wear that, Crowe will definitely never let me live it down.”

“Fine, fine,” Brittney said, laughing and tossing the dress back on the rack with the grace of a fashionista throwing a tantrum. “But you’ve got to admit, you’d turn heads.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips as she tossed another, more reasonable outfit your way.

After what felt like an eternity—and after Brittney vetoed every “boring” outfit you tried to pick—finally, you emerged from the dressing room with a pretty outfit, you both agreed with. 

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Brittney said, clapping her hands in approval. “Chic, confident, and just a little bit mysterious. You’re welcome.”

You glanced at yourself in the mirror, tilting your head. “I guess it’s not bad.”

“Not bad?” she repeated, feigning offense. “Please, you look amazing. Crowe is going to have his jaw on the floor.”

You shot her a look, trying to hide the heat creeping up your neck. “Why are you bringing him into this?”

Brittney smirked knowingly. “Oh, please. Like you don’t know.” 

You rolled your eyes, but her grin was infectious, and you couldn’t suppress the smallest of smiles.

After leaving the clothing store—with Brittney carrying your new outfit like it was her triumph—you wandered into a cozy little shop filled with knick-knacks and handcrafted items. It had that eclectic, artsy vibe that immediately made you think of Crowe.  

Brittney was busy examining a shelf of scented candles when she asked casually, “So, do you ever think about dating?” You froze, nearly dropping the ceramic figurine you were holding. “Excuse me? Where did that come from?”  

“I mean, it’s the holidays,” she said, shrugging as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Romance is in the air. And you’ve been spending an awful lot of time with a certain pair of guys.”  

Your stomach flipped. “Brittney...”  

“Come on,” she pressed, leaning against the shelf with a teasing grin. “It’s Jericho, isn’t it? Or wait—maybe that dude with the green streaks in his hair?” She paused, thinking, “What’s his name again…?” She asked. You rolled your eyes, “Sol.” 

“Right, the quiet one that likes to draw…” She mentioned, “So? The prince or the artist?”  

You hesitated, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Sol, with his warm, easy-going nature, always made you feel like you could be yourself. But Crowe... Crowe had a way of drawing you in, his sharp wit and creativity sparking something you couldn’t quite name.  

“I... I don’t know,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.  

Brittney’s expression softened, her teasing giving way to genuine curiosity. “Hey, no pressure. I just think... whoever you pick, they’re lucky to have you.”  

As you walked through the mall, still thinking about her words, you stumbled upon something that made you stop in your tracks.  

It was a gorgeous, handcrafted music box, intricately carved with a winter scene. You’d seen it before on display, months ago, and fallen in love with it. But the price tag had always kept it just out of reach. You’d told yourself it wasn’t practical—your money had to go toward rent, groceries, and textbooks, not something so frivolous.  

Yet here it was, glimmering in the soft light as if waiting for you.  

“What’s that?” Brittney asked, peeking over your shoulder.  

You swallowed hard. “It’s... something I’ve wanted for a while. But it’s too expensive.”  

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at you, then back at the music box. “Maybe it’s time to treat yourself for once. It’s Christmas, after all.”  

You shook your head, stepping away reluctantly. “I can’t. I need to stick to my budget.”  

Brittney frowned but didn’t push. Instead, she linked her arm with yours and said, “All right, let’s go. We’ve still got to find gifts.”  

By the time you left the mall, you were exhausted but triumphant. You’d found the perfect gifts—Brittney had, of course, insisted on adding a bow to each package.  

With the gifts secured, you headed home, your thoughts kept drifting back to the music box—and to the question, you couldn’t quite answer. Crowe or Sol?  

Standing in front of your mirror, you smoothed the soft fabric of the outfit Brittney had picked out for you—a cozy yet stylish off-shoulder sweater black sweater dress paired with maroon tights, and a matching bow that sits on your nightstand.

It fit perfectly, hitting all the curves, and you had to admit, Brittney had an annoyingly good eye. When she handed you the bag earlier, she had waved away your protests with a grin.  

“Think of it as a gift,” she’d said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I had no clue what to get you anyway, so this counts. You’re welcome.”  

You laughed at the memory as you reached for the maroon bow. It was a small, thoughtful gesture from her, but it carried more weight than she probably realized. Brittney always had a way of showing her care through actions, even if she hid it behind sarcasm.  

Your gaze shifted to your phone on the dresser, the screen still lit up with Hyugo’s text. You tapped your nails on the dresser, reading the message again and again. The idea of strolling under the glowing canopy of Christmas lights was tempting. Hyugo’s steady, dependable presence had always been a source of comfort, and Sol...  

Your chest tightened slightly at the thought of Sol. He wasn’t the loudest or the most expressive, but he had a quiet way of showing he cared. Whether it was walking on the side of the road closest to traffic or remembering your favorite snacks when you studied late, Sol went out of his way to protect you in the subtlest ways.  

But then there was Crowe.  

You glanced at your reflection in the mirror, sighing softly as you adjusted the collar of your sweater dress. Crowe was the opposite of Sol in many ways—charismatic, quick-witted, and always so present. He had a way of being there when you needed him most, whether it was cracking a joke to pull you out of a bad mood or reminding you to take care of yourself when you pushed too hard. Crowe didn’t just care about you; he saw you.  

Your brush stilled in your hand as your thoughts tangled. Sol, with his quiet strength and unspoken devotion, versus Crowe, whose vibrant energy and unwavering support had become a constant in your life. It wasn’t the first time you’d felt torn like this, but tonight, with everything hanging in the air, the question loomed larger than ever.  

You placed the brush down and reached for your phone. Your thumb hovered over the screen, Hyugo’s text still unanswered.  

The truth was, both options held their kind of magic. You could picture yourself with Sol and Hyugo, laughing as Sol attempted to grab a runaway balloon from a vendor at the Christmas lights. But you could also imagine spending the night with Crowe and the rest of the group, his familiar presence anchoring you as the chaos of the party swirled around you, perhaps playing games and catching up. 

Would Crowe be disappointed if you didn’t go?  

You bit your lip, closing your eyes for a moment as you let out a long breath. There wasn’t a perfect answer, and no amount of overthinking would make the choice any easier. Finally, you set the phone down with a soft thud and looked back at your reflection.  

“Just go with your gut,” you murmured to yourself.  

As you adjusted your clothes in the minor one last time, you headed to your living room. You put on your leather boots, then grabbed your coat, and you made your way toward the door. No matter what decision you made tonight, you knew one thing for certain: the holidays weren’t about the lights, the gifts, or even the plans—they were about the people who mattered most to you.  

And whether that person was Crowe or Sol... maybe the night would help you figure that out.  

If you picked Crowe!

You stood in front of your front door, staring at your phone screen as your thumb hovered over the keyboard. Hyugo’s invitation sat open on your messaging app, the words staring back at you like a challenge.  

Spending Christmas Eve with him and Sol sounded wonderful. The idea of walking under glowing lights, sharing laughter and stories, and basking in the quiet warmth of their presence was so tempting. You could already picture Sol’s quiet, steady energy and Hyugo’s easygoing humor, balancing each other out like always.  

But then there was Brittney’s party. She had been planning it for weeks, texting in all caps about the details and how “NO ONE was allowed to skip out unless they wanted to face my WRATH.” And Crowe… well, Crowe had been unusually involved in the group chat about the exchange. You could sense his subtle excitement, even though he’d never admit it outright.  

Your heartfelt caught between two equally important choices. One evening with Hyugo and Sol would mean stepping away from the rest of your friends, missing out on the little traditions that had brought you all closer. And yet, declining Hyugo’s invitation felt like a lost chance to make a special memory with him and Sol.  

Biting your lip, you finally typed out a reply, your fingers moving hesitantly:  

— You: I’d love to, but my friends already planned something. Maybe next time?  

You stared at the message for another moment before pressing send, a pang of guilt twisting in your chest.  

It wasn’t long before your phone buzzed with Hyugo’s response:  

— Hyugo: Got it. Have fun!  

You smiled softly at the screen, some of the tension in your chest easing. Hyugo was always so understanding—steady and reliable, no matter the situation. But before you could set your phone down, it buzzed again.  

The name flashing on the screen made your stomach flip.  

Sol.  

You hesitated for a beat before answering. “Hey,” you said, keeping your tone light despite the sudden tightness in your throat.  

“Hey,” he replied, his voice calm but noticeably quieter than usual. “I just wanted to check... So, you’re not coming tonight?”  

Your chest tightened further at the faint thread of disappointment in his tone. “I’m really sorry, Sol,” you said, sighing softly. “I already have plans with others friends. I don’t want to bail on them.”  

There was a pause, long enough for your heart to sink. When Sol spoke again, his words were careful, and understanding, but there was no hiding the sadness that laced his tone. “It’s okay. I get it. Maybe we can hang out another time.”  

The lump in your throat grew heavier. “We definitely will,” you promised quickly, wishing you could say something to lighten the weight you could feel in his words.  

In the background, you heard Hyugo’s voice. “Is that them? Gimme the phone.”  

There was a rustling sound before Hyugo’s familiar warmth came through the line. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he said with an easy chuckle. “We’ll survive without you. But next time, no excuses, okay?”  

The lightheartedness in his tone made your shoulders relax slightly. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, relieved by his usual charm. “Thanks, Hyugo. Have fun tonight, okay?”  

“You too!” he teased before adding, “And try not to let your friends drag you into too much chaos. See you soon.”  

The line clicked, leaving you standing in the quiet entryway of your apartment. You lowered the phone slowly, staring at it for a moment longer as an ache settled in your chest. Sol’s voice lingered in your mind, soft and careful, and you couldn’t help but wish things could have been different.  

But tonight, you reminded yourself, was about being with the others, about keeping the traditions you’d built with them alive. With a deep breath, you slipped your phone into your pocket and grabbed your coat, stepping into the night air with a mixture of anticipation and bittersweet longing swirling in your heart.  

The evening of the party arrived, and as you approached Brittney’s house, the warmth and energy of the gathering spilled out onto the deck porch. Golden light glowed from the windows, the cheerful hum of music and laughter drifting into the chilly December air. You paused for a moment at the door, pulling your coat tighter around yourself as you gathered your thoughts.  

With a steadying breath, you knocked. A moment later, the door swung open, and there was Brittney, her face lighting up with her signature, effervescent grin.  

“Finally! I thought you’d never get here,” she said, already reaching to help you with your coat.  

“Sorry, I was—”  

“Fashionably late,” she interrupted, her eyes scanning your outfit. A satisfied hum escaped her lips as she appraised you. “Now this is what I’m talking about. You’re stunning.”  

You laughed softly, slipping out of your coat to reveal the gorgeous outfit Brittney had insisted on picking for you—a soft black off the shoulder dressed, paired with maroon tights with an matching bow that made you feel both elegant and confident. She handed you a pair of house shoes, the ones you knew she kept around for occasions like this.  

“I feel like I’m overdressed,” you said lightly, but Brittney shook her head, waving a dismissive hand.  

“Overdressed? Please. It’s Christmas. You’re perfect.”  

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the cheerful din behind her.  

“Hey, you made it.”  

Your gaze shifted, and there stood Crowe. For a moment, you simply stared, taking him in. He wore an azure button-up shirt, paired with a black vest that complemented his rich brown skin, the deep hue drawing out the warm tones of his deep blue eyes. A sapphire brooch glinted at the center of a meticulously tied black bow around his collar, and his long hair was pulled into a low ponytail, tied back with a matching azure ribbon.  

In his hands, he held a small bouquet of blue irises.  

Your breath caught, and as he stepped closer, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over his outfit . “Wow,” you murmured. “You look... princely.”  

Crowe raised an eyebrow, his usual smirk faltering as a flicker of warmth crossed his expression. “And you look...” He paused, his gaze lingering on you before softening. “Really beautiful.”  

“Only tonight?” you teased, raising an eyebrow and tilting your head.  

His eyes widened, and he stumbled over his words, flustered in a way you didn’t see often. “No, I mean—you look beautiful every day, but tonight you just—” He stopped, rubbing the back of his neck as a sheepish laugh escaped him.  

You both burst into laughter, the tension easing in an instant. Brittney rolled her eyes dramatically, patting Crowe’s shoulder as she passed. “Well, my work here is done,” she said, her tone dripping with mock exasperation. “Don’t mess this up, princeling.”  

As Brittney disappeared back to the living room, leaving you and Crowe in the hallway. He turned his attention back to you, holding out the bouquet. “These are for you,” he said simply.  

You took the flowers carefully, the soft petals brushing your fingertips. Your eyes widened slightly as you studied the blooms. “Blue irises,” you said, your voice thoughtful. “They’re beautiful.”  

He tilted his head, his smirk returning. “I thought you’d like them. They’re supposed to mean hope and trust—or something like that.”  

“And wisdom,” you added, looking up at him with a smile. “The iris has been associated with wisdom and truth because of the Greek goddess Iris, who was a messenger for Zeus and Hera. And nobility, too—it’s been connected to royalty throughout history.”  

Crowe’s brow lifted, clearly impressed. “Well, aren’t you just a walking encyclopedia?”  

You grinned. “Maybe. But you picked well. Thank you.”  

The warmth in his gaze deepened, and for a moment, it felt like the noise of the party faded away.  

“You’re welcome,” he said softly.  

Soon the room was buzzing with anticipation as the gift exchange began. Brittney, playing hostess to perfection, had everyone seated in a loose circle, with the mountain of brightly wrapped presents taking center stage. You were perched on the edge of a couch, trying to calm the slight flutter in your chest as the turn order worked its way closer to Crowe.  

When his name was finally called, he shot to his feet with his usual flair, bowing dramatically as the room cheered. “Thank you, thank you,” he said, waving his hand like a performer accepting applause. “But this isn’t about me—it’s about you all witnessing the unveiling of my superior gift-giving skills.”  

Brittney rolled her eyes. “Just get on with it, princeling.”  

Crowe smirked at her before his gaze flicked to you. A mischievous glint lit his deep blue eyes as he strode toward you, a carefully curated basket in his hands. He stopped in front of you, his grin softening into something a little more sincere.  

“This one’s for you,” he said, holding the basket out with a slight flourish.  

You blinked, surprised as you took the basket from him. “For me?”  

He tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “Well, yeah. You’re hard to shop for, so don’t judge me too harshly, okay?”  

You set the basket on your lap and began pulling back the tissue paper, and your eyes widened as you took in the contents. Inside were all your favorite things—snacks you couldn’t resist, small trinkets in your favorite color, and even a notebook that perfectly matched your aesthetic.  

“Crowe...” you murmured, already feeling a warmth spreading in your chest. But as you moved the tissue paper aside further, your gaze landed on something at the center that made your breath hitch—a beautifully crafted music box.  

“You...” You looked up at him, your voice barely above a whisper.  

Crowe shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck in a rare display of nervousness. “I wasn’t sure what to get you,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “You’re always saying you have everything you need, and every time I offer to get you something, you turn me down like I’m trying to buy your soul or something.”  

A ripple of laughter spread through the room, and you couldn’t help but smile. “So, I figured I’d just... cover all my bases. You know, a little bit of everything. And, uh... I remembered how much you like little tunes and stuff, so...” He motioned awkwardly to the music box, looking anywhere but directly at you.  

Your chest tightened as a wave of emotion swept over you. The thoughtfulness behind the gift—the way he’d paid attention to all the little details about you—left you speechless. Without thinking, you stood up, leaned toward him, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.  

“Thank you, Crowe,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.  

For a moment, Crowe froze, his eyes wide as the room erupted into a chorus of whistles and teasing laughter. His hand flew to his cheek, and the tips of his ears turned a faint shade of red.  

“Well, well, well,” Brittney said loudly, holding up her phone and snapping a picture. “Looks like Crowe’s the real winner tonight.”  

Crowe groaned, glaring playfully at her. “Don’t you have a party to host or something?”  

Brittney smirked. “This is hosting. Carry on, lovebirds.”  

The teasing didn’t stop there. Someone shouted, “How about a speech, Crowe?!” and someone else chimed in with, “Yeah, tell us how it feels to win Christmas!”  

Crowe sighed dramatically, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed how much he appreciated the attention. “It feels like... a conspiracy,” he quipped, shooting you a quick, fond glance.  

As the laughter died down and the gift exchange continued, you found yourself clutching the basket tightly. You caught Crowe looking at you a few times, and each time, he offered a soft, almost shy smile.  

As the night wore on, the room buzzed with laughter and excitement. You sat quietly, watching the group banter back and forth, their camaraderie filling the space with a warmth that rivaled the glow of the twinkling fairy lights strung across the walls. Brittney flitted from group to group, her laughter ringing out as she teased someone about their gift-wrapping skills. Crowe’s voice cut through the chatter every so often, his witty remarks earning groans and snickers alike.  

You smiled at their antics, but the warmth in your chest was tinged with a bittersweet ache. The ease with which they all interacted—the history they shared—sometimes made you feel like an outsider, no matter how much they cared for you. You still felt new. You blinked quickly, willing away the sting in your eyes, but the knot in your throat tightened, looking down at your hands.

A quiet voice broke through your thoughts.  

“Hey.”  

You looked up to find Crowe standing beside you, his brow furrowed, concern softening his usually playful expression. He crouched slightly to meet your gaze, his hand brushing lightly against your arm.  

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low so only you could hear.  

You nodded quickly, forcing a smile as you wiped at your eyes. “Yeah,” you said, though your voice wavered. “I just need some fresh air.”  

He didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, he held out a hand, helping you up. “Come on,” he said softly, guiding you toward the door.  

Outside, the crisp night air greeted you, sharp and refreshing against your skin. The muffled sounds of music and laughter from inside felt distant now, replaced by the soft rustling of trees and the faint twinkle of stars overhead.  

You leaned against the railing of the porch, closing your eyes for a moment as you took a deep breath. When you opened them again, Crowe was watching you, his expression unreadable.  

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. Crowe noticed immediately, his brow knitting in concern. Without hesitation, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue handkerchief.  

He stepped closer, his movements gentle as he raised the handkerchief to your cheek, wiping the tear away. His touch was warm and deliberate, his fingertips barely grazing your skin.  

The tenderness of the gesture caught you off guard, and when he realized how close he was, his hand faltered. “Sorry, I—”  

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as a small, shaky breath escaped you. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.  

His hand lingered for a moment longer before he pulled back, his lips curving into a small, lopsided smile. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly.  

The two of you stood there in comfortable silence for a while, the cool night air brushing against your faces. Eventually, Crowe leaned against the railing beside you, his arm brushing yours as he tilted his head back to look at the sky.  

“Do you know much about constellations?” he asked, his tone lighter now.  

You glanced at him, grateful for the change in mood. “A little. Why?”  

He pointed upward, his hand tracing the shape of a cluster of stars. “That one right there—that’s Cassiopeia. The queen who bragged about how beautiful she was and got herself in trouble with the gods.”  

You laughed softly. “Sounds like someone I know.”  

Crowe gasped in mock offense, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’ll have you know, I am humble to a fault.”  

“Sure, princeling,” you teased, nudging him gently with your shoulder.  

He grinned, his gaze drifting back to the stars. “Anyway, you’re more like Andromeda. You know, the princess who was chained to a rock but ended up becoming a constellation. Quiet strength, endless beauty... and the kind of person you can’t help but notice.”  

Your breath hitched slightly at his words, and when you turned to look at him, his eyes were already on you, warm and sincere.  

“I...” You hesitated, your emotions threatening to spill over again. But instead of speaking, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a small box.  

“I almost forgot,” you said, your voice steadying. “This is for you.”  

Crowe blinked, surprised, as he took the box from your hands. When he opened it, his expression softened even further. Inside were two matching necklaces, one in gold and one in silver, with interlocking stars at the center.  

“They fit together,” you explained, taking the gold one and clipping it around his neck. “Yours is gold and mine’s silver. I thought...” You hesitated again, suddenly shy. “I thought it’d be a nice reminder.”  

Crowe’s fingers brushed the charm, his gaze flicking between the necklace and you. “It’s perfect,” he said, his voice low. “Thank you.”  

The two of you stood close, the distance between you barely enough to breathe, yet it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. Your hands brushed as you admired the matching necklaces, an unspoken connection flickering between the two of you. Crowe’s lips parted, as if he was about to say something, but then he suddenly laughed, his eyes catching something in the distance.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, your head tilting curiously, the soft flicker of the holiday lights casting a warm glow on your face.

He pointed upward, his eyes mischievous. “You didn’t notice?”

Following his gaze, your eyes landed on a sprig of mistletoe hanging directly above you, its green leaves almost glowing under the lights. The realization hit you, and heat surged to your cheeks, a soft flush spreading across your skin. You looked back at him, your heart suddenly racing, and found him raising his hands in mock surrender, his lips curling into that knowing smile of his.

“You don’t have to,” he said, his tone playful but edged with something deeper, like he was daring you to take the plunge. “It’s just a tradition, you know—.”

But you didn’t let him finish.

Without a second thought, you stepped closer, closing the gap between you until you were mere inches apart. Your fingers gently cupped his cheek, and as his breath hitched, you pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was electric. Crowe froze for the briefest of seconds, as if surprised by your sudden boldness, but then he melted into it, his hands settling onto your waist, his touch firm yet careful. The world around you seemed to vanish, the only thing that existed was the sensation of his lips against yours, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. It was soft, tender, but there was an intensity to it—like a fire that had been smoldering, just waiting for the right moment to ignite.

His lips moved against yours, slow at first, savoring the closeness. The kiss deepened, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through the way his chest pressed gently against yours. You pulled him in closer, your hands tangling in the fabric of his jacket, as though afraid that if you let go, the moment would slip away. His body was pressed against yours now, his chest flush against yours, his strong arms securing you in place, as if to make sure you didn’t fall.

When you finally pulled back, the air between you seemed charged, crackling with unspoken words. His eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, deeply in love and warm with something that made your heart race. He smiled, a slow, genuine curve of his lips, his voice low and tender when he finally spoke.

“I’ve been waiting for that,” he whispered, his words almost lost in the space between your lips. His hand remained at the small of your back, holding you close, his fingers warm against your skin.

Before you could even process the weight of his words, a loud voice broke through the fragile moment.

“Got it!” Brittney crowed from the window, waving her phone triumphantly as if she had just captured a moment of great importance.

You groaned, your face immediately hiding in your hands, embarrassed, but Crowe just laughed, the sound warm and carefree, his arm effortlessly wrapping around your shoulders.

“Let them watch,” he said with a grin, pulling you closer, his breath tickling your ear. “I don’t care.”

And for the first time that night, as his arm pulled you tighter against him, you didn’t care either.

If you picked Sol!

You stood motionless, phone resting in your hand, as you stared at the glowing screen.  

— You: I’d love to come. When should I meet you?  

Hyugo’s response came almost immediately.  

— Hyugo: 6:30 at the park entrance. Can’t wait!  

A small smile tugged at your lips, the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You knew tonight would be special; Hyugo and Sol had a way of making even the simplest outings unforgettable. But as your gaze drifted to Crowe’s name in your contacts, the smile faded.  

Crowe.

He deserved to know you wouldn’t be there. You owed him that much.  

Your thumb hovered over the call button, hesitating as a pang of guilt settled in your chest. This wasn’t an easy decision, but you couldn’t be everywhere at once. Taking a steadying breath, you pressed the button and lifted the phone to your ear.  

The line rang twice before Crowe answered, his familiar voice as warm and teasing as ever. “Hey, what’s up? Please don’t tell me you’re chickening out on me for tonight.”  

A soft laugh escaped you, but the guilt in your tone was unmistakable. “Not exactly chickening out, but... I can’t make it. I have other plans.”  

The silence that followed stretched long enough to make your chest tighten. You checked the screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped, but then Crowe’s voice returned, quieter now.  

“Oh. I see. Well, that’s okay. I mean, we’ll miss you, but it’s not Christmas without options, right?”  

His attempt at lightness only deepened the ache in your heart. You could hear the subtle disappointment beneath his words, even if he was trying to hide it.  

“I’m sorry, Crowe,” you said softly. “I really hope you have a great time. Merry Christmas.”  

He chuckled lightly, though the usual energy in his laugh wasn’t there. “Yeah, you too. Take care, okay?”  

When the call ended, you stared at the blank screen for a moment, the weight of your choice pressing on you. Crowe’s voice lingered in your mind, and for a fleeting second, you almost reconsidered. But tonight was about something different—something you couldn’t quite name yet.  

Later that evening, you arrived at the park entrance, the crisp night air nipping at your cheeks as the scent of pine and roasted chestnuts filled the air. Strings of twinkling lights turned the trees into glowing sculptures, and the cheerful hum of holiday music mingled with the sound of children laughing and families chatting.  

Your breath puffed in the cold air as you scanned the crowd. It didn’t take long to spot Hyugo leaning against a lamppost, his tall frame relaxed and his hands tucked casually into his coat pockets. He gave you a small wave, but it wasn’t Hyugo who drew your attention.  

A few steps away stood Sol.  

He was dressed impeccably, his white button-up shirt and green suit jacket tailored perfectly to his lean frame. The deep green of the jacket brought out the striking shade of his eyes, and his neatly styled ponytail only emphasized the sharp lines of his face. His bangs framed his expression, highlighting the glint of the piercings lining his ears.  

But it was the bouquet in his hands that truly caught your attention. A cluster of green roses, delicate and vibrant against the cold winter backdrop.  

Your heart skipped a beat as you walked toward him, your eyes widening. “Green roses,” you said softly, taking the bouquet from his hands with care. “They’re about life and growth. Hope, too.”  

Sol blinked, his lips parting slightly in surprise before his expression softened. A faint blush crept up his neck as he scratched the back of his head. “Yeah... I thought you’d like them.”  

You couldn’t help yourself. Without thinking, you leaned forward and hugged him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.  

Sol froze, his body going stiff as his blush deepened to an almost crimson hue. He stammered incoherently for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck as if to ground himself.  

“Well, this is already adorable,” Hyugo said, his calm voice laced with amusement as he walked up. “Thanks for officially making me the third wheel tonight.”  

You laughed, clutching the roses to your chest as you turned to Hyugo. “Don’t be so dramatic. Here, I have something for you.”  

Reaching into the small gift bag in your hand, you pulled out a silver katana necklace. Hyugo’s brows lifted as he took it, his fingers brushing the delicate chain.  

“Wow,” he said, holding it up to catch the light. “This is... really nice. Thanks!”  

“Only the best for you,” you teased, grinning as he slipped it on. The chain glinted under the lights, and he adjusted it with a satisfied nod.  

“Looks good on me, doesn’t it?” he said, striking a mock-serious pose.  

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “It does. But let’s not let it go to your head, okay?”  

As the three of you began walking into the park, the weight of the earlier phone call began to ease. The twinkling lights, the crisp air, and the warmth of your friends’ presence all blended into a moment you wouldn’t forget.  

The world around you transformed into a glowing wonderland of twinkling lights. Strings of bulbs wound through the trees like cascading stars, and lanterns in festive shapes lined the paths. The air was filled with the sounds of cheerful laughter, holiday music, and the occasional jingling bell from a passing sleigh ride.  

Hyugo walked ahead, his easy stride and relaxed demeanor making him seem like he belonged in this magical setting. Occasionally, he pointed out displays, his commentary a mix of genuine appreciation and sarcastic humor.  

“See that?” he said, gesturing to a particularly gaudy reindeer display. “That’s exactly what my family’s yard looks like. Overachieving neighbors are a real thing.”  

You laughed, falling into step with Sol, who had remained quieter than usual. He walked beside you, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets now that the bouquet was safely cradled in your arms. His reddish-orange eyes flitted between the lights and you, his expression thoughtful.  

“You okay back there, Sol?” Hyugo called over his shoulder, smirking. “You’re way too quiet. I’m starting to think the roses did all the talking for you.”  

Sol’s cheeks flushed again, but he managed a small smile. “I’m fine. Just... enjoying the view.” Hyugo snorted. “Yeah, sure you are.”  

You glanced up at Sol, catching the way his gaze lingered on you before darting away. Your heart skipped slightly, and you decided to give him a reprieve from Hyugo’s teasing. “The lights are beautiful,” you said softly, gesturing toward the canopy of stars above the path.  

Sol nodded, his voice equally quiet. “Yeah, they are.”  

The three of you continued along the winding path, pausing occasionally to take in the more elaborate displays—a massive tree covered in golden lights, an archway adorned with glittering ornaments, and a whimsical snowman family that had children running circles around it.  

Hyugo excused himself after spotting a nearby food stall. “I’m getting hot cocoa. Anyone want some?”  

You shook your head, and Sol muttered a soft, “No, thanks.”  

“Suit yourselves. I’ll be back in a bit,” Hyugo said with a casual wave, leaving you and Sol alone under the shimmering lights.  

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was charged with something unspoken. Sol glanced at you, his hands fidgeting slightly in his pockets.  

“You look really nice tonight,” he said suddenly, his voice shy but earnest.  

You turned to him, surprised. “Thank you. You do, too.”  

He smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he wasn’t sure how far to let it go. “I mean it,” he added, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. “You always look nice, but tonight... I don’t know. You’re so pretty.”  

Your breath caught at the sincerity in his voice. For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. “Thank you,” you said again, your voice softer this time.  

The lights overhead cast a soft glow on both of you, the world feeling smaller and quieter. Your thoughts began to wander, and a faint ache tugged at your chest.  

You’d spent so many Christmases surrounded by family, their familiar warmth and chaos filling every corner of your childhood home. This year was different. You’d made a life for yourself in the city and built relationships and traditions with your friends, but the distance from your family suddenly felt heavier than ever.  

Sol noticed the shift in your expression immediately. His brows furrowed, and he tilted his head slightly, stepping closer. “Hey,” he said gently. “You okay?”  

You blinked quickly, realizing tears had started to well in your eyes. “Yeah,” you said, wiping at them with a quick smile. “I’m fine. Just... thinking about home.”  

His concern deepened, and for a moment, he hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if he should say anything. Finally, he reached out, resting a hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay to miss them,” he said softly. “You don’t have to hide it.”  

The warmth in his voice unraveled something inside you, and you nodded, swallowing hard. “Thank you, Sol,” you murmured.  

A small smile returned to his face, and he pulled his hand back, letting the moment settle. After a few moments, you reached into your bag, a spark of excitement cutting through the heaviness in your chest. “Actually, I have something for you,” you said, pulling out a small box.  

Sol blinked in surprise, watching as you handed it to him. “What’s this?”  

“Open it,” you said with a grin.  

He carefully lifted the lid to reveal a miniature horse keychain, painted green and black to match his colors. Sol’s eyes widened, and a small, genuine smile spread across his face.  

“For me?” he asked, his voice almost disbelieving.  

You nodded. “And this one’s for me,” you added, pulling out a matching keychain—a small cat painted in your favorite colors. “Now we’ve got matching keychains. To think of each other, you know.”  

Sol stared at the tiny horse in his hands, his fingers brushing the smooth surface. “I love it,” he said finally, his voice quiet but full of emotion. “Thank you.”  

Before you could respond, Sol reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a neatly wrapped box. “I, uh... have something for you too,” he said, handing it over.  

You unwrapped it carefully, and your breath caught as the lid lifted to reveal the music box you’d been dreaming about for months.  

Tears sprang to your eyes again, but this time they were filled with pure joy. You couldn’t quite believe what you were seeing. “Sol… how did you…?”

He stood there, his hands twitching nervously at his sides, the usual confidence he carried nowhere to be found. He took a tentative step closer, and the vulnerability in his eyes made your heart ache. “I remembered you talking about it once,” he said, his voice faltering, tinged with uncertainty. “I just thought you should have it.”

His words, the meaning behind them, hit you all at once. He was so thoughtful, so careful. But it was his panicked expression that really caught you off guard. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure whether to comfort you or retreat, his reddish orange eyes wide with worry, silently questioning if he had done too much. “I—was this too much? I just thought you’d—”

You couldn’t bear to see him like that, unsure and vulnerable, so you stepped forward, closing the distance between you. Slowly, you rose up onto your toes, your hands wrapping around his broad shoulders, grounding yourself in his presence.

Before he could finish his thought, you pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, letting your emotions guide you. His breath hitched, and for a long moment, everything seemed to pause. The twinkling lights that decorated the trees, the distant laughter of other parkgoers, even the crisp winter air—all of it faded away, leaving only the heat of his skin and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat that somehow synced with yours.

Sol froze at first, his lips still under yours, as if his mind hadn’t caught up with what was happening. But slowly, you felt him relax into the kiss. His hands, unsure at first, settled lightly on your arms, and then, as if he was grounding himself in the moment, they tightened just slightly, pulling you in closer.

His touch was little rough, but you could feel the depth of his feelings in the way his fingers brushed against your skin—like he was afraid to let go, as if the moment might slip away if he did.

When you finally pulled back, the air around you felt charged, alive with the emotion you both had been holding back. Sol stood there, his wide eyes locked on you, his cheeks flushed so deeply that even the tips of his ears had turned a deep shade of red. His chest rose and fell quickly, like he couldn’t quite process what had just happened.

“I… uh…” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper, as if words had momentarily escaped him.

A soft laugh escaped you, breaking the intensity of the moment. You wiped away the lingering tears from your cheeks, trying to steady yourself. “Thank you, Sol,” you said, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions swirling in your chest. “For everything. For the music box, for being here… for being you.”

Sol’s lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to respond, but instead, all he managed was a shy, lopsided smile. The kind that made your heart flutter, as if his very soul was laid bare in that simple gesture.

You smiled back, your cheeks still flushed with warmth despite the winter chill, and there was something about the way his gaze lingered on you that made everything feel right, in a way you never expected.

“And for the record,” you added softly, your tone more serious now, “I care about you. So much.”

Sol’s smile deepened, and his eyes seemed to glow with a mixture of disbelief and quiet happiness. His voice, when it came, was so soft, so full of emotion, it felt like a secret meant just for you. “I’m just glad you’re here,” he murmured, his hand gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch warm and tender. “You’re the best muse I’ll ever have.”

His words hung in the air between you, and it felt like time itself had slowed down, each second stretching into eternity as you stood there, lost in the quiet connection you shared. The world, the winter, the chaos of everything else—it all melted away in that one moment, leaving only the feeling of his hands, his heart, and the soft glow of your shared affection.

Before either of you could say more, Hyugo’s suddenly voice cut through the tender moment, laced with amusement.  

“Well, I feel like I should leave you two lovebirds alone, but... I also don’t want to walk home alone, so…”  

The interruption made you laugh, the sound light and genuine as the heaviness in your chest fully lifted. Sol’s blush only deepened, and he looked down, scratching the back of his neck in his usual awkward fashion.  

Your hand found his instinctively, your fingers lacing together as you turned to face Hyugo. “You’re hopeless,” you called teasingly.  

“Yeah, yeah,” Hyugo said with a mock sigh. “Glad you’ve finally figured that out.”  

As the three of you continued along the path, Sol’s grip on your hand remained firm, his thumb brushing lightly against yours as though to reassure himself this wasn’t a dream. The lights above reflected in his eyes, making them shine like rubies against the backdrop of the winter evening.  

After a few moments of quiet, Sol glanced at you, his gaze steady but laced with a familiar shyness. “Thanks for being here,” he said, his voice low but full of meaning.  

You looked up at him, warmth blooming in your chest. “Of course. Where else would I be?”  

He hesitated for just a second, and then, with a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, he added, “…And I’m glad I didn’t have to shed any blood to win you over.”  

You stopped in your tracks, staring at him in mock disbelief before bursting into laughter. “What a charmer,” you said, shaking your head.  

Sol chuckled softly, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “What can I say? …I aim to impress you alone.”  

The teasing gave way to a comfortable silence as the two of you continued walking, your hands still intertwined. The world around you felt warmer, and brighter, like the holiday lights above had found a way to settle into your chest and glow from the inside out.  

For the first time that night, you felt completely at peace, the bittersweet ache of the season replaced by something sweeter: the quiet, steadfast warmth of someone who cared for you deeply.  

You two reached Hyugo, who was waiting by another set of light displays, waving his hand over to call you and Sol to have a closer look.

You couldn’t help but think that this chilly winter night had turned into something magical.  

The soft hum of your phone was the only sound in the stillness of your room, the faint light casting long shadows across the walls as you lay there, scrolling through the pictures from the night of Christmas Eve. Each image flickered before your eyes like a fragment of time—memories that felt both distant and vivid, frozen in the glow of your screen.

The liveliness of Crowe and his friends, the way their energy seemed to fill the room and make the night brighter. Or the warmth of the park, the laughter of Hyugo and Sol, their voices mingling with the cold December air. 

You felt an unexpected peace settle deep in your chest, a quiet kind of comfort.

College may have been over, for now, but something else had started to take root—connections that would stretch far beyond the walls of classrooms and lectures. Friendships that felt solid, steady, like something that might stand the test of time.

Just as you set the phone aside, your eyes began to flutter shut, your body sinking into the softness of the bed, drifting completely off to sleep.

Afterward, the soft sound at the window—a quiet rustle of fabric, the faintest click of the latch being undone. Then, a shadow moved across the room, sleek and fluid, dressed entirely in black. The figure moved with practiced ease, slipping silently through your window as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Sol.

His silhouette was barely visible against the darkness, but you could feel the presence of his mischievous grin even before he stepped into the soft pool of light in your room. He was quick, and efficient as if he had done this a hundred times before, and yet there was something undeniably thoughtful in the way he moved—careful not to disturb anything, as if he didn’t want to interrupt the calm of the night.

He stood there for a moment, just watching your sleeping figure, his eyes heart-shaped, glinting with quiet amusement. You could feel something warm in his gaze. Then, he crossed the room, slow enough not to startle you, and crouched down at the edge of your bed. His black clothing blended into the shadows, the outline of his lean figure and the small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

You were deep in sleep, the world around you a blur of comforting darkness. And yet, in that dreamlike space, you could feel his presence, like a whisper threading through the silence. 

"You made it through the year," his voice murmured, a soft, velvety tone that carried a weight of something unspoken—something meaningful. His words were like a gentle caress, and though you could barely register them in your dream state, they stirred something inside you, something warm, something that made you feel understood. 

A movement—delicate, almost reverent—pulled you from the haze of sleep. His hand, steady and sure, reached out to you, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. His touch was feather-light, as though he was afraid to disturb the fragile peace of the moment. You could feel the warmth of his fingertips lingering on your skin, a soft, lingering touch that made you feel protected, and cared for, even in your slumber.

"Wishing you the best in the new year," he whispered, his voice barely audible but thick with intent. 

You didn’t stir, caught in the embrace of sleep, but somehow, his words echoed through your mind like a distant lullaby. His hand dropped, and then there was a shift, the movement of him leaning forward, his presence closer now, filling the space between you. 

His lips brushed against your lip, the kiss so gentle it felt like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. It was brief, fleeting, but tender—an unspoken promise, woven into the light touch, something that lingered on your skin even after he pulled away. His warmth stayed with you for a heartbeat, then another, the feeling of him still hanging in the air like a quiet echo.

For a moment, everything was still. His expression remained unreadable, as it often did, but there was something else there—something deeper, more sincere than you were used to seeing. He didn’t need to say more; his presence was enough. 

"Happy New Year~” he said, his voice soft but carrying a quiet smile, one that tugged at the corners of his lips as though he knew something you didn’t. And then, as swiftly as he had come, he was gone—leaving behind only the lingering warmth of his touch and the faintest trace of his words, woven into the fabric of your dreams. Still, a smile tugged at your lips as you thought about the promise of the new year—of fresh starts and endless possibilities.

Whatever moments the future held, you knew they'd be all the more meaningful depending on who you chose to share them with.

· ─────── ⋆⋅♤⋅⋆ ─────── · 

[arachine]

something about non-traditional family dynamics with gojo just speaks to me…

includes :: co-parent!gojo, rich boy!gojo, mentions of pregnancy + leaky nips hehe

note :: this is just pure brainrot, started thinking about him in class today and i needed to get this out of my brain!

link to part two + link to part three

i’d like to think that after he knocks you up in college, the two of you take it upon yourselves to get married because, “‘it’s the right thing to do.’” and so, for a few years, you do the whole marriage thing—the family thing.

no longer were you the twenty-something-year-old who partied hard every weekend, and studied until the break of dawn every school night.

no, now you were the twenty-something-year-old who fixed bottles at odd hours in the night, whose nipples leaked through all her favorite tops, who had a husband that paid a mortgage and kissed her goodbye before he went off to work for the company passed down to him.

and after some time, things finally start to fall into place—your little family.

the baby gets bigger. you go through the terrible twos, of course, and the teenage-threes, but once she hits five, it’s suddenly pie in the sky—and god, it feels like you can finally start to see a light at the end of the tunnel.

so, you and gojo have one more. one more girl that’s precious, and smart, and quick-tongued, and every bit of her dad as she is you.

things are touch and go for awhile, but for the most part it’s...easy, smooth. that is, until married life starts to feel like a task, and your husband starts to feel like your roommate instead of your companion.

conversations becomes brief, the bed becomes colder, morning kisses are exchanged for nods of acknowledgement, and you can’t even remember the last time either of you desired each other…

one day though, the two of you come to a mutual decision to separate. you spend the night talking, and talking, and talking. you talk about things. memories—before and after. you even talk about your mis-comings, and if things could’ve gone differently had either of you did ‘this, this, and that’.

when you tell the girls, you’re half expecting them to be upset, but all they can think about is how, “‘they’ll get twice the amount of gifts during holidays’” — at least, according to your oldest who heard that from a kid in her class with separated parents.

a few years pass after your separation and now the both of you have come to a place where you can just be...friends. it was weird, at first—dropping your kids off to their 'other home'. walking them up to the grandiose sky-rise apartment building that's always bustling with people who've got places to be, and working class people to probably torture—but that's neither here, nor there.

gojo's waiting in the lobby. he's leaned up against the side of the elevator, dressed down in all black athleisure, and he's sporting that damn cheesy grin that you find yourself missing lately.

"hey girls," he greets, lowering down to his haunches and opening his arms for hugs, "oof—big hugs, almost knocked me over! missed me that much, huh?"

while the three of them get their hugs out of the way, you stand there idly watching, rocking back and forth on the balls of your heels.

"hey," he finally acknowledges you, "how was the drive? they got everything they need?"

"it was fine, and yep! they insisted on packing their own bags like big girls but i checked them," you say, before whispering, "and then repacked them."

he laughs at that, and then grabs their suitcases.

"but yeah, i should get going before traffic hits. if you need anything, let me know, and if you need anything," you drop down to your knees, "mommy's only a call away, okay?"

the two of them nod, "okay, mommy!"

"good...now come on, hugs and kisses!" you pull them in, getting enough kisses for two-weeks time. eventually, you pull away—albit, reluctantly, and wave your goodbyes.

the three of them watch you walk away, and when you're finally out of ear-shot, gojo utters a 'miss that'.

"miss what, daddy?"

"uh-huh," he clears his throat, "daddy didn't say anything..."

"liar, you miss mommy. don't you?" the youngest grins, all cheeky and knowing. gojo rolls his eyes—not out of annoyance, but because of how much they reminded him of himself. much like he, nothing ever got past those two...and he doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. right now, though? it's gonna be a good thing because he needs to know if-

"does mommy have a new boyfriend?"

"why?" the oldest answers, squinting her eyes in suspicion.

"jeez kid, just answer the question."

she ponders for a second, then extends her hand out, opening and closing it in a fast manner. gojo pouts, then takes out his wallet to put a five dollar bill on it.

she doesn't budge.

"oh, c'mon! i'm your father!" he pouts, but acquiesces and pulls out another five, "fine, you little brat."

with a smile on her face, she stuffs the bills in her front pocket and nods her head.

"wha-really?" he gasps, "is he better looking than me? how old is he? is he younger than daddy? is he richer than daddy? what's he do for work?"

ignoring his questions, she only extends her hand out again.

"i'm not giving you any more money, so we can settle this with some ice cream or nothing."

she ponders for a second time before nodding. "ice cream works for me."

"you little...c'mon get on the elevator."

20 floors in and the questions never stop coming.

[sundew199]

Birthday present

a/n: just smth cute to celebrate Zoro's birthday ♡

tags: Roronoa Zoro x f!reader, fluff, dad!zoro, family dynamics, post-canon

His hands shook as he wiped them from on the sides of his pants, clammy and moist from the nervous sweat he had broken out into as he waited.

It'd been a couple of hours since he received word that you'd gone into labor, caught up in a class and doing his best to rush back to the compound where the two of you lived. The whole day had been a mess, Zoro not anticipating you'd be close to delivering when he agreed to teach a class halfway across the island almost a year ago. Oh well, he can't go back and change the past, all he could do now was apologize and make up for it somehow.

"Everything went smoothly."

Not even hearing the door to the bedroom open, let alone spot the doctor slipping out of the room, snapping Zoro's restless thoughts back to the present. The man looked kind and forgiving, features creasing soft in a reassuring smile as he patted Zoro's arm.

"I'll give you all the time you need, congratulations."

Zoro barely smiled at the doctor as he turned down the hall away from the bedroom Zoro stood outside of. There shouldn't be any reason why he was nervous, right? I mean this wasn't a surprise, sort of planned and wanted so he should just go in and forget about everything swirling in his head. But his stomach flipped and churned and he wished he knew why.

Well. He can't stand out here for the rest of his life.

Slowly pulling back the shoji, slipping inside, Zoro just about melted seeing you cradle a small bundle in your arms, paired with the brightest and yet most tired smile he's seen on you.

"Hey." Falling to his knees beside the futon, grasping the back of your head and placing a kiss on your cheek. "I'm so sorry, I tried to get here as fast as I could."

A soft hand came to silence whatever else might've come out of his mouth next, gently laughing and kissing his cheek back, making the unease in his veins simmer into nothing.

"It's okay, this was kind of unexpected, for everyone."

Zoro cumbersomely laughed, pressing his forehead to yours and then following it with a kiss, reassured to know you weren't upset with him for missing the birth of his first child. You began to scoot over to make room for him, adjusting the baby in your arms and giving Zoro a brief glance. Shit he felt so emotional, a lump rising in his throat and finding no way to make it go away.

Slowly your hand moved the loose blanket swaddled around the baby out of the way so Zoro could see them properly. They were sleeping soundly in the comfort of your arms, it almost didn't look or feel real that he was a father now. He'd hope the realization would've set in sooner, but at the same time the overwhelming sensation coursing through him felt other worldly.

"Can I?" Asking nervously, watching you break out into a small laugh at his question to hold his own child, but Zoro was nervous and it couldn't be helped.

"Of course."

The exchange felt like it was in slow motion, Zoro something of a giant to this new life and instantly on pins and needles when the baby was placed in his arms. Moving as carefully as he could while sitting on the edge of the futon, Zoro looked at you with misty eyes, not quiet crying but overflowing with joy.

"It's a boy by the way."

Hearing you whisper the sweet words and smiling even harder, looking back down again at the baby and adjusting his hold to where he could move the blanket further away from their face. His son made little faces at the adjustments, worrying Zoro for a moment but calming when he continued to sleep.

"I meant to get you a proper gift, but I hope this is okay for now."

Quicker than he could process, Zoro was twisting to look at you fully, uncertainty taking over in his expression.

"Gift? What are you talking about?"

Your sweet laugh confused him further, wondering what you were talking about. Subtly, you scooted closer, hooking your chin over his shoulder and throwing an arm around the other, pressing your cheek to his as you both admired the sleeping baby in his arms.

"It's your birthday today."

Oh.

Oh-

Zoro slightly turned his head with wide eyes, the reminder dawning on him in that moment and suddenly he felt emotions he couldn't find proper words for. His birthday wasn't anything he cared much for, just another year getting older, but he did like the excuse of getting to drink as a form of celebration. He'd been so focused on you and the dojo that his birthday didn't even cross his mind once.

"Shit it is isn't it?"

Lips vibrated on his cheek as you kissed him with another laugh, running your fingertips along his shoulder and humming peacefully.

"Mhm. You don't mind sharing a birthday do you?" Asking with a bit of humor in your tone, pulling the corner of Zoro's mouth into a firmer smile.

"No," Moving to fully turn and face you now, getting himself properly adjusted on the futon next to you, checking in on his son still fast asleep. "Probably just made my birthdays more memorable from here on out."

With his free hand, Zoro cupped one side of your face, locking you into a deep kiss, stroking his thumb over your cheek bone when he pulled away.

"It's not going to bother me, but we never know how he'll feel about it when he's older." Motioning down towards the newborn baby with his chin, breathily chuckling at his own comment.

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see." Leaning over to kiss the top of your son's head, proceeding to give Zoro a quick kiss as well before curling up into his side carefully, running your hand across the soft newborn hair with your fingers.

[teaaleefs]

Second Best - K. Bakugou

word count: 1746

pairing: 3rdyear!Bakugou x nb!reader

cw and notes: might be ooc because i’ve literally never written this guy before Hurt/Comfort, Cussing it’s bakugou idk what you expected. Soft bakugou, Hopefully i did it right tho- comparing yourself to others, jealousy, envy, low self esteem, pet names (baby), unedited asf good luck reading it because i certainly didn't, good ending :)

synopsis: you can't stop comparing yourself to your boyfriend and one day it just gets to you

Always second best. That’s what you were.

Second best to Katsuki since… Well, always. Your boyfriend always strove to be number one, always strove for perfection in everything. He was number one in class, the most promising student in class 1-A despite his rough and brash personality. But even then, he was the best at everything. Even things you told yourself you were good at.

Cooking? He could make your mom’s recipe almost exactly the same way she did, always fine tuning the details. But you? You always changed something up, always forgot a step. Too much salt, too little garlic, not enough pepper, forgot the vegetables… and despite being with him for some time - for nearly 3 years now - during your time in UA, you grew almost resentful.

At first you felt guilty, because why would you ever compare yourself to him? Why should you be upset that he’s doing well for himself? But the thought that you were always falling behind, always miles behind and him miles ahead, it bubbled up jealousy. You never acknowledged it when you were around him. You always acted normal, acted the same. Had your usual spats and squabbles with him, had your small dates with him and exchanged vulnerable words. But the feeling kept gnawing at you. Especially during finals, always during finals or big exams. You both would work your asses off. Hell, he even helped you to study the majority of the time. 

Still, everytime you found that he was just better. Better at everything. Better with his quirk, better at studying, better at retaining information, better at testing, better at cooking your mother’s damn soup, better at planning dates, taking you out, getting gifts, better, better, better.

It left you upset late at night most times. Whenever you weren’t sleeping in his room your mind would whir with ways for you to improve - for you to catch up. And even when you were sleeping in his room, when he was already asleep you would still find yourself comparing and comparing and wishing you could just be better at one thing. Anything, just one thing.

Sometimes it made heat rise to your face when you would have these thoughts while looking over his sleeping form. His chest rose and fell with soft breaths while your eyes stung and burned and you tried to blink back your jealousy. Usually blinking them back and telling yourself to get over it did the trick. But one night it just didn’t. And you ended up wiping your eyes and turning away from him, settling into the pillow beneath your head and forcing yourself to fall asleep. 

But this night wasn’t like the others and no matter what you just couldn’t bring yourself to sleep. Your eyes kept flooding full of tears just for you to keep wiping them away, just for you to keep quietly sniffling and hiccupping and for your mind to keep milling over your jealousy and underlying disappointment with yourself because it honestly wasn’t fair! You were trying just as hard as he was, but he was always more driven, always more something and tonight you couldn’t take it anymore.

He heard you before he saw you. Back turned to him, quiet sniffles filling the otherwise silent room save for the sound of the fan. Scooting closer to you, he wrapped his arms around your waist. He knew better than to ask - he knew you weren’t the type to say it outright. 

“Oi, what’s wrong with you?” He asked anyway, his gruff voice having gone soft. It didn’t hold its usual snark or aggression, only a hint of the underlying concern he actually felt. When you didn’t answer, he sighed and held you tighter, letting his forehead rest against your shoulder. 

You could feel light kisses brushing against your skin, murmured words of comfort that he normally wouldn’t utter. See, he was even better than you at comforting his loved ones. All you usually managed was an ‘it’ll be okay’ or a hug, feeling too awkward when it came to making others feel better. Your throat tightened as did your chest, the heel of your palms pressing against your eyes as you tried to will yourself to stop crying over nothing. To stop being a baby and a jealous little shit. There was no reason to cry from an outside standpoint. But here you were, silently balling your eyes out for no reason (that’s what you thought Katsuki might be thinking at least). 

“It’s not fair.” You managed to choke out, words mumbled and muffled between a sharp intake of air. 

His hands rubbed soothing circles against your skin, his hold on you never faltering, but his lips stopped their soft brushes against your shoulder. “What’s not fair?”

You fell silent again. Should you tell him? But that would be selfish, what if it caused him problems? No, realistically, he would hold back for no one. Not even you. but what if he decided that you were being dramatic? What if this lead to one of your usual tiffs over nothing? What if you really were just being a crybaby? What if, what if, what if he’s too good for you? 

One of his hands abandoned your waist in favor of caressing your hair, rough fingers running through the strands all the way down, down, down to your neck and then back up again to the top in a calming fluid motion. “Breathe, baby. I can feel you tensing up.” He murmured against your ear, his rough voice growing increasingly softer. 

You stiffened for a moment. You hadn’t even realized you were taking in shallow breaths, but now you were hyper aware of your breathing and how tight your chest felt. Nodding to show that you heard him, you drank in slow, deep breaths, holding them for a few seconds before releasing them. 

You could hear him shifting behind you, both of his hands moving to cup your face. You could sense him hovering over you even as your hands stayed pressed to your eyes. You could feel the feather light kiss he pressed to your cheek and how quietly he asked you to move your hands. When you didn’t immediately comply, he gently encased his hands around your wrists, pulling your hands away himself.

Through bleary and wet eyes, you could make out the crease between his brows, his expression hardened into displeasure as he released your wrists. His displeasure wasn’t directed at you - never at you when you were like this.

He brushed the corner of your eyes free of tears with each thumb before pulling away. Settling back onto the bed and laying on his side, his warm hand brushed from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you towards his chest. You let out a breath before you finally let yourself cry without holding it back; without the sniffling and bit back and choked sobs.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” He asked as he held you tight, chin resting atop your head.

You swallowed thickly, not wanting to tell him that you were crying because of him. It wouldn’t be fair and you had convinced yourself you were being childish. He let silence fall between you two, not wanting to push anymore when it was obvious that you weren’t going to say.

But that was fine. He was fine with just holding you tight and grazing his lips on your forehead. He held you for a while after that, murmuring sweet words into your ear, rubbing your back and hair and telling you that everything was okay, meanwhile you just couldn’t stop for the life of you comparing and wondering about how he’d react if you told him why you were crying.

Until eventually, you broke it down to him, blubbered and mumbled and choked words of explanation finally tumbling from your trembling lips. You told him about your jealousy, about the comparisons, how you felt he was miles ahead and you constantly fighting for a way to at least catch up. How he was just better, how you thought you were being silly and dramatic and that “there was no reason” for you to be crying like this - breaking down over this. How he felt out of your league, how he was just too good for you. But as soon as he heard you tell him all that he fell silent and that made your stomach drop. Was he silently agreeing with you? Did he also think you were being a crybaby? Childish? Dramatic–

He held you so tight you thought your bones might break. His head buried in the space between your neck and shoulder, he scolded you.

“Don’t fucking say shit like that.” He rasped, voice barely above a whisper, “There’s no way I’m out of your league. If I was, I wouldn't have dated you in the first place.” His words were honest and straightforward, blunt but needed. “Baby, you’re fine the way you are. Stop comparing yourself to me, it’s unfair to yourself.” He said before pressing the softest kiss to the corner of your eye, kissing away your plump tears. “We’re different people, of course things are gonna come differently to each of us.” He soothed as he pulled away to kiss the corner of your other eye. “There’s a lot of shit that you're better at than me, so give yourself some credit, baby.”

You managed a few soft noises of acknowledgement and muffled “okay’s”, taking in a few heaving breaths as you worked to calm down. He didn’t stop holding you, he didn’t stop muttering comforts to try and quiet your tears, didn’t stop telling you all the ways you had one upped him, even in the smallest of ways. He tried to show you that you had your own accomplishments, that even he couldn’t do it all - and that was the thing absolutely hated to admit, but he did it for you.

He didn’t stop holding you, his calloused fingers tracing soft patterns against your arm, not even as your breathing regulated and you sniffed here and there. Not even when you fell asleep against his chest, your fingers clutching onto his shirt in an attempt to keep him there. Not that he was moving anytime soon. He didn’t even let you go when he fell asleep too, his arms falling slack around you, but still there. Still resting against your waist, his legs tangled with yours and his face buried against your shoulder.

[salmonight]

Fred Weasley x Hermione Granger x George Weasley Fic recs

(Mainly Fremione tho)

Fred & Hermione & George

Escapism: Hermione parents die when she is little and she gets placed with her abusive uncle. One day she runs off to find her own adventure and meets the twins in the woods. They instantly become besties. Adorable thing.

fun will be made if it is fun that is craved: Ex prankster Hermione plans a prank to deal with umibitch at the same time as a gift for the twins for the valentine's secret gift exchange

Fred/Hermione/George

Banned Books: Harry and Ron get mione banned from the library for two weeks and she is pissed. The twins cant miss out on the fun of helping her spirit a bunch of books away from the library and getting revenge on those two

Fred/Hermione

All One World: I rly adore the characterizations in this fic. Enterily Fred pov. He got insecurities about everyone thinking him stupid and that he can only ever be a comic relife. He also hates how they always talk as if he and George are one person, not different people no matter how similiar. Hermione wears his rule abiding rigid front as a defensive mask. She got more then one and theyre so perfect even Fred in the know sometimes forgets thats what theyre are. She is also sarcastic and witty and very caring and observant. She never fails to identify him right or know the right thing to put him at ease and he does the same for her pulling her out of her flunks.

Band Tees (You're Fucked.): Very bittersweet it literally made me fucking cry by the end. Fred had loved Hermione since the yule ball and he is the only one who knows about her love of grunge punk. They both share their love of punk music. It's just theirs.

Methods: Fred starts a playful flirty banter that Hermione decides to indulge him with joining in. Thats the first time she startles him. She is deadpan and sarcastic and all for teasing him and startling him. They keep up a fluid flirty banter no heed for the audience

A Charming Fairy Godprince: After Ron's mess up before the Yule ball Fred & George takes it into their own hands to cheer Hermione up and be her magical godfathers like Cinderella's. They rewamp her dress and enlist Ginny for her hair. Of course it cant go without over the top very obvious flirting (on Fred's part) and various compliments.

By the Common Room Fire: Fred is sick but still with the usual drama and flair lays across Hermione's lap and demans head scratches like a cat.

Destiny and Chicken: Hermione is sick so Fred brings her soup, tea and potions.

Exploding Potions and Accidental Revelations: Amortia explodes over Hermione in potions class so she smells like what everyone is attracted to. Fred commits social suicide by announcing she smelled the same as usual before knowing what is going on.

Favourite Weasley: The twins invite Hermione out to the Quidditch match. Who's her favorite Weasley? Wrong answers only.

It Looks Better On Me: The twins accidentally soak Hermione and it’s laundry day so Fred throws his jumper at her to wear. Then Fred is sick so he ain’t playing but out to watch the match so Hermione pulls her hat over his head. Later when he is better he flaunt it around so Hermione decides to steal another of his stuff in retaliation. It sparks an all out war.

While You Were Gone: Ron and Harry leave cuz they need a break after the war leaving mione behind which brakes her and the twins take it into their own hands. They basically adopt her as their third. Its rly fluffy and wholesome, warm and fricking hilarious . It also gonna make u wanna murder Ron and Harry :)

A Small Change: Fred got such a good grades in OWLs they thought he cheated but he didn', he is panicked about doing so well and wanna actually try in school so he writes to Hermione and she helps him. They become rly good friends from then and start to exchange letters and meet up a few times. Theyre rly wholesome and his anxiety about school and his family's reaction is just so real

don't you know you've got the best of me?: Hermione meets the twins and their friend group on the train and they meet again at the sorting. She ends up talking with the twins a few more times and they end up adopting her into their friend group. She aint rly that close with Harry and Ron and she befriended them much later. Most of her friends are all of the twins' year. She is the closest with Fred and theyre best friends, he is also very protective and possessive of her.

Whole New Meaning to "Mooning" Over Someone: When you throw something during the full moon your soulmate 'catches' i. Aka a frustrated Hermione throws her book during the full moon which consequently smashes into a poor sleeping Fred's face.

i wanted to see you again, so please be gentle: Soulmates and modern au with under caffeinated disaster Hermione bulldozing over the interaction not even realizing she met her soulmate. Absolutely hilarious first liner.

Straight Into My Arms: Every year since he was five fred asked for his soulmate from santa till one day they literally fell out of the sky and landed in their arms

George/Hermione

Fancy a night in?: Post-war. George finds any excuse to go over to Hermione's and make her smile.

To be updated...

[tiesthatbind-tf]

If you’re on a desktop, please full-view these lads if possible! Tumblr  compressed the hell out of the preview unfortunately, but so much love was poured into them that it’ll be a shame if y’all didn’’t full view for the goods ;u;b (click, then right-click and open image in new tab!)

I’ve always held a deep fascination of for the Lambros, though for whatever reason, media beyond G1 seem allergic to actually making them brothers, or at least brothers who LIVE till the end and have something resembling a healthy/active relationship, so it was something I wanted to explore with TTB’s version of The Lads--Serafino and Sergio Saverio--who, despite being Twins, are very distinct individuals (Sideswipe in particular has a narrative focused on self-realization after a past of being constantly second best/in Sunstreaker’s shadow, and establishing healthy boundaries, even with those closest to you) with their own occasionally intertwining stories

They’re the team’s Battlefield Hellions, a pair of Feral Elric Brothers willing to punch open multiple Gates of Truth for each other, and who despite their flaws---especially Avowed Bastard Sunstreaker, whose protectiveness and care for Sideswipe is, at times, seemingly his only saving grace---will never have anyone questioning their love for each other. 

You can find their (2881 words, this one’s a doozy!) pre-war full story below the cut! 

Born to a Manual Class couple in the Little Italy neighbourhood of Lower Manhattan, the Saverio Twins could have easily gone the path of Cain and Abel, and given the lopsided treatment they received from their parents as children, it was a miracle that they didn’t. 

Serafino Saverio — hair kissed by the sun — was the much-welcomed firstborn upon whom their hopes were pinned on. 

Sergio Saverio – hair tainted with blood – was the surprise second and didn’t even have a name until after a week of his birth (he could only assume they were hoping he didn’t make it that long, being the twin with ‘complications’) as the unplanned and unwanted spare mouth to feed in a household which had always been intended for a family of three, and not a day of his young life passed that he wasn’t reminded by his parents that they had kept him as a favor.

The favoritism was as blatant as it was malicious when it came to food, praises and gifts—all of which were afforded to Serafino, all of which were an afterthought for Sergio who always took everything with a smile, having been told to simply be thankful he had a family, and that Serafino had to come first.

However, Sergio’s treatment didn’t go unnoticed or ignored by Serafino—sharp and cunning for his age—who began to question why his brother had less than him, why his brother was beaten for doing the things which he himself would simply be given a stern talking to, why his mother’s tone fell and rose so drastically between her sons and why his father never had a kind word for a boy who constantly bent over backwards for a fraction of the love they afforded him. 

The aching sadness the older twin saw in his brother’s eyes when they were seven and had received their birthday gifts—a beautiful hand-crafted wooden sword for him, a cheap gas station tin Lamborghini for Sergio—gave birth to childhood defiance as he exchanged his gift with Sergio to the surprised dismay of their parents who were stuck awkwardly trying to explain why he couldn’t do that and why they saw it fit to treat two brothers so differently on they day they were born together, only seconds apart. 

It was here that the seed was planted of Serafino’s protectiveness over Sergio–his best friend, his playmate, his shadow—and Sergio’s near-unwavering loyalty to Serafino—his defender, his confidante and the only one of their family who truly cared for him. 

They grew up tight as thieves as Serafino’s disgust at their parents’ attempts to drive a wedge in between them burned ever brighter, because if they would not treat his brother the same as he, then he would act out in defiance until they treated him the same way they treated Sergio out of sheer frustration. 

They walked hand in hand in the streets, always looking out for each other, and sparred fist to fist on the apartment rooftop where they would learn to fight together because the world wasn’t kind to little Manuals—and they had the cuts and bruises to show for it—but from up here where that world seemed so small beneath them, they could dare to dream of a better one where Sergio could be the dashing fighter Serafino’s sword allowed him to see himself as, and where Serafino would be able to one day own and drive a car similar to the little model he had traded that sword for.

School was no more kind to them than the streets were—at twelve, Serafino had learned to read the people around him and kept an aloof and guarded presence, but Sergio — eager for warmth and connection — forged friendships openly and recklessly, class divisions be damned.

His perceived insolence to The Way Things Were earned him the ire of a group of law enforcement prodigy picks when he befriended a girl among their ranks, and they set out to teach him a vicious lesson about staying in his lane despite her protestations. 

He fought back hard, but it was Serafino’s fury that was unmatched when the older twin came across the assault in progress and leapt into the fray to back him up. 

When the dust had settled, the brothers stood tall among the twitching bodies of five prodigy picks, the leader of the group beaten up so severely by Serafino that their dislocated jaw had to be wired shut for a month. 

Serafino earned the scar on his jaw from this altercation, and as the twin who had dealt the most damage, was suspended from schooling indefinitely and put to work to help pay off the medical bills forced upon his family despite open confirmation from the girl at the center of the fight that the brothers’ role in it was that of self-defense (and it was reasoned that if he was so quick with his hands, he best put them to a more productive use). 

His reputation as a pugnacious, split-knuckled hellion preceded him among the rough-and-tumble warehouse workers he was stationed with, and, for better or worse, they accepted him into the fold as ‘one of the lads’ despite his youth.

Over beer and cigarette smoke—a vice he embraced too early—he became privy to how truly hopeless their lives were, born in the same class as their parents and their grandparents before them, destined to die in the same class no matter how hard they worked to climb a ladder whose rungs seemed to increase every year, and it made him all the more bitter to the world. 

When he crossed paths with one Tulio Hoffman — a stag Beastman attempting to evade authorities in an alley — while on his way back to the workers’ hostel, he made a split-second decision to cover the man’s tracks and pointed the cops elsewhere out of spite for them. His chutzpah, as Tulio called it, earned him the Stagman’s respect, and having seen the calluses on his palms and the crowbar he wielded with unusual expertise for his age, Tulio—who revealed himself as the elusive Thunderhoof, an up and rising don— extended a hand to him with the promise of a better life, one that didn’t require him to slave away in a warehouse for an eternity. 

He agreed, seeing a chance to wrest the life he wanted for himself—and by proxy his brother— by force, and pledged loyalty to Thunderhoof who initially employed him as a scout and informant. It was work Serafino excelled in — his relentlessness to get the job done won the Stagman over, and he was quickly promoted to Thunderhoof’s personal assistant, following the don on business deals and clandestine meetings across the city and helping the man keep his ledgers and income on track.

He experienced the High Life for the first time—fine clothes, good food, a fast car—and it was a lifestyle he grew an insatiable taste for and was desperate to keep for himself (attempts at sharing this life with Sergio were politely declined, and there was an understanding of their different approaches to climbing out of the dregs, even if they did not always agree with the others' methods)

The big money Thunderhoof made from taking part in illegal pitfights seemed like a natural progression given his prodigious skill with fisticuffs, and his first win when he was 18 was one the Stagman—who had taken on the role of a somewhat twisted adoptive father—celebrated and honored by gifting him the neck chain he wore, which also served as a symbolic gesture from Thunderhoof that the business would one day be passed to him. Serafino continued his career as a much-feared pitfighter with a rumored body count— the dreaded ‘Aureleone’ (Golden Lion) of the rings — all the while rising up the ranks of Thunderhoof’s mob until he was the man’s underboss, and keeping an eye out for Sergio like any good big brother worth their salt.

Sergio’s scar above his eyebrow remains a daily reminder of the day the system came for him and his brother, and while he was allowed to remain in school, he was transferred to a heavily-manual establishment which would ‘better suit those like him’. 

The situation at home became even more unbearable than it already was, as his parents blamed Serafino’s downfall on his carelessness and stupidity—despite Serafino’s assertion that the bullies deserved everything that happened to them and he would reoffend on sight if they hurt Sergio again—and he began to spend more and more time outside, visiting Serafino at work whenever he could to repeat the day’s lesson during breaks so his brother still had access to education and sneaking into worker’s rallies by the docks. 

It was here that he was drawn to the music and effortless charisma of a young dock worker and union figurehead, Jace Zayden (Jazz), which whom he struck up a friendship, and where Thunderhoof brought Serafino deeper into the underbelly of the city to escape the system, Jace gave him hope that change could happen on the surface, in the sun. 

After a blowout with his parents when he was 16 where they’d made it clear he should never have been born, he finally left the house. Not wanting to burden Serafino who had already suffered enough for him in his eyes or be indebted to Thunderhoof (who he respected for taking care of his brother, but understood was a dangerous man with an agenda), he roomed with Jace who had taken on the role of his mentor and helped him find employment as a warehouse worker so he could save up to afford rent for his own place once he was old enough to sign a lease. His nights were divided between helping Serafino with supply runs and stock-checking for Thunderhoof’s contraband goods, and joining Jace at union meetings as well as helping the man with his activism and protest plans. 

When Jace was arrested after a brutal crackdown on a workers’ rally and never came back to the neighborhood, Sergio feared the worst but wasted no time stepping into Jace’s position when their local union chapter began to flounder so he could continue their fight for a better life. 

Like his brother, he had become intimately acquainted with the injustice perpetuated by the neverending cycle of poverty their class was intentionally, systematically trapped in, but rather than abandon it and the people in it as Serafino had chosen to do, he wanted to help break it so his community could rise above it with him. 

As the most prominent figurehead of an unprecedented, rising tide of unionization in Manhattan  which started from across the pond in the UK, he was marked out as a person of interest by local officials desperate to keep the status quo, and his increasing clashes with local cops tasked with bringing those behind these ‘public disturbances’ to heel brought him in contact with a face he remembered from his school days—the same upperclass girl he had tried to befriend, whose testimony had helped keep him and Serafino out of juvie and who was now a tough-as-nails rookie with a reputation for breaking ranks. 

Stella Armstrong (Strongarm) was more than a little surprised to find out that the scrawny, bright-eyed Manual scrapper who had suddenly disappeared from her classroom after the Big Fight was now a feisty, quick-talking, hot-tempered rabble-rouser with a careless smirk and a witty comeback for every police warning lobbed at him. 

Regardless of his teasing and her scoldings for the ‘trouble’ he made for her whenever they crossed paths, Sergio kept eye out for her on the streets—good cops didn’t last long in the ranks, he knew this much—and vouched for her being an ‘honest one’ whenever she was stonewalled for information regarding her cases. 

In turn, Stella spoke out in defense of him whenever her colleagues brought him in and attempted to remand him for a period much longer than the minor infractions he was hauled in for could justify, and stopped any attempted violence on him and his community in lockup, making enemies among the force in the process.

When several prominent union supporters began turning up dead to the radio silence of the police, Sergio approached Stella for help in investigating the matter, and she agreed to do so after finding out that reports filed on the murders had been closed before any investigations had wrapped up. 

She gave him a burner cell to keep their communications private after the two agreed that something about the situation smelled like a cover-up.

All of this was confirmed when Stella called him with a warning that the killings were tied to the current mayor who had pro-functionist ties, cops on payroll and was desperate for a re-election in the coming month.

She had also found documents approving the use of Mnemosurgery on a list of union figureheads to turn them into Trojan Horses on their own movement and communities—a list which Sergio’s name headed, which meant he had to go into hiding before the next minor infraction brought him back to lockup. 

When she couldn't give him an answer on if the breach of classified information could be traced back to her, he feared for the worst again—the unsolved fate of Jace still hung heavy in his mind—more so when further calls he made to her went to voicemail. 

The next call Sergio received from her sent him on a hunt for her in the winding alleys of Brooklyn, where he found her bleeding out from a through-and-through gunshot wound to the stomach she received from her own colleague, after it was revealed that the drug bust she was a part of was a front to get her in a vulnerable position so they could take her out.

Her refusal to back the thin blue line at all costs, newfound knowledge of wide-spread corruption in the ranks and growing friendship with a ‘target’ had made her a liability, one they had orders to get rid of. 

He raced her to a back-alley clinic, unable to bring her to the local GH because of the real danger of the rest of the force coming over to finish the job. 

Stella survived the ordeal with his help, and the two of them went into hiding together to plan their next move; As she had never turned off her body camera, she had damning evidence of the hit which she had immediately downloaded to the burner cell for safekeeping in case the footage was later remotely wiped, and she had taken pictures of the documents beforehand. 

To Sergio’s surprise, help came from two unexpected places; Jace, who returned from self-exile in the UK after it was discovered that the same thing planned for Sergio had earlier been planned for him, and Serafino, who had broken the Mafia Code and put aside mob work and pitfighting the moment he caught wind of the target on his baby brother’s back. (When Thunderhoof had demanded that his loyalty to the mob come before his loyalty to his brother if he were to take over the mantle of Don, he balked at the idea)

As it turned out, Jace was part of the Resistance movement back in the UK which had branched out worldwide and inspired the rising workers’ protests in the States as well, and worked as a saboteur who had experience in exposing corrupt men in power for filth. 

Stella’s near-death experience and the ongoing risk to her life made a strong case for her filming a dying confession which Sergio delivered along with her body cam footage to her father, who then passed both to an attorney whose services her family had employed to find justice for their ‘missing’ daughter. 

The documents and list made it to the ACLU’s New York office, while Serafino and Jace both worked on a sting to catch the mayor red-handed, as they posed as bounty hunters looking to collect on Sergio’s head. As Sergio played his role as defiant captive and tactically bandied words with the mayor to lead the man to a full confession, Jace’s colleague, Brandon Shen (Blaster) hacked major digital billboards at Times Square to air the footage in real-time, destroying the man’s name and political career in the span of fifteen minutes. 

Regardless of their victories however, both Sergio and Stella had become far too big of targets to remain where they were, and Jace offered to bring them all into the Resistance’s fold. 

Sergio, for his own safety, had to hand over the reins of leadership to a new leader of the Manhattan Movement, though his community, knowing full well the risk he had put himself through for them, encouraged him to find safe harbor with Jace’s team mates who could afford him the protection he needed. .

He had carried on Jace’s work when Jace had to leave, and there would be others to continue the work here.

Serafino, chafing harder and harder against the control that Thunderhoof was rapidly losing on him, threw all caution against the wind, chose the codename Sunstreaker and joined his brother. --now codenamed Sideswipe -- as the new frontliners of the wider Resistance movement.

Whether he would come to regret the decision was still up in the air, but brothers stuck together, and the path ahead was one both of them would forge back to back with each other as fate damn well intended. 

[zaebeecee]

It's Nothing Serious

Secret Santa 2024 ••

Alastor and Anthony have been sharing a dorm for over a year. When Alastor comes up with a project for his social psychology class, it's only natural that he would ask Anthony for his help; after all, who else does he trust more? And besides, it isn't like fake dating has ever gone off the rails in the past, right?

Content: fake relationship, human versions, everyone is old enough to do the stuff mentioned within, drinking, trans Angel Dust, HRT involving needles, fluff and corny romance shit, implied spicyness, a whole lot of characters for a one-shot, Christmas-adjacent situations

•••

Here's my gift for the lovely @luciferfemme for the RadioDust 2024 Secret Santa gift exchange! Fun fact: they made the post that was my primary inspiration for Loveless Bond, for which I remain deeply grateful. Anyway, here you are, darling. Hope you like it!

•••

Six feet tall. Thirty-six years old. Outdated photo of him and his fraternity buddies as the only picture on his profile.

Swipe left on that one.

Five foot eleven. Twenty-nine. Fishing picture, fishing picture, fishing picture, just a dog, fishing picture.

Cute dog, but I don’t wanna hear how big his last catch was all through dinner. Left.

No fats, femmes, or Asians.

Fuck you, buddy. How do I mark a guy as ‘hate’?

Twenty-one.

Like Hell you are, you could be my father.

“Looks like pretty slim pickings in the dating market these days.”

“Holy shit!” Anthony jerked in surprise, nearly throwing his phone right into his dorm mate’s face as he spun around and slipped off the couch. He landed on his ass with a sharp yelp, which only made the guy above him start laughing harder. “Where the fuck did you come from?!”

“Louisiana,” Alastor said with a wide grin, his arms loosely folded on the back of their couch as he leaned over to watch Anthony pull himself up off the floor.

“Ha ha, asshole,” Anthony grumbled. “I thought you were at the library.”

“I was,” Alastor said, straightening up and rounding the couch to plop down next to the other young man. “But it’s the beginning of the semester, Angel, I hardly have that much work to do.”

Anthony snorted. “Since when have you ever gone to the library for legitimate reasons?”

Alastor’s smile sharpened that way it did whenever he was plotting something, and Anthony frowned, leaning away instinctively. In the year that they had known each other, Anthony—Angel Dust, to his close friends—had learned how to interpret many of Alastor’s more enigmatic expressions. When they had first met at the start of Anthony’s first semester at college, introduced to each other as new students who would be sharing a dorm, Alastor had immediately made quite an impression: he was handsome, he was mysterious, he was scary, and he was incredibly unavailable (as made perfectly clear by his laughter when Anthony’s first words to him had been some sort of proposition). It hadn’t taken Anthony long to realize that Alastor simply wasn’t interested in anyone or anything that way; however, it quickly became obvious that it was nothing like homophobia or prudishness, as he had no shortage of time to listen to complaints about the men Anthony was seeing nor lack of scathing opinions on each one of those men.

By the end of the first semester, Anthony and Alastor had become very close friends, to the point that they willingly agreed to remain together in the Spring. Now, in Anthony’s third semester, he had been given the option to move off-campus into an apartment or a house, but he’d elected to stay so that Alastor (who was on scholarship and unable to afford to live outside the dorms) wouldn’t have to get used to a new roomie.

Alastor had been surprised when Anthony told him this, but he had recovered quickly and said something to the effect of ‘I knew you would’. But he was happy about it, and no amount of smug posturing would convince Anthony otherwise.

“So, are we on the hunt for a new beau already?” Alastor asked, leaning around as though trying to look at Anthony’s phone again. The screen was off, but Anthony pulled it against his chest anyway. “I would think you’d be more concerned with your studies this semester, considering how abysmal you failed Calculus this past Spring.”

“Shut up,” Anthony said. “I ain’t lookin’ for a boyfriend, and I ain’t even after a hookup, necessarily. Just seein’ how the pool’s changed in the past few months. Ain’t gotten any better.”

Alastor scoffed, leaning one arm on the back of the couch and smirking at him. “I told you, most anyone you’ll find on those apps are going to be scum, because anyone who’s worth dating won’t be resorting to relying on them.”

Anthony rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and turning his head away. “I’m not gonna give you the satisfaction of callin’ you right.” Alastor didn’t answer. “Wipe that stupid grin off your face.”

“You aren’t even looking at me.”

“I can feel it.” Anthony picked up one of their mismatched couch pillows and smacked Alastor in the side of the head with it. The other boy cackled, shielding himself ineffectually with his arms. “Besides, it’s lookin’ like layin’ off the scene will be for the best right now. Feels like half the guys on here are chasers, and the other half got some kinda ‘you’d better not be trans if you message me’ disclaimer right at the top. I don’t wanna deal with that shit right now.”

“Hm.” Alastor’s smile changed to something Anthony might have called a little bit sympathetic, but then, he shrugged. “Their loss,” he said. “Seems like they’d simply feel insecure about you having more testosterone than them.” Anthony laughed, and Alastor’s grin returned. “If you’re going to be off the market anyway, I suppose I should do what I can to make sure you don’t get lonely.”

Anthony smirked, wiggling his eyebrows briefly. “You propositioning me, Al?”

“What– no, stop that,” Alastor said quickly, color rising to his face as he pointed a single threatening finger and ignored Anthony’s cackle. “What I’m saying,” he said, loudly enough that Anthony’s laughter died down, “is that I have a project this semester, and I think it’s something you could help me with, if you’re amenable.”

“Does this involve me losin’ a finger or somethin’?”

“There is a non-zero chance, but it’s highly unlikely.”

Anthony frowned. “...I ain’t agreein’ to nothin’ until you tell me what it is.”

“Fine,” Alastor said, rolling his eyes. “I’m taking a class for my social psych minor this semester, Social Influence and Behavior. Essentially, studying the way that people react to others in social settings and the ways changes in one individual might influence changes in another.”

“We both know I ain’t got a clue what the fuck you’re talkin’ about.”

Alastor leveled him with a look. “How one or two people acting weird can make the people around them act weird.”

“Oh, okay. I follow.”

“I thought you might. We were tasked with conducting an informal study over the course of the semester, the subject of which is up to our discretion. I thought you would be perfect to help me out with mine, since it’s… well. It’s fucking with our social circle and seeing how they respond.”

Anthony giggled. “Ooh, that sounds fun. A semester-long prank. Sure, I’m down, what are you thinkin’?”

Either Alastor suddenly looked a little bashful, or Anthony was imagining things. “Well, that’s… part of the reason I wanted to ask you, rather than anyone else,” he said, his voice as hesitant as Alastor’s ever got. “Most of my behavior isn’t considered unusual for me, and I was having trouble thinking of something I could do that the others would view as out of the ordinary. The best option that I landed on was dating someone.”

Anthony’s eyebrows went up. “Dating someone?”

“You see?” Alastor gestured at him with one hand. “You’re surprised by the mere suggestion! It would be perfect!”

“So… wait.” Anthony held his own hands up. “Wait wait wait. Are you asking– I mean, what are you asking?”

“Don’t worry, it wouldn’t be really dating,” Alastor said, and Anthony wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or not. “But you and I really are quite different, and I’m given to understand that sort of thing is subject to quite a bit of social scrutiny, not to mention the idea of me in a relationship is certain to absolutely baffle everyone who has ever met me. And it has the added benefit of the fact that I trust you implicitly and am fully aware that you would not take advantage of this position to my detriment, in addition to the fact that I can rely on you for answers to any questions I might have about how to proceed after a time.”

Anthony was silent for a moment. On the one hand, it was incredibly funny, imagining how their friends would respond to the idea of them being in a relationship. On the other hand, while Anthony would never admit it, he’d been fostering an incredibly annoying crush on Alastor for the past several months and it was only getting worse, a fact that most of their friends (particularly Husk and Cherry) were very adamant Anthony needed to stop immediately. On the other other hand (and didn’t he wish he had more than two sometimes), he couldn’t help feeling deeply touched that of everyone Alastor knew, Anthony was the one that he trusted enough to rely on for this.

Plus, this might get Valentino to leave me alone, so that’s another upside.

“Yeah, sure,” Anthony finally said. “Why the fuck not?”

Alastor did that thing that he did when he was both surprised and excited, the thing that made Anthony imagine he had two big animal ears that had just perked up on the top of his head. “Really?”

“Really,” Anthony laughed. “Sounds like fun, as long as you can handle it.”

Alastor’s expression shifted into a frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Should be pretty obvious,” Anthony said with a shrug. “The only way this is gonna work is if we don’t act outta character, right?” Alastor nodded. “So… that means you’ve gotta put up with physical contact from me.”

The very idea made Alastor’s body stiffen up visibly. “...you’re talking about public affection.”

“PDA, yeah.” Anthony tilted his head. “Look, nobody’s gonna believe I’m datin’ someone I never lay a finger on, and they won’t buy that you’re actually in a relationship with anyone if you won’t ever let them touch you. You know how physical I am, so if you weren’t willin’ to put up with that, why would we go out at all?”

Alastor sighed, relaxing. “...you make a fair point,” he said. “But I will be setting ground rules, and you will be respecting them.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got you, Smiles,” Anthony said. “Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to make you uncomfortable intentionally, and I ain’t gonna do nothin’ without your consent. Just lettin’ you know that if you wanna sell this, we’re gonna have to commit.” He shrugged. “It’s like acting. Think of it as blocking.”

“...right,” Alastor said. “I can do that.”

“Cool. So…” Anthony hesitated. “Uh… when were you wanting to start?”

“As soon as possible.”

•••

“Good morning, everyone!”

The responses ranged from enthusiastic (Charlie) to barely a grunt of acknowledgement (Husk) as Alastor slung his bag over the back of a chair and lowered himself into it. Niffty leaned across the table, pushing a cup of coffee in front of him. “Here,” she said. “We ordered already. We got you your usual.”

“You’re a peach,” Alastor said, patting Niffty on the top of her head and picking up the coffee cup. She smiled, sinking back into her seat. The morning was crisp with just a touch of the scent of autumn in the air, barely detectable under the bouquet of smells coming from the cafe. While Alastor had always preferred studying on his own, he had to admit that he didn’t exactly mind getting roped into this little study group that Charlie insisted on hosting every Saturday morning. They always sat around the same large table together, Charlie paid for everyone with her father’s money (and Alastor didn’t mind wasting that), and it usually devolved into something more fun than simple school work.

“Where’s Angel?” Charlie asked. “He’s coming, right?”

“He’d better be, I ordered the bitch pancakes,” Cherry said.

“It’s a morning study session.” Pentious brushed his long hair back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at the table as a whole. “I don’t think Angel’s seen this side of an ante meridiem hour since he left high school and I’m not positive why any of you keep thinking he will.”

Husk snorted. “It’s a tossup,” he said. “He’ll either show up for free food or avoid it because it means work.”

“He’ll be here,” Alastor said. “Don’t worry.”

Rosie laughed. “What, did you wake him up before you left?”

“I threw things on him until he yelled at me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

No one was giving him any kind of unusual look (as far as he could determine), which was something of a relief; it meant that, no matter how Alastor might have been feeling in the moment, the others at the table weren’t suspicious of anything. It wasn’t that Alastor was nervous—what reason did he have to be nervous? It was only Anthony, and they had known each other for over a year at this point—but, as the one with no experience on how romantic relationships were supposed to be conducted at various points, he was incredibly uncertain as to what he was supposed to expect. Anthony had promised him, repeatedly, that he would do his best to keep from making Alastor uncomfortable while simultaneously doing his part to make their little scheme believable, but that told him absolutely nothing about what Anthony might actually do.

Of course, the fact did remain that he trusted Anthony. When they had first met, Alastor had noted his friendliness, and the moment he registered that it was flirting and had expressed his personal distaste for such things, Anthony had stopped immediately. In fact, outside of a handful of exceptions (bumping into each other in their tiny kitchen, grabbing Alastor by the hand when his bad leg gave out and he nearly fell down the stairs outside the library, that one time he’d helped with a particularly stubborn cuff button that Alastor simply could not fasten one-handed), Anthony had taken pains not to make any physical contact with Alastor whatsoever. Despite his friend’s reputation around campus and in various social circles, Alastor had always found him respectful with his hands, even if he had no idea how to control his mouth.

“Oh, there he is! Hi, Angel!” Charlie said, interrupting Alastor’s thoughts. She raised her hand and he followed the line of her gaze to Anthony, who returned the wave with one hand before he lowered it to stifle a yawn. He headed for the table, letting his bag drop onto the floor and slumping into the chair next to Alastor.

“Morning, princess,” Alastor said with a smirk, watching Anthony scrub his face with both hands. “Long night?”

“Nnh. Sleepy. Coffee.”

Niffty began sliding another coffee across the table, but she froze the moment Anthony leaned over and laid his head on Alastor’s shoulder. Alastor jumped slightly, but Anthony remained still, giving him time to adjust to the sensation without giving away their game immediately. It actually wasn’t that bad, after the initial shock of the touch; as a matter of fact, Anthony was actually pretty gentle as he leaned against him, and the white hair brushing against Alastor’s cheek was soft, but not in a way that tickled or irritated.

Is this what it feels like? I can do this.

Alastor leaned to the side as well, pressing his cheek against the top of Anthony’s head before the other young man could move away. “Well, sha, if you’d gotten up when I told you I was getting ready, you could have walked with me and had coffee sooner.”

“Okay, Mr. My Hair And Clothes Always Look Perfect With Zero Effort. Some of us actually have to work to look presentable.”

“…uhm… here, Angel, we got you coffee too,” Niffty finally said, pushing the mug towards him. She was still staring wide-eyed, and Alastor was fairly positive she hadn’t blinked once.

“Oh my god, you’re perfect.”

While Anthony sat up to wrap both hands around the mug and take a careful sip, Alastor took the opportunity to take a quick glance around. Everyone was staring, a variety of expressions on their faces, but no matter what they were thinking it was quite clear that everyone was confused. Alastor kept his usual smile in place; it was really hard not to laugh when Charlie started to ask a tentative question only to get cut off by the arrival of their food.

Alastor turned his head again at a tugging on his sleeve. “Yes, sha?”

“What’d you get?” Anthony asked, his gaze fixed on Alastor’s bowl of pecan oatmeal like he had no idea what it was.

Immediately, he was hit with sudden inspiration. Instead of answering, Alastor got a small mouthful on his spoon and held it up. “Want some?”

Anthony nodded before opening his mouth, instantly reminding Alastor of a baby bird. Alastor fed him the spoonful (he had seen insufferable couples do that in public before), and Anthony ate it happily, humming one of those little songs he hummed when he thought something tasted really good.

“…so…” Charlie finally said. Alastor looked her direction, and was gratified to see that Husk was staring, his mouth slightly open and his face frozen in an expression of confusion that didn’t know if it wanted to be angry or not. “What, um… what’s going on with you two?”

“Going on?” Alastor asked, his smile widening. “My dear Charlie, whatever makes you think there’s something going on?”

“You don’t share food,” Vaggie said, gesturing between them sharply, her brow furrowed.

Rosie held one hand up, her wrist going limp instantly. “You two aren’t actually… y’know…”

“Of course they aren’t,” Cherri said immediately.

“They aren’t what?” Pentious asked, looking around the table quickly. “What? What’s happening?”

Alastor shrugged, looking at Anthony. “You want to tell them?”

“I like makin’ them wonder.” Anthony giggled a little before rolling his eyes. “Okay, fine. Yeah, we’re datin’, you wanna make somethin’ of it?”

Instantly, Niffty muffled a squeal with her hands, and Husk quite confidently said, “Bullshit,” while Cherri almost shrieked the word ‘bitch’ in shock before vaulting out of her chair and running over to start berating Anthony for not calling her (though why he would have was beyond Alastor; he’d have to ask once they were alone).

“When did this happen?” Charlie asked, her eyes wide and her voice doing that ‘I’m about to burst with excitement’ vibrating thing it did before she burst into happy tears.

“Last night,” Alastor said. “I’m sorry, were we supposed to take out space for an announcement in the campus newsletter?”

“No, no, of course not!” Charlie said, waving her hands in front of her face. “I just— I’m happy for you!”

“…thank you?”

“Ignore them, darling,” Rosie said with a casual wave of her hand. “I’ll simply say it’s about fucking time and let it drop.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes at her, which just made her smile grow. “What is about fucking time, exactly?”

“No no, too late, I dropped it. Niffty knows what I mean.”

He turned to squint at Niffty, who still had her hands clasped over her mouth and was nodding furiously. Alastor narrowed his eyes further. “…have we been the subject of gossip?”

“Uh, duh,” Niffty said finally. “And if you weren’t always so damn mysterious, we wouldn’t have to do that!”

As Alastor was processing this, he felt a knuckle thump his shoulder. He turned to look up at Husk, who was looking down at him with an unreadable expression. “Can I talk to you?”

Alastor glanced down at where Husk had tapped him, then back up; normally, that was enough to get him to back down, but he didn’t budge. “Of course.”

He excused himself and followed Husk out the front door, then around to the side of the building where they couldn’t be observed. Once out of sight, Husk turned to him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“At the moment? Being systematically prevented from consuming my most important meal of the day.”

“Cut the shit, Alastor. You know what I mean.”

Alastor held his hands out as he shrugged. “I don’t understand why you’re being so difficult, Husker. Angel is a perfectly delightful young man. Is there something so wrong with someone wishing to pursue a relationship with him?”

“Normally, no,” Husk said, raising an eyebrow. “But this is you that we’re talking about. You aren’t capable of doing things without ulterior motives.”

“You know me so well.” Alastor didn’t let his smile slip. “What’s next, going to tell me that if I break his heart you’ll break my kneecaps?”

Husk scoffed. “No. Angel’s gonna be in arm’s reach of you, he’ll kill you just fine by himself. But if you’re playing some kind of game, you really might want to rethink this, because while we won’t interfere with whatever he decides to do on his own, his siblings might.”

Oh. Shit. I didn’t think about them.

Anthony’s twin sister, Maria, and older brother, Bernardino—affectionately known as “Molly” and “Arackniss” in their little circle— were textbook examples of avoiding even the pretense of subtlety. While much of Anthony’s speech and behavior could be written off as just him being from New York, Molly had been described as “a Long Island princess who might have a gun in her purse at any given moment”, and Arackniss always sounded like he was a sentence away from threatening to give someone a pair of cement shoes. Alastor wasn’t afraid of them, of course; no, he had only ever feared one person in his life, and that honor belonged to his beloved mother. However, Anthony had made it painfully clear that, whatever issues he had with his siblings (particularly Arackniss), they were his problems and anyone who fucked with his siblings would be very unlikely to see the next morning.

Alastor wasn’t afraid of Anthony, either, but that didn’t change the fact that the thought of upsetting him was deeply unpleasant.

Apparently, he had been quiet too long, because Husk’s expression flattened out into something closer to derisive disbelief. “You didn’t even think about it, did you?”

“I deeply appreciate your concern, Husker,” Alastor said, skirting around the question and laying his hands on either of Husk’s shoulders. “But you have nothing at all to fret about! I know exactly what I’m doing, and Anthony is perfectly capable of handling his family on his own.”

Husk sighed, rolling his eyes. “Your funeral, brother.”

When they returned to the table, Anthony gave Alastor a curious look, but Alastor waved to him, their signal for ‘I’ll tell you later’ when either of them had gossip that needed to be discussed privately. The conversation redirected itself almost immediately, for which Alastor was grateful. He enjoyed being the center of attention, of course, but being barraged with questions made it infinitely harder to just sit and observe his surroundings. That was, after all, the point of all of this.

As they were all getting up to leave, Anthony said, “C’mon, babe. I need some new threads and you said you’d give me your most cuttin’ and brutal opinions.”

Alastor had said nothing of the sort, but he knew coded language when he heard it. “Of course, sha.” He waved to the others, all of whom were staring as they left the cafe together and began walking in the direction of the nearby shopping center. Once they were far enough away and Alastor had determined they weren’t being tailed, he allowed himself a small cackle. “That went well.”

Anthony giggled. “Shit, no kidding. I expected a reaction, but fuck. …hehe.”

Alastor frowned at him. “…what?”

“Butt fuck,” Anthony repeated.

Perplexed, Alastor continued to stare until recognition hit him. “You are hopelessly foul and I hope you walk in front of an oncoming bus.”

This time, Anthony’s laugh was full and genuine. “I’m draggin’ you with me, bitch!” He then directed that smile onto Alastor. “So… I know you didn’t actually agree to shop with me, but d’you mind comin’ anyway? I’ll buy you a soft pretzel.”

Somewhere deep inside, Alastor thought, You don’t have to bribe me, sha. I can’t say no when you give me that smile.

It was a ridiculous thought, but it was far from the first time it had crossed Alastor’s mind, so he dismissed it. “Oh, very well,” he said, playing up the visage of being put-upon enough that no one could mistake it for true reluctance. “I suppose I had nothing else to do, anyway.”

This was going to be a lot of fun, Alastor decided. He couldn’t wait to see everyone’s faces when they learned the whole thing had been a ruse.

•••

Word travels real fuckin’ fast, apparently.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us!”

Anthony rolled his eyes visibly as he continued putting away the clothes Alastor had helped him pick out. Molly and Arackniss had been waiting outside their dorm room when they returned, and the moment Alastor registered their presence, he suddenly remembered he had something to do in the library and ran away (like a goddamn coward) before either of them noticed him. Naturally, they had started badgering Anthony instantly, following him into the dorm and hardly pausing for breath, let alone any kind of explanation.

Molly wrapped her arms around her legs, glaring up at him. “What, you think you can just not tell us and we won’t find out? That it?”

“If that’s what it was, I wouldn’t never text either of you,” Anthony said, carefully cutting the tag off of a shirt he had decided he wouldn’t be returning. “I was gonna tell you.”

Arackniss scoffed, not straightening up from where he was leaning against the wall next to Anthony’s closet. “Sure you were, Tony,” he said sarcastically.

“I was!” Anthony countered, flinging an empty shopping bag at his brother. “It happened late last night, I had study bullshit this morning, ain’t like I’ve been keepin’ it for weeks or somethin’.”

He could practically hear his siblings exchanging looks behind his back as he put hangars up in his closet. “...you went to a study session,” Molly said finally.

“Yeah.”

“You. Went to a study session.”

“Yes,” Anthony said, carefully controlling his voice so he wasn’t snapping at her. “You’re actin’ like I ain’t never studied a day in my life.”

“Well… not on purpose, anyway,” Arackniss said.

Before Anthony could counter, Molly said, “Didn’t you say he don’t do… y’know. Sex and stuff?”

Anthony frowned at her over his shoulder. “...yeah,” he said. “Not that it’s any of your business. What’s your point?”

“Well…” Molly looked at Arackniss.

He picked up on whatever signal it was, taking over from her. “Tony, you ain’t never dated anybody in your life, and now you’re sayin’ you’re exclusive with a guy who doesn’t even like sex?”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “I don’t care,” he said. “He told me he don’t mind if I keep up my cam work, and anyway, ain’t there more to a relationship than just fuckin’ all the time?”

“Well… yeah,” Arackniss said.

“We’re just surprised you think that,” Molly added.

Anthony turned to them and held up his hands. ‘Y’know what? Fuck both of you,” he said; he didn’t put any real heat in the words, and just looking at their expressions told him they didn’t take it seriously. “I like him, and he likes me, and I don’t give a shit about anything else. And even if it wasn’t for that, I’d stay with him just to piss you off.”

Molly actually giggled at that. “Sounds about right. And I’m guessin’ the aneurysm Ma’d have about you bringin’ home a boyfriend—”

“Who’s both southern and black,” Arackniss interjected.

“—don’t hurt your decision none, either.”

Anthony cackled. “She’s gonna be so pissed, and don’t get me started on Pop.”

“Well, they won’t disown you,” Arackniss said thoughtfully. “I was fuckin’ certain they would when you started your transition. Pops still asks me if you’ve stopped ‘that testosterone shit’ every time we  talk.”

Anthony raised his eyebrow. “And?”

“I say no. And then I call you Tony and he hangs up on me.”

He snorted, grinning. If he actually liked his parents, that would have been incredibly painful to hear. Instead, while his parents’ actions made him mad, listening to how his siblings handled it always filled him with a sense of bitter satisfaction. “Ain’t you the best big brother.”

“You fuckin’ know it.”

“You sure you’re gonna be okay?” Molly asked. “You got bad taste in men, Tony, and a guy like him…”

“I’m sure,” Anthony said. He meant it, too, but in a much different way than either Molly or Arackniss were taking it. Did he really like Alastor enough to put up with this?

…yeah. He did. And that wasn’t going to cause any problems in the future, because he wouldn’t let it. He valued Alastor’s trust and friendship too much to let it.

•••

Alastor had known there would be… reactions, to put it mildly, when news got out that he and Anthony were ‘dating’. In fact, he had been counting on it; otherwise, how was he going to get any sort of data for his project? He simply hadn’t been expecting so many reactions to be quite so visceral or loud.

That study breakfast had only been the first social hurdle. Over the next month, he’d been yelled at by Vox (who’d had a strangely passionate reaction to the news, and for the life of him, Alastor couldn’t figure out why he was so upset), threatened with extreme bodily harm by Valentino, stalked through the library and the rest of the campus by Blitzø and his three little cohorts, aggressively grilled by both Molly and Arackniss, and been stared at by Zestial with an intensity he could feel from the other side of the quad.

It was still funny, of course, but for some reason, it was also sort of… bothering him? Annoying him? He wasn’t sure the phrase that best communicated how he was feeling, just that there was something unpleasant about everyone behaving as though he wasn’t good enough to be Anthony’s boyfriend. Fake relationship or not, it was hard not to take that kind of thing personally.

Maybe that was why, in mid October, he finally broke down and grabbed his phone to make a call.

He was laying on his bed with his head at the foot, turned onto his side with his phone resting on the side of his head without either hand keeping it in place. It freed them up to allow him to pick at the cheap comforter he broke out once it started getting too cold in the building. The phone rang twice in his ear before he heard a click, followed by the soft, comforting sound of a controlled alto voice. “Hello, Alastor.”

“Hi, maman,” Alastor said, unable to keep a smile off his face. “Catch you at a bad time?”

“Nah. Just gettin’ some packages ready for the store this week,” she answered. Just the sound of her Louisiana drawl was soothing after so many unpleasant conversations. “Somethin’s botherin’ you.”

It wasn’t a question, but Alastor still asked, “What makes you think something is wrong?”

“You never call this late unless you got somethin’ on your mind, kiddo.”

He sighed. Either she was too perceptive or he was growing too predictable. It might have been both, for all he knew. “I… did something, and I wanted to tell you about it.”

There was a soft, distant thud, and he could tell his mother had just put down whatever was in her hand. “I’m not gettin’ another letter from your school,” she said; it was almost a question, but it might as well have been a threat.

“No, no, nothing like that.” Alastor hesitated, pulling on a thread in his comforter until it snapped. “I… asked someone out.”

A very long pause followed that, long enough that he almost asked if she was still there. “Is that so?” his mother asked finally. “You went on a date?”

Alastor shook his head, even though she couldn’t hear it. “It’s complicated, but no. I mean we’re dating.”

“I see.” Another pause. “It’s Anthony, isn’t it?”

Alastor put his hand on his phone and sat up. “How the hell—”

“Oh, please, Alastor.” He could sense her rolling her eyes at him. “After everythin’ you’ve told me ‘bout that boy, I knew if you’d be askin’ anyone out, it’d be him.”

He wasn’t sure what to say in response to that. He wanted to say that it was a fake relationship, or… something, he didn’t know what. “...do you think I’m making a mistake?” he asked instead.

“Who knows?” He could hear her chopping something on a cutting board. “But I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, you can’t wait to know if everythin’ you’re gonna do is gonna end up goin’ well. Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe it’s not. You won’t know until you do it.”

That was a good point, but Alastor wasn’t going to tell her that.

“Are you happy?”

Was he? Alastor thought for a long moment. It wasn’t something he had really considered, always having considered himself fairly content with his life so long as his decisions were just that: his own decisions. Did that mean he was happy? “...yeah,” he said, his voice soft with the realization that he wasn’t lying. “I am.”

“That’s all I care about. I’m happy for you, baby.”

The rest of the conversation was fairly standard, Alastor asking about how things were back home and his mother asking about his studies. When they said goodbye, he realized he actually felt a lot better. He hadn’t realized how much he needed just a little bit of approval. Everything seemed considerably lighter as he got up and left his small room, heading over to knock on Anthony’s door. “Hey, Angel,” he called. “You in there?”

“Yep. C’mon in, ain’t locked.”

Alastor let himself in, opening the door to see Anthony sitting in the middle of his bed with his medication box open in front of him. “Oh. HRT. Bad time?”

Anthony shook his head, drawing his dose out of the bottle. “Nah, s’long as you don’t mind watchin’ me stab myself.”

“Oh, that’s not a problem.” When Anthony gestured to the bed, Alastor sat down, looking over his supplies. “Need any help?”

Anthony glanced at him. “...you any good at givin’ shots?”

“I… have done it before,” Alastor hedged. “Why?”

“Because gettin’ it in my arm hurts less, but I gotta hold the skin taut, so I can’t do it by myself. Usually gotta do it in the thigh and sometimes it bleeds a lot.”

Alastor tilted his head. “...would you like me to give you your shot?”

“If you don’t mind, yeah.”

“You trust me to do that?”

Anthony raised an eyebrow at him. “If you hurt me on purpose, I’ll stab you with my drawin’ needle myself.”

Alastor chuckled. “Fair enough.”

Anthony showed him the proper place to stab, and Alastor held the skin as taut as he could, carefully slipping the needle straight into the muscle just below his shoulder. Anthony sucked in a breath, but he didn’t make any noise of pain, so Alastor made sure he wasn’t drawing blood before he slowly pushed the plunger down. Anthony made another sound, one that made Alastor feel a little strange, and he aggressively pushed the thought out of his mind as he removed the needle. “All done. Bandage?”

“Here,” Anthony said, offering one out to him. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Alastor removed the little round adhesive bandage and carefully covered the puncture wound. Then, on something of a whim, he leaned forward and kissed the spot. “There you go.”

When he sat up, Anthony was actually blushing. “Uh… thanks,” he said, his voice uncertain.

Alastor felt his own face heating up. Why did I do that? He refused to let it show in his expression or voice, just smiling as he stood up. “You have early class tomorrow. You should get to bed.”

Anthony groaned. “I can’t believe you talked me into taking an 8 AM class,” he complained, not for the first time. “You’re the literal worst.”

Alastor’s smile widened. “I am, aren’t I?”

Anthony flipped him off and Alastor laughed as he left the room, closing the door behind him. He leaned against it for just a second, his hand still wrapped around the handle.

The fuck is wrong with me?

•••

A week after the HRT incident—Anthony wasn’t sure what else he should call it—he found himself in Alastor’s room, both of them sitting on his bed and idly playing gin without paying much attention to it. The cards were just something to do with their hands, most of their conversation focused on the latest gossip and talking about the various upcoming Halloween activities, such as several campus parties, the parade, and the massive haunted house that was always open the whole of Halloween week.

“You gonna go do anythin’ this year?” Anthony asked.

“I never do,” Alastor said, drawing a card from the deck and tossing one down.

Anthony smirked. “That’s why I’m askin’ this year. You wanna?”

He’d expected Alastor to buck at the suggestion, but instead, he looked thoughtful. “What did you have in mind?”

“Haunted house and Charlie’s party,” Anthony said. “Thought maybe, if you were down, we could do a couple’s costume and really weird people out.”

That actually made Alastor perk up. “Yes, absolutely, we’re doing that.”

Anthony laughed. “Great. We’ll go shoppin’ for stuff tomorrow, then.”

The silence that followed was thoughtful. Anthony had known Alastor had something on his mind for the whole evening (for the past week, really), but he wasn’t sure how to ask. It turned out he didn’t have to, though, because Alastor finally spoke again after almost ten minutes of playing cards in silence. “You’ve dated people before, right?”

“Hm? Yeah, kinda,” Anthony said. “Nothin’ that lasted more than a couple’a months, tho. Why?”

Alastor went into a much shorter thoughtful silence. If Anthony didn’t know better, he’d say he was hesitating. “Do you…” Alastor began, then shook his head and started over. “What do you usually do when you’re dating someone? And you don’t have to spare me details just because of my delicate constitution.”

Anthony grinned at that. “Well… we go out, like you and I’ve been doin’. But the dates ain’t usually so frequent.”

Alastor frowned. “Your boyfriends ignored you?” he asked, actually sounding a little bit pissed off on his behalf.

“No, no. I mean… not exactly,” Anthony hedged. “More we didn’t… leave that often.”

“...Angel. I already told you, you don’t have to spare me details.”

“Okay, okay,” Anthony said. “We spent a whole lot more time either makin’ out or fuckin’ than we did goin’ out to dinner or whatever.”

Alastor was quiet for a moment. “...I see,” he said. “And that was… fun, to you?”

“Sure,” Anthony said with a shrug. “You know I like sex. I like kissin’, too. I mean, as long as the guy’s good at it,” he added with a faint sneer. “Why d’you ask?”

“Curiosity. Also, a desire to keep people from catching on,” Alastor said. “I mean… I had noticed those bruises on your neck after you had a successful night out.”

“I never cared if someone saw that I got hickies.” Anthony frowned at him. “...what are you sayin’, exactly?”

Alastor looked somewhat embarrassed. “Simply that it was incredibly common for you to have them, and if you continue to… not… won’t some people start getting suspicious?”

Anthony wasn’t sure how he was supposed to take this. “Alastor, people know you ain’t into this kinda thing. I don’t think people are gonna be suspicious because you didn’t spontaneously grow a libido.” Oddly, Alastor looked even more embarrassed, and now Anthony was positive he wasn’t aware of it. The other young man was actually ducking his head into his shoulders somewhat, and he was avoiding meeting Anthony’s eyes more than usual. Anthony hesitated, but… Fuck it, he thought. He told me to be direct. “Alastor, are you curious about makin’ out or somethin’?”

Alastor threw his hands up before he put his head in his hands, staring down at the cards in the discard pile. “I don’t know,” he groaned. “You’re confusing.”

“Me? The fuck did I do?”

“I don’t know,” Alastor repeated, more insistently. “I’d truly never contemplated this kind of thing before, but I… yes, I suppose I’m curious.” The aggressive way he said it made Anthony pretty sure he had to force it out.

“...you wanna make out?” Anthony asked, trying his best not to sound too hopeful.

Alastor laughed a little, but he didn’t raise his head. “I believe you said you enjoy that provided the guy is good at it, right?”

“You sayin’ you’re a bad kisser or somethin’?”

“I really wouldn’t know,” Alastor said dryly, raising his eyes just enough to give Anthony a single quirked eyebrow.

Anthony shrugged. “If you ain’t done it before, then you can’t say you’re not good.”

Alastor stared at him, like he wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “...you know, most people are bad at things the first time they do them.”

“Depends on how fast a learner they are.” When Alastor looked uncomfortable again, Anthony said, “I got a better idea.” Alastor raised his head once more as Anthony moved back to lean against Alastor’s pillow and headboard, then motioned to Alastor to come closer. “C’mere.”

Frowning, Alastor scooted over to him. “What, precisely, are we doing?”

“Cuddles.” When his best friend made a predictably skeptical face, Anthony continued, “All innocent, I promise. Hands above clothes. Won’t even touch your hair if you don’t want me to. Just a test to see how you feel about the closeness.”

“...well… alright.” When Alastor moved next to him, Anthony helped him get settled. They ended up with Anthony still on his back, one arm around Alastor’s shoulders, and Alastor on his side with his head on Anthony’s shoulder-chest-area and arm across his abdomen.

At first, Alastor was predictably stiff, holding himself like he was either ready to spring up at any second or like he was afraid of putting too much weight on Anthony. After a few moments, however, he began relaxing, and Anthony took the opportunity to place his hand on Alastor’s upper arm and carefully run his hand down to his elbow, then up to his shoulder, then back, making sure the touch was firm enough not to trigger unpleasant physical sensation. “How’s that?”

“Mmn,” Alastor said. There was a long pause. “Your sweater is soft.”

“Yep. You comfy?”

“Mhm.”

In minutes, all of Anthony’s fears of chasing Alastor off were replaced with the thought of never being able to get up ever again as his dorm mate gradually became almost dead weight on top of him. He managed to fish his phone out of his pocket, then found a decent YouTube playlist and set the phone up with its pop socket on Alastor’s little bedside table so they had something to do that didn’t require movement.

After nearly an hour, Alastor stopped responding to Anthony. He looked down and couldn’t resist smiling when he noticed that Alastor had fallen asleep, his cheek pressed against Anthony’s chest and his glasses threatening to fall off. Anthony carefully took the frames off his friend’s face, folded them, and set them on the table. He thought about slipping out and going back to his own room, but the moment he tried to move, Alastor’s grip tightened.

Ah well. Fuck it.

It really was comfortable, after all.

•••

It got to the point that they were cuddling every time they were alone.

At first, Alastor had felt the compulsion to make up excuses for his behavior—it was cold, it was more practical so they could read the same book, they were both tired and they could each lay on the couch that way—but eventually he stopped trying. The fact of the matter was simple: he liked it. Anthony never questioned him, thankfully, but he couldn’t help wondering if he was behaving too strangely. After all, this wasn’t supposed to be a real relationship, and sometimes Alastor felt like he was taking advantage of the situation. He had simply never really been in a position to be so close to someone on such a regular basis, particularly not someone he wanted to be close to, and now that Anthony had opened the door… Alastor had discovered he really, really liked the contact.

Snow was falling gently as the two of them left the dormitory together, the moonlight casting silvery light off the blankets of white all around them, illuminating their walk off campus and to the small neighborhood where Charlie, Vaggie, Niffty, and Cherri were all renting a house together. Alastor couldn’t help laughing as Anthony shivered, pulling his hat down over his ears and his scarf up over his face before tucking his hands into the pockets of his huge white coat. “Cold?” he asked mildly.

“Fuckin’ freezing,” Anthony answered.

“You’d think you’d be used to the cold,” Alastor observed; he was cold, too, but he was certainly handling it better than his friend. “Yankee and all that.”

“Yeah well it doesn’t work like that.”

Alastor chuckled. “I’m sure they’ll have cider and you can warm yourself up.”

“Mmn.” Anthony looked at him, curiosity obvious on every inch of what was visible of his face. “Semester ends next week.”

“That it does. You going home?”

“Only if I can’t come up with an excuse to go somewhere else,” Anthony said. “You?”

“Can’t,” Alastor said. “Don’t have the money to travel. The dean’s letting me stay in the dorm over the break. I don’t think I’m the only one who’s staying, anyway.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay with you,” Anthony said. “Unless you’re just dying to have the place to yourself.”

Alastor glanced at him, surprised. “Oh… no, not particularly,” he said. “You know I get bored when I’m left on my own for too long, anyway.”

Anthony laughed. “You’d go through all my shit.”

“I don’t know where half of your belongings have been. No thank you.”

“Shut up,” Anthony said, punching Alastor lightly in the shoulder. “...your project is due next week, I guess?”

Alastor hadn’t let himself think about it very much. “Yeah. I need to finish writing it this weekend.”

“Boring.”

There was something else Anthony wanted to ask, Alastor could almost taste it. He could probably guess what it was, too.

Are we going to tell people it was a prank tonight?

Alastor was glad he didn’t ask, because honestly, he wasn’t sure what answer he would have given.

The house was decorated to an almost nauseating degree with lights, winter-themed foliage, and various lawn decorations of both the inflatable and the non-inflatable varieties. The door was open before they got a chance to knock, and Charlie (beaming from ear to ear as usual) waved them in. “Hi guys! Come on in, come on, it’s freezing outside!”

“You said it,” Anthony said, stepping in past her and pulling off his hat and scarf. His cheeks and nose were all pink, and Alastor had the bizarre thought that it was very cute. “Sorry we’re late.”

“Oh, no, you aren’t,” Charlie said as she took both of their outerwear and hung them up. “Everybody’s in either the living room or the kitchen, and my dad’s here, and I already made him promise to behave so you’d better also behave or I’ll do something drastic,” she added, pointing at Alastor’s nose.

He felt himself go cross-eyed before he nipped lightly at the air towards her finger, making her withdraw her hand. “Like what?”

“Like telling your boyfriend on you,” Charlie said decisively.

Alastor wasn’t sure what to say to that. He settled on, “My, haven’t we grown unreasonably cruel.”

“I’ll beat him up for you, sweetheart, don’t worry,” Anthony said, giving Alastor a wink.

They headed into the room where the Yule party was just getting into swing. Alastor took a moment to absorb the scene: Husk, Cherri, Niffty, and Blitzø were in front of some kind of complicated-looking board game, but they looked more like they were arguing over it than actually playing, while Stolas sat behind Blitzø looking through the rules pamphlet like he was trying to make sense of it; Pentious was sitting in front of Vaggie’s record player, holding up different records to Millie and Moxxie (who were occupying the same chair) like he was getting opinions on what to play next; Vaggie and Luna were at the island connecting the kitchen to the living room and appeared to be doing Jell-O shots; and from the sound of things, everyone else was in the kitchen, which suited Alastor just fine.

He followed Anthony to the center of the room, returning greetings as they were noticed, but they didn’t get far before Rosie appeared and thrust cups of hot cider into both of their hands. “Here, you both look frozen to death,” she said.

“Thank you, my dear,” Alastor said. “How’s the drama this evening?”

“Woefully undramatic,” she said, looking incredibly disappointed. “But I’m sure something will crop up for us to talk about for the next month.”

Anthony grinned. “It better. That’s the only reason I come to this shit.” He leaned closer to her and added in a lower voice, “Then again, maybe someone should just make some drama.”

Rosie leaned in the same distance and responded in the same tone, “If I get my way, I will be.”

“Ooh, dish, what?”

She grinned. “Gonna sleep with Charlie’s dad.” Alastor immediately choked on his cider, and before he could form words, she waved. “Ta, boys,” she trilled, heading back for the kitchen.

“Rosie!” Alastor snapped at her retreating back. “You are a hussy!”

“No, darling, I’m a harlot!”

In spite of the warnings, threats, and threats disguised as warnings, the evening progressed rather smoothly. Niffty was imposing strict limits on the drinking to prevent anyone from getting out of control (“Do not wreck this house, we are renting it!”), which meant the arguing never went too far and no fights broke out, not even from Cherri. When Alastor and Lucifer finally did lay eyes on each other, it was from across the room, but with Anthony and Charlie to steer them away from each other, he didn’t get a chance to do more than tauntingly smirk at the pompous asshole. There were some other people there that Alastor didn’t know—apparently, they were Lucifer’s work friends, but Charlie referred to them as aunts and uncles, so he wasn’t sure what to think—but he managed to avoid interacting too much with strangers, which was usually the reason he didn’t go to parties.

Roughly three hours later, after people had eaten and were milling around again, Alastor found himself sitting on a couch with Blitzø on one side of him and Millie on the other, deep in a conversation about (of all things) French Impressionist film and halfway through his fourth glass of cider when he felt Blitzø nudge his arm with his elbow. “What?” he asked, looking down at him.

“Look,” was his only answer, nodding to somewhere on the other side of the room.

Alastor obliged, his eyes landing on Anthony, who was talking with Niffty (about her clothes, judging by both of their body language). “...it’s Angel,” he said, perplexed. “What’s your point?”

Blitzø rolled his eyes. “God, you’re a fucking dumbass,” he said. “Look, will you?”

He still had no idea what the other guy was on about when Millie went, “Ooooh, I see,” and immediately started giggling.

“What?” Alastor asked, when neither of them explained.

Almost immediately, he felt someone lean against the couch. “Hey, honey,” Moxxie said, leaning down to kiss Millie on the head. “What’s so funny?”

“Look,” Millie said unhelpfully, pointing subtly over at where Anthony and Niffty were standing.

Moxxie squinted at him. “I have no idea what you’re– oh, no, I see.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Alastor said, looking at Moxxie. “What are you three talking about?”

Fortunately for him, Moxxie was basically incapable of not sharing information when he knew something. “Look over his head.”

Alastor sighed, looked at Anthony, then looked up, and– Oh, he thought, color rising to his cheeks. “...isn’t mistletoe a little… corny?”

“Nah, I think it’s romantic,” Millie said, clasping her hands together at her chest. “Besides, y’know Charlie wouldn’t’a put it up if it weren’t supposed t’, y’know, inspire.”

Alastor rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “I don’t– I mean, Angel probably wouldn’t… you know…”

“Are you kidding? You think Mr. PDA would get all embarrassed if you kissed him?” Blitzø asked skeptically. “Besides, he’s standing under it, he’s practically begging–”

“I swear t’ god Blitzø if you say he’s askin’ for it I will eat yer kneecaps.”

“Well, he is!”

“You could always just ask,” Moxxie told Alastor as the other two immediately started bickering about ‘appropriate language’. “And if you aren’t comfortable, obviously, don’t do it.”

Am I comfortable with something like this?

A few months ago, Alastor would have just laughed at the question, or given some kind of sarcastic form of ‘no’ if pressed to answer. But now… he didn’t know if he was or not, and he was finally realizing that he was never going to know if he was or wasn’t unless he actually tried something. He just nodded to Moxxie, finished the rest of his cider all at once, and thrust the empty glass at Blitzø. “This was your idea, so you have to hold this.”

“What– yeah, okay, man, go get some.”

Alastor ignored him, getting to his feet and crossing the room to where Anthony was standing. The closer he got, the more clearly he could hear his voice; he was aware that his own thoughts were somewhat jumbled, but there was one thing he knew for absolute certain. It was something he had been thinking for days, a deeply sober sentiment that he knew the alcohol was not influencing one iota.

I don’t want him to go.

“Oh, hey, Al,” Anthony said, turning when he noticed him. “You’re not leavin’, are you?”

“No,” Alastor said, shaking his head. He thought to say something else, but he didn’t; he couldn’t do anything but just look at Anthony.

Apparently, this was odd. Anthony frowned, tilting his head. “...you okay?” he asked at length.

“What? Yeah. Yes,” Alastor corrected. “I’m fine. It’s just… I…” He wasn’t sure how to say it, and on reflex, he glanced up at the mistletoe again.

It wasn’t meant to direct Anthony’s own gaze, but it did, and the moment he registered the little bit of green decor, his cheeks flooded with pink. “...oh.”

Alastor was only vaguely aware of Niffty scurrying away, giggling. Anthony looked back down at him, both of them at a loss for words. Alastor wasn’t used to his speech failing him, because his words were how he had always navigated through life. It was how he had gotten himself out of trouble, and sometimes into it, for many years. But now… what was he supposed to say?

Anthony wasn’t speaking either. But he also wasn’t moving. Alastor didn’t know what to make of it. All he knew was that all of this thinking was making it worse, so instead of thinking, he would just do something.

When he first leaned forward and kissed Anthony, the other young man gasped, as though so much buildup still hadn’t prepared him. Before Alastor could even think about moving away, Anthony flung his arms around Alastor’s shoulders and pulled him closer. Even though they didn’t part lips, even Anthony was out of breath when they parted, and Alastor was fairly certain both of their faces were on fire.

He only noticed the room was silent when someone yelled, “Hell yeah!” which triggered either laughter or vehement shushing from most everyone else in the room. Anthony immediately started giggling, burying his face in Alastor’s shoulder.

Alastor couldn’t bring himself to look at the rest of the room. It wasn’t just because it was embarrassing, it was because the sight of Anthony flushed so pink and overcome with laughter was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “...are you ready to go?” he murmured.

“Mhm,” Anthony said into Alastor’s shoulder, nodding.

No one seemed terribly surprised when they took their leave, bundling back up in their coats and heading out into the snow once more. The walk back felt both longer than it ever had and so short it was as though it passed in a blink. They were outside the dorms when Alastor took Anthony’s sleeve. “Wait,” he said.

“Y-yeah?” Anthony asked, turning to look at him.

Immediately, Alastor didn’t want to say anything, so he forced out the first words he could without giving himself time to process or second-guess. “Be my boyfriend. I mean… really. My actual boyfriend.”

This time, Anthony was the one who kissed him.

An hour later, they were in Alastor’s room, coats and hats haphazardly scattered on the floor and Anthony’s back against the wall. Alastor grabbed his wrists and pinned them, covering Anthony’s mouth with his own.

Judging by the sounds Anthony was making, he was a fast learner when it came to this kind of thing.

When they parted, Anthony tilted his head back, exposing the line of his neck, and Alastor was unable to resist leaning down enough to kiss his throat. He could feel Anthony’s groan reverberating through his own lips. “Oh, god, yeah,” Anthony moaned. “That’s so good…”

Something about those words, the way Anthony said them, sent a shiver through Alastor’s body. Before he could second-guess it, he bit down on Anthony’s neck, making him cry out and arch his back to press their chests together. Alastor released him. “Too much?” he panted.

“No, no no, fuck no, don’t stop…!”

Alastor bit down again, and Anthony whined, the sound turning into a sort of sharp moan as Alastor began scraping his teeth against his skin. As he began sucking a bruise into his flesh, he discovered that the rougher he was, the more Anthony seemed to like it; by the time he moved away to admire his work, the side of Anthony’s neck was covered in marks ranging from pink to dark red to something bordering on purple.

Anthony was breathing hard. “Fuck, Alastor, you’re so good…!”

Alastor didn’t know what it was, but when Anthony said that, it made him feel like he was going to go insane if he didn’t do… something, he just didn’t know what. He practically growled as he grabbed Anthony around the waist, and his best friend let out an inelegant squeak as he was lifted off the ground and practically flung onto Alastor’s bed. Alastor wasn’t sure how he would feel about this later, but he knew what he wanted now, and what he wanted was to keep making Anthony make those noises.

He stumbled slightly when he kicked his shoes off, but he managed to keep his feet until he could get onto the bed and crawl on top of Anthony, pinning him down and kissing him again. The night devolved into a haze of sensation and emotion, punctuated by Anthony’s whispered encouragement and moans. Alastor wasn’t sure if he was making noise or not—he was too busy listening to Anthony’s sounds to really focus on what he himself was doing—but if the way he felt when Anthony actually moaned the words “you’re such a good boy” in his ear was anything to go by, he was pretty sure he didn’t want to know what kind of noises he was making.

Eventually, he wasn’t able to form any kind of coherent thought beyond, I’m going to have to rewrite my entire paper.

[nishipostitz]

megumi is your tutor drabble

megumi x gn!reader

tw! mentions of a snack 💀

you needed help in your english class, and megumi was drafted to help you. you were quite embarrassed to get help from megumi bc hes intimidating and you didnt wanna seem stupid in his eyes (you did). but in reality, he wasnt that bad. you were expecting to get hit at least once, but it never happened. megumi was patient with you in sounding words out and explaining the grammar. it was unexpected bc he wasnt as patient with yuuji (poor soul 💀🙏). with megumi’s help, your grades on your assignments started getting better and you had hope. megumi wouldnt say it out loud, but he was proud of you too. right before your tutor/study session, he was actually strolling around in the stationary isle of a store trying to find something for you as a good job gift. he settled on a cute mechanical pencil that would hopefully motivate you to keep working hard and study so hard the mechanical pencil breaks down (its the thought that matters). but he was also unaware, that in the same store, you just purchased some items for him as well as a thank you gift for his kindness and patience in helping you. so when you both showed up to the designated cafe to study, you were both surprised to see that the other had a gift bag in hand. “oh? isnt it too early for christmas?” “say what you want you cant speak” megumi replied. megumi was happy internally, and so were you. you exchanged gifts before studying “im gonna use this right away and show you how good at english i am!” megumi tried to keep a poker face. somewhat worked? but now his face is a little.. distorted. you found it cute and funny though. he was reluctant on saying the snacks you got him were good. they were in fact so delicious. he offered some to you but you declined. but you both know that youll be sneaking some pieces for yourself during the study session. and whilst you tried to be sneaky, megumi couldnt hold back his smile while sneaking glances at you either.

note: i dont think anyone really noticed tbh, but i was gone for almost a whole year 💀 (11 months) idrk how rhat happened and how i didnt notice. for some reason i was delulu enough to think that i was still uploading new writings bc i kept receiving notifications 😭😭😭 common L for me. but ive just been trying to find myself again and going theough some odd things. im back now for another month and a half before my fall term 😔😔 ive missed writing, but the writers block is lowkey brutal. my apologies if this drabble wasnt very entertaining, i tried 🙏

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

I'll Get the Coffee

Roy Kent x Teacher!Reader

Warnings: Language

0.9k words

Teach Me Tonight Masterlist

Author's Note: Should I be writing something else or working on my classroom prep? Sure. But my soul needed this so here we are!

You were a bit disappointed to not have morning duty; no “morning” from Roy Kent, not today. Maybe you could find an excuse to sneak out to your car during pickup that afternoon, bump into him if he was collecting Phoebe after school.

No, you told yourself as you double checked that you had your copies for that morning’s lesson. Stop it.

A stupid crush. A silly little attraction, that’s all this was. So, you were a little bit starstruck by the handsome ex-footballer who smiled at you. Very normal. Only a smidge embarrassing. Nothing you needed to dwell on. And definitely not something you needed to make worse by imagining little scenarios where he stopped for a third day in a row to talk to you.

You managed to feel more yourself and less like an infatuated teenager by the time you went outside to collect your class. Smiles, high-fives, hugs, and good mornings were exchanged as students filed in, backpacks on their shoulders. Phoebe had a particularly proud grin as she held out a takeaway coffee cup.

“This is for you!” she chirped, pigtails bouncing.

Eyebrows raised in surprise, you took the coffee, recognizing the logo of the coffee shop around the corner where you often stopped before school, the one where the girl behind the counter greeted you by getting your order started before you could even say hello. “Thank you, Phoebe. That’s so kind of you, sweetheart.”

The little girl shrugged as she brushed past, not at all concerned with your wonder at this little gift. “Uncle Roy said you like coffee so we stopped to get you some. He wasn’t sure how you liked it, but the barista remembered your order when he mentioned it was for you.” Her tone was so calm, as if she hadn’t dropped an absolute bomb on you.

As students hung up their backpacks and pulled out their journals to begin their morning writing, you took a tentative sip of the coffee. Sure enough, it was made exactly the way you liked it, right down to the dash of cinnamon. As the warm liquid slithered down your throat, you caught a glimpse of the name scrawled on the side in the barista’s familiar loopy writing: Roy.

~

During lunch, Mrs. Selig inquired if you could switch afternoon duty with her since she had a doctor’s appointment right after school. Your affirmative answer was probably a fraction of a second quicker than it should have been, but you and your stupid infatuation didn’t care.

At three, there you were by the curb, hand clutching your little plastic whistle, trying to make yourself focus on the scurrying children and their clearly rushing parents. Make sure no kids get run over, you scolded yourself. Stop thinking about-

“You enjoy your coffee?”

Damn it. There was that smirk. The leather jacket was gone, replaced by a too perfectly fitted track jacket with a little A.F.C. Richmond logo on the breast. With Phoebe’s pink backpack slung over his shoulder and his eyes squinting slightly in the afternoon sun, Roy Kent was even yummier than the coffee he’d bought for you.

Doing your best to look like the poised professional you were supposed to be, you nodded. “Thank you, Coach. That was very kind of you guys.”

His eyes roamed your face for a moment; you wondered what he was looking for. “Figured you needed it. Pheebs got into some candy before I picked her up, so I knew she’d be an extra headache.” Ah. That explained why Phoebe was so fidgety during morning routine, and why she complained of a tummy ache before recess, which seemed to feel better after she put her head down for a bit and drank some water. “Sorry if she was a fucking menace.”

“That’s a pound, Uncle Roy,” Phoebe sighed, raising her eyebrows at her uncle.

Roy stared at his niece for a moment before turning back to you. “Shit. Sorry ’bout that,” he mumbled.

You wrinkled your nose. “I think you owe her another pound.”

There was that damn laugh again. “I think you’re right.” He looked down at Phoebe. “If I take you for an ice cream, can we call it even?” After her little nod confirmed the compromise, he turned back to you. “Guess we’re off then.” But, despite, Pheobe’s tugging, Roy stayed still for a moment, just looking at you. “Hope there was enough cinnamon in your coffee.”

It was one thing to bring you coffee. It was something else to put in the effort to ask the barista to make your usual order. It was a complete and totally different thing to remember what that order was.

The words stuck in your suddenly dry throat before you managed to choke out, “There was. Thanks.”

“Hmmph.” Roy offered one last little nod, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards, before letting Phoebe successfully drag him away as she called a cheerful goodbye over her shoulder.

With his back to you, you were free to watch Roy Kent cross the parking lot and load Phoebe into a giant black car, a ridiculous monster of a thing that you’d probably roll your eyes at if any other man was driving it. Instead, there was something stupidly attractive about the hulking vehicle. And yes, you knew that something was its owner, who definitely caught you staring as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

Taglist: @infinetlyforgotten

[cityofjieun]

★ . . . . jia in 5-star era

highlights !!

they won a moonman!!!

jieunnie was among the members that had a big shocked reaction.

she, beomgyu, and jeongin took a selfie together (ily 01z).

ji also met megan thee stallion at the award show??

she had gone to the bathroom with one of their staff during the show and ran into her in the bathroom

jia is a huge fan and had to take the opportunity to compliment her performance earlier in the night. the two had a cute little convo and exchanged instas and even took a selfie together. long story short, jia is the first person in skz to follow a non-member.

she didn't get to mention the interaction to any of the members because after she returned from the bathroom, they were announced and everything was kind of a blur after

but imagine everyone's surprise when jia is trending the next morning because meg had posted the selfie on her story and stays have noticed that they are also mutuals now

also she’s so blonde now y'all.

really one of her best colors

we got tiktoks with lsf yunjin, p1h keeho, shinee key, and tbz eric.

the pilot fanmeet.

jia x seungmin x hyunjin cafe hopping rachalog.

they hit up like 4 cafes and spent time eating and chatting at all of them.

hyune brought his sketchbook and minnie brought a book while jia was writing notes for one of their dance practices.

side note: these last couple comebacks jia has really taken to helping lino monitor dance practices and stuff of that nature.

she has gained a lot of confidence in herself as a dancer.

anyways, they took some time to just do their little things independently.

it was giving very much study with me video.

a gift for the stays in school for real.

she also got to guest host on inkigayo.

this is the second time she's guest hosted on a music show and she really needs a full-time slot, someone get on that.

jia’s favorite schedule this era by far was kstar next door

she is an avid watcher of the show and was really upset to not go on last time

10/10 era

mv styling !!

photocards !!

concept a vers, concept b vers and digipack vers.

lines !!

hall of fame 0:00 - 0:20 (original: seungmin) ★ i write my name into the stars right now on gaelleorie nal namgyeo nal jungshimeuro doraga sunlight 0:57 - 1:00 (original: han) ★ ibi tteok beoreojige mandeuneun gwanggyeong legendary 1:12 - 1:16 (original: felix) ★ shaking the industry quaking reality making it iconic 2:24 - 2:29 (original: bangchan) ★ hear the people call my name here i’m on the hall of fame

sclass 0:20 - 0:28 (original: hyunjin) ★ byeollan geottuseongi byeonhameopji beonhwahaneun geori 0:57 - 1:00 (original: seungmin) ★ luxurious like i’m an s-class best of the best on first class 2:47 - 2:48 (original: han) ★ nune ttineun tenshyeon 3:11 - 3:13 (original: felix) ★ bichi beonjyeo deouk binnaneun star

item 0:52 - 0:58 (original: han) ★kkeunimeopshi i make it mine, never die 1:05 - 1:08 (original: han) ★aitemppal? igeon naeppal purop jangchak gadeuk cha 1:46 - 1:50 (original: seungmin) ★ got the best of the best nothing much, i confess 2:22 - 2:28 (original: han) ★ i do things that nobody can do god blessed, i’m the one and only

superbowl 0:37 - 0:40 (original: felix) ★ fresh taste, fresh scent fresh shape, fresh everything 2:23 - 2:29 (original: han) ★ i’ll do it again, just the way you want it i’ll do it again for the days to come 2:33 - 2:35 (original: han) ★ yeah we bring the rain

topline 0:43 - 0:48 (original: seungmin) ★ drawing, i’m moulding, i’m rolling my waves yeah i’m counting wins on the grand line 1:01 - 1:03 (original: felix ) ★ cause we dont give a fuck 1:22 - 1:25 (original: felix) ★ BOM DIGI DIGI BOM BOM BOM BOM 2:13 - 2:18 (original: jeongin) ★ gijuneul olligo mollineun moduga brave but they can’t pass me i’m the red line

dlc 0:00 - 0:11 (original: changbin) ★ we’re only going to dance like crazy It’s just that, I like it la la la 0:54 - 0:56 (original: han) ★sunrise 1:26 - 1:29 (original: felix) ★ amudo moreuge 2:50 - 2:18 (original: jeongin) ★ got me feeling like lalalala got me feeling like lalalala

get lit 0:35 - 0:40 (original: jeongin) ★ geocham soreum dotge tto hal georago saenggiji ilgeori sandeomi oh yeah 1:37 - 1:42 (original: bangchan) ★ I don’t wanna do it, I don’t wanna do it geunyang da naeryeonoko manyang michin deushi nollae 1:56 - 2:00 (original: seungmin) ★ oneul urin bureujua eokkae pyeogo danyeo dangdanghi saramdeul apeseo chumsawido 2:27 - 2:28 (original: han) ★ let's go

collision 0:31 - 0:36 (original: bangchan) ★ romantic haetteon chueok hwesang sogak haneullo heuteojyeo beorin maeyeon gatta 1:04 - 1:14 (original: hyunjin) ★ uri dul bappi chungdo 1:11 - 2:18 (original: hyunjin) ★ yeah chungdol 2:01 - 2:07 (original: seungmin) ★ shigani jina urin mannaseo buseojideora geu heunjeogi on uju jeonchereul maemdoneun i bam

fnf 0:31 - 0:37 (original: jeongin) ★ nal dulleossan fauna and flora meonjiga dwaedo i really want you back 1:26 - 1:28 (original: leeknow) ★ yeah i’ll never be the same 2:09 - 2:17 (original: bangchan) ★ i’m catching up 2:45 - 2:50 (original: felix) ★ dallyeoga jjochaga bulganeunghaed oh

youtiful 2:13 - 2:18 (original: bangchan) ★ “I don’t know if I’m ready to show myself” you worry day and night 2:13 - 2:18 (original: seungmin) ★ cause when you give me a glance i am sure that i see the universe in your yeyes 2:13 - 2:18 (original: jeongin) ★ then that little star was surely going to become the biggest thing 2:13 - 2:18 (original: hyunjin) ★ you are a miracle, miracle you are youtifull

the sound 0:48 - 0:51 (original: jeongin) ★ ttarawara da ttarawara da 1:27 - 1:30 (original: hyunjin/jeongin) ★ oh nothing better yeah nothing matters 2:12 - 2:17 (original: bangchan) ★ deo keuge nopyeo volume up jogeum deo gwitgaeneun hamseongsoriga meolli peojyeo ganda

time out 1:09 - 1:18 (original: han) ★ so come on let’s go tteona da mirugo eodideun gaja yeogiseo meolliro run to (run to) run to (run to) 2:39 - 2:47 (original: bangchan) ★ so come on pack up piryohan geon teong bin meori sallangineun baram ttaragaja we run to (run to) run to (run to)

©︎ cityofjieun, all rights reserved. pls, do not copy or repost my work.

[choke-me-joey]

Eddie Munson x fem metalhead cheerleader

Summary: Based on this - how Eddie met his not so typical cheerleader girlfriend and a little exploration of their relationship.

Content warning: 18+ content minors DNI, smoking, underage drinking, drug use, swearing, flirting, smut.

Author's note: Happy Valentines Day! Every year I say I hate it and then get a little sad when I don't get a card or something little so….here is my gift to you because I love you all! This chapter also comes with a kiss on the forehead for you 😘

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

It had been 2 months since Eddie had ended things. 2 months since you had stopped speaking to him, even glancing his way. You'd stopped going to Hellfire, stopped going to The Hideout and you'd even gone as far as to request your seat be changed in Ms O'Donnell's class, meaning you now sat on the far side of the room, pretty much as far as you could get from him. No more whispered exchanges whilst Ms O'Donnell's back was turned, no more quick kisses at your locker between classes, no more smiles across the cafeteria, nothing. There was nothing now.

The guys in Hellfire knew something had to have happened, but weren't exactly sure what. Eddie had changed personalities overnight, now sullen and moody, quick to anger and snap as opposed to his usual clowning around, all lovesick and dopey and full of jokes. Now, honestly, he was kind of depressing to be around.

You were no better off. The cheer squad weren't exactly your friends before, and now you didn't really have anyone to turn to. You got along with everyone, sure, but since Eddie had broken your heart you had become so withdrawn and quiet, your coach had to step in and make sure everything was okay.

Of course it was the usual response that "boys come and go, honey, it's just a high school crush" which made you want to roll your eyes right out of your goddamn head. Your mood fluctuated from sad, to angry, to sad again, and you'd lost count of how many times you'd cried yourself to sleep over the last 2 months, clutching at Eddie's old Dio shirt he'd given you to sleep in a few weeks into your relationship, but never asked for it back. It very, very faintly smelled of him still and honestly it was the only thing keeping you from completely losing it.

Despite how much he had hurt you, and how angry you got at times, it didn't mean your feelings for Eddie had completely disappeared. Of course you still loved him. You had fallen hard and fast for him and that wasn't just going to go away. Ignoring him at school was one of the hardest things you've ever done, but you knew it would eventually ease your pain.

Rumours swirled around the school, as they do. First it was you had come to your senses and dumped the freak, then it was because Eddie had tried to sacrifice you to Satan and scared you off. But the newest one was that Eddie was screwing a girl in the next town over, and you had found out. Turns out somebody had caught a glimpse of the nude Polaroid falling out of Eddie's locker, not realising it was actually you, and the rumour swelled from there.

That damn Polaroid. It had ruined everything. You don't even know where it had come from, any nudes you'd taken of yourself were safely secured in your bedroom, and any nudes anyone else had ever taken of you were destroyed upon breaking up, you'd made sure of that.

But this particular photo...you'd been racking your brain for weeks trying to think how someone could have gotten a hold of it. It was one you'd kept in your room, you knew it was because of the little star you'd marked them all with; you were very conscious of keeping your nudes safe.

Besides, you'd only ever had 2 boyfriends that you'd taken these pictures for, and you'd not even given them to 1 of them. You'd never taken them for any fuck buddies or one time flings, despite being asked. And you rarely ever brought those dudes into your bedroom, except for-

Your heart pounds, and you start to shake.

That motherfucker.

**

Eddie sighed as he pulled up to Chrissy Cunningham's mansion the following Friday night. He could hear the music already thumping away; Chrissy's parents had gone out of town for the weekend so of course, Eddie had been called upon to deal. He fucking hated these things, especially now that he didn't have you by his side. He swallowed hard.

He fucking missed you.

He missed you so much it hurt. Now it had been nearly 3 months since he'd found that photo, since he'd ended things, and he still couldn't get your face out of his head. The way you'd looked at him, the way your voice wobbled and cracked with emotion, and the way you'd hissed at him with a venom he had never, ever imagined you spitting at him.

You hated him now. You didn't even look at him in school, stopped coming to Hellfire, stopped parking your car next to his van, stopped it all.

Was that because you were guilty? Pissed at him because he'd called you out? Or...maybe, just maybe, he'd made a mistake.

Eddie kicked himself mentally every time he thought about it. He let his emotions get the best of him, like always, only this time he'd let the rage take over. That had only ever happened once before and it ended in a broken hand, the other guy's broken jaw and Chief Hopper hauling him into a cell, letting him rot there overnight before Wayne came to bail him out the next morning. Eddie had never felt so ashamed as he did when his uncle had looked at him with that sad, disappointed expression. Wayne never said it, but Eddie knew exactly what he was thinking- he was following in his father's footsteps.

He'd sworn to himself after that that he would never let his rage take over again.

And then you came along, he fell head over heels like never before and when his brain had told him you were definitely cheating on him, that he wasn't worthy of you, that you couldn't possibly love him, and when he read that stupid fucking note that all but, in his mind, confirmed his fears he just lost control.

And now you were gone.

Except you weren't gone, because there you were, walking up Chrissy's front path with a couple of the other cheerleaders, looking as perfect as ever, in leather pants and a cropped Bon Jovi shirt, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the other party goers dressed in...well, color. Eddie watched as a group of football players met their girlfriends, pulling them into sloppy drunken kisses and grabbing their asses, making the girls squeal and giggle. One football player - was it Johnson? - approaches you with a predatory look in his eye and Eddie doesn't realise he's holding in a breath until he releases it when you completely blank Johnson, shoving past him and into Chrissy's house.

This was going to be a long night.

**

You'd lost count of how many beers you'd drank and how many shots you'd thrown back. And honestly, you didn't fucking care.

You'd seen Eddie's van parked up down the street when you'd arrived; of course he'd be here. He was always expected to show at these parties - it's where he'd make most of his money. The minute you'd seen it, that's when you decided you were going to get absolutely shit wrecked.

That and when Johnson had had the balls to approach you, grinning like the fucking cat who stole one of your nude photos to sabotage your relationship.

You'd kept your cool, you had to. Your spot on the squad couldn't take another fight, or scandal. You had to swallow your anger towards Johnson, that regretful summer fling from last year, and just get on with it.

So of course, you chose to drink. And dance. And smoke. All on your own of course. You know everyone is looking at you, but you couldn't give two shits if you tried.

You stumble out into the backyard, and spot Eddie dealing at the far end of the yard. Fuck it, you think, you want to just let go, and you knew Eddie had the good shit. You inhale and walk over to Eddie as a group of girls leave him. He looks you up and down, concerned.

"Y/N?" He sounds almost afraid.

"Munson." You say curtly and he winces. "Got any pre-rolled?"

"Y/N, I don't think you should be smoking-"

"And I don't think you should be acting like my goddamn boyfriend, Munson, when you made it pretty clear 3 months ago that you thought I was cheating slut!" You snap. Eddie's jaw clenches.

"I'm not selling to you, Y/N. You're wasted."

"And so is everyone else here!" You gesture around, exaggerated by the alcohol. "Don't act all caring now, Munson. Just...don't."

"Fine." He grits out, giving you the pre-rolled joint from behind his ear. You hand him a $20, but he pushes your hand away. "Just take it."

You sigh. "Jesus, look, just take the damn money, okay? I don't expect girlfriend privileges anymore."

"I don't want your fucking money, okay? Just take the goddamn joint, Y/N, I'm just trying to be nice!"

"Well don't!" You yell, a few people glancing over as a silence falls over them. "You broke my heart, Eddie, you don't get to be fucking nice! You never even once gave me a chance to explain-"

"What was there to explain?!" Eddie yells back, taking you by surprise. "It was pretty fucking crystal clear to me, Y/N! And you weren't the only one who had their fucking heart broken, I loved you!"

You freeze, your breathing turning shaky and you blinked rapidly, tears threatening to spill over. You throw the joint at him and turn on your heel, storming back into the house.

"Getting tired of that right hand yet, freak?" A smug voice makes Eddie turn around. He comes face to face with Aaron Johnson, another one of Anderson's idiotic companions. Eddie rolls his eyes.

"You buying or not?" He replies, and Johnson smirks, leaning against a tree.

"You know, if it wasn't for Y/N's shitty taste in music, I probably would have carried on hitting that. She's so fucking hot but I can't be seen with someone who dresses like a satanist, wearing all that demonic shit. My mom would have disowned me. But, fuck, that pussy's second to none, right Munson?"

Eddie's jaw clenches.

"And that body, fuck, it's insane. Glad I found her secret stash of pics and took a little reminder for myself. Came in handy more than a few times." Johnson grins and Eddie's stomach drops. "Y'see, she fucked with our team, freak. Got Anderson kicked off when we were a sure win for the championship, I could've gotten a fucking scholarship. And thanks to her, that ain't happening. So, I just had to let you know what a stupid little slut she is, Munson. I did you a favour."

"You." Eddie grits out. "You did this."

"I did her, too. She really is a freak in the sack, isn't she? Think she's drunk enough to let me fu-"

Eddie's fist connects with Johnson's cheek before he can even finish his sentence. Johnson staggers back in suprise, before returning a blow to Eddie's stomach, and the two begin to brawl, much to the delight of the onlookers in the yard. The news travels fast throughout Chrissy's house.

"Holy shit! Johnson's fighting the freak!" A voice yells from the kitchen, and your head snaps up from the beer you were nursing on the couch in the living room.

You push through the crowd that are now chanting 'fight, fight, fight!' and eventually get outside to the chaotic scene of Eddie and Johnson rolling around on the floor beating the piss out of each other, blood splattering the patio.

"Eddie!" You scream out as he rolls on top of Johnson, driving his fist into his face. He doesn't hear you, blinded by rage. It scares you to see him like this, so, so angry and vicious. Even though he broke your heart, you still cared for him and hated the way his beautiful face was bruised and bloody and curled into a snarl. You run over and grab his arm before he can drive it down again and pull him off of Johnson, but he pulls away from you and dives towards him again. Johnson is a better fighter than Anderson for sure, and immediately pins Eddie back on the ground. "Get the fuck off of him, Aaron!"

"How'd you like the little gift I left your boyfriend, Y/N?!" Johnson bellows, laughing maniacally as you shove him off of Eddie, who coughs and spits out blood onto the patio. "Should have thought twice before you fucked with the team!"

"This is all because of your fucking high school football career?!" You shriek. "Oh my god, grow up! If Anderson wasn't such a pig maybe he'd still be on the goddamn team!"

Johnson gets off of a groaning Eddie, staggering slightly as he grins at you.

"He knows what an easy little slut you are, Y/N, can you really blame him for trying? If you'll let this freak stick his dick in you, you're gonna let anyone do it."

"At least I knew when his dick was in me, which is more than I can say about yours, Johnson." You bite back, making several of the onlookers gasp and giggle. Johnson looks visibly embarrassed and enraged. "I only give my nudes to guys with dicks bigger than 3 inches, you fucking Neanderthal."

Johnson takes a step towards you, but he's quickly restrained by two of his buddies. The wail of police sirens and flashing lights a few streets over is enough for the crowd to disperse; one of the neighbours must have called and reported the party. "Shit," you hiss, helping Eddie up off of the floor and pushing your way out of the panicked crowd. "Give me your keys."

"You...you can't fucking drive, you’re wasted." Eddie grumbles.

"Yeah? Well I bet I can drive better than you can with a busted eye, Munson, so unless you want another run in with Hopper, give me your damn keys."

Eddie sighs and places them into your hand. You wince at the sight of his raw, bloody knuckles.

You help him to the van and buckle yourself in to the driver's seat. "You're gonna need to direct me Mr Here's Another Excuse For You Not To Come To My Place."

Eddie sighs again.

"It's…Forest Hills Trailer Park, you know it?" You nod. Eddie looked almost ashamed. "Of course you do, Hawkins' best trailer trash, drug addicts and drunks all in one spot, I'm surprised they don't charge at the gate for parents to just bring their kids in and show them how they shouldn't end up like this. Like a damn museum exhibit." Eddie mumbles bitterly. You frown, doing your best to concentrate on driving straight.

"Eddie-"

"It's left here."

The 15 minute drive was silent, not even the radio playing, with intermittent grunts or hisses of pain from Eddie. When you arrive at his trailer, you help him out of the van and to the door, unlocking with his keys. You sit him on the small couch.

"Got any frozen peas?" You ask, looking around the trailer at the small kitchen.

"My uncle keeps ice packs just for this very reason. Second drawer."

You follow his instructions and retrieve one, wrapping it in a dish cloth and handing it to him.

"Keep that on your eye. Where's your first aid stuff?"

Eddie places the ice pack on his eye. "Bathroom cabinet, down the hall on your right, but, Y/N you don't-"

But you ignore him and find your way to the small bathroom. Your tummy flutters as you pass by what is obviously Eddie's bedroom, getting a waft of that delicious Eddie smell. You enter the small bathroom and dig in the cabinet and find an old bottle of peroxide, Neosporin, cotton pads and bandaids. You also find a washcloth, soaking it in cold water and squeezing out the excess water. You go back out into the living room and kneel in front of Eddie.

"Chin up." You instruct, and he does, wincing as you gently rub at the dried blood on his face, getting rid of the worst of it before you soak a cotton pad in peroxide. "This is gonna sting."

Eddie sucks in a breath as you dab at the cut on his cheek. "Ow, fuck."

"Told you." You clean it as gently as possible before popping some Neosporin on it and a band aid. You repeat the process on the cut his forehead, lip, chin and his knuckles. “Didnt think you were a fighter, Munson.”

“Oh, I’m Munson again now?” Eddie huffs and you roll your eyes, placing the last bandaid on his knuckle. “Thanks…”

“No problem, it was kind of my fault you got in a fight. I should have realised sooner that it was him.”

Eddie clears his throat.

“Yeah, listen, about that…I’m sorry, Y/N. I should have let you explain. I guess I was just pissed at the thought of you having fucked someone else, even if it was before me.”

“Yeah, you should have let me explain.” you say, your voice a little sharp. Eddie avoids your eyes. “It’s fine, what’s done is done, but…thanks for defending my honour.”

“Just returning the favour, sweetheart. Couldn't have you beating the shit out of another jock, your place on the squad would have been toast."

"Yeah well…" you shrug, stifling a yawn. You glance at the clock on the wall. "Jesus, when did it get to be 3am?!"

"Well you lost about 5 hours getting wasted. I'm suprised you got us back without landing us in a ditch." Eddie smirked and you shoved him.

"I guess the adrenaline sobered me up." You sigh. "I gotta stop going to these parties, especially when you're there. You're the problem here."

"Ain't nothing new there. Go, take my bed, you need to sleep."

"But what about you, Eddie? You're injured, I cant kick you out of your own bed. I can crash on the couch."

Eddie snorts. "Yeah, I'm sure my uncle would appreciate you stealing his spot when he gets in from his night shift in a couple hours. Take my bed, I'll sleep on the floor."

You roll your eyes. You forgot how stubborn he could be.

"Okay fine but um, can I borrow some clothes? Leather pants aren't exactly the comfiest thing to sleep in."

"Sure, come on princess." Eddie leads you to his bedroom, rifling through his messy drawers before handing you a shirt and some boxers. "You can, uh, change in the bathroom."

"Why? Not like you haven't seen it all before." You shrug, stripping off your shirt and pants, standing in Eddie's room in your bra and panties, modesty gone thanks to the alcohol still lingering in your system . Eddie swallows hard, looking away. He doesn't look back at you until you clear your throat. His heart hammers in his chest as he takes in the sight of you in his favourite Metallica shirt and some of his comfiest boxers, taking your hair down out of the band it had been tied up with. You smile at him softly. "You wore this shirt to my house the first time."

"You wore it too," he grins, wincing as his lip screams at him.

"Yeah for like an hour, you insisted on getting me naked again." You giggle, cheeks flushing.

"I am but a man, sweetheart." Eddie holds his hands up in admittance. He quickly straightens up his bedsheets before gesturing for you to climb in. You gingerly do so, part of you so sad that it's under these circumstances that you're in Eddie's bed for the first time, and part of you elated at being surrounded by everything Eddie. You watch Eddie take off his jeans and shirt, gathering a couple of spare blankets and pillows to lay out on the floor of his cramped but cozy room. Once he's readied his bed, he flicks off the light, and a silence falls over the two of you as you both settle into your respective beds.

Your stomach churns with nerves; you hadn't been near him for so long and now he was so close you could touch him, but you couldn't touch him. It was torture and your mouth spoke before your brain could catch up.

"Eddie?"

"Mm?"

"I miss you." You whisper into the darkness. You're not even sure he heard you until you felt his hand, his non busted hand, blindly reach up and feel around for yours. His fingers link with yours and his thumb brushes over your knuckles.

"I'm right here."

Taglist:

@big-ope-vibes

@50shadesofuncomfortable

@bibieddiesgf

@josephquinngirly

@mich-13

@wintersoldierbaby

@gracieluvthemoon

@lilmisssimp

@cutiecusp

@lovelylittlemetalhead

@angelina16torres-blog

@ceriseheaven

@icallhimjoey

@harrys-four-nipples

@chaoticgood-munson

@quinnypixie

@joesquinns

@quinnsbower

@ghostinthebackofyourhead

@joejoequinnquinn

@ches-86

@mystars123

@micheledawn1975

@tlclick73

@emxxblog

@bakugouswh0r3

@bellamy1998

@dylanmunson

@avalon-wolf

@pastelorangeskies

@letme-simp

@them-cute-boys

@beeblisss

@aol19

@sadbitchfangirl

@spacedoutdaydreamer

@0o-venus-o0

@bexreadstoomuch

@l0st-f1ow3rs

@kaitebugg03

@yeehawbitchs

@latebread

@steveharringtonisbae

@alexa-33

@shotgunhallelujah

@coffeeaddictednymph

@angelsarecallin

@eddiessweetheart86

@daysinthephoenix

Tag list continued in comments!

[gaysullengirl]

𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞. 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞, smartest

❝ but i'm a creep, i'm a weirdo, what the hell am i doing here? i don't belong here ❞ - creep, radiohead

It was a brutal case- technically all of them were. Two blown up cops and a gunned down teenage girl.

Isabelle was doing her favorite part of her job, examine a scene.

The kitchen of the house was practically nothing, a bomb going off caused most of the walls to be gone, Isabelle examined the door frame closer.

"It looks like the door was sealed off- plastic there, duct tape on the door frame and window sills." She pointed out.

Spencer read over a police report he held, "It says they found cordite and gunpowder. He sealed the kitchen off which trapped gas in here."

"If Jordan Norris was right here she'd end up in the field and Rod Norris would end up in the tree."

"The blast was designed to focus on this room, on whoever came through that door." Emily added.

"What was the trigger?"

Isabelle grabbed a small cigarette box and dusted ashes off of it. "Rod Norris, he was a smoker."

"Whoever did this knew him well enough to know he was a smoker and that he'd enter through the back door." Spencer added.

The pair exchanged a knowing look, "Let's go tell Hotch." Spencer motioned.

"They knew each other?" The sheriff asked Hotch and Morgan as Isabelle and Spencer exited the house.

"Enough to know Rod Norris would enter the back door while smoking."

Hotch nodded, "They also shot Lou savage point blank range already knowing he was dead."

"Sheriff, you know anyone with a personal connection to Rod Norris and Lou savage?" Morgan inquired.

He signed, "I didn't think of it earlier but Owen Savage, Lou's son was dating Jordan Norris."

୨୧

The Savages' house looked like any other, it was a two story white colonial house, with a picket fence.

Once they entered the house Spencer immediately noticed the lack of family pictures, "Did Lou blame his wife and for ending his career in the Marines?" He questioned the Sheriff.

"Lou was a good man."

"A good man that doesn't have a single photograph of his dead wife or son anywhere." Spencer criticized.

Isabelle looked to Spencer, his head hung lower and he kept his arms crossed across his chest.

"Where's Owen's room?" Spencer asked, "Right there." The sheriff pointed down the hall.

Spencer walked toward it, Isabelle following behind.

The walls were covered in various posters, Jonny Cash, James dean's Porsche.

"All his clothes are black." Spencer said, "So he probably identifies with being misunderstood." Isabelle added.

"That doesn't mean anything." Spencer argued.

Isabelle ignored his comment and opened the closet door, "Owen painted his mirrors black."

"Guess he didn't like what he saw."

"Let's head over to the school, talk to the counselor and see what we can find out." Hotch suggested, the two nodded in agreement.

୨୧

"As Owen's counselor, what can you tell us about Jordan and Owen?"

The counselor signed, "Not much, they started dating last year when owen moved to special ed."

"Junior year- Isn't that a bit late?" Isabelle questioned.

"Yes, if he'd been put there for academic reasons."

"So what was the problem?" Spencer asked, "Bad attitude, lack of effort."

"Owen applied himself in some classes, he did very well, but it didn't last." The counselor said, Spencer and Isabelle shared a look.

"Here." He handed the group a copy of Owen's grades.

"The problem wasn't lack of effort or bad attitude." Isa thought out loud.

Spencer nodded, "The A's in math and science tells he's a gifted student, the D's in english and history, that tells us that he had difficulty reading and the "f" in geometry, that indicates a severe problem with spatial relations."

"That's confirmed by his illegible handwriting." Isabelle added. "All consistent with a brilliant but severely learning disabled student."

"Yeah, but his standardized tests didn't support that kind of intelligence." The counselor argued.

Spencer scoffed, "A spatial relations handicap affects your hand-eye coordination, he couldn't fill in an answer bubble any easier than he could hit a baseball."

"Which is why he stayed away from sports." Hotch added.

"Sports was a sore spot with his father- I mean, he joined the wrestling team freshman year just to appease his old man, but, uh... that didn't work out." The counselor hesitantly said.

"He was probably the smartest kid in class, he just couldn't prove it." Spencer said and Isabelle nodded.

"Being the smartest kid in class Is like being the only kid in class." She said, slightly laughing.

"He missed all of it."

"But schools like this can't meet the specialized needs of every student." Hotch said- which was true but still annoyed Spencer and Isabelle.

"He gives it everything he's got, over and over and over again, and continues to fail!" Spencer explained, visibly upset.

Isabelle dug her fingers into her palm to hold back her anger, "And the whole time- the whole time they tell him it's his fault."

"I mean, it makes sense."

"No, it doesn't," Hotch said, "an undiagnosed learning disability does not add up to this level of violence, not without severe emotional abuse."

Isabelle and Spencer knew he was right; They hated it.

Hotch's phone rang, "Morgan, you got something?"

"I found an mpeg on Owen's computer- you gotta see this."

Hotch, Spencer, and Isabelle gathered around the counselor's computer, "I just sent it." Morgan confirmed, "Got it." Hotch replied and opened the video.

It showed Owen in the school locker room, a towel wrapped around his waist.

The boys behind the camera encouraged Owen to drop the towel, claiming that they all had to do it to be apart of the wrestling team.

Hotch closed out of the video, "Did Owen tell you about this?" He asked the counselor.

"He didn't have to- It was posted on the school social networking site, we pulled it down immediately."

Spencer scoffed, "Once it's on the internet, it's out there forever, Owen knew that."

"Did owen tell his father about it?"

"Not at first, but when owen quit the wrestling team, his father confronted him, I mean, he blamed Owen for the whole thing."

"Owen only joined the team to get his father's approval."

"How were these boys punished?" Isabelle questioned.

"Owen identified them, but on film, all we have is their voices- I mean, even if they'd admitted involvement, all they'd have to do is say Owen didn't have to do it."

"He didn't know he was being filmed." Isabelle said in disbelief.

"Look, it's his word against theirs! I mean- Parents will get involved, The school board, lawyers; Cyber-Bullying is a hot issue right now."

"The whole thing would wind up on 60 minutes, how's that gonna help Owen?"

"What did you tell him?" Hotch questioned.

"I told him that dealing with bullies is part of growing up."

"Sounds familiar." She rolled her eyes.

"Boys have a way of sorting these things out for themselves." The counselor clenched his jaw.

"Yeah, they sure do, right now, owen's out there sorting it out with an assault rifle."

authors note!

sorry i didn't update the past two weeks! i'm almost done with my school year and will be able to update more consistently! ^_^