#Household: Troublemakers

[yjhgvf]

Despite the fact that I've said that Deci has measuring tape hair like Milli, I've never actually shown her using it...

Though tbh she mostly just uses her infinite hair length to hang off of stuff (not for super long though bc it hurts her neck)

[dcxdpdabbles]

I found and read this cute story on AO3, about Frostbite being Danny's legal parental guardian. In the story Bruce Wayne runs into Frostbite (in his full yeti glory no disguise) who is setting up for school bake sale. Got me thinking about what if Danny's past rogues took turns filling in and doing parental stuff especially at school functions. Like Frostbite does the bake sale, Pandora shows up for his games, Ghostwriter goes to all of the PTA meetings, Clockwork goes to teacher meetings, so on and so forth.

The 43rd Annual Gotham Academy Bake Sale by Faeriekit

Ohhh, that sounds good! I'll get it a read when I have some time. Thank you for the rec!

Danny Fenton is one of the lucky few who have a very involved household. His various family members would always sign up for any school event the boy needed support in. It didn't mean that the boy won everything, but as a teacher for nine years, Emily has come to learn how much it mattered to just have someone show up.

She had seen students whose entire faces light up after spotting someone in the crowd in the same amount she saw a student's hope crumble after they scanned the room.

Danny was a polite young man, a bit on the shyer side, but kind and not a troublemaker, his previous school had her believe. If anything, he seemed to struggle with fitting in, but no students blatantly disliked him.

The general opinion of Danny matched, as her students would say, "I know him from class, but I don't really talk to him. He seems cool though".

Maybe that's why so many people were supposed by his family to march into the auditorium during Danny's talent show. Seeing him wave at the row before starting his gymnastic act had been such a surprise.

Now, Gotham wasn't a close-knit community, not with the size of their city and the millions of people living within it, but everyone would have noticed that Danny was adopted.

After all, he was the only one that wasn't glowing or a large humanoid animal. They cheered the loudest among the crowd; uncaring Danny got bronze- having lost to Joey's tapping dancing for second and Damian's spectacular multi-instrumental cover of a meme song for first place- and Danny beamed back at them.

Gotham was known for not being meta-friendly, but that was only due to a few mean people who shouted the loudest on media outlets. Many of Emily's students were meta, had family that were meta, or knew someone meta. It wasn't a common enough trait one would encounter a meta on every outing, but you would see them in Gotham well enough.

Everyone knew, but no one said it out loud. In the same way, she knew which students' parents were in the country illegally but worked harder than anyone else. Saying anything would help the cops, or worse, the rich running Gotham.

Even the most prejudiced Gothamite would rather be spat on then give them aid. And those who were so prejudiced to help the poor man's enemies, well, Emily has lived here long enough to know they vanished rather quickly. The smart ones kept their mouths shut.

No one could forget what happened to that guy who accidentally insulted Penguin. His grandmother had been an illegal immigrant on his mother's side.

No one messed with that side of the family.

"Hello, Mrs. Jackson." Danny's adoptive father, Dr. Frostbite said, ducking down to avoid banging his head on the door. On one of his shoulders was a box of hotdog wieners; on the other were multiple bags of bread. "I'm here for my snack bar shift."

Emily tilts her head back to look the Yeti in the eye. He had been shocked the first time they met, but she could admit that Dr. Frostbite was a relatively gentle and wise soul. "Welcome aboard. The girls are just about to take the field. You can put that down by the crock pot over there."

The mountain of white fur brushes by her with the grace of a king as Dr. Frostbite does as she says. There were no customers at the window, so she leaned on the counter and offered him a smile. "Did you enjoy the game?"

"Yes. I was saddened our team did not win, but Danny hit a home run." Dr. Frostbite's sharp smile could have been frightening if he wasn't oozing parental pride. "I caught it all on video."

Emily opens her mouth to respond when a hand lands loudly on the counter with a loud crack. Her heart leaps, and she looks into Danny's Ember. She isn't one of Emily's students, though she does appear to be a teenager in appearance.

You know. If it wasn't for her hair made of fire. Or her blue skin. Or her glow.

"I set a boy on fire," She announces with a cackle.

"That's so?" Dr. Frostbite gently rips open the box, taking out the hotdog packages. With one large claw, he rips a hole into it and lets the few weiners slide into the crockpot with a gentle splash. "What did he do?"

"Tried to slap me on the butt." She huffs, rolling her eyes, but her smirk doesn't lose an edge of smugness.

"Well done." Dr. Frostbite praises placing the lid back on. It always surprised Emily to see such careful actions from the large creature. "I assume you did so out of Pandora's line of sight?"

"Naturally. I don't want her lecturing me in front of the whole community." Ember scoffs, crossing her arms. Behind her, the top of Pandora's head can be seen swinging side to side over the dugout, keeping an eye on the ball.

She was the best volunteer referee because even the parents knew not to shout insulting things when she was present. Emily doesn't think she has had such peaceful games in a long while. Hopefully, Danny will try out again for baseball next year so the woman can return.

"Oh hey, you're Danny's English teacher, right? Mrs. Johnson?" Ember asks, leaning on the counter to give Emily a curious look.

When the blond nods, holding out her hand for a shake. "That's right. It's nice to see you again, Ember."

The girl's hair flairs a little as a grin grows on her face. Her hand is ice cold to the touch, but she's got a firm grip that her husband would appreciate. "Likewise. I got a message for you from Ghostwriter. He sent the notes for the last PTA meeting to you and the revision playwright for the musical you two were working on."

Emily's mood brightens up. "That's wonderful. Could you tell him I'll check it out when I get home and get to my laptop since my phone broke in the last Two-Face attack?"

Ember's hair flickers in the wind when she nods, but Danny bounces right up behind her just as she opens her mouth to speak. He's wearing his Gotham Acadamy Baseball uniform with pride despite them losing. "Hey, Frostbite, can I go with Tim and Duke to get Peoeria Pizza? We'll be back before the girl's game ends."

"Only if you take Ember with you," Dr.Frostbite says, nodding to his daughter, who looks alarmed to be included. "She needs more friends."

"Hey!"

"Sure. Come on, Ember, you'll get along with Duke. He likes old-school rock."

"It's not old-school!"

Emily laughs, watching the two siblings bicker as they stride away, blending into the crowd with no one batting an eye at the glowing girl anymore. How blessed that boy was.

"I'm glad Danny has gotten comfortable here. I always worried he never was going to have a normal childhood." Dr. Frostbite confesses to swirling the hotdogs around in the water to ensure each one is cooked.

"I think you and the rest are doing a wonderful job. You're a great father." She assures him, thinking wistfully of her William. He's been on deployment for a few months now and will likely miss the holidays again, but his contract is almost up. They may try for a child when he gets in the reserves. "How are things at the clinic?"

"Oh, wonderful. I'm grateful that Mr. Wayne has allowed the expansion of Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic. Dr. Thompkins will be covering the east side of Gotham while I help those on the west. It's much more fulfilling than working in some hospital that demands funds for the silliest things. Back home, that would have been illegal. The people would have burned me at the stake if I had allowed anyone to pass away due to greed."

"My kind of people." She laughs. A sharp crack sounds from the field as the bat makes contact with the ball, and the crowd goes wild. It's a wonderful day.

[pretend-i-don-t-exist]

ok back to that time travel au

it doesn't take long before people begin to point out the inconsistencies between sy's and sj's behavior with suspicion. after all, sy's generally sunny disposition is rather striking when compared to sj's aloofness and cold expressions. that could be attributed to a life-changing event or enlightenment, but still, people gossip, and with sj's reputation, they talk about it badly.

so sy, in a panic, tries to subtly show his similarities with sj. it doesn't go very well, like all his plans. but when he does give up, they are suddenly very similar.

sy, fussing over the junior disciples of qing jing peak: do you remember what to do?

yqy, about to reassure sy that the disciples will be safe on their one day field trip with qiong ding's disciples: ?

the disciples: make sure we always have our robes and guans with protective arrays on! also create a protective array on the ground and on our tents and ban intruders! never agree to anything qiong ding says and keep everything we say vague! always establish an oath if we do agree to anything. and if they try to hurt us, kill them and go to shizun because he will take care of it!

sy, proud: good.

yqy, remembering sj's paranoia: *worry intensifies*

qqq, in a peak lord meeting: so there is this one disciple i have that has a horrible, abusive husband. she's planning on running away, will it be feasible for qiong ding and an ding to create a new identity for her?

sy, reading a book bc all pl meetings are boring past or present or future: she should kill her husband. brutally. piece of shit.

the peak lords: ...

sy, an overprotective brother to one adorable and troublemaking little sister: should burn down the household too before she leaves. better yet, fake her death in the fire.

sj, strangely proud and comforted bc this kinder version of him also has his viciousness: and make sure there are no witnesses and evidence left behind.

sy, remembering qiu haitang, staring at sj: yes. make sure there are no witnesses left behind.

[betweenstorms]

Part One of Where We Part (next chapter) (masterlist) Childhood Friend!Simon x fem!Reader

Before he was Ghost, he was Simon Riley.

A quiet boy with eyes too old for his young face, always watching, always listening—

—always alone.

You had known him for as long as you could remember.

He was the lanky boy next door, the one with too much burden in his eyes, the one who never talked about the bruises or the shouting that came from his house at night. Even as kids, there was something about him that set him apart, something that made you want to protect him, even though he never let you. But you’d always notice the new bruises on his arms, the way his hazel eyes would darken whenever Tommy, his younger brother dragged him into trouble and the way he seemed to flinch at loud noises, at sudden movements.

Tommy Riley was loud, rude, and as wild as a storm untethered.

He was a real troublemaker, you never trusted his cruel grin and his rude words, never felt safe near the sharp edges of his temper. He thrived on chaos, a force of destruction that couldn’t be tamed, while Simon stood in his shadow, as if he lived solely as an apology—for his brother’s recklessness, for his family’s dysfunctionality and even for his own existence.

You were the neighbour’s only child, the one who never quite understood why Simon kept so much distance between you.

Something about him tugged at you—a quiet pull that made you want to reach into the cold and offer him the warmth of your world. You felt a strange protectiveness over him, as if it was your duty as someone older than him, some unspoken responsibility you carried without question. Through your school years, you kept watch over him, whether he knew it or not. When the students mocked him you were there, standing up for him, silencing the cruel whispers, even when it cost you friendships. There were many disturbing rumours about the Rileys, but you shut them down, defending a boy who never asked for it, who seemed more annoyed by your efforts than grateful.

You weren’t friends, after all, not really.

He never showed any sign that he wanted your help. But still, you couldn’t stop yourself. Something deep inside told you it was the right thing to do, even if Simon would never see it.

However, your parents, like most of the neighbourhood, kept their distance from the Rileys. It wasn’t something openly discussed, only whispered behind cupped hands at the local market, murmured in the pews of the church, or exchanged in knowing glances at school gates. Yet those looks exchanged between the adults made it clear—people didn’t want to get involved. The Rileys were trouble, everyone said, and it was best to leave them to their own devices.

You were forbidden from playing with Simon or Tommy, even though they were the only children near your age on the street.

It was a rule you didn’t quite understand as a kid but followed anyway, wishing things could be different. You were young then, far too young and innocent to grasp the weight of the shadows that lingered in the Riley household.

You didn’t know why Mr. Riley’s shouts echoed through the night, why Mrs. Riley wore bruises like secret confessions beneath her smile, why Simon’s silence felt heavy, like a wound too deep to heal. Their world felt so different from yours, a place of suffering you couldn’t quite touch. But as the years slipped by, as childhood faded into adolescence, the picture began to sharpen. With it, your protectiveness over Simon deepened, as the reality of what his father was doing became impossible to ignore. Understanding bloomed where innocence once was, and with it, the weight of knowing.

You couldn’t fathom how your parents, with their kind hearts and warm smiles, could do nothing.

How they could turn their backs on Mrs. Riley, her frail form draped in sorrow, and her two children, who so clearly needed help. You didn’t understand why they never returned Mrs. Riley’s weak greetings, why they closed themselves off from her suffering. It baffled you how they could step over Tommy, sprawled on their porch, drunk or worse, as if he were just another mess to be swept away.

But what haunted you most was their indifference to Simon—the boy your age, thin as a whisper, burdened with bruises no child should carry. How could they look at him and not see? How could they not feel the silent plea in his eyes? Where was their empathy for a child, for a boy who wore his misery like a second skin?

Oh, Simon.

His hazel eyes stayed with you, always, like shadows that linger long after the sun sets. There was something far too ancient in them, like he’d seen too much for someone who hadn’t yet grown into his own skin. They held a weariness that made you wonder what horrors had carved their marks so deeply into him. The whispers followed him everywhere, rumours circling like vultures over carrion. You didn’t know where they came from, Tommy’s careless tongue, or maybe the other nosy students who relished the cruelty of gossip, but they stained everything, leaving you wondering what was real.

You heard that Mr. Riley brought all kinds of dangerous animals into their home, taunting Simon with them, forcing him to kiss a snake, like it was some twisted game, some kind of sick power move. And then there were the stories of his father dragging him to those grim concerts, where violence blurred into spectacle.

They said he’d made Simon laugh at the overdose of a prostitute, made him witness things no child should ever see. You didn’t know if it was all true, but it didn’t matter. The shadow of those stories lingered over him, heavy and unshakable, and you could see it in the way the boy carried himself, in the haunted quiet of his presence.

There was a summer day, thick with heat and sorrow, that still clung to you like a forgotten song.

You were only nineteen that July, on the cusp of leaving behind the life you knew, ready to escape to the vastness of London and its promise of university, independence, and everything adulthood might hold. It was one of those warm, languid August evenings, where the sky blushed pink and gold, and the air was alive with the buzz of cicadas and the scent of overripe grass. You were out with your dear friends from high school, celebrating the end of an era. There was laughter, careless and sweet, the kind that only comes after a few too many drinks. A can of cheap beer was cradled in your hand as you leaned back in the passenger seat of your friend’s car, music pulsing around you like a heartbeat as you drove aimlessly through the familiar streets of your suburban neighbourhood.

The night felt like a farewell, a last taste of youth before everything shifted into the unknown. You giggled at something absurd, head dizzy and spinning, when suddenly, through the haze of the moment, you saw him.

Simon Riley.

There was something achingly bittersweet in seeing him there, swallowed by the dusk, his figure hunched as always.

Something inside you shifted, a strange ache that mingled with the buzz of the celebration—a mixture of nostalgia and sorrow that you couldn’t quite place. The guilt of childhoods lived on parallel tracks, always near, but never close enough.

Maybe it was the booze loosening your thoughts, making everything softer and hazier, or maybe it was the looming departure that made everything feel both fleeting and too permanent at once.

“Slow down,” you blurted out, your voice almost drowned out by the music. Your friend gave you a puzzled look, but complied, easing the car to a crawl. 

Simon walked on, dull eyes cast down like he had grown used to the world pretending not to see him.

“Riley,” you called out, your voice weak and unsure. “Fancy a ride?”

Your friends hissed, their voices sharp with confusion and disbelief. “What are you doin’?” one of them asked, eyes wide in the rearview mirror. “Girl, you’re mental!” another laughed, but their words were just background noise to you.

Your gaze stayed locked on Simon Riley, unwavering, even as embarrassment burned at the back of your neck.

For a moment, it felt as though time stretched impossibly thin, the space between you and him suspended in something fragile and delicate. And then, slowly, Simon stopped.

He furrowed his brows when he recognized you, the corners of his lips tightening in that way that told you he was already annoyed.

You flashed him a drunken smile, but it was crooked, empty, a weak imitation of your usual confidence. You leaned your chin on your palm, trying to ignore the sudden flood of emotions rising in your chest. You studied him, trying to find traces of the boy you once knew under the young man he’d become.

“So?” You asked, feeling exposed, a little too vulnerable under his gaze. Embarrassment and sadness twined together like vines around your ribs, squeezing tightly.

Simon’s response was cold, clipped, dismissive.

“Don’t need a ride.”

His voice was deeper, rougher than you remembered, gruff with the weight of years that had passed since you last spoke. Had it really been that long? Long enough that you had forgotten what he even sounded like?

“Oh, you sure? We're headin’ that way anyway,” you hummed, trying to keep your tone light, though something in you was desperate, like this fleeting encounter needed to mean more than it did. But Simon just scoffed, a sound that cut through the night like a blade.

He turned away, resuming his walk down the pavement.

Your friends erupted into giggles, snickering at the awkwardness of the situation, their teasing only deepening the strange ache in your chest. But you tuned them out. With a sigh, you made up your mind. Fueled by guilt, nostalgia, and a bit of reckless drunkenness, you reached for the door handle.

“See y'all tomorrow,” you muttered, stepping out of the car before any of them could protest. One of your friends called, but you didn’t look back and didn't offer any explanation.

Without another thought, you hurried after Simon, your footsteps quickening as if you could somehow close the long years of distance in a single stride.

He didn’t stop for you.

He didn’t even turn to acknowledge you as you caught up, breathing rapidly, walking beside him. Meanwhile, the car pulled away, loud music fading into the distance, leaving you two in suffocating silence. His head was bent low, gaze fixed on the cracked pavement beneath his feet, but you kept your eyes on him—on his broad shoulders that seemed too tense compared to yours.

For what felt like an eternity, neither of you spoke.

The night pressed down on you, the air too warm for comfort. Your face was flushed, whether from the alcohol coursing through your veins or the awkwardness of trailing after Simon, you couldn’t be sure. Each step felt heavier than the last, the distance between you palpable even though you two were side by side.

It was hard to keep your balance, the world around you tilting ever so slightly with each step. You stumbled once, your foot catching the edge of the pavement, and cursed under your breath as you regained your footing. You could have sworn you heard Simon sigh, a quiet, annoyed sound, barely more than a breath, but it stung nonetheless.

“So,” you chuckled, desperate to fill the growing silence. Your voice sounded too loud, too false against the quiet of the neighbourhood. “Workin’ late, huh? Mum told me you got a job at the butcher’s. The one near the market, right?”

Simon didn’t answer immediately.

His gaze remained fixed ahead. For a fleeting second, you thought that he might ignore you entirely. But then, in that low, gravelly tone, he muttered, “Yeah. S’what I do.”

His response was clipped, offering no room for conversation, but you pressed on. “Must be rough, that. The long shifts, I mean. Can’t be easy workin’ with knives and saws all day.”

Simon glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable in the dim glow of the streetlights.

“It pays the bills,” he muttered, his voice flat. There was no hint of the boy you once knew, just a hardened young man who had learned long ago not to rely on anyone.

The conversation died again, leaving only the sound of your footsteps against the pavement. You swallowed hard, guilt rising again like a tide, mingling with the familiar ache of melancholy that always seemed to creep in when you thought of him.

Simon Riley had always been on the edge of your life, a shadow lingering just out of reach. You had never really known him, not truly. He was a figure cast in half-light, always present but never close enough to collide with. You had always watched him from afar, tried to stand up for him when the world became too cruel, but what had any of it meant? He never asked for your help, never even hinted that he needed it. So why bother now?

Simon hadn’t asked for your company—he never had.

And now, standing next to him, you felt that distance more acutely than ever. His silence was loud, louder than anything he could have said, and it left you feeling small, foolish.

The streetlights cast long shadows over the cracked pavement, the distant hum of the city the only sound filling the void. The warm summer night, which had felt so light and carefree only moments ago, now seemed oppressive, weighing down on your shoulders like an invisible burden. Before you could open your mouth to say something uncomfortable again, Simon’s voice cut through the air, sharp and laced with irritation.

“You don’t need to do this.”

You blinked, the alcohol making your thoughts slow to catch up. “Do what?”

Simon glanced at you, his hazel eyes dark and distant, a flicker of something hard lingering just beneath the surface.

“This,” he gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Pity. Guilt. Or whatever it is that’s makin’ you follow me right now.”

Pity? Guilt? That wasn’t what this was—was it? No, of course not. You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him he was wrong, that you weren’t here out of some misguided sense of obligation. But the look on his face stopped you. It was a look of exhaustion, of someone who had heard this all before, someone who had learned not to trust the intentions of others.

“I’m not—”

“I know you’re leavin’,” Simon murmured, his tone dry. “Heard your folks talkin’ about it. You’re off to London, right? So, whatever this is, don’t bother.”

The embarrassment burned hot and heavy in your chest, spreading to your cheeks and ears.

“Look, I’m not tryin’ to—”

Simon shook his head, his expression hardening. “Don’t. I don’t need your bloody charity, alright? I mean it. I don’t need your… whatever the fuck this is.”

The words struck you like a fist to the chest, stealing the air from your lungs.

You halted in your tracks, and to your surprise, he did the same. The space between you felt heavier now, like it carried the weight of all the years that had passed, thick with everything unsaid. You bit down on your lower lip, your gaze lifting slowly, hesitantly, to meet his.

He towered over you now, though once you’d been the taller one. Despite the age gap, despite the fact that you were older than him, Simon seemed like someone who had long since outgrown you, both physically and mentally.

Funny, how time had stretched and twisted between you both, long enough to turn everything unfamiliar. It had been so long, too long, hadn’t it? Since you’d last spoken to him properly. Long enough that you couldn’t quite place when the shift had happened, when Simon had become a stranger to you, a distant figure in your memory rather than the boy next door.

“I don’t wanna leave like this,” you whispered, dropping your gaze to your feet, your voice barely louder than the rustle of leaves in the warm night air. Your hands itched with nervous energy, and you scratched your elbow, trying to anchor yourself. “I know we weren’t exactly friends, but that doesn’t mean I never cared. About you, I mean. And I—” you paused, the words tangling on your tongue, too clumsy, too inadequate for the heaviness in your chest. “But you’re right. It doesn’t matter now.”

Simon sighed again.

He ran a hand over his face, rubbing at the corners of his eyes like he was too tired for this, too tired for you. The way he looked at you, it was like you were the one out of place, like he was the older one, the wiser one. There was something in his gaze that cut deeper than any words ever could, something that said he didn’t know what to do with you. Not now, not then, maybe not ever.

For a long moment, he said nothing, just stared, as if deciding whether it was even worth responding.

“The only advice I can give you,” he said, each word deliberate, like he was choosing them with care, “is to live your life. ‘Cause that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. And if we’re lucky, we’ll never have to think about each other ever again.”

The deadpan delivery should’ve stung, should’ve hurt more than it did, instead, you found yourself chuckling softly, soft and bitter at the same time. The absurdity of it, of this whole encounter, made you want to cry and laugh in equal measure. Somehow, he’d managed to diffuse the tension in the most Simon way possible.

But still, it felt like it had always been there, hadn’t it? Unsaid words, missed chances, a history that never was.

You looked up at him, your lips twitching into a small, fragile smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Is that your idea of a pep talk?” you said, trying to make light of the ache that had settled deep in your bones.

Simon tilted his head slightly, watching you with those unreadable hazel eyes. “Not really my strong suit, is it?” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse.

“No, not at all.”

He looked at you, his eyes still guarded, as though he was searching for something in your expression that he couldn’t quite find. Yet he didn’t flinch, didn’t soften. Didn’t return the smile either. Instead, he shrugged with a kind of finality that made your heart sink.

Simon nodded towards the road ahead.

“It’s late. I’ll walk you home.”

The offer was simple, but it carried an underlying meaning, like it was both a farewell and an acknowledgment that, despite everything, you had once meant something to him, even if only in passing.

There was something about his detachment, his unwillingness to engage with the past, that hurt more than you expected. Maybe you had wanted some closure, some understanding from him, a sign that what you felt wasn’t one-sided all these years. But Simon wasn’t offering that. He wasn’t offering anything at all.

You didn’t argue.

You didn’t even protest that you were fine on your own, that you didn’t need his protection. Instead, you forced a weak smile onto your face and started walking, hoping the darkness would hide the tears pricking at your eyes. The sound of your footsteps seemed louder now, echoing against the stillness of the night, as if you were both walking away from something you couldn’t quite name.

“Y’know, not too long ago, I used to walk you home after church on Sundays. When your mum went to the market. Remember?”

Simon didn’t say anything.

You thought maybe he hadn’t heard you, but then he hummed, a low, almost noncommittal sound. He wasn’t the boy who needed walking home anymore, and you weren’t the one who could offer him safety.

The walk was silent.

But what had you expected, really? That he’d thank you for some half-hearted attempt at connection after all these years? That he’d open up, that there would be a cathartic moment where you’d both acknowledge the traumatic childhood you shared with him and walk away with some semblance of peace?

Still, it was strange, walking side by side with someone who felt like a stranger, yet also someone you had known your entire life.

The short walk to your parents' house felt longer than it should have. As you approached the familiar gate, the scent of roses hit you, your mother’s prized bush blooming full and red next to the fence.

Simon stopped just outside your childhood home, as if some invisible boundary had been set between him and you. His eyes glanced at the rose bush, then back at you, his expression unreadable, that same distant mask he had worn for years.

“Thanks for walkin’ me home,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, though you weren’t sure why you felt the need to lower it. It wasn’t likely that your parents would be waiting behind the curtains, watching this uncomfortable farewell.

They never cared much for Simon anyway.

His face was shadowed by the dim light that illuminated the porch, but you could see his hazel eyes flicker as they scanned your features, taking you in like he was committing this moment to memory. And for a fleeting second, it was as if you weren’t standing on the cusp of goodbye, as if you were still those two awkward kids, stuck in a world neither of you could quite escape.

You did the same. Your eyes traced the sharp lines of his face, his sandy blonde hair, his broad shoulders, the faint stubble along his jawline that he hadn’t had when you last saw him. There was something fragile about this moment, a shared understanding that neither of you would speak of, but it was there all the same.

Before you could second-guess yourself, before you could let the fear of rejection stop you, you took a step forward and wrapped your arms around him. The contact was sudden, your body instinctively pulling him into a hug that neither of you expected.

It was an impulsive decision, a desperate, clumsy attempt to offer some comfort, to bridge the gap between the boy you once knew and the man standing before you. You pulled him into you, your blushed face pressing against his hard chest. For a heartbeat, he froze, stiff beneath your touch, and you immediately regretted it.

You didn’t know why you did it.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the lingering guilt, the sense that you had never done enough, never said enough. But as soon as you felt the warmth of his body against yours, the solidness of him, you realised your mistake. This wasn’t the kind of goodbye Simon wanted. You pulled away quickly, your cheeks burning with embarrassment, your heart racing.

“Take care, Si,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t wait for him to respond, didn’t dare look at his face to gauge his reaction. Instead, you turned on your heel, practically fleeing up the path to your front door, leaving him standing there beneath the roses—roses that were as red as your cheeks, blooming in the quiet of the night.

[cumironi]

THAT TIME OF THE YEAR : TOJI FUSHIGURO

spooky season is your two boys’ favorite month out of the year. they will take halloween to another level with their stupid prank and their obnoxious self. (credit)

warning. established relationship, non-sorcerer, megs is three.

october was always a special month in your house, especially with your two favorite boys: your husband and your son. halloween brought out an extra spark in both of them. for toji, it was all about scaring the living daylights out of you at every turn; for your son, it was an endless excuse to indulge in as much candy as his little hands could grab. together, they were the ultimate halloween duo, and they made sure every night was full of fun, frights, and family bonding.

every evening, the three of you would cozy up on the couch, draped in halloween blankets, surrounded by pillows covered in tiny pumpkins and ghosts. the night began with spooky cartoons for megumi, gradually building up to horror movies that made you jump with every scare. it didn’t help that toji took every opportunity to add to the horror, sneaking up on you in the dark or making the house creak in just the right spots to give you chills. megumi, meanwhile, giggled at every one of his father’s pranks, clinging to you in excitement every time the movie reached a scary part.

decorating the house was another thrill entirely. toji insisted on going all out, hanging fake cobwebs on every wall, sticking glow-in-the-dark spiders to the ceiling, and even placing a life-sized skeleton by the front door to spook anyone who dared to visit. megumi helped, eagerly grabbing handfuls of fake bats and pumpkins to scatter around the living room. you let him stick the bat decals on the windows, watching his eyes light up as he carefully placed each one, talking excitedly about his plans to “scare all the monsters” away.

and then there were the costumes. toji, knowing your household’s halloween excitement, had gone above and beyond by sending over matching costumes for all of you. “just a little family fun,” he’d said, though you suspected he was reveling in the idea of seeing you all dressed up. the first box you opened held matching vampire costumes, complete with tiny fangs for megumi and a dramatic cape for toji that he wore with far too much pride. another box had skeleton onesies, which made megumi squeal in excitement, and of course, the classic pumpkin outfits that had you all laughing so hard you were nearly in tears.

it was the perfect blend of spooky, silly, and sweet—your little family creating memories in a halloween wonderland, one costume and candy bar at a time.

stepping out of your bedroom, you were greeted by the stillness of the house, a quiet that was almost too quiet. usually, there was the faint sound of toji’s steady footsteps, or the familiar soft noises from the tv, maybe even megumi’s playful laughter filling the air. but today, the silence seemed to linger, thick and expectant. instinctively, you felt your guard go up a little, knowing that your two favorite troublemakers were probably lying in wait, planning to jump out and startle you at any second. with halloween right around the corner, their pranks had become even more relentless.

smiling to yourself, you made your way down the hallway, keeping your eyes casually peeled for any flicker of movement. as you turned the corner, passing by the living room, something outside caught your attention. you stopped mid-stride, your gaze pulling toward the large window. there, across the street, the once-empty house stood in stark contrast to its quiet surroundings. a moving truck was parked in the driveway, its back open and overflowing with boxes, furniture, and household items. a handful of people moved back and forth, unloading and organizing, their voices carrying faintly through the early morning air.

a small flicker of surprise mixed with curiosity as you watched. the house had been vacant for so long that you'd almost grown used to the sight of its empty driveway and dark windows. seeing life there now, the bustle of activity, felt like an unexpected change—a new piece settling into the familiar puzzle of your neighborhood.

“well,” you murmured to yourself, a slight smile tugging at the corner of your mouth, “someone finally moved in.” your voice was soft, almost lost in the quietness of the room, but the words held a certain warmth, a bit of welcome for the unseen neighbors across the street.

you lingered for a moment, watching them go about their work, wondering what they’d be like. would they be friendly? reserved? or maybe they’d have kids who would join megumi in his little neighborhood adventures. the thought made you chuckle, imagining your son roping in yet another person into his halloween antics.

finally, you tore your gaze from the window and continued your path to the kitchen, the need for a warm cup of tea pulling you back into the routine of the morning.

you were in the middle of pouring hot water over your tea leaves, the soothing scent wafting up as you busied yourself with the morning routine. but then, a faint, haunting tune drifted into the kitchen—a melody so unmistakable, it sent a chill up your spine. the michael myers theme. you froze, brows knitting together in confusion, until you looked toward the large window that gave you a view of the front yard.

outside, right at the edge of your property, stood two figures. one towered over six feet tall, their body broad and muscular, while the other was smaller, tiny in comparison. both were dressed in full michael myers costumes, their faces obscured by the eerie, pale masks. the larger figure was seated at a piano, somehow dragged onto the lawn, fingers moving ominously over the keys. meanwhile, the smaller one—who looked eerily like your son—was doing a little dance in front, his moves synchronized to the creepy beat. both were facing the house of your new neighbors, like some twisted ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ display.

your eyes squinted, trying to make sense of the bizarre scene, but the realization hit you like a freight train. it was toji and megumi. a mix of horror and exasperation washed over you as your eyes went wide. you barely took a breath before you muttered, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” and quickly turned off the stove, abandoning your tea.

moving as fast as you could, you made a beeline for the front door, already imagining what kind of impression this little ‘performance’ would make on the unsuspecting newcomers. as you reached the door, you could hear toji’s deep chuckle even from inside, clearly enjoying every second of the prank. it was obvious this was his idea—megumi just his willing accomplice.

bursting out of the door, you hurried across the lawn, ignoring the curious looks from some neighbors peeking out their windows. “toji!” you whisper-shouted, trying not to make too much of a scene but already knowing that was a losing battle.

you glanced down at little megumi, whose enthusiasm was evident despite the mask. his tiny frame, barely reaching toji’s thighs, was bouncing with excitement as he held up a plastic knife—though, much to your horror, he had it sticking through one of the eye holes in his michael myers mask.

“megumi,” you began, struggling to keep a straight face, “you’re absolutely adorable, baby, but for the hundredth time—take the knife out of your eye, please.”

he paused, looking up at you with a glimmer of mischief as he slowly lowered the fake knife. “it’s scarier this way, mom,” he replied, sounding all too serious for a kid his age. you couldn’t help but chuckle at his dedication to the act, but a look over at toji confirmed your suspicion that he was the mastermind behind the “knife-through-the-eye” idea.

toji’s head tilted up slightly, those familiar green eyes glinting mischievously behind the mask. he slowed his playing but didn’t stop, while megumi just turned to give you a small, amused wave before going back to his exaggerated dance moves.

just as you’re about to speak, a voice called out from across the street. you looked up to find two men watching the scene unfold—one tall with stark white hair and the other with long, dark hair, both wearing expressions that looked equal parts amused and bewildered. near them were two kids about megumi’s age: a boy with a shock of pink hair and a girl with short ginger-colored hair. all of them seemed captivated by the bizarre performance happening on your lawn.

your cheeks flushed as you realized they’d been watching the entire time, and you let out a sheepish laugh, raising a hand in an awkward wave. “i promise we’re normal... well, at least 11 months out of the year!” you half-shouted across the street, your voice laced with a mixture of embarrassment and humor.

the white-haired man let out a deep laugh, clearly entertained. “oh, don’t worry, we’re all for a little halloween spirit,” he called back, grinning. the dark-haired man beside him shook his head, though you could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he held back a laugh.

the kids, meanwhile, seemed more than intrigued, their eyes sparkling with excitement as they whispered to each other. the boy with pink hair pointed at megumi, who was still brandishing his plastic knife with pride, while the girl watched, already sizing up his costume.

toji didn’t miss a beat as the neighbors began walking over, his fingers still gliding across the keyboard with dramatic flair. his eyes flicked to you briefly, a playful challenge in his gaze, daring you to try and make him stop.

you let out an exasperated sigh and rolled your eyes, marching over to him and giving him a firm smack on the back of his head. “enough, toji!” you muttered through clenched teeth, trying to hide the grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “the neighbors are coming over, and you’re about two seconds away from terrifying them out of town.”

toji chuckled, continuing to play his ominous tune as he looked up at you. “lighten up, love. it’s all in good halloween spirit,” he said, his eyes crinkling with amusement behind his mask. you couldn’t help but shake your head, trying to resist the urge to laugh at his ridiculous antics.

the neighbors finally approached, the two men offering polite waves as the kids looked on, their expressions a mix of curiosity and delight. they seemed to take the display in stride, treating it as just another quirky neighborhood occurrence.

the two men extended friendly smiles, each one exuding a different type of charm. the tall, white-haired man with bright blue eyes stepped forward first, a grin plastered on his face that seemed as wide as the moon.

“i’m gojo satoru,” he said with a playful glint in his eye, offering his hand. “and this is my husband, geto suguru,” he added, gesturing to the dark-haired man beside him, who greeted you with a warm nod and a more reserved smile.

“we noticed your… uh, halloween spirit,” geto added, his smile deepening as he cast a sidelong glance at toji, who was clearly reveling in the entire scene.

before you could respond, the kids had already gravitated toward megumi, their own curiosity and excitement uncontained. the pink-haired boy waved enthusiastically, introducing himself with a big grin. “i’m yuuji itadori!” he said, his voice bursting with energy, “and this is nobara kugisaki,” he added, nodding toward the red-haired girl beside him, who wore a confident, no-nonsense expression.

megumi, still holding onto his plastic knife on the eye hole of his mask, looked at them through his mask’s eye holes, a spark of excitement in his eyes. he lowered the knife, waving back with a shy but intrigued look.

“i’m megumi,” he said simply, and before you knew it, the three of them were deep in conversation, already planning a halloween adventure that you could only imagine would be both thrilling and chaotic.

“looks like they’re already fast friends,” you chuckled, watching the kids with a fond smile.

smiling, you nodded in return. “nice to meet you both. i’m y/n, and this is my husband, toji,” you said, glancing up at him. toji finally lifted the michael myers mask, pushing it up to reveal his face. his sharp gaze, set jaw, a scar across his lips, and faint smirk had gojo blinking, momentarily taken aback before he broke into a grin.

“you guys don’t mess around, do you?” gojo said, chuckling as he took in toji’s intimidating appearance.

toji shrugged, crossing his arms with a casual ease. “we’re serious about halloween,” he replied, his tone a mix of dry humor and pride. he made his way over to you, slinging an arm around your waist. his touch was always casual but reassuring.

he was so close that you could smell the lingering scent of his cologne mingled with the crisp autumn air. his thumb grazed your hip in a small, intimate gesture that sent a familiar shiver down your spine. his presence was always comforting, yet at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel a tiny pang of embarrassment at the spectacle toji was making. you didn’t mind a bit of mischief, but this was a new neighborhood, and first impressions were important.

you cleared your throat softly, glancing back at gojo and geto with a slightly embarrassed smile. “i’m really sorry about these two,” you said, nodding toward toji and megumi, who was now giving nobara a serious demonstration of his fake knife skills. “they get a little… overly excited for halloween. it’s kind of their favorite time of year.”

the two men shared an amused glance before turning back to you, their expressions understanding. “don’t worry,” gojo said. “i totally get it. halloween brings out the craziness in everyone, doesn’t it?” his toothy grin grew wider as he looked over at megumi and nobara, who were now both brandishing their plastic knives like they were swords.

geto shook his head slightly, his lips quirking into a smile. “it’s nice to see such enthusiasm for the holiday. and your husband seems like quite the character as well,” he added with a nod toward toji who’s still standing beside you.

toji simply chuckled in response, his arm still casually wrapped around your waist. he watched as megumi and nobara dueled with their pretend weapons, his expression a mix of pride and amusement. “what can i say? halloween is our time to shine,” toji said, looking at you with that familiar spark in his eye.

gojo chuckled, his grin widening as he watched the scene unfold. “honestly, i respect the dedication. halloween should be a full-production event, don’t you think, suguru?” geto nodded, his smile warm and reassuring. “absolutely. it’s good to see people who go all out. besides, i think it’s rubbing off on the kids—they already seem like best friends.”

you looked back at toji, who gave a slight, unapologetic smirk as he caught your gaze, his thumb brushing lightly over your hip in a way that reminded you exactly why you loved his confidence, even if it did border on outrageous at times. it was moments like these that you could see how much fun he had with megumi, encouraging that playful side, even if it sometimes made for interesting introductions.

“well,” you sighed, turning back to your new neighbors, “at least they’re enthusiastic.”

geto’s eyes sparkled with a warm, inviting smile as he looked at you. “you guys should definitely stop by for trick-or-treating later,” he said, his tone light but sincere. “we might not have all the decorations up just yet, but i promise, we’ve got the best candy.”

his gaze shifted briefly to megumi, who was still showing off his michael myers costume with a serious expression, and geto chuckled softly. “i’m sure yuuji and nobara would love to have some company for the night. we could even make it a little neighborhood halloween kick-off.”

there was a genuine warmth in his voice, a subtle excitement that told you he wasn’t just being polite; he genuinely wanted to get to know your family and share in the halloween spirit. his easy smile and welcoming demeanor made it feel like this might just be the beginning of a new friendship.

you felt your heart warm at geto’s easy kindness, and you found yourself nodding with a smile. “we’d love to,” you replied, glancing at megumi, who looked thrilled at the thought of spending halloween with new friends.

toji, standing beside you with a relaxed grin, let out a chuckle. “oh, we’ll definitely be there,” he said, his eyes glinting with amusement. “can’t let the best candy in the neighborhood go to waste, right?” his arm found its way around your shoulders, pulling you close as he continued, “besides, someone has to make sure you two aren’t just bluffing about the candy quality.”

geto laughed at your husband’s teasing comment, a warm chuckle that filled the air with a sense of camaraderie. “we’ll make sure not to disappoint in that department. our house will be a must-visit on halloween night, no doubt about it,” he said, his voice carrying enthusiasm that mirrored yours. the idea of forming new friendships so soon in the neighborhood filled you with a mix of anticipation and comfort, and you were happy to find that your new neighbors seemed to share the same eagerness.

after spending a moment with your new neighbors, you finally stepped back inside with megumi in your arms, his mask now set aside, and toji casually draping his arm around your waist as he walked beside you. the warmth of your home felt like a cozy contrast to the crisp, autumn air outside, and the three of you made your way to the couch, settling in for some downtime together.

you shifted megumi in your lap, playfully poking his little bolted tummy. “you’re such a scary little thing, you know that?” you teased, your voice filled with exaggerated seriousness.

megumi’s reaction was immediate—a burst of giggles as he squirmed, trying to dodge your finger. “no, mama! i’m not scary!” he squealed, his small hands batting at yours as if to defend his tummy.

toji chuckled softly from his spot beside you, one arm still lazily wrapped around you while he watched the two of you with a grin. “oh, i dunno,” he drawled, reaching over to ruffle megumi’s hair. “i think you had all the neighbors spooked. you really pulled off that michael myers act, kiddo.”

megumi looked up at toji with a wide-eyed grin, as if realizing the compliment was as good as a badge of honor. “did i scare you, papa?”

toji raised an eyebrow, pretending to think it over. “hmm... maybe a little. you’re lucky i didn’t run away screaming,” he joked, which only made megumi giggle harder.

you couldn’t help but smile at the two of them, warmth spreading through you as you watched them. with a sigh of contentment, you leaned into toji, letting the comfort of your family’s presence sink in. “guess we’ll have to keep an eye on you, baby,” you said, tickling him one last time. “we can’t have a little monster running around unchecked.”

megumi beamed, resting his head on your shoulder as his laughter finally softened, his small arms wrapping around you. nestled between you and toji, he looked utterly content, his little halloween antics forgotten for now—until the next big scare he was already planning.

you smiled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from megumi’s face before leaning down to plant a gentle kiss on his chubby cheek. his skin was warm against your lips, and he looked up at you with wide eyes, a soft blush dusting his cheeks at the attention. “are you excited about your new friends, baby?” you asked, your voice gentle and encouraging as you met his gaze.

megumi nodded eagerly, his eyes shining with anticipation. “uh-huh!” he said, his voice filled with a mixture of shyness and excitement. his small hands fiddled with the fabric of his halloween costume, unable to contain his emotions.

toji leaned over, ruffling megumi’s hair playfully. “looks like someone’s already won over the neighborhood,” he said, his voice full of pride. he looked at you, a smirk. “who knew our little terror was such a social butterfly?” he teased, his gaze flickering with warmth as he glanced between you and megumi.

you smiled warmly, your heart swelling as you took in the sight of your son’s excited, flushed face. reaching out, you gently brushed your thumb over his chubby cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin as he fidgeted with the fabric of his costume, still caught up in the thrill of meeting new friends.

“so,” you asked softly, your voice tender, “do you like your new friends, sweetie?”

megumi nodded, his little face lighting up as he met your gaze. “uh-huh! they’re really nice, mama. yuuji said he can run super fast, and nobara said she’s gonna show me how to be ‘extra spooky’ for halloween!” he replied, his voice filled with wonder and a touch of admiration for his new friends.

toji chuckled, leaning back with his arm draped around your shoulders, clearly amused by megumi’s excitement. “looks like we’ll have the best little monster squad in the neighborhood,” he added, his voice a mix of pride and warmth. you laughed, pressing another kiss to megumi’s cheek. “then we’ll just have to make sure you’re the spookiest of them all, won’t we?” you said with a grin, watching as his eyes sparkled with anticipation for the halloween fun yet to come.

megumi nodded eagerly, his small face beaming with joy as he looked up at you. his little hands still fidgeted with the fabric of his costume, betraying his excitement.

“mm, i wanna be the scariest,” he said with a determined nod, his words filled with both excitement and a touch of shyness as his gaze flickered between you and toji. toji chuckled, reaching out to ruffle megumi’s hair gently. “oh, i have no doubt you’ll scare the socks off them all, kiddo,” he said, his voice warm and reassuring.

megumi’s enthusiasm was infectious, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of joy seeing him so happy. toji’s arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you closer, his warmth a comforting presence as you both watched your son’s imagination take off.

megumi squirmed with excitement, his eyes wide with wonder as he continued sharing his plans for halloween. his excitement was palpable, and it was heartwarming to see him so engaged and filled with anticipation for the spooky holiday ahead. toji chimed in with a smile, his voice filled with pride, “we’ll be the scariest family.”

you chuckled warmly at toji’s comment, your eyes sparkling with pride as you looked down at your little trickster, the light dusting of red on his cheeks betraying his emotions.

megumi was clearly brimming with anticipation and excitement, his gaze flickering between you and his father as he imagined all the spooky possibilities that halloween night held. he nodded eagerly, his small hands still fidgeting with the fabric of his costume. “we’re gonna scare everyone!” he declared with a grin, his small voice filled with a mixture of determination and delight.

you watched, a soft smile spreading across your face, as megumi wriggled his way down from your lap, his little hands gripping your knees for balance. his determination was written all over his face, brows furrowed with that serious concentration only kids seem to master, as he landed on his feet and looked up at you with a gleam in his eyes.

“i’m gonna find the best costume!” he declared, his tiny voice filled with such conviction that you couldn’t help but chuckle. then, without waiting for a reply, he started his short trek towards his bedroom, his steps determined but still slightly wobbly in his excitement.

“come on, mama!” he called, pausing just long enough to flash you and toji a grin before continuing his enthusiastic march.

toji chuckled beside you, his arm tightening around your shoulders as he pressed a warm kiss to the side of your head. “looks like he’s on a mission,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of pride and amusement. “he really does look so excited.”

you leaned into him, savoring the closeness as you both watched your little trickster disappear down the hallway. “i know,” you whispered, warmth filling your voice as you took in the happiness and energy he brought to the house.

“he’s going to be the most serious little monster on the block,” you added, a fond smile tugging at your lips. toji let out a soft chuckle, resting his chin atop your head. you laughed lightly, leaning into toji, enjoying the warmth of his embrace as you watched megumi toddle off. he looked so determined, already lost in planning for the best costume to outdo everyone else.

you nodded, a soft smile gracing your lips. “he really is,” you agreed to yourself, your voice filled with pride for your little boy.

toji tightened his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him, the warmth of his body a comforting presence. he chuckled softly, his voice affectionate as he teased, “just like his mama.” his words were said with a warmth and familiarity that spoke of the deep bond you shared, not just as a couple, but as parents to this spirited little boy.

as megumi disappeared into his room, you turned to toji with a sigh of contentment. there was a soft, peaceful look in your eyes as you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. the warmth from his embrace seemed to envelop you entirely, making you feel safe and loved.

toji, feeling the shift in your energy, pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, his free hand rubbing gentle circles on your back. words weren’t needed at this moment; the silence was filled with understanding and a deep sense of contentment. the two of you sat like that for a while, simply enjoying each other’s presence, before toji broke the silence. “he’s getting so big already,” he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and a hint of bittersweetness. “we won’t have these moments forever.”

you hummed softly, feeling the warmth of his hand on your back and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. there was a comfort in the silence, a quiet exchange of love that didn't need words. but as toji’s voice broke through, his words struck a chord, pulling at your heartstrings in a way that made you realize just how fleeting these moments truly were.

slowly, you lifted your head from his chest, meeting his gaze with a gentle smile. “then we’d better go see what our little monster is planning for his grand debut,” you said, a glint of playfulness in your eyes as you nudged his side, feeling the warmth of his arm around you.

toji chuckled warmly, his eyes twinkling with amusement at your playful nudge. “absolutely,” he agreed, his voice filled with a mix of anticipation and excitement. he held your gaze for a moment longer, his hand resting on your shoulder, before slowly standing up, pulling you to your feet alongside him. “who knows what kind of mischief our little rascal has planned.”

with a shared smile, the two of you made your way down the hallway towards megumi’s room.

[tojisfourthbiatchoftheweek]

early mornings in the fushiguro household

『••✎••』

toji, from the continuously changing jobs he’s had, is used to a rather fucked-up sleep pattern. he wasn’t the type to sleep from 9 to 6, but rather 2 to 7. he wasn’t insomniac, no no- the sleep always found him- but he was so used to pulling all-nighters in his previous life, that now, he couldn’t go back to sleeping in the early hours of the nights. he was a little night owl, smoking a cigarette at 10, drinking some wine at 11- because, even after his part-time job as a bartender, toji can’t handle such fizzy drinks as champagne or lightweight beer. he’s more of a wine, a rhum, a whiskey or even a strong beer. whatever he can afford. it’s not that he can’t handle alcohol, he just doesn’t enjoy the taste.

after his nightly drink, he’d do some laundry and some dishwashing, squeezing the sponge that’s full of suds, as he had his eyes precisely on the football match he’s been waiting for to start. then, nightly check on megumi- only god knows what the teenager’s doing in such late hours, other than sleeping. but he’s filled with relief as soon as he opens the door, and the loud sound of his snoring reverberating against the walls of his bedroom.

much to his surprise- and delight- since you came in their lives, megumi’s been a better kid. not in behaving, he never was the troublemaker- but megumi is nowadays more open to his dad. he’s much more happy too, not that he necessarily has a smile on his face everyday. but his demeanor is less tense, his expression is relaxed, and no longer carries a very expressive frown, a scowl even. all that thanks to you.

『••✎••』

speaking of, where were you? in your shared bedroom, sleeping with the covers halfway on your shivering body. the night could get quite cold when your lover wasn’t in bed, warming you up with the simple radiations coming from his much stronger, bigger, and imposing body. that’s why, after he checked on megumi, he checks on you- pulling the covers back up, leaving a small kiss on your forehead, as you subconsciously smile. toji wasn’t one to be strong on showing affection, but small gestures like this one made up for it. after the death of his late wife, it was hard for toji to open up. but everything was easier with you. not that he doesn’t struggles with his old ways from time to time- but you’re here.

as the whole neighborhood screams in a mix of rage, laughter, sadness, happiness, toji realizes he missed a goal. and a good one. so he tiptoes back in the living room, sitting on his couch, smirking, as he notices the team he’s bet on has scored a goal. and he bet a whole lot. the lords of football have blessed him.

the night buzzes, with the crowd of people down his complex apartment building all screaming in the pub with each goal- and for the final 10 minutes, you join him, waken up from the constant shouts.

“hey doll. why aren’t ya sleepin’?”

he questions, a visible frown on his face. he doesn’t like it when his pretty baby doesn’t get her beauty sleep.

“nothing, they jus’ keep screaming and ‘s waking me up. so i figured there was a football match tonight, and… wanna watch it with you.”

his eyes widened, but a genuine smile replaced his shocked expression, as he patted the empty spot besides him. it’s not that you hated football, you just were very much oblivious and lost when watching it. so instead of enjoying the game, he’d be explaining to you every move, reminding you of which team you support. not that he disliked it.

soon enough, the match ends, with a whooping 4-1 score from the team toji bet on. it’s euphoria in toji’s head- he’s gonna get money! you and him and megumi are surely going to the restaurant tomorrow night, megumi will get some new shoes or maybe this new game he wants, and you’ll be able to indulge in some shopping, and he… well he’ll spectate. because he already has what he wants. and all he wants is you, and megumi happy.

but the night goes at a fast pace, and before you both realize it, it’s 5 in the morning. but toji doesn’t sleep yet. maybe because it’s his day off,or maybe because he’s too busy admiring you sleeping. the soft, consistent move of your chest, as you breath in and out peacefully. the gentle glow the moon has blessed your pretty face with. the way your breasts are being supported in this tight tank top-

Maybe this is what keeps him awake.

but he doesn’t mind. he doesn’t mind at all. you’re a sight for his sore eyes. a sight he can’t revel in, during the day. but a sight he admires, he adores, during the nights. maybe that’s why it’s already six and you’re stirring up, and the sun is shining in your shared bedroom, and megumi’s preparing his breakfast, and he has not an ounce of sleep in his system. but who cares?

[Pic found on Pinterest, i do not claim credits at all! only the writing is mind 🙂‍↕️]

[wannaeatramyeon]

Meeting Yamazaki Shingen for the First Time: Sleepless Nights

G/N. 1.7k strangers to~. Soft. Arranged marriage trope. Masterlists

Disappointing, you've heard people say about you. Disobedient.

Troublemaker, should be seen and not heard, your mother chides you while your father just looks on with resentment, as if he couldn't believe they could have created such an insolent child.

In exchange for being the black sheep of your family, you're offered, kicking and screaming, to Yamazaki Shingen. Trading your life and freedom to elevate your family's name and standing.

If you can't be a filial offspring and make your parents proud, the least you can be is useful.

To everyone's surprise, the Yamazaki clan accepts.

.

.

With relief, you realise there isn't going to be a wedding night.

This isn’t a marriage. You're only one of many. No-one has been deemed worthy enough to sit by Shingen's side as the head of the family. This doesn't bother you.

Nor the fact that you have not seen the man you have been allegedly sold off to and you quietly count your blessings.

Instead, you're treated as an extra pair of hands, almost a servant. Spending your days helping out around the household with any chores and errands as they see fit. It's hard, gruelling work.

You collapse every night in your futon out of exhaustion and sleep takes no time at all.

It's still a better life than you had before.

.

.

Though the routine might be growing familiar, it's still a stranger's home and a strange room and a strange futon that you're lying on.

Tonight, the strangeness of your situation overwhelms.

You miss your old room, the softness of your old pillow on your skin, the smell of your own belongings.

Tonight, sleep is nowhere to be found.

.

.

You're greeted by a silhouette sitting in the courtyard.

Outlined by the moonlight, size more monster than human. Although in any other circumstances you might feel fear, this is the Yamazaki home, you think. No-one, not even monsters, would dare trespass.

You find your own space to sit in. You wonder if he even knows you're here or if this is two strangers letting the silence grow comfortable between them.

"Who are you?" comes his voice, and the peace breaks. It's low, almost a growl.

It takes you a moment to realise you didn't dream it and you tell him your name.

"I can't sleep." you add and you hear a sharp exhale of amusement.

He doesn't volunteer any information about himself and you don't ask.

Nevertheless, it's a kindred spirit, you decide. Someone else suffering from sleep evading them.

He continues to sit, still as a rock, and you join him. Breath deepening and eyelids growing heavier by the second. Your head drops forward, jolting you awake and you take your leave.

.

.

In the morning and for several weeks after, you're not sure if the man had been conjured up by your imagination.

If in your sleep-induced haze, your mind created someone you could relate to, no matter how trivial the bond.

You search but don't see anyone in the Yamazaki family that could look like him.

You almost mistake Shintaro for him, the Vice President who has been courteous if a little cold, except in your blurred memories you think the stranger has wild long hair.

.

.

Over time, you forget about him. Someone that could either be a figment of your imagination or as real as the floor you’re currently scrubbing.

You let your daily tasks wash over you. Following instructions without argument and keeping to yourself.

Your hands grow calloused and energy drains.

A state of overtiredness finally overwhelms you.

Where you can feel the fatigue deep in your bones, your body hovering in a state between conscious and unconscious, moving in a haze, yet your mind is alive and wired and sleep won't take no matter how much you toss and turn.

.

.

He’s there again.

But as the days grow, the nights are no longer as dark as it was and you can make out more of his features.

Your brain didn’t deceive you. His form is as large as you remembered, maybe larger. A good few heads taller than you and powerfully muscled. Hair long, like a sheet of darkness past his shoulders. 

“Evening,” you say as a way of greeting, your voice carrying in the quiet night breeze. His head snaps to yours, though you can’t make out his face.

You feel his gaze on you as you sit, folding your legs under you.

You close your eyes, enjoying the silence. Feeling the warm air on your skin and caressing your hair. No longer as frigid or cool as it was when you first stepped foot into the Yamazaki clan.

“Another sleepless night,” he says. You don’t know whether it’s a question for you or a confession of sorts for him.

In the end, you echo him, agreeing with the sentiment. “Another sleepless night.”

.

.

Curiosity keeps you awake rather than exhaustion or anxiety or insomnia the next night, wondering if the man is still there sitting like a lonely statue.

Your mind leads you fully this time. 

At dusk, you carefully slide the door behind you as your feet pad onto the soft grass, brain and body awake.

He’s there. In the same spot, in the same position.

It’s even lighter tonight, and you can see his features. His black eyes, the startling white irises, the emptiness in his gaze.

You do as you have done before, sitting down a few metres away. 

“Why are you here?” he asks, tone inquisitive. Your footsteps and movement have given you away. You’re much more alert, less sluggish, no longer moving as if in a dream state and he has noticed.

“I wondered if you were here every night.” You tell him, opting for honesty.

The silence stretches as you wait for his answer. Eventually you hear-

“Yes.”

.

.

The twilight meetings become routine. Only a handful of words are exchanged on a given night, if any at all.

Yet you have come to think of him as the guardian of your slumber. Some nights you drift off as soon as your head hits your pillow, and when morning comes, you feel a pang of guilt for not joining your companion.

He never comments on it, though you think his eyes are a little warmer whenever he sees you again.

.

.

At the change of seasons, when the day grows hot and sticky, you are summoned to Yamazaki Shingen’s quarters.

You had allowed yourself to forget that you are only in this household to be used for breeding potential, no better than livestock. 

Disregarded that the dowry the Yamazaki clan paid for you was too high a price for a simple servant and became so accustomed to your daily chores, pretended this day would never come.

At sundown, the head housekeeper, a crotchety old woman guides you to your doom.

You would have considered escaping if she wasn’t flanked by bodyguards, two men with matching severe expressions. You would have considered asking for help if your only companion, the person you have sort of befriended, was nowhere to be found in the courtyard.

“Master Shingen has been dissatisfied. He hasn’t been with anyone in months,” the housekeeper says, subdued and not breaking pace. She gives you a look as if that is your problem to solve. “The elders are getting worried.”

Good, you want to snap back. Let them be worried. Let this stupid clan die off.

Just as you’re about to say something you would no doubt regret, she stops abruptly in front of an oversized door. You almost careen into the back of her but the bodyguard’s hands shoot out and steady you.

“I’m fine,” you hiss, shoving their hands off you.

“Now in you go,” she rolls her eyes at your outburst, opening the door and pushing you in with her talons, “And do behave.”

.

.

Shit shit shit.

The room is almost pitch black, only illuminated by a sliver of moonlight through the windows.

Adrenaline courses through your body and you desperately will your eyes to adjust to the darkness, even as they dart around fruitlessly, looking for a weapon, for anything-

When you sense another presence in the room with you and you stop moving.

“What are you doing?” comes his voice.

Your breath hitches. 

It’s one that you have only heard sparingly but have nevertheless looked forward to hearing again. A figure you have sought out night after night.

“Is-Is that you?” 

A chuckle from the shadows. “Yes.”

Could this really be him? “Y-Yamazaki Shingen?” You stammer, a literal shot in the dark. 

“Yes,” he replies and you feel your legs almost buckle out beneath you. “Come closer.”

Incredulous at this twist of fate, you carefully make your way towards the centre of the room. Your eyes, at long last, are able to pick out the silhouette sitting on the bed, and that there is a bed. 

Does he expect... Does he want you to-?

“No,” he cuts in like he’s able to read your thoughts. “I want your company. Like you did mine.”

His white irises are practically glowing, boring into you.

“Another sleepless night?” you ask tentatively. Groping for an olive branch, for that connection.

“Another sleepless night,” Shingen agrees, and everything finally falls into place.

.

.

Like all those nights before, Shingen is a man of few words. He observes you as you try to find comfort in his space, in a room completely unfamiliar to you.

He finds a strange companionship, ease in your presence. You don’t ask for anything from him, and in return, he doesn’t ask for anything from you.

Except, well - this.

And only this. He has no intentions of forcing what you do not want to give.

As you lay your head down next to his, a small smile of relief on your face that things have surprisingly worked out, Shingen, to his own surprise finds that he’s smiling back.

For the first time in a long time, he falls asleep in his own bed. 

He falls asleep easily tonight and every night thereafter - to the sound of your breathing, and the warmth of your body next to his.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ FATHERLY COMPETITION — GETO SUGURU.

contents. non curse au, girl dad! suguru ft the twins, fem! + mother! reader, satoru is megumi’s father <3, silly lil family shenanigans and suguru having a one sided rivalry w satoru bc he’s a bum like that

suguru loves being a father—it’s just as they say it is. one day, you’re free and young and opposed to the idea of being tied down, and then the next second you’re cradling two newborns that make you want to dig to the earth’s core with your bare hands, all for the tiny humans in front of you.

he loves his two girls—they make the world go around and the stars come out and they make something as bright as the sun look dull and lifeless compared to those sweet smiles. but sometimes, he’d really appreciate being able to sleep in on a saturday morning.

“daddy, wake up,” there’s a poke to his cheek. mimiko is at least gentle with her disruptions—nanako has simply taken to jumping on the mattress by his feet.

“daddy, you promised,” nanako whines—it’s makes you stir with a soft groan, eyes opening to peer up at the two (very cute) troublemakers in your bed.

“what’d you promise this time, suguru?” you raise a brow, making him sigh as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

“said i’d take them to the zoo,” he grunts, “but it’s not open for—” he looks at the time on his phone. seven thirty two am. “for another two and a half hours.”

“girls,” you start, “we have to wait a bit. why don’t you go back to bed—”

“we can stay here, mommy!” nanako brightens, squeezing between you and suguru to wrap her arms around your neck.

it’s cute, you suppose. it’s always endearing to be snuggled up by one of your little girls, but something tells you that you won’t be sleeping again any time soon. so you sigh, turning towards suguru and wrapping nanako in your arms as suguru does the same with mimiko and gives you an amused grin.

“i think we spoil them,” he murmurs, making you scoff.

“you spoil them. i’m the voice of reason in this household.”

“so now it’s a crime to give your kids fun family experiences that not everyone is fortunate enough to have—”

“you know what the not so generous parents out there probably have more than us? sleep.”

“that’s probably true,” he mutters, yawning before he presses a gentle kiss to mimiko’s forehead. “but at least we’re the world’s coolest parents. right girls?”

“megumi is going to the beach today,” nanako says as a matter of factly, “his dad is super cool.”

“and funny,” mimiko adds.

suguru’s face sours at that—you try your best not to giggle.

“oh so now satoru is cooler than me? he shouldn’t even be trusted near the ocean with children, they’ll drown—”

“satoru is careful,” you chuckle, “well….most of the time.”

“okay,” suguru raises a brow, looking expectantly at nanako, “but has satoru ever taken megumi ice skating? bet he hasn’t done that—”

“yeah they did,” nanako says instantly, “that’s why we asked to go.”

“well have they gone to the zoo?” he asks petulantly. she nods, and his lips curl into a pout.

suguru looks positively fumed at the idea that his best friend seems to be cooler in the eyes of his own children. you can practically watch the gears work in his head before he looks smugly over at the blonde girl curled up against your chest.

“okay, but have they ever been to a petting zoo?” he raises a brow, “there’s a difference.”

the two girls exchange a look before slowly, the excitement creeps up on their faces as they look at him in disbelief. suguru looks hopelessly smug with himself.

“you mean we can pet the animals?” nanako asks in wonder.

“yup,” suguru nods, grinning widely. you snort at his petty one sided competition.

“can i pet a giraffe?” mimiko asks, poking his arm as he nods excitedly.

“yeah, and you can feed it too.”

they squeal at that—and if suguru throws you a look of pure victory on his face, you decide not to ruin his moment just yet. because you already know it won’t last long until—

“what about whales? can we pet those too?”

“and a shark?”

“i wanna pet a tiger!”

“well, i don’t think those are really the safest options for a petting—”

“daddy, you’re so cool,” they gasp. suguru gives you a look that screams for help, but you only giggle, pecking nanako on the forehead as you send a sly wink to your husband.

“you are so cool,” you agree, “i can’t wait to see the tigers we can pet.”

he looks at you with betrayal in his eyes as the pout returns on his lips. “i trusted you,” he huffs.

“that was your fault,” you grin cheekily. it’s all a bit funny at his expense—but you also can’t help but be endeared at the way suguru does his best. for your girls. for you. for your sweet little family. so you take mercy on him, turning to your daughters as you murmur, “i think you’re a bit too young for those animals right now. let’s start small, yeah?”

they nod along, and you and suguru share an amused look. and then—

“make sure you guys tell megumi all about your trip next time you see him, okay?”

suguru be bragging to satoru like “my kids went to the petting zoo” and satoru’s clueless ass is like “oh !! that’s so nice !! i’m taking my kids to disney !!”

[goldfades]

𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐋𝐄 ───── LUKA DONCIC

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.6k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | (request for my lovely jo, @wanderlusturous) you, a hotheaded wnba star and your equally chaotic courtside boyfriend luka dončić take turns being menaces on and off the court, earning the title of Crash Out Couple with every tech, shove, and courtside screamfest

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | banter, luka being an instigator, it's kinda cute

The first time you meet Luka, he’s not quite a household name yet—but he’s well on his way. The smirk, the aura, the almost reckless abandon with which he commands the court—it’s all there. You’re sitting at a bar in Manhattan after a grueling Liberty practice, sipping on some overpriced cocktail that tastes like regret and stale citrus, when he strolls in, all easy confidence and mischief. You’re vaguely aware of who he is—because, duh, basketball—but you don’t care. Not about his growing fame. Not about the headlines that tend to follow him like a stray dog.

At first, it’s just banter. He comments on the Liberty cap perched on your head like he knows something. You volley back, sharp and unbothered, because you’re you, and nobody gets to talk slick without catching a little heat. You don't even realize you're flirting until he pulls out that grin, all teeth and menace, and asks for your number like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You give it to him—mostly because you’re intrigued by the audacity.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Fast-forward a couple of years, and the “Crash Out Couple” is practically an ESPN institution. You’d roll your eyes at the nickname if it weren’t so hilariously accurate. You, with your unapologetic on-court antics, and Luka, with his penchant for egging on entire benches, were practically made for each other. There’s a viral video that resurfaces every few months, some grainy courtside footage of Luka heckling refs while you jaw at a six-foot-four forward breathing down your neck. The caption reads, “Soulmates.” You both pretend to hate it, but the truth is, you kind of love it.

The media has their narrative: the fiery, unrelenting WNBA star and the NBA's most charming troublemaker. But what they don’t see is how it started—how the two of you fit together in a way that no one else ever really could.

Before you were dubbed half of the league’s favorite chaotic duo, you were just a girl with a chip on your shoulder and a game so good that even your doubters had to sit down and shut up. You grew up on New York asphalt, weaving through defenders who didn’t care if you were 13 or 30. You’d seen it all—trash talk, cheap shots, elbows that left bruises—and you didn’t just survive it; you thrived in it. You weren’t Sabrina Ionescu good in college—you were Sabrina Ionescu-adjacent, a little grittier, a little rougher around the edges.

By the time the Liberty scooped you up, you’d already perfected the art of letting people underestimate you. On the court, you were all business—sharp elbows, sharper words. Off the court, you weren’t much different.

And Luka? He had the same energy, just dressed up in a European accent and a billion-dollar smile.

So when the two of you finally crossed paths, it wasn’t fireworks or love at first sight or any of that fairytale nonsense. It was a slow build, a series of exchanges that started as friendly competition and escalated into something neither of you could ignore. You pushed him; he pushed back. You taunted; he laughed. And when the time came, he showed up for you the way you didn’t even realize you needed.

The arena hums with energy, a pulsing beat of chatter, sneakers squeaking on hardwood, and the occasional blare of the PA system announcing players warming up. You’re on the court, loose-limbed and laser-focused, bouncing a ball between your hands as the Liberty logo gleams under the bright lights. The crowd’s a blur, faces blending together, but you know exactly where Luka is without looking.

He’s courtside, leaned back like he’s sitting on his own throne, wearing that damn smile that always means trouble. He’s dressed low-key—a hoodie and jeans—but the way he carries himself, you’d think he was the one suiting up to play.

“You look nervous,” he calls out, loud enough for half the court to hear.

You roll your eyes, dribbling lazily as you make your way toward him. “Why would I be nervous? You’re not the one guarding me.”

He raises an eyebrow, feigning offense. “That’s a shame. I’d shut you down in five minutes.”

“Five?” you fire back, smirking now. “I’d have you in foul trouble in two.”

The assistant coach whistles sharply, breaking the moment as you’re called back into the fold. You turn, already putting him out of your mind, but not before Luka leans forward, his voice following you.

“Just don’t get ejected, okay? I want my money’s worth.”

You don’t look back, but your grin gives you away.

The game starts, and it’s clear from the jump that they’re gunning for you. You’re no stranger to being a target, but tonight it feels personal. Every time you touch the ball, there’s a defender glued to you—sometimes two, sometimes three. They’re in your face, hands swiping, shoulders digging into you on every drive.

It’s annoying, but you don’t let it show. Not yet.

You’re still finding your rhythm when the first cheap shot comes—an elbow to your ribs during a fast break. You stumble, barely, and the ref doesn’t call it. Luka is on his feet instantly, arms raised as he shouts something in Slovenian that’s definitely not family-friendly.

You wave him off with a quick glance and grit your teeth, setting up on the next possession. They want to frustrate you, throw you off your game. Fine. Two can play that.

By the second quarter, it’s obvious they’re not letting up. A hard screen sends you sprawling, and when you get up, your expression is thunderous. The forward who set the screen smirks, muttering something you can’t hear but understand perfectly. You take a step toward her, jaw tight, but your teammates pull you back before the whistle can blow.

From the corner of your eye, you catch Luka laughing, leaning into the drama like it’s his own personal soap opera. He’s clapping now, shouting something about “that’s my girl!”

It’s all fuel. Every shove, every sneer, every comment—you take it, you feed on it, and you channel it into the next play. You cut through the defense with surgical precision, drawing fouls and making them pay. By halftime, you’ve put up enough points to silence most of the chirping.

But Luka? Luka’s louder than ever.

When the buzzer sounds, you jog off the court toward the locker room, passing by Luka on your way. He’s waiting, still grinning like he’s enjoying this more than anyone else in the building.

“Having fun yet?” he teases, leaning over the railing.

You stop, towel slung over your shoulder, and level him with a look. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

He throws his head back, laughing, and for a second, you forget how much your ribs hurt.

By the time the third quarter starts, you’re running on pure adrenaline. Your body aches, your jersey clings to your skin, and the defenders are still swarming you like vultures over a carcass. But you’ve got that look in your eye—the one that tells everyone, including Luka, that you’re done playing nice.

They keep testing you, and you keep answering. Elbow jabs in the paint? Fine, you’ll fight through them. Double teams in the corner? Bring it on. But there’s only so much a person can take before they hit their breaking point.

And that point comes when you drive to the basket, slipping past one defender before the next one—a towering forward with about four inches and twenty pounds on you—steps into your path. She doesn’t go for the ball. Instead, she throws her shoulder into you with enough force to send you stumbling back.

The ref blows the whistle, finally calling the foul, but you barely hear it over the rush of blood in your ears.

The forward grins, smug, like she’s gotten away with something. And that’s it. You snap.

Without thinking, you shove her—hard. Hard enough that her sneakers screech against the hardwood as she stumbles back a few steps, eyes wide with shock. The crowd erupts into chaos, the kind of noise that rattles your bones.

She comes back at you immediately, barking something that you don’t catch because your teammates are already between you, dragging you back while her team does the same. The refs are blowing their whistles like it’s a lifeline, trying to regain control.

And Luka? He’s on his feet, losing his mind.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” he yells, clapping his hands so loud you can hear it over the chaos. “Push her again! She deserved it!”

You glance his way, and the sight of him is almost enough to make you laugh. Almost. He’s leaning so far over the railing it looks like he might climb onto the court, his hoodie halfway off, gesturing wildly as he yells something in Slovenian that probably translates to “start the fight!”

The announcers are having a field day. The crowd is on their feet. Social media is already typing up their captions.

But you? You’re still locked in, eyes blazing as you stare down your defender, silently daring her to come at you again.

The refs eventually restore order, handing out double techs for good measure, but the damage is done. The entire arena is buzzing, and you can feel the shift in momentum.

You walk back to the bench, chin high, and when you sit down, Luka catches your eye again. He’s grinning like he’s never been prouder in his life.

“You really gave them their money’s worth,” he calls out, voice practically dripping with pride.

You grab a water bottle, smirking despite yourself. “You’re welcome.”

The rest of the game plays out like a blur. The other team never quite recovers, and the Liberty take the win. By the time the final buzzer sounds, your name is trending, along with Luka’s, under the now-iconic title: Crash Out Couple.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[belit0]

Indra's familyyyyyy (first gen of the Uchiha clan?)

The mother's genes didn't even fight back. A copy paste of their father lol (sorry if there's a Grammar error)

I wanna know the headcanon of this family-

(feel free to name them)

And have this blushing/confused Indra

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA LET'S BRING THIS FAMILY TO LIFEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Family Dynamic

Indra is the feared head of the household, but his wife is the true ruler of the house. He may command armies, but under his own roof, his wife’s word is law. Even the children know it.

Raizen is 14 years old. Inari and Hikari are 10.

Raizen is the golden child in terms of discipline and intelligence, the one Indra is most invested in grooming, but also the one he fears will follow his own dark path. He pushes Raizen toward strength but does not want him to become a cold, lonely figure.

Inari and Hikari are chaos incarnate, yet deeply respectful. They know exactly how far they can push their father before stepping over the line. They tease him but always pull back before facing real consequences.

The twins look up to Raizen like he is a god. They follow him around, fascinated by his composure and strength, even if they are nowhere near as serious as him.

Indra has a secret soft spot for his twins. He lets them get away with far too much, though he would never admit it. His wife often calls him out on this.

Indra fights his children for his wife’s attention. The twins love to steal her away, and Indra—despite being a legendary warrior—finds himself in childish squabbles over who gets to sit beside her or talk to her first.

Indra’s Parenting Style

Strict, authoritative, and disciplined. He does not tolerate weakness or aimlessness, and he expects his sons to be strong.

Not outwardly affectionate, but his approval is rare and valuable. A nod of acknowledgment, a simple hand on the head—these small gestures mean everything coming from him.

Has a deep fear of Raizen falling into his own darkness. He sees too much of himself in his eldest son and, while he teaches him strength, he does not want him to follow his exact path. He will pull Raizen back when he feels he is teetering too close to isolation.

The twins are his greatest challenge. He admires their spirit but also wonders how two such creatures came from his bloodline. Their constant antics test his patience daily.

Despite his cold demeanor, he does love them. He watches over them quietly, ensures they have the best training, and allows them to get away with things he wouldn’t allow anyone else.

Raizen’s Personality & Role in the Family

The calm, calculating one, a mini version of Indra—but even more merciless. He is sharp, logical, and deeply disciplined.

Not cruel, but deeply serious. He rarely jokes, and his mind is always engaged with the realities of war and power.

Holds deep respect and love for his mother. She is the only one he ever goes to for comfort, and the only person who sees the softer parts of him.

Wants to be involved in the world of men. Always seeking out Indra for knowledge, asking about battle formations, war tactics, and strategy. He is determined to surpass his father one day.

Mildly exasperated by his little brothers but indulges them at times. The twins’ antics annoy him, but he knows they admire him, so he tolerates them more than he lets on.

Inari & Hikari (The Twin Devils)

Mischievous by nature, always causing trouble. They live to test boundaries, cause minor chaos, and entertain themselves at Indra’s expense.

Never disrespectful—always just at the edge of acceptable. They know exactly how far to push before retreating, never wanting to incur real wrath.

They adore their mother, but their father’s approval is a prized reward. Any sign of acknowledgment from Indra is something they quietly treasure, though they act as if they don’t care.

They see Raizen as the ultimate role model. Even if they are troublemakers, they admire their older brother’s strength and intelligence.

Love to mess with Indra but also genuinely respect him. They poke fun at his stoicism but would never cross the line into actual defiance.

Notable Family Moments & Habits

Indra frequently has to put the twins to bed when their mother is unavailable. They demand bedtime stories, but he only tells them battle tales—which they love.

The twins constantly interrupt serious conversations between Indra and Raizen. They find their war talk boring and look for ways to derail it.

Raizen is the only one who can hold his own against Indra in a conversation about war. Indra values these talks the most.

Indra’s approval is hard to earn, but when he gives it, it means the world to his sons.

Indra, despite his legendary power and cold exterior, is completely outmatched by the forces of his own household.

Return Our Mother!

The afternoon sun slanted through the open doors, casting a golden glow over the polished wood of their home. It was quiet—blissfully so. Indra lay stretched out across the floor, his head resting on his wife's lap, eyes half-lidded as her fingers ran idly through his brown hair. He was not asleep, but the warmth of her touch, the gentle hush of the wind outside, the faint scent of her skin—it lulled him into a rare state of peace.

His hand rested on the curve of her thigh, possessive in the way that required no words. This was his moment. His time.

Then, disaster struck.

-Hey!- A shrill, indignant voice cut through the tranquility. -You're taking up too much space!-

Another voice joined, just as demanding. -Yeah! That’s our mother!-

Indra did not so much as twitch. The weight of her palm, the slow drag of her fingertips along his temple—he would not relinquish it.

-She is exactly where she belongs,- he murmured, not bothering to open his eyes. -Go entertain yourselves elsewhere.-

A collective gasp. Then the sound of tiny, determined footsteps padding closer.

-You've had her all day!- Inari accused.

Hikari huffed, crossing his arms. -We need her!-

Indra finally deigned to open one eye, crimson flickering in mild irritation. -Do you, now?-

-Yes!

A slow sigh. He could feel his wife shaking with suppressed laughter, and his pride would not allow him to let this go unanswered.

Indra shifted slightly, pressing his cheek further against the softness of her lap as if to prove a point. His arm curled around her waist, securing his hold as he spoke, voice calm, but final.

-No.

Twin cries of outrage.

-That’s not fair!

-Let go!

-You don't even need her!

-More than you do,- Indra replied smoothly.

That was when the twins decided violence was the answer.

Inari lunged first, grabbing at his sleeve and pulling with all his might. Hikari took the more underhanded approach—tiny fingers reached for his hair, tugging in an attempt to pry him away from their mother’s warmth.

Indra barely moved. A flicker of amusement danced in his otherwise impassive expression, lips curling ever so slightly as he allowed them to struggle. His wife’s laughter was no longer silent; it spilled from her lips in breathless giggles as the twins fought valiantly, faces scrunched in effort.

-You are weak,- Indra remarked, unimpressed, as Inari redoubled his efforts.

-We're still growing!- the boy snapped. -You’re just heavy!-

-And old!- Hikari added helpfully.

Indra’s eye twitched.

-Old?- he echoed, the first sliver of actual offense creeping into his voice.

His wife hummed, amusement plain in her tone. -They do have a point.-

Indra exhaled slowly. -Do not encourage them...-

But she was laughing openly now, and the twins took it as a sign of victory, climbing over him in a desperate bid to pry him away. He endured the assault with the patience of a king entertaining foolish subjects, one hand effortlessly catching Inari by the back of his collar before he could launch himself onto their mother’s lap.

Hikari, more cunning, scrambled onto his back, small hands pressing against his head in an attempt to push him away.

-She’s ours!- he declared.

Indra's lips quirked, the closest thing to a smirk. -Oh? And what do you intend to do about it?-

The twins paused. A glance was exchanged. Then—conspiring whispers.

Indra narrowed his eyes.

And then, with synchronized precision, they lunged for their mother, practically draping themselves over her in an attempt to create a human shield.

Indra, finally, sat up. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, a low chuckle escaping him as he surveyed the scene before him. The twins clung to their mother like barnacles, faces scrunched in defiance.

His wife looked at him, eyes bright with laughter.

For a moment, there was silence. Then—

Indra reached out, grabbing the twins effortlessly, one under each arm.

-Wait—!

-Not fair!

They wriggled, kicked, but his grip was immovable. He held them aloft with no more effort than one would hold a pair of unruly kittens, exhaling as if greatly inconvenienced.

-Enough,- he decided. -You had your time. I will not be questioned on this.-

His wife, still laughing, leaned back on her hands, watching as the twins dangled in his grasp, limbs flailing.

-Unhand us!

-You tyrant!

Indra merely raised a brow. -And here I thought you were strong.-

He turned to his wife then, gaze slow and deliberate. -You are mine. This is not up for debate.-

She rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her expression betrayed her fondness. -You’re unbelievable.-

-Hn.- His smirk deepened.

And then, ignoring the protests of his children entirely, he returned to his rightful place—head once more upon her lap, arms crossing as he kept the twins pinned with his sheer presence alone.

Peace. Finally.

For now.

The Art of War (Against One's Own Offspring)

The courtyard is in chaos.

Indra sits beneath the shade of a cherry blossom tree, arms folded, exuding the effortless authority of a warlord surveying his land. Except his land is currently overrun by two small, unruly forces of destruction—Hikari and Inari, both grinning, both plotting, both entirely too pleased with themselves.

-You cannot win,- Indra states, voice calm, assured. -Give up now.-

-That’s what an old man says when he knows he's already lost,- Hikari retorts, adjusting the grip on his wooden practice sword.

-We're just giving you a chance to surrender first,- Inari adds, balancing on the balls of his feet, ready to strike. -Before it gets embarrassing.-

Indra stares at them, impassive. -I could take down both of you before you lift those sticks.-

Hikari smirks. -But would Mother approve?-

A dangerous move—bringing her up. Indra’s expression shifts just slightly, an almost imperceptible twitch of his brow. He sees what they are doing, recognizes the battlefield for what it is. A trap, a manipulation, a game of wits rather than strength. They have been watching him too closely, studying his weaknesses.

Little terrors.

Indra exhales, slow and measured. -You think invoking your mother’s name will save you?-

-It has before,- Inari grins.

Indra flicks his wrist, and before either of them can react, the wind shifts—swift, precise, an unseen force that knocks both boys backward onto the dirt. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to humble.

A chorus of -HEY!- erupts as they scramble to their feet, faces red with indignation.

-You cheated!- Hikari accuses, brushing dust from his robes.

-You underestimated your opponent,- Indra counters smoothly, unmoving from his place beneath the tree. -A mistake you should learn from.-

The twins exchange a glance. A silent agreement passes between them. Then, without warning, they lunge at him at once, all teeth and determination.

Indra sighs.

They’re getting bolder.

He allows them the fight they so clearly crave, though allow is a generous word—within moments, he has Hikari in a loose headlock, while Inari struggles to break his grip on the back of his robes, legs kicking uselessly.

-Mercy!- Inari howls.

-Never!- Hikari bites his arm—completely ineffective, but admirable in spirit.

Indra huffs, a sound too dry to be a laugh but too close to be anything else. -And what lesson have you learned today?-

-That we almost had you,- Inari insists.

Indra releases them both at once, and they collapse onto the ground in an ungraceful heap.

-Incorrect,- Indra says, standing and brushing his sleeves as though the battle never happened. -You have learned that your father is not so easily conquered.-

The twins groan in unison, still tangled together on the dirt.

-One day,- Hikari mutters.

-One day.- Inari agrees.

Indra merely turns, hands clasped behind his back as he heads toward the house. -I look forward to it.-

The Real Ruler of the House

The night should have been peaceful. Indra sat in his usual spot, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded as he enjoyed the fleeting quiet. His wife had finally managed to steal a moment for herself, away from the relentless demands of their household, leaving him in charge. A rare event. One that should have been uneventful.

But, of course, it wasn’t.

From the corner of his eye, he caught movement—two small figures crouching behind the furniture like predators stalking their prey. Inari and Hikari, whispering in hushed voices, heads close together as they plotted.

Indra exhaled through his nose. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this.

On the opposite side of the room, Raizen sat with perfect posture, the soft glow of candlelight sharpening his already defined features. His eldest was a mirror of himself—stoic, composed, quiet. He had come to discuss battle strategies and the politics of war, ever determined to step into the world of men.

The twins, however, had no interest in such things.

-Raizen,- Inari hissed, crawling closer, his voice urgent. -What do you think of this?-

He held up a small carved figure—crude, made of wood, and, if Indra had to guess, stolen from his wife’s collection.

-A representation of you,- Hikari added, trying to stifle a snicker. -But we’re still working on it.-

Indra barely twitched. -If you defile your mother’s belongings, she will know,- he warned, voice as calm as ever. -And I will not save you.-

The twins immediately tucked the figurine behind their backs. They knew better.

Raizen barely spared them a glance before returning to his father. -Earlier, you mentioned that the battle in the eastern territories required a shift in formation. How did you decide which flank to weaken?- His tone was even, but his eyes betrayed his thirst for knowledge.

Indra felt a faint sense of satisfaction. This, at least, was productive.

-The terrain dictated the flow,- he answered, fully engaging with Raizen’s question. -A river cut off one side, so—

—So you forced them into the bottleneck,- Raizen finished, eyes gleaming with realization. -You let them think they had control, only to—

-Ahem,- Inari interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. -Boring. Raizen, when are you going to start fighting wars? When do we get to watch you burn things down?-

Raizen shot him a glare. -War isn’t something to be entertained by, Inari.-

-That’s not what Father thinks,- Hikari mused. -He enjoys talking about it plenty.-

Indra sighed. There was no winning with them.

-You two,- he said, leveling them with a look, -are relentless.-

-Mother says the same thing,- Hikari replied proudly.

-She is the real ruler of this house,- Inari added with a grin. -You’re just—what did she call you?" He paused, feigning deep thought. -Ah! Her first child!-

Raizen stifled a smirk. Indra, however, was unimpressed.

The air shifted slightly, his presence darkening just enough to remind them who they were dealing with.

-You are treading dangerous ground,- he warned.

The twins, ever bold but not foolish, immediately straightened their backs.

-Respectfully, of course,- Inari amended.

-Yes, yes, with the highest respect,- Hikari agreed, bowing dramatically.

Raizen sighed, shaking his head. -Clowns.-

Indra pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. He had fought gods, demons, and warriors who stood at the height of human capability.

None of them compared to the battle of raising these three.

And yet—

As he glanced at Raizen’s sharp, inquisitive eyes and the twins’ barely contained grins, he realized he wouldn’t change a single thing.

The Unfortunate Duty of Fatherhood

Indra was not a man easily shaken. He had withstood the weight of war, the agony of betrayal, the burden of being a god among men. He had seen horrors unfold before his very eyes, commanded armies, and silenced opposition with a single gaze.

Yet nothing in his existence had prepared him for the ordeal of putting his twin sons to bed.

His wife was unavailable tonight—some urgent matter that required her attention elsewhere—and so the impossible task fell upon him. The twins were already in their futons, but the way they watched him, eyes glinting in the dim light, told him this battle was far from over.

-Father,- Inari began, voice deceptively polite. -Would you consider telling us a story?-

Indra narrowed his eyes. He could already sense the mischief stirring beneath that well-mannered request. -A story?-

Hikari nodded eagerly, folding his hands as if he were an obedient child. -Yes, one of your battles! A real one. The most exciting one.-

Indra exhaled slowly. -Go to sleep.-

-But, Father,- Inari reasoned, -how are we to learn from your greatness if you do not share it with us?-

Indra gave them a long, assessing stare. The twins held their breath. Then, finally, he settled into a seat near them, arms folding over his chest. -Very well.-

The boys immediately perked up.

-You may not like the lesson hidden within this one,- Indra warned, watching their enthusiasm with measured amusement. -It is not a tale of triumph, but of understanding one's limits.-

Hikari smirked. -So, you lost?-

Inari elbowed him lightly, as if to tell him to tread carefully.

Indra did not scowl, did not rise to the bait. He merely tilted his head slightly, his gaze dark but amused. -I do not lose. I learn.-

That seemed to do the trick. The twins went silent, riveted.

And so, he told them of a battle—not his most glorious, not his bloodiest, but one where he had met an opponent who had forced him to rethink his own arrogance. He told them of mistakes, of adaptation, of victory earned through patience rather than raw power.

To his mild surprise, they listened. Truly listened.

And when the story was done, when their young minds had drifted toward sleep, Inari murmured, half-lidded eyes barely staying open, -You're... strong...-

Hikari, equally drowsy, added, -The strongest.-

Indra said nothing. He merely reached out, one large hand settling atop each boy’s head for a moment. A rare, silent approval.

Then he rose, stepping out of the room as quietly as a specter, leaving behind nothing but the lingering weight of his presence—and two sons who, despite their mischief, would always seek to follow in his footsteps.

The Weight of Expectation

The night is deep and quiet, the world draped in silver light. Indra stands at the edge of the courtyard, arms folded, his gaze set on the distant horizon. He does not turn when he hears footsteps approach, steady and controlled—Raizen, always composed, always measured.

-You're awake late,- Indra remarks, though he already knows why.

Raizen stops a few paces away. There is tension in his posture, barely noticeable to anyone else, but Indra sees it—the slight stiffness in his shoulders, the way his hands remain at his sides rather than folded in his sleeves as usual.

-I failed,- Raizen says, quiet but firm, as if saying it outright might lessen the weight of it. -During training today. I miscalculated. I let my guard down.-

Indra turns now, facing his son fully. The firelight from a nearby lantern casts sharp shadows across his features, but his expression remains unreadable.

Raizen continues, looking straight ahead rather than meeting his father’s gaze. -I thought I was prepared, but I wasn't. It won’t happen again.- His voice is controlled, but there's something beneath it—something he’s trying to suppress.

Indra studies him for a moment before speaking. -And what did you learn?-

Raizen frowns, caught off guard by the question. He expected disappointment, a lesson on how such mistakes were unacceptable. Instead, his father only asks this.

-...That I was arrogant,- Raizen answers after a beat. -That I overestimated myself.-

Indra hums, nodding slightly. -Good.-

That single word settles over Raizen in an unfamiliar way. He finally looks up, brows furrowed slightly, as if he hadn't heard correctly.

-You think strength means never failing?- Indra continues, his tone calm, without judgment. -That perfection exists?-

Raizen says nothing, unsure of how to respond.

Indra exhales, tilting his head toward the night sky. -I have failed more times than I can count. I have lost battles. I have made mistakes that could never be undone.- His voice lowers, thoughtful. -You think yourself weak for failing once?-

Raizen clenches his jaw, the tightness in his chest loosening just slightly. -I thought you would be disappointed.-

Indra finally meets his gaze, and in the silence that follows, Raizen sees something he does not expect—understanding.

-If you never fail, you never grow,- Indra states simply. -I do not expect you to be flawless. I expect you to learn.-

Something eases in Raizen's stance, the weight he has been carrying shifting, just a little. He nods, slow but certain.

Indra places a hand on his shoulder—a rare gesture, but a firm one. -You are my son. Not because you are perfect, but because you are strong enough to rise again.-

Raizen exhales, and for the first time in a long while, the burden of expectation feels lighter.

[corroded-hellfire]

I just realized it's them. Eddie, the Reader, and my kids.

It would be funny if they were watching the movie and Eddie teases them that they look like kittens and some say it's actually them as a family.

I needed to write this. Was very compelled to write about Eliza making everyone watch this movie lol. I hope you like what my crazy brain came up with!

Previously talked about on this ask too 😻

Words: 1.4k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Family movie nights have become rarer as the boys have gotten older, but the tradition hasn’t been altogether lost. Once in a while you can wrangle the boys down for an evening of snacks and family bonding. 

Luke is laid out on the floor as per usual, on his stomach and pounding down Doritos and Mountain Dew like a man starved, not a 14-year-old boy who just had three large helpings of baked ziti not an hour ago. Ryan occupies the La-Z-Boy lounger that is effectively known as Wayne’s chair, it being the older man’s favorite spot in the household. The older Munson brother’s attention is currently half on the movie and half on the girl he likes at school. 

Eliza is sitting cozy on the couch between you and Eddie. At some point during the movie, she’ll end up snuggled against either you or her father, but right now she’s content enough to sit on her own, her pink unicorn blanket spread out over her lap and little legs. 

Eddie is slouched against an arm of the couch but has his arm draped along top, the tips of his fingers just barely able to brush over the back of your neck. So, of course, that’s what he’s been doing since the movie started. You sit hip to hip with your daughter, a bowl of popcorn balanced on your thigh that she and you keep taking kernels from.

As the song Everybody Wants to Be a Cat ends, Eddie smiles to himself. He sees his children in all three of the troublemaking kittens that were just singing and dancing around on screen. 

Ryan notices and raises an eyebrow at his father. “The singing cartoon cats making ya happy, Dad?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and flicks a pretzel in his eldest child’s direction.

“No, smartass. I was just thinking how they remind me of you guys.”

Luke rolls on his side so he can look at his dad over his shoulder.

“Did I grow a tail I wasn’t aware of? I’d like to think you’d keep me updated on that kind of thing, Dad.”

“You’re the little wiseass cat,” Eddie says, gesturing to the screen with his chin. “The orange one that tries to act all tough.”

“Toulouse,” Eliza says, as if her father should’ve known his name and it offends her that he didn’t.

“And he’s the one who’s most like the dad,” you point out with a shrug. It’s no secret that Luke is basically Eddie’s twin.

“He’s not their dad!” Eliza says with a small huff. Her parents are disappointing her with their Disney knowledge tonight. 

“My point still stands,” you say before pressing a kiss to the top of your daughter’s head.

Luke shoves another handful of Doritos in his mouth and goes back to looking at the screen.

“I’m not a ginger,” Luke says, though with his mouth being full it sounded more like, “M’not a jinjuh.”

“Who’s he?” Eliza asks as she points to the black and white cat on the screen.

“I thought you knew all the names,” Eddie says. Eliza rolls her eyes, looking identical to her father as she does it.

“No. Luke is Toulouse so who Berlioz?”

“Oh, okay,” Eddie says now that his daughter has cleared up his confusion. “Definitely Ryan. He’s the quietest one but he can still be mischievous.”

“Silent but deadly,” Ryan says.

“Like his farts,” Luke adds, making Eliza giggle.

“Who me?” Eliza asks, looking up at her father with the same big brown eyes that she inherited from him. 

“Marie, of course,” Eddie says as he musses her curls. That name he knows by now. “You’re the spoiled, pampered, sweet girl of the gang.”

The word “sweet” doesn’t seem to matter to Eliza, only focusing on the first two. Her little round face pinches up in a frown; her brows coming together over her dark eyes and her lips forming into a puckering pout. You try, and almost fail, to contain your laughter as your daughter stares at your husband with the cutest menacing look you’ve ever seen. 

“What?” Eddie asks when she doesn’t look away.

“Not a spoiled kitty,” she says. 

“You asked!” Eddie scrunches up his face and sticks his tongue out at her. She does the same in return, proving that your husband is as mature as a three-year-old. 

Luke finishes the Doritos in his mouth and wipes his cheesy hands off on his White Sox shirt.

“You know, I think our whole family is like theirs,” he muses.

“What?” Ryan asks. By the tone of his voice it sounds like he’s over everyone talking and just wants to watch the movie in silence again.

“Yeah,” Luke says and gestures to the screen in front of him. “Stray, scruffy alley cat gets the pretty, sophisticated girl that’s out of his league?”

As unsubtly as possible, Luke jerks his head back towards you and Eddie on the couch.

“Hey!” you pout. “That’s not true.”

“Pretty much is,” Eddie admits with a laugh. 

You move to scoot closer to your husband, little Eliza getting caught in the middle. The small girl hisses like a cat when she gets squished between her parents.

“Jesus,” Ryan groans as he rubs a hand over his eyes. Any form of overt affection between you and your husband has been annoying the teen boy lately. Eddie finds it amusing and whenever the two of you are alone your husband quietly surmises to you that your son is more annoyed by the fact that he can’t express the same sort of affections to the girl he likes. It makes sense since Ryan has always been one to express his love physically with hugs and such.

Now, Eddie presses a smacking kiss to the side of your head—almost to spite Ryan’s attitude— 

before looking down at your daughter squeezed between the two of you.

“I think you even look like a kitty!” he tells her.

Eliza pushes her way to her feet on the couch with a huff. Watching her trying to stand in the cramped space has you tucking in your lips to avoid laughing. Once up, Eliza shoves at her dad’s shoulder as she’s seen her brothers do to one another many times.

“My little kitty!” Eddie teases, finding her reaction comical. He snatches Eliza and holds her in his lap as he tries to press kisses all over her face. Stubble scratches and rubs against Eliza’s soft skin, making her squeal and wiggle around in Eddie’s grip.

“If we’re all cats, do you think another family will adopt me?” Ryan asks in a sullen adolescent tone.

“No,” Luke answers simply. Thank God he hasn’t become a brooding, moody teenager—yet, anyway.

Eliza manages to slip free from her father’s grip and runs over to jump on Ryan’s lap.

“Save me!” she wails.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got ya,” Ryan says as she snuggles into his lap, tucking her head beneath her eldest brother’s chin.

Eddie takes advantage of the newly empty space between you, and he pulls you flush up against his side. You give Eddie a soft kiss before laying your head on his shoulder.

“Ick,” Eliza complains, looking over at you on the couch.

“Yeah, ick,” Ryan echoes.

“Wasn’t he the one who wanted us to have a baby practically as soon as we got together? Now he thinks it’s gross that I kiss you,” Eddie says softly to you, but not soft enough that Luke didn’t hear.

“Yeah, but now we got what we wanted,” Luke says with a shrug. 

“Maybe now you guys can get fixed,” Ryan says with a smirk. 

Eddie opens his mouth to retort but Eliza holds her arms in the air, an immediate call for silence.

“Shhhh! This good part!”

She snuggles back against her big brother, who sticks his tongue out at his dad.

Casually, Eddie wraps his arm around your back so he can flip his oldest son the bird without Eliza seeing. Ryan just laughs and goes back to watching the movie, curious to see what’s so special about this part. The sixteen-year-old’s laughter brings a smile to your face. You haven’t heard it as often as you’d like to lately.

After Eddie situates his arm around your shoulders, you snuggle up to him and drape Eliza’s unicorn blanket over your lap. The Disney movie is not as enticing to you as your husband is, so you press a kiss just below Eddie’s ear before whispering to him.

“I love our kittens. No matter how ferocious they like to pretend they are.”

Eddie chuckles his agreement.

“The cutest little feral monsters around.”

[snail-migraine]

Getting brainrot thinking about platonic yandere father! Malleus finding out his "baby" has been seeing somebody beside his back..🤭

Hiding something from Malleus, especially when living in the same household, it is incredulously difficult. The dragon is clingy and cannot handle the idea of being left alone all by himself for more than two seconds.

When he finds out that you've been sneaking somebody around the castle behind not only his but the family's back as a whole, he's upset and rightfully so. He thought he could finally trust you and then you go and do this? Just how much do you enjoy seeing your father in pain? He decides to exile your secret lover because he can't allow anyone of lower status be with his baby. You are a Draconia after all. You are put into a re-education system made and run by Malleus himself to help get rid of the troublemaker in you.

[saebyeokbliss]

JUST MEET ME AT THE APT.— K. SAE-BYEOK

CHAPTER FIVE

synopsis: managing a rising rock band is already chaotic enough, but when you're stuck touring with four reckless musicians, things get even messier. between late-night facetime calls, teasing that feels a little too knowing, and a certain guitarist who might just be your biggest problem, keeping things professional is getting harder by the second. but hey, no one said the music industry was easy.

warnings: mutual pining, intense eye contact, teasing that borders on flirting (or maybe it is flirting), friends who refuse to mind their business, late-night facetime calls, secondhand embarrassment, slow burn that burns, emotional whiplash, cheol being a cutie

playlist: spotify

After the whirlwind that was Coachella, returning to Seoul felt almost surreal. The festival had been a massive success—HOT DIVISION’s performance was already blowing up online, clips of their set spreading across social media like wildfire. Fans, critics, and even other artists were praising them, calling it one of the best rock performances of the year.

But before diving back into the madness of the industry, the girls had one important stop to make.

Dinner at the Kang household.

Ms. Kang had insisted on it the moment she heard they were coming back. She had been supporting from afar, watching livestreams, keeping up with the news, and making sure Cheol—Sae-Byeok’s twelve-year-old brother—did his schoolwork while obsessively following his sister’s every move.

Now, gathered around the small but cozy dinner table, the energy was warm, filled with laughter and the kind of comfort that only home could bring.

"You guys killed it," Cheol said excitedly between bites of food. "Seriously, my friends won’t shut up about it. They keep asking me if I can get them tickets to your next show."

Ji-Yeong smirked. "Tell them we’ll consider it if they start a fan club in your honor."

Cheol lit up. "Wait, really?!"

"No," No-Eul deadpanned, making everyone laugh.

Ms. Kang smiled as she refilled everyone’s bowls. "I saw the performance online. You all looked amazing. I’m so proud of you."

Sae-Byeok, who had been mostly quiet, gave her mother a small, genuine smile. "Thanks, eomma."

Se-Mi leaned back, stretching. "It’s crazy how much attention we’re getting now. Feels like overnight, we went from ‘rising rock band’ to THE rock band."

Ji-Yeong grinned. "I mean, we are that good."

"Yeah, yeah," No-Eul muttered, rolling her eyes.

And then—

Ji-Yeong smirked knowingly. "Oh, speaking of new fans…"

You had just taken a sip of your drink when she said it, and something in her tone made you pause.

"You guys won’t believe this," Ji-Yeong continued, looking at Se-Mi and No-Eul. "Jisoo made a group chat for us."

You froze for just a second—just long enough for it to sting.

"A group chat?" you asked, forcing your voice to stay light. Casual.

"Yeah!" Se-Mi laughed. "She’s actually hilarious. She’s been sending us memes all day."

"And you didn’t add me?" you joked, smiling like it didn’t feel like a punch to the gut.

Ji-Yeong blinked. "Oh, shit. We didn’t, did we?"

Se-Mi shrugged. "Didn’t think you’d care. It’s just dumb stuff."

You waved it off, keeping your expression perfectly neutral. "Nah, it’s fine. I barely keep up with my messages anyway."

Sae-Byeok didn’t say anything.

Didn’t look at you.

Didn’t correct them.

And that hurt more than you wanted to admit.

After dinner, you insisted on helping Ms. Kang clean up. The others were still chatting in the living room, but you needed a moment—just a moment—to push down the sinking feeling in your chest.

As you rinsed dishes in the sink, you felt a presence next to you.

Cheol.

The little troublemaker had grabbed a towel and was drying plates with surprising focus for a twelve-year-old.

"You don’t have to help, you know," you said, giving him a small smile.

He shrugged. "Figured you could use the company."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why’s that?"

He hesitated, then asked, "Are you okay?"

You stiffened.

He was twelve. How the hell was he this perceptive?

"Of course I am," you said easily, forcing a chuckle. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

Cheol gave you a very unimpressed look. "Because you got all weird when they started talking about Jisoo."

You almost dropped the plate.

"Cheol—"

"I mean, I get it," he continued, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. "She’s kinda stealing Sae-Byeok-noona’s attention, right?"

You swallowed hard. "Cheol—"

"And you like her."

Your heart stopped.

You turned to him, actually speechless, but Cheol just shrugged like it was obvious.

"I mean, it’s pretty clear," he said matter-of-factly. "I don’t know why no one else sees it."

You opened your mouth—then closed it.

What were you supposed to say?

Cheol sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "Adults are so bad at talking about their feelings."

You let out a weak laugh, ruffling his hair to distract from the fact that your entire soul was currently malfunctioning.

"You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?" you muttered.

He grinned. "I know."

And as much as you wanted to deny it—to brush it off, to pretend none of this was getting to you—Cheol’s words lingered.

Dinner had settled into that comfortable post-meal haze—everyone lounging in the living room, sprawled across couches and chairs, half-full cups of tea resting on the table.

You had tried to stay engaged, really.

But it was hard when all the girls were glued to their phones, laughing at whatever Jisoo was sending in their group chat.

Ji-Yeong snorted. "No way she just said that."

Se-Mi cackled. "I swear, she’s funnier than you, Ji."

Ji-Yeong gasped, clutching her chest like she had been personally attacked. "How dare you."

No-Eul, who had been silently scrolling, smirked. "You walked into that one."

Even Sae-Byeok, who wasn’t the most expressive when it came to things like this, had a small amused smile on her face as she read whatever Jisoo had sent.

And you?

You were just… there.

You weren’t in the chat.

You weren’t part of the inside jokes.

You were just sitting on the edge of the couch, feeling like an outsider in a group you had been with since the beginning.

It wasn’t their fault.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

You exhaled quietly, deciding it was probably time to head out.

"Alright," you said, standing up and stretching. "I should get going—"

"You wanna draw with me?"

You paused, turning to see Cheol looking up at you from the floor, where he had been quietly doodling in a sketchbook.

He held up an extra pencil.

"You don’t have to," he added quickly, like he didn’t want to pressure you. "But, like… it’s more fun with two people."

Something in your chest softened.

Here was this twelve-year-old kid—who could’ve easily gone to play video games or ignored you like most kids his age would—but instead, he noticed.

He saw you feeling left out.

And he was giving you a way back in.

You smiled, genuinely this time, and sat down on the floor next to him. "Alright, but only if we color too. No boring sketches."

Cheol grinned. "Deal."

Cheol had a surprising collection of colored pencils and markers, and soon, the two of you were deep into a ridiculous art session.

You had started drawing a cat, but somehow, it had turned into a superhero cat with sunglasses and a cape.

Cheol was drawing a rock band made up of aliens.

Every few minutes, you’d nudge each other’s arms, messing up lines on purpose, and burst into laughter.

It was silly.

It was fun.

And for the first time that night, you didn’t feel like you were on the outside looking in.

Unbeknownst to you, two people had noticed.

From across the room, Sae-Byeok had glanced up from her phone, her gaze lingering on you and Cheol.

She watched the way you smiled—really smiled—for the first time that night.

The way Cheol leaned into you, like he had claimed you as his favorite person in the room.

The way you weren’t paying attention to any of them anymore.

Sae-Byeok’s grip on her phone tightened slightly.

She wasn’t the only one who noticed.

No-Eul, ever observant, caught the look on Sae-Byeok’s face.

She didn’t say anything.

Just met Sae-Byeok’s gaze for a second—just long enough to acknowledge it.

Then, like nothing had happened, she went back to scrolling through her phone.

And Sae-Byeok?

She looked back at you again.

And this time, she really saw you.

And maybe—just maybe—she realized that she didn’t like seeing you find comfort somewhere else.

taglist: @everly-summers-solace @knfthxv @madebysae @knfthxv @katieschry1 @imlackingsleep @lyzem @stellssxo @wiltingconquest @peelover25@monroesturnns @laurenkens @yenyu1s @idontliketoread2137 @bitchybananaflower @lyuuw

[holyblonded]

does a commentator ever make estrella upset by asking an out of pocket question or something

— for sure, but unfortunately it’s a part of the job to deal with rude interviewers and commentators.

— during a post-match interview after a champions league final win, someone asks estrella if she thinks her father would be proud of her. her jaw clenches, and she lets out a dry laugh before responding, “yeah, if he’s even alive to see it.” the interview ends shortly after.

— at a world cup press conference, a journalist brings up her mother’s struggles with addiction, asking if she thinks she would have been a different player had she grown up in a “better” household. estrella’s expression goes blank, and she tilts her head. “what does that have to do with football?” her voice is calm, but the sharpness in her tone makes the entire room go quiet.

— after a particularly heated clasico, a reporter suggests that estrella’s aggressive playstyle must come from the “anger she holds from her past.” she just stares at them for a moment before responding, “or maybe i just like winning.” she walks away before they can say anything else.

— when she first starts playing for the uswnt, an american journalist asks if she feels like a “real” american since she grew up in spain. estrella scoffs, shaking her head. “does my passport not count, or do i need to start eating burgers every day?”

— in a pre-match interview, a reporter brings up her reputation as a troublemaker, asking if she ever worries about being a bad role model. estrella leans forward slightly, voice steady. “kids should learn that they don’t have to take shit from anyone.”

— after winning the ballon d’or in the future, a journalist asks if she feels like she’s “finally proven herself” despite the criticism she’s faced. estrella rolls her eyes. “if you’re still doubting me at this point, that sounds like a you problem.”

[giselleloversclub]

NCT HOGWARTS AU FIC REC

LEE TAEYONG

AT THE PITCH @jeogiyall

hufflepuff taeyong x slytherin reader

secret dating au

word count : 1.1k

WHEN THE SHADOW MEET THE LIGHT @taeyongtime

hufflepuff taeyong x slytherin reader

word count : 15k

personal fav

——————————————————————————

NAKAMOTO YUTA

YOU HAVE NO IDEA , DO YOU ? @sehunniepotwrites

slytherin yuta x hufflepuff reader

enemies to lover au

word count : 810

personal fav

NOT THAT BAD @sheeple

Slytherin’s aren’t evil. Sure, there are some bad apples between them. But you find them everywhere.

slytherin yuta x hufflepuff reader

——————————————————————————

QUIAN KUN

NOLI TIMERE @itsapapisongo

Having friends in common, you and Kun have crossed paths over the years. In your sixth year, what once was an acquaintanceship slowly blooms into a friendship. And what better way to strengthen the bond than by dealing with a boggart and helping out a trio of would-be troublemakers.

hufflepuff kun x slytherin gn reader

word count : 13.3k

——————————————————————————

KIM DOYOUNG

PUSH & PULL PT2 PT3 @notnctu

in which a prideful slytherin and an oblivious hufflepuff play a clueless emotion game of tug of war.

❝I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?❞  

❝People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you pursue me?❞

slytherin doyoung x hufflepuff reader

smut (mdni)

word count : pt1: 9.7k , pt2 : 2k , pt3 : 8.4k

THE ENCHANTED CANVAS @sly-merlin

Y/n , a muggle is called to Hogwarts not because of her exceptional talents but due to the fact that her soulmate is a pure/half blood studying in Hogwarts. Her destiny takes her from an average household to the enchanting world of spells and charms. Would she found the one she sought? or sh’d end up losing herself in the new world!

word count : 4k

personal fav

MISCHIEF MANAGED @sparklingchan

You are forced to befriend Kim Doyoung under unexpected circumstances but as two lonely souls meet, you find yourself enjoying his company a little too much.

word count : 7k+

——————————————————————————

JUNG JAEHYUN

RAVENCLAW JAEHYUN X RAVENCLAW READER @nsheetee

EVEN WHEN YOU ANNOY THE FUCK OUT OF ME I STILL LOVE YOU @sehunniepotwrites

fluff

word count : 530

NOT SO CHARMING @sly-merlin

fluff

word count : 0.8k

AGAINST ALL ODDS @starryhyuck

jeong jaehyun has always had the biggest crush on you. that is, until he finds out you’re engaged to nakamoto yuta.

gryffindor jaehyun x slytherin reader

word count : 13.2k+

Head Over Broomsticks

When your friends are tired of watching you and your crush go around in circles, they take matters into their own hands. Putting their Advanced Potions skills to the test, Donghyuck and Chenle conjure up a powerful truth serum and slip it in your drink right before a Quidditch game, which leads to a few inappropriate comments about No. 77, Jeong Jaehyun, of Gryffindor’s Quidditch team. This would’ve been fine if you were just a regular spectator but you are much more than that--you’re the Announcer and everyone is subjected to hear your unfiltered thoughts. Just great.

Gryffindor Beater!Jaehyun x (f) Quidditch Announcer!Reader

wc : 3.5k+

——————————————————————————

DONG SICHENG

YULE BALL ? @sehunniepotwrites

word count : 909

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[prettymfwrites]

𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧

Mom Ellie x mom Dina x pregnant reader

The family life of You, Dina, and Ellie plus the rest of our beloved people<3

--------------

The cozy little house in Jackson was full of warmth and life. Sunlight poured through the windows, casting soft golden hues on the wooden floors. JJ was sitting cross-legged on the living room rug, babbling as he tried to stack a tower of blocks. Ellie crouched beside him, helping stabilize his wobbly creation, while Dina leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the scene with a soft smile.

You sat on the couch with a hand resting over your growing belly, a rare moment of rest in the busy household. At five months pregnant, you were starting to feel the fatigue more acutely, and everyone around you seemed to notice.

“Hey,” Dina called from the kitchen, glancing at you over her shoulder. “You good? Need water or something?”

You shook your head with a small smile. “I’m fine, just enjoying the show.”

Ellie looked up from her spot on the floor, her green eyes flicking to you with concern. “You sure? You’ve been sitting a while. Maybe we should prop your feet up or something.”

You laughed softly. “I’m okay, Ellie. Really.”

But before you could convince her further, the front door creaked open, and Joel stepped inside, followed by Jesse.

“Hope you’re hungry,” Joel said, lifting a basket filled with freshly baked bread and other treats Maria had sent over. “Maria thought y’all could use some extra hands today.”

“Extra hands are always welcome,” Dina said, stepping forward to grab the basket. “Especially with these two being overprotective mother hens.”

Joel chuckled as Jesse leaned down to ruffle JJ’s hair. “Overprotective’s not a bad thing,” Jesse said, throwing a wink in your direction. “Especially with this one baking up another troublemaker.”

“Hey!” you protested, laughing. “You’re all acting like I can’t even move anymore.”

“You’re pregnant,” Ellie said firmly, standing and brushing her hands on her jeans. “You’re not supposed to be moving. Or lifting. Or doing anything remotely exhausting.”

“She’s not wrong,” Joel added, his tone teasing but warm. “Why do you think Maria’s been sending me over so much? Keepin’ you all in line.”

Maria’s timing was impeccable because not long after, she arrived with even more food and supplies. She gave you a pointed look as she set down a casserole dish. “And how are you feeling today?”

You sighed dramatically, throwing your hands up. “I’m fine. But apparently, I’m under house arrest.”

Maria laughed, patting your shoulder. “Good. That means they’re doing their job.”

---

Living with Ellie, Dina, and JJ felt like being part of a chaotic yet loving symphony. Ellie was the early riser, always the first to make coffee and check the perimeter. Dina, on the other hand, was the night owl, staying up late to tidy up or prep for the next day.

JJ was the glue that held everything together. His giggles filled the house, and he had both Ellie and Dina wrapped around his little fingers. Ellie was the patient teacher, showing him how to draw simple shapes or hold a small wooden guitar. Dina was the playful one, chasing him around the house and encouraging his endless curiosity.

You found your rhythm in their chaos, though everyone made sure you were never left to do too much.

“Hey, hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Ellie said one afternoon when she caught you trying to carry a basket of laundry upstairs.

“Laundry?” you replied innocently.

“Not happening.” Ellie took the basket from you with a shake of her head. “You’re supposed to be resting. Dina, tell her!”

“Don’t drag me into this,” Dina called from the kitchen, though her amused tone betrayed her stance.

Maria often stopped by with little gifts or advice, her maternal instincts kicking in whenever she saw you. She and Joel worked well together, often taking JJ for walks so you could have a moment of peace.

---

One day, a minor scare threw everyone into overdrive. You’d been outside tending to the small garden when you tripped over an uneven patch of ground. It wasn’t serious—you caught yourself before falling—but the commotion had Dina rushing outside, followed closely by Ellie, Joel, and Jesse, who happened to be passing by.

“What happened?” Dina asked, her hands on your arms as she inspected you for injuries.

“Nothing! I just lost my footing,” you said, trying to downplay the situation.

“Lost your footing?” Ellie repeated, her brows furrowed. “You could’ve—”

“I didn’t, though,” you interrupted, giving her a reassuring smile.

Joel placed a steadying hand on Ellie’s shoulder. “She’s fine, kid. No need to hover.”

Ellie grumbled something under her breath but didn’t argue. Dina helped you back inside, muttering about how they were going to bubble-wrap you until the baby arrived.

---

Evenings were the best part of the day. The five of you (and Maria or Joel on occasion) would gather in the living room for quiet time. JJ would sit in your lap, occasionally patting your belly and asking questions about the “baby in there.”

Ellie would strum her guitar softly while Dina leaned against you, her head on your shoulder. Joel and Maria would exchange stories from their patrols, and Jesse would crack jokes that had everyone laughing.

Despite the dangers of the world outside, the little house felt like a sanctuary—a place where love and family came first.

Ellie would often whisper to you at night, her hand resting protectively on your stomach. “I’m gonna keep you safe,” she’d say softly, as if making a promise to you and the little one on the way.

Dina, half-asleep, would usually murmur her agreement, pulling you closer. “We all will.”

And as you lay between them, with JJ sleeping soundly in the next room and your growing family wrapped in warmth, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect life.

---

JJ IS LITERALLY THE CUTEST THING

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