#PRETEND I POSTED IT ON TIME PRETEND IT'S NOT LATE-

[hiiraya]

loml

pairing: natasha romanoff  x reader 

words: ~3.3k

warnings: angst, happy ending (?), literally just self-indulgent writing, messy writing, listen to loml by taylor swift to get in the sad mood

a/n: merry christmas everyone! the last thing I posted was january of 2022 and it's literally about to be 2025 - I've been in a reminiscing mood lately and this was something I've had in the drafts for months, I figured I should just release it to get it out of my system. your girl has been missing someone bad bro and the urge to tag them in this is insane ♡ anyways, hope they see this lmao

“Have a safe flight and text me when you land, yeah?”

“I will, I will. Get home safe and update me as well, okay?”

You release your cousin from your hold, giving their shoulder a quick squeeze as they pull away. You do a last minute check with them to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything important - something you were always prone to do when travelling by yourself. The memory of you almost missing your international flight because you had rushed home and back to the airport within record speed, all because you had forgotten your passport of all things. 

“I’ll fly out to see you next time, so you can show me around.” You smile.

“Are you guys serious? I told you to leave early so that this exact thing wouldn’t happen!”

Your eyebrows immediately furrow at the familiar voice, catching one last glance of your cousin as they enter the security screening area, waving to them while you mouth one last ‘text me when you land!’ as they leave your sight, before turning around to find the source of the voice.

No way it’s her, you thought. What’s she doing here?

As you get closer to the arrivals board, your questions are answered. Standing there in all her glory, is the one woman you never thought you’d lay your eyes on again.

“Natasha?”

You see the puzzled look on her face as she registers your voice before she even lays her eyes on you. Watching as the confusion turns to irritation - whether it was towards you or whoever was on the other side of the phone, you couldn’t tell (most likely both) - you watch as a deep sigh she releases as she glances at the board in front of her once again.

“-that’s another 10 hours before you guys even land.” She sighs, exasperation lacing her voice.

“Hey, listen if you need help-”

She holds a finger up to silence you, eyes meeting yours in a piercing glance. “I don’t need help, and especially not from you Y/N L/N.”

At her words, you look down, the sight of your shoes a welcome one as you take a second to recover. Honestly, you thought to yourself, I deserved that. 

“Yes, it’s Y/N- no I did not! I swear I didn’t know that they were here.” You hear her mutter from beside you. Deciding to save the both of you from further embarrassment, you turn your attention elsewhere, wondering what your cousin would say once you eventually tell them about who you ran into immediately after they left.

You lift your head back up when you hear Natasha mumble "you guys pick the day before Christmas of all days to be late for your flight” followed by a quick goodbye before hanging up the phone, watching her scope the airport for her next step. 

You could just leave and pretend this ever happened.

“Come on, Nat, I promise I just want to help.” You find yourself saying instead. “I can take you to your hotel when they get here.”

Well, there's no going back from that now.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Are you seriously asking me that right now?”

You really needed to stop opening your mouth.

“Okay, you know what, I deserve that.” You pause. “Listen, I’m not going to force you to come with me, but the offer is still there if you want it. You’ll get a free ride, plus you can use my apartment to rest and freshen up while you wait.”

 -x-

"I can't believe you talked me into this."

You spare a glance to Natasha, who was currently sitting in your passenger seat.

"You're the one that followed me to the car?"

She rolls her eyes at your confused tone, choosing to ignore what you said and instead checking her phone - most likely waiting for an update from whoever she was speaking to on the phone before. "I can't believe they missed their flight."

"Who's they?"

"Yelena, Maria, Wanda," she answers. "Oh, and Yelena's friend Kate too. I don't think you've met her."

You bit the inside of your cheek, because you already know that you didn't get to meet anyone named Kate while you were still together. You honestly didn't get to meet many of Natasha's friends whenever visited her - it was something you always fought over. It felt like she was ashamed of you, always wanting to keep you hidden, a secret she never planned on sharing with the world.

You refrain from asking any follow up questions - if Natasha wanted you to know more she would tell you.

Instead, you ask: "Did they manage to catch the next flight out?"

She nods. "I'm honestly surprised they did, considering how expensive it probably would've been. But knowing Maria, she probably would've pulled some strings to make it work."

Natasha finally looks up from her phone as you come to a stop, looking at the building you had just parked in front of.

"Where are we?"

"My apartment, I figured we could drop off your bags and you can freshen up before I show you around." You open the door for Natasha before moving to grab her bags from the trunk.

You lead her inside, setting her bags down in the living room before turning around to face Natasha - holding your arms out as you gesture to your living space. It's the first time she's ever stepped foot into this place, having only seen it through a phone screen since you were the one who would fly out to visit her when you were still together.

"I'll grab you some towels so you can freshen up, but make yourself at home." You say, gesturing for her to follow you down a hallway. "The bathroom is the first door to your left, there should be a spare toothbrush under the sink- wait did I give to my cousin? Well, we can grab you one while we're out but everything you need should be here."

You know you're rambling but you don't stop in fear of saying something stupid (which knowing you, is highly likely).

"If you want to take a nap, the guest room is just a little further down the hall on the right - I just changed the sheets so everything should be fresh."

It's not the way you wanted to be showing Natasha around your home for the first time, but you'll take what you can get. It'd be so easy to waltz back to the way things were, before everything fell apart but you didn't have the right to that anymore. You weren't a part of her life anymore.

You didn't know if she already had someone new in her life, maybe you were overstepping in so many ways and that it was best to just keep your distance. After all, you did promise that you just wanted to help. You were here to keep her company until the girls arrived and take her to the hotel when they finally did get here.

You know it's for the better to just move on, that after today she'll be gone and it'll be like she never made a reappearance in your life. But how could you when you know deep down that you still haven't fully moved on and that she'll always hold your heart in her hands?

Natasha's voice cuts off your reverie, bringing you back to the present as you hand her the towels.

"Give me an hour to shower and rest my feet for a bit, I wanna go out and explore while we wait."

 -x-

"Do you see that one over there? That's a hammerhead shark! They're one of the most powerful sharks in the ocean."

Natasha hears the little girl gasp, watching their eyes going wide with wonder. She can't help the small laugh that escapes when she sees the young girl lean closer towards the glass before loudly whispering, "is it going to eat us?"

You laugh softly, and Natasha can't help but think that she's missed hearing the sound of your laugh, something she thought she wouldn’t hear again. It comforts her slightly to know that it hasn't changed after all these years, and that  she can still easily recognise the sound as being yours only.

"It won't eat us! Sharks don't eat humans," she hears you explain. "They're more interested in fish and seals, than they are humans. But they are really strong swimmers, and they can smell things from miles away - even in water!"

She'd been watching you answer questions about sharks for the past 5 minutes, after a curious little girl ran up to while you were looking at the shark tank and asked if you knew what type of shark was swimming in front of the glass.

"Do sharks talk to each other?"

"They don't talk like we do, but they do communicate by using their bodies and how they move through the water. Some sharks even make sounds by rubbing their teeth together, kind of like a secret language that only they can hear."

It doesn't take long for the girl's mother to find the three of you, sighing in relief as she sees her daughter, looking up at you apologetically.

"Sorry, she's probably been asking you a million questions."

You give the woman a friendly smile and shake your head. "It was nothing, I loved answering all of her questions." You tell her. "It looks like you might have a future marine biologist on your hands."

"Let's leave the lovely ladies to enjoy the rest of their date, bubba."

"Oh- it's not-"

"We're not-"

The mother and daughter are already walking off before either of you could finish your sentences, leaving you and Natasha standing in front of the shark exhibit with red cheeks and thundering heartbeats. 

Natasha catches your eyes as you glance at her in a shy glance, and she knows it's too late. The warmth that passes through her as you smile, the same warm and knowing smile that you used to give her when everything was still okay was almost enough to bring her down to her knees.

You interrupt before her thoughts can spiral any further, clearing your throat before gesturing with your head the direction of the next exhibit.

"Shall we keep going?"

 -x-

Natasha sits across from you at a small café by the beach. You mention to her that it was your secret place, one that you go to when you wanted time to slow down and just have a moment to catch your breath. After the little incident at the aquarium, you guys decided it was best to just sit and people watch for the time being to avoid any more awkward interactions.

The warmth emanating from the cup of coffee did little to chase away the little chills that ran down her spine every time Natasha caught you gaze lingering on her for longer than you must've realised.

She told you about the plans that she and the girls had made for their vacation while you filled her in on your own life, telling her about your cousin that had just recently come to visit you just before Christmas.

"I'm glad you chose to come with me." You admit after a pause in conversation, voice soft. She turns to look at you, your eyes meeting hers with such an intensity it made her breath get caught in her throat. "I missed getting to talk to you like this."

She can tell that you spoke without thinking, the widening of your eyes giving you away. You look away, muttering a quiet "sorry" before lifting your drink to your lips in an attempt to hide the flush of your cheeks.

She was supposed to be over you. She'd told herself time and time again that she had moved on, but seeing you again, and being here with you, she couldn't deny that she was still in love with you. Having you so close yet so unreachable leaves an ache in her chest.

Throughout the time you two had been sat at the café, she watched you with fondness at the way your eyes lit up while you spoke with excitement in your voice about the things you and your cousin had gotten up to in the week they were with you; Natasha realises that she missed you too - and the comfort that you brought her just by simply being near.

"Nat? You okay?" The worry in your voice only deepens the ache in her heart.

"Yeah, no, sorry - I'm okay." She answers with a shaky nod, breathing deeply. She allows herself to feel her emotions, knowing that it would only do harm if she tried to deny herself this moment with you.

"I missed you too."

The sadness settles deep within her chest, the way you looked so shocked at her words - and she wonders if you were expecting her dismiss your words.

Her phone pings loudly from where it was placed on the table, the text tone sounding off four times in a row as her screen lights up between the two of you.

Natasha!! We've landed :D - Wanda

Sestra, we're on our way to the hotel now, tell lover girl to drop you off now - Yelena

Hi Nat, sorry again - we'll be there in 30 minutes! - Kate

I'll check us in if we make it to the hotel first, Nat, just let us know when you're there - Maria

You both watch as each text pops up on her phone, knowing that your time together was coming to an end.

Natasha watches as you ponder for a moment - wondering if you were going to add on to your words from before now that she's admitted that she missed you too. For a second it does seem like you're about to say something, but instead you just shake your head slightly to yourself, clearing your throat and as you look away, flagging down a waiter to pay for the meal you shared.

"We should probably get going if we want to get to the hotel at the same time as them."

She allows herself a moment to watch as you gather everything, absentmindedly listening to you talk about leaving now so we don't hit traffic - though I guess it's fair to make them wait, considering they made you wait like 10 hours, that's a practically a whole day wasted where you guys could've been sightseeing!

Natasha knows your putting on a brave front - she can see it in your eyes as you gather your wallet and keys, but she begrudgingly gets up after you pay for the bill, walking back with you to your car.

Already dreading the moment she has to say goodbye.

-x-

"Well, I guess this is where I leave you."

Pulling up at the front of the hotel, you catch a glance of Yelena, Kate and Wanda through the window. Even though you couldn't see her, you knew Maria wouldn't be too far away. Probably checking everyone in, you assumed as you parked your car near the entrance.

You do your best to avoid looking at Natasha, taking your time in getting out and grabbing her bags from the trunk, knowing this could very well be the last time you see her again. The thought alone breaks your heart all over again - you can recall all the times you've begged the universe to let your paths cross once more. Now that your wish has been granted and you're preparing to say goodbye to her once again, you deeply feel the loss of her from your life before it's even happened.

She's already watching you as you close the trunk. You hope that she can't see the tears that have been slowly building up since you started the drive to the hotel. You refuse to let yourself hope that the look in her eyes could mean anything order than gratitude.

"Thank you, Y/N, for today." She tells you softly.

"It's was nothing, Nat," you say with a smile, before softly adding, "you're welcome and I hope you guys have a Merry Christmas."

Getting lost in the silence that falls between you; you miss the way she's looking at you as you stare down at your shoes, waiting for her to grab her things and go so you can drive back to your apartment and sulk for the rest of the week. You wonder if she can see the way your hands are shaking as you wait for the inevitable goodbye.

"Y/N?"

You hum in response, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you decided to use actual words.

"I had a really good time today."

You tilt your head in curiosity. You've had a hard time all day trying to gauge if Natasha was having enjoying herself or not. There's no doubt in your mind that she would've said something if she wasn't.

"And it got me thinking," she continues. "I don't know- maybe I'm reading into everything wrong, and you can absolutely say no. You'll probably say no, because this is crazy, but I had to say something before I lose my mind-"

"Nat." You interrupt. As endearing as it was to hear her ramble on, to see her getting more and more flustered as she kept talking, you knew she'd work herself up before she every got to what she actually wanted to say.

"Breathe, love."

You nod encouragingly after she takes a deep breath, giving her time to gather her thoughts.

"Maybe it doesn't have to be so wrong, you know?" She starts. "To try again."

You try to hide the shock that you feel, but can't stop the way your eyes widen ever so slightly at her words. Never in a million years did you expect her to even say yes to spending the day with you, let alone suggest giving your relationship another go.

Does she mean just a friendship or an actual relationship?

Is she just saying that because of today?

What if she realises she doesn't actually mean that later on?

What if this was just a joke and she was just waiting for you to say yes so she can go "aha! I was just kidding as if I'd be serious."?

What if-

"We're different people now, don't you think?"

Confused but curious to know what else you had to say, she nods. "I'd say we are."

"We're older than we were before." You add. "We know a lot more about ourselves now, I'm not the scared kid I used to be."

You're scared of making the same mistakes you did all those years ago. But you also know that you're more than willing to learn from those mistakes; to stay and communicate to make things work instead of running away at the first sign of trouble. Because if there's anything you want more in the world, it's to make this work with her.

But just as much as you are scared, you can't help but be excited. Excited and honoured to learn more about this new Natasha, and fall in love with her all over again. You can't wait to find out what stayed the same, and what changed about her. Whatever she was willing to share with you, you'd gladly take.

"I could love you properly this time."

She gasps softly, and your heart pounds at the prospect of already scaring her away.

The thought of her friends seeing this happening through the window of the hotel briefly crosses your mind - you wonder if they'd approve of you making a return to Natasha's life or if they'll make you work for it after the way things ended between you two.

But she smiles, stepping into your personal space to wrap her arms around your neck and all thoughts leave your mind. The only thing you can focus on is Natasha pulling you closer so her words are only for your ears and your ears only to hear.

"I could love you properly this time too."

-----

@sadonism

[jiinxswife]

Jinx x fem!reader relationship headcanons

Ahhh, today’s post came out late because tumblr sucks and it didn’t post the writing, making me loose it all and have to write it all over again >:(

Complain to it

Warnings: SFW headcanons, spoilers season 2

•you don’t catch her eyes, she’s too busy dealing with life to even think about a relationship, she catch yours

•it’s hard to approach her, really hard, principally after she becomes q Zaun hero. Everyone wants to hurt her, everyone wants to manipulate her, no one knows how she truly is, at least, that’s what she thinks

•has a hard time trusting you on the start, what would a stranger that she had never seen before want with her other then maybe status, money or the reward for her head?

•when you finally manages to approach her, just enough for her to let you spend some time with her, you two grow close rather fast. She’s touch starved, has no one to talk with, no one to share her ideas other then the voices of her old family, so she tells you about everything

•you probably are the one to ask for a relationship, she would never allow herself to get that vulnerable, and she says yes, even if she’s a bit confused about what she feels about you (don’t worry, soon she realizes that you’re the woman of her life and that she loves you)

•loves public display of affection, is there any better manner then to show to the whole Zaun that you genuinely love her? That she found someone that can love her as she is? Without trying to change her, without seeing her as Powder, but Jinx. If you start it by yourself or immediately contributes with her affection, she will get even happier

•as Said before, she loves public displays of affection, and as much as she loves your physical touch, she struggles to take it well sometimes, she will tense up and yelp when you start the affection stuff, blame that on her whole life, she would only get affection from dying people (silco COUGH COUGH) and when being manipulated (ALSO SILCO COUGH COUGH)

•will zone out sometimes, you will be cuddling her, dancing with her, whatever, and she will just stare at you, a frown forming on her face, her eyes expressionless, muscles tense, just waiting for you to hurt her. With time, these episodes become less

•isn’t vocal about her affection, she will never say “I love you”, not when you ask her out or even on your first time sleeping together, the closets you get of these three words are small, almost hidden “ily” ‘s written on gifts that she makes you

•talking about gifts, she shows how much she loves you by giving you gifts, so expect to have a room full of grenades and pistols that she made herself!

•will definitely ask you do to her nails, even if you suck at it, she just wants to feel your warmth

•follows you around when you leave, principally when the voices are louder, telling her that someone can hurt you, that someone can steal you, kill you. She makes sure you never know it though, she follows you from shadows

•please, wash her hair for her, it makes her feel so loved and cared for like she never was as a child

•if you like to whisper sweet things for her when she’s asleep and she finds out, she will definitely pretend to be asleep just to listen to you

Now, since im evil, let’s finish this with something sad. >:3

•expect her to either become sightly paranoid, defensive and somewhat even possessive once Isha dies or try to leave you completely, not wanting you to have the same destiny as everyone she ever loved.

•silco died, isha died, everyone she ever loved did, she will try her best to leave you, to protect you from her

[scoupsakakitty]

Just saw your posts the scoups x reader ahhhhh jts so good please continue writing, can i request some more seventeen x reader maybe from another group and the members are teasing them then it turns out they're already talking to each other or they're already together and others would find out accidentally HAHAHA THANK YOU 💖

Secrets and Suspicions | idol!Wonwoo x Reader | fluff

The practice room was alive with energy. The members of Seventeen were scattered across the space, either stretching, joking around, or scrolling through their phones while music played softly in the background. You sat on the couch against the wall, pretending to be invested in whatever video was playing on your screen, but your eyes kept darting toward Wonwoo, who was sitting beside you.

He was close—closer than friends usually sat—and his leg brushed against yours every time he shifted. You could feel the heat of his arm resting casually on the back of the couch, almost as if he wanted to pull you closer but was holding back.

“Y/N, do you want anything from the vending machine?” Wonwoo asked, his voice soft but clear enough to make the others glance in your direction.

“No, I’m okay,” you replied quickly, but your voice betrayed the slight nervousness you felt.

“Since when is Wonwoo so polite?” Minghao teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Seungkwan chimed in. “He doesn’t even ask us if we want something. Are you special or what?”

Your face burned, and Wonwoo just gave a small, calm smile. “Maybe Y/N deserves special treatment.”

His words sent a ripple of surprise through the room.

“What was that?!” Hoshi practically shrieked, dropping into a crouch as if preparing for battle. “Did Wonwoo just flirt?”

“It’s called being nice,” Wonwoo replied nonchalantly, but the tips of his ears were turning pink—something you had noticed happened whenever he got flustered.

“Ohhh, nice, huh?” Joshua grinned, walking over and sitting on the armrest beside you. “You two have been spending a lot of time together lately.”

You tried to brush it off. “We’re just friends.”

“Sure you are,” Vernon said, leaning back against the mirrors with a smirk.

The teasing continued for a few more minutes before the members got distracted by their usual antics. Wonwoo leaned in slightly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “They’re just being themselves.”

He chuckled quietly. “We might not be able to keep this secret much longer.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You and Wonwoo had been dating for a few months now, but neither of you had told anyone—not even the other members. At first, it had been exciting, sneaking around and sharing stolen moments. But now, with the others picking up on little hints, you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep up the act.

Wonwoo reached down and briefly brushed his fingers against yours, a silent reassurance that made your chest tighten in the best way.

———————————————————————————-

The next day, you found yourself in the dorms with the members again. This time, they were gathered in the living room playing games while you and Wonwoo sat off to the side, watching.

“Wonwoo, you’re awfully quiet,” Mingyu said, nudging him. “Usually, you’re focused, but today you’re just staring at Y/N.”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes. “I’m not staring.”

“Oh, you definitely are,” Jeonghan added with a sly grin. “And don’t think we haven’t noticed how you two keep whispering to each other.”

“They’re probably just sharing secrets,” Dino said innocently, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

“Secrets?” Seungkwan repeated dramatically. “Like the secret that they’re already dating?”

You choked on your drink, coughing as everyone turned to look at you. Wonwoo patted your back quickly, and that simple gesture only made the situation worse.

“See?!” Joshua pointed at the interaction. “You don’t do that unless you’re close. Really close.”

“Come on, leave them alone,” Woozi said, finally stepping in to rescue you both. But his slight smile told you that even he was suspicious.

Wonwoo, ever the calm one, simply leaned back and said, “Believe what you want.”

That response did little to ease their curiosity. If anything, it made them even more determined to figure it out.

———————————————————————————-

Later that evening, most of the members had left the dorm to grab dinner, leaving you and Wonwoo alone for the first time all day.

“Finally, some peace and quiet,” Wonwoo sighed, leaning back against the couch.

You smiled, leaning a little closer. “Who knew keeping a secret could be this exhausting?”

“Oh, trust me, I know.”

Before you could say anything else, Wonwoo suddenly placed his hands on your hips and gently pulled you onto his lap.

“Wonwoo!” you gasped, but the soft smile playing on his lips made your heart race.

“What? We’re alone,” he said, tilting his head slightly as his eyes flickered down to your lips.

You couldn’t resist him—not when he was looking at you like that. So you gave in, wrapping your arms around his neck as he leaned in.

The kiss started soft and slow, but it didn’t take long for it to deepen. His hands held you firmly, one resting on your waist and the other trailing up to cup your cheek. The world outside faded away as you melted into him, savoring the warmth and comfort of his touch.

Minutes passed, though neither of you seemed to care. That was until—

“We’re back!” Hoshi’s loud voice rang out, shattering the moment.

You jumped off Wonwoo’s lap so fast that you nearly tripped, scrambling to smooth your hair and fix your shirt. Wonwoo leaned back, doing his best to look unbothered, but the faint redness in his ears gave him away.

“Wait a second,” Jeonghan said, freezing in the doorway as his eyes narrowed at the two of you. “Were you two just—?”

“No,” Wonwoo interrupted quickly, his voice calm but a little too quick to deny it.

“Don’t lie!” DK shouted, pointing at you both. “You were totally making out!”

“No, we weren’t,” Wonwoo said again, crossing his arms as if that would somehow make him more convincing.

“Oh, really?” Seungkwan smirked, stepping closer and squinting at Wonwoo’s face. “Then explain why you’re wearing lip gloss.”

Wonwoo’s eyes widened slightly, and his hand instinctively moved to touch his lips. The other members erupted into laughter as your face turned bright red.

“Busted!” Hoshi shouted, practically falling over as he laughed.

“That’s not—” Wonwoo started, but it was no use.

“Nice try,” Joshua teased. “Just admit it already.”

Wonwoo sighed, running a hand through his hair before reaching out to grab yours. “Fine. You caught us.”

The room exploded with cheers, whistles, and playful teasing as you buried your face in Wonwoo’s shoulder, groaning.

———————————————————————————-

By the end of the night, the chaos had died down, and most of the members had gone to bed. Only a few stragglers remained, still asking occasional questions but clearly starting to accept it.

“I can’t believe you managed to keep this from us for so long,” Jeonghan said, shaking his head.

“Me neither,” Mingyu added. “But honestly? You guys are cute together.”

“Thanks,” you said, smiling as Wonwoo squeezed your hand.

When the others finally left, you turned to him. “Well, that went about as expected.”

He laughed softly. “At least now we don’t have to hide anymore.”

You leaned into him, letting the weight of the day melt away. It wasn’t how you had planned for them to find out, but in the end, it didn’t matter.

Because now, you could be together—no more secrets.

And honestly? That was worth all the teasing in the world.

———————————————————————————-

[purple-raspberries]

Happy Holidays! I spent it sketching FranklyDear angst!

Remember the hanahaki post?! Yup!

CW// puppet body horror with flowers, floral angst

[click for better quality]

:D

I liked thinking that Eddie, being the more emotionally open of the two, would be more prone to rapid flower growth. Maybe they’d pop out of his mouth, symbolizing his inability or unwillingness to speak out his feelings. The flowers coming out of the heart area are another detail I liked using for all of them! Eddie, I think, would let them build up inside him until they burst through and people start to notice. A hopeless lover. (I spent too much time drawing him haha!)

Frank, on the other hand, would actively cut them out as they built up inside him and made movement difficult. He seems the type to repress everything “unnecessary” or “silly” given the above mentioned situation (unwilling or unable to express love) in order to appear proper. This would also be a figurative act of rejecting those feelings that the flowers represent. Of course, ignoring an emotion often just makes it worse. He’d be the worst off, I think, if the disease got exponentially worse the more you tried to suppress your emotions. Does hanahaki work both ways? Does it work on perceived unrequited love or actual unrequited love? Let’s pretend only one of them has it in each situation :)

But how does the hanahaki get cured in puppets? Magic? Sudden glitter? Invasive surgery with a dose of blooming romance? Do the blooms wither with a slow recovery (sick fic + recovery)? So many options!

Edit: Perhaps instead of death it’s somehow worse. You become essentially a living bouquet or flower bush/patch. Rooted to a spot, uncomfortable and unable to move or speak until your body falls into such disrepair that you simply stop. Oh, what a tear jerker that would be. A too-late to be saved situation with a tragic ending :,)

[kvroomi]

the twelve days of christmas (kuroo’s ver)

summary: the twelve days leading up to christmas with kuroo and the different ways he shows you his love each time.

listening to: anything - adrienne lenker

tags: kuroo x fem!reader, domestic fluff, minor swearing, reader’s first language is english, reader has hair

author note: IM SO LATE I KNOW, but a massive late merry christmas to all who celebrate! hoping everyone is doing well these winter or summer holidays and spending time with/doing who/what you all love the most. wishing everyone well into this coming new year! may 2025 bring you wealth and good health ❤️‍🩹

i giggled to myself too many times while writing this it’s embarrassing i seriously think this is the cutest thing i’ve ever posted. also just wanted to share that the second i started writing for the final day (day 12), it turned 11:11 and i think that’s a sign

on the first day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—a single christmas ornament personalised with your initials. his fingers held the small box in a way that was both cautious and arrogant—a perfect portrayal of his well-known charm. his frame leaned against the doorway to your apartment, his cheeks flushed from the december cold and the faintest smirk decorating his lips.

you were seated on the couch, your hands curled around a mug of tea. though you loved winter, it just happened to be one of those evenings where the world outside felt grey and cold. you supposed your long day was partly to blame, though you’d almost immediately forgotten about it the second you stepped inside, because there he was; he who was always warm and always golden.

“on the first day of christmas,” he began dramatically, “your loving boyfriend gifted to thee…” trailing off, he held the box aloft like it was the climax of some grand performance.

you raised an eyebrow, unimpressed though very amused. “is it socks? please tell me it’s socks. i feel like i’ve been dropping very unsubtle hints.”

your own interest had piqued just from your rambles alone, your mind unconsciously racking through endless possibilities of what could be in the box. now your body has shifted from casually leaned up on the back of the couch to sitting at the edge, eager to find out what gift awaited you.

“socks?” kuroo scoffed, shutting the door behind him with his foot. “do i look like the kind of guy who gives socks on day one? socks are at least day four material.”

“ah, my mistake.” you purse your lips in apology before taking a sip of your tea and watching as he sat beside you, his knee brushing against yours.

“wait, hold on.there’s more gifts coming?” you whipped your head towards his in realisation.

kuroo smelled faintly of pine. whether from a nearby tree lot or just because he insisted on using a “woodsy” cologne, you couldn’t tell. he simply shrugged sheepishly in response and you gave a wearisome huff.

“alright well… go on then, magician. what’s in the box?”

with a theatrical wave, kuroo opened the lid. inside was a single christmas ornament: shiny and delicate, etched with your initials in exquisite gold lettering. it caught the dim light of your living room and scattered it like tiny stars.

you stared at it for a moment, caught off guard by how sweet it was—intimate, even. it wasn’t that kuroo was incapable of romance. he was, in his own teasing way… but this felt different. it felt a lot more thoughtful.

“an ornament,” you said finally, reaching out to touch it. “wow... this is… weirdly adorable. are you feeling okay?”

“don’t ruin it,” he hushed pretending to be offended, though you could see the corners of his mouth twitching. “i thought we’d start a tradition. every year, one new ornament. you know, build up a collection. by the time we’re old and grey, we’ll have a whole tree full of memories. romantic, right?” he winked playfully.

you blinked, caught between laughter and something warmer and deeper. “that’s actually—wow. that’s disgustingly sweet, tetsu.”

“i’m just full of surprises, babe.” his hand dipped gently into the box and handed you the ornament, fingers lingering against yours. “just don’t get too used to it because tomorrow’s gift is going to be hilariously impractical.”

you turned the ornament over in your hand, the gold initials shining faintly. “okay… i just can’t get over how my initials are way prettier than yours? if this tradition continues, i fear we might need to just skip out on an ornament with your name so the tree stays pretty.”

“pffft, it’s not my fault you’ve got better branding,” he grinned as he draped an arm over your shoulder. “if it makes you feel better, next year i’ll go full kuroo—big and bold. i’m thinking something shiny and impossible to ignore. perhaps an ornament shaped like my face instead?”

you laughed, leaning into him. “i’d hang it front and center, right where everyone could see it.”

his smile softened. “great. that’s where i’d want it to be.”

you stayed like that for a while, his hand tracing slow circles on your shoulder. outside, the world was cold and distant, but thanks to kuroo, it felt like the season itself was bright, and full of beginnings.

on the second day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—two matching christmas mugs lined with photos from your recent photobooth trip. kuroo lied yesterday when he said today’s gift was going to be “hilariously impractical” but he wouldn’t tell you until you found out yourself. the box was suspiciously light when he handed it to you, his grin giving away both everything and nothing at all. he’d ambushed you in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you prepped your nightly tea with a knowing look.

it was day two of his so-called “twelve days of christmas” series, and if yesterday’s ornament hadn’t been both weirdly heartwarming, you might have been more cautious. but this was kuroo—the fun was in the gamble.

“i know you’re dying to see what’s inside,” he urged, the teasing lilt in his voice as familiar as his cologne. “guess. it’s the perfect gift for someone like you.”

“someone like me?” you narrowed your eyes, glancing between him and the box. “what’s that supposed to mean? should i be insulted?”

he placed his chin between his index finger and thumb, thoughtfully. “hmmm… insulted, no. concerned, maybe. thrilled? definitely.”

you scowled at him before turning to open the box slowly, drawing it out just to see him fidget. inside was a white mug—unassuming, plain, even. too plain for kuroo. you turned to him, mug in one hand and the other on your hip.

“wow,” you deadpanned. “a mug. revolutionary. thank you tetsuro for single-handedly redefining the art of gift giving.”

“ah-ah.” he wagged a finger in front of your face, grabbing the mug before you could set it down along with the other mugs in your extensive collection. “this isn’t just a mug. this is a magic mug.”

you blinked. once. twice. and three times before stuttering out a “sorry?”

he sauntered to the kettle, pouring hot water into the cup with the flair of a magician revealing the final act. you watched almost agonisingly slowly, as the heat spread and the surface began to change. the once white mug was now fading to colour. your breath hitched as the image emerged: a photo from your last impulsive photo booth trip.

there you were, mid-laugh with your face tilted toward his. his grin was wide and toothy, hand half-raised as if mid-gesture. the next frame showed your cheeks puffed in anger, while kuroo looked genuinely alarmed with one hand outstretched as if apologizing. and the cherry on top of the final frame? pure love—his chin buried in your shoulder with your hands on either side of his cheeks, squishing his face into something utterly ridiculous.

you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you, warm and unfiltered. “oh my god, this is what you chose?”

“what can i say?” he pushed himself back against the counter, watching your reaction with a soft sort of pride. “i’m a sucker for authenticity and you look adorable in that last one.”

“adorable?!” another laugh bubbled from you as you gestured wildly at the cup, now fully transformed. “i look like i’m wrestling you into submission!”

“exactly,” he uttered, completely serious. “it’s very ‘us.’”

half-exasperated, half-melting under the sheer absurdity of it all, you replied. “i’m going to use this in every meeting i have. i’ll be sipping from this in front of clients and coworkers.”

he grinned, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “perfect. let the world know you’re stuck with me.”

cue the classic eye roll. the warmth in his voice, the way he let his fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm—it disarmed you, as it always did.

“well,” you pressed a kiss to his jaw, “i guuuueeeesss i do need a mug for tea.”

“that’s the spirit.” he picked up his own matching mug, the photo identical but reversed. “and now, when we’re apart, you can look at me squished like a pancake and remember how much you love me.”

for the third time, you couldn’t help but laugh again, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “you’re ridiculous.”

his voice dipped low as he kissed your temple, “here you are loving me anyway.”

and he was right. of course he was right.

on the third day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—three of his favourite, special, christmas recipes. he arrived at your door with a snow-dusted grin and a peculiar sort of confidence—though that was nothing out of the blue. he held a single envelope; it was a little worn around the edges, with your name scribbled across the front in his messy, self-assured handwriting. no grand box like the past two days, no wrapping paper, and no telltale jingles of something extravagant. all that was held between his fingers was the envelope.

“is this a love letter?” you asked, pulling him inside by the sleeve of his coat to stop the cold from clinging to his cheeks. his cheeks were a warm shade of pink and had you had stared at them any longer than you already had, you would’ve kept him outside just so you could stare at how soft he looked for even longer. “because i gotta say, day three seems a little early for declarations of undying devotion.”

“ha ha, not a love letter,” he responded sarcastically, toeing off his boots and shrugging out of his coat. he stood in the middle of your walkway with his hands on his hips, watching you with that unshakable kuroo observation. “though if you want one i could probably draft something up. i’d write about your eyes, your laugh, and the way you snore when you’re—”

a single flick to his forehead to stop him before he could finish, and he lets out a laugh, all mischief and charm.

“okaaay, what’s in the envelope, then?” you asked, shaking it lightly as you moved toward the kitchen. naturally, kuroo followed like he belonged in your space.

“three gifts in one,” he announces, tapping the counter. “an entrée, a main course, and a dessert—recipes straight from the kuroo tetsuro vault of holiday magic.”

you nodded, taking in what he said and ending it with a shrug. “the kuroo tetsuro vault of holiday magic? huh, sounds legit.”

“oh, it’s legit,” kuroo leaned in slightly, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “these are the recipes that made my grandma call me her favourite. this—” he jabs at the envelope in your hand before continuing, “—holds recipes my teammates still beg me to make whenever i’m back home. they’re recipes that are, dare i say, iconic.”

you opened the envelope, pulling out three sheets of paper each written in his handwriting, complete with small drawings in the margins.

as your fingers traced the edges of the paper, the room shifted. the glow of the kitchen lights softened, the air thick with something quiet and familiar. you’d awaited a playful gesture—a joke gift wrapped in kuroo’s usual brand of teasing. perhaps something loud and irreverent to match the way he filled a room, but this? this was different.

the ink on the pages flowed sweetly from one side to the other—slightly smudged in places. you knew it spoke of hours spent leaning over a counter, a pen in his hand and you in his mind. each word carried a history with memories of family kitchens—laughter echoing through the years, a tradition he was choosing to share with you. it was so intimate in a way that pressed against the deepest crevices of your heart, unexpected and unspoken. it was like being handed the key to a door you hadn’t realized you’d been standing in front of.

all you could do was glance up at him, your voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath you hadn’t yet let go. “this feels… so personal,” was all you could squeeze out, quieter than you meant to.

kuroo who was against the counter, watched with an expression that was almost unreadable, his usual smirk replaced with a smile. “it is,” was all he said, and the weight of those words settled over you like snow on the branches outside.

it wasn’t just recipes. it wasn’t just a gift. it was a glimpse into the places he didn’t offer easily to the world—the spaces he reserved for family, for love, for you. the realisation unfurled slowly like the first bloom of warmth on a winter morning.

“hey,” he murmured whilst stepping closer, his hand brushing against yours as he gently laid the pages down onto the kitchen counter. “don’t overthink it. i just wanted to give you something real. something that… feels like home.”

you glanced down at the pages. the first was for an appetizer: roasted chestnut and butternut squash soup. there were notes about how the squash needed to be caramelised just right, along with a drawing of a smiling chestnut wearing a christmas hat.

the second was the main dish: honey-glazed ham with a cranberry-orange reduction. beneath the instructions he’d written, ‘if this doesn’t make you swoon, i’m giving up on holidays forever.’

the third was dessert, of course. written in black ink was his family’s secret recipe for gingerbread cookies with notes on how to make them crispy on the edges but soft in the middle. there was a poorly sketched gingerbread man doing a backflip in the corner.

“tetsuro,” you whispered reading through them, the thoughtfulness sinking in. “these are actually amazing.”

“of course they are,” he responds, moving to stand behind you with his chin resting on your shoulder as he peered at the recipes. “but they’re not just recipes. they’re invitations.”

“invitations?”

he tilted his head slightly, his hair brushing against your cheek. “to make them. together. think of it as a bonding exercise. or a relationship test. can we survive one kitchen, one oven, and three recipes without a holiday meltdown? high stakes, i know.”

now you really couldn’t hold back the laugh. folding the papers back into the envelope you continued, “so, what happens if we pass this ‘test’? what’s the reward?”

he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, his voice warm and teasing. “you get to keep me, obviously. and maybe some awesome leftovers.”

you turn to face him, envelope in hand. your chest settles with the same feeling of warmth that had nothing to do with the kitchen. “you know,” you lean in slightly, “for a guy who smuggles his personality in through bad puns and bad jokes, you’re actually kind of romantic.”

“kind of?” he echoed, feigning offense. “i just handed you the culinary equivalent of my heart, and i get “kind of” romantic?”

you kissed him, cutting off his fake tirade. your hands find their way to his collar and when you pulled back, his grin was smug but softer, like he’d just won something only the two of you could understand.

“now, which recipe do we ruin first?”

on the fourth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—four candles, each paired with a scent from a particular memory you had through every season that year. the snow on his shoes had melted into slush by the time kuroo had arrived home from work, boots squeaking on the wooden floors as he entered your apartment. dropping his scarf onto your chair and his coat on another, he finally let himself fall on the armrest of your couch. low and behold, balancing on his leg was yet another box, significantly larger that the past two he had gifted you already.

“are you here to redecorate or ruin our furniture?” you asked, looking up from your laptop as you glared at the wet spots forming around your couch.

“i bring gifts,” he announced proudly like a dramatic oracle. “four of them, actually. one for every season.”

you hummed. “wait! let me guess, a pinecone for winter, a seashell for summer, a pile of wet leaves for autumn—”

“wow. you really have not been giving me any credit, even after yesterday’s absolute banger of a gift!” kuroo interrupted while you snorted next to him, watching as he scooted closer to you on the couch and handed you the box. “this, my love, is the culmination of hours of research, consideration, and—you’ll be surprised to hear—minimal swearing.”

you sat up intrigued, raising an eyebrow and peeled the lid off. nestled inside were four candles, each carefully labeled with a card on top in his handwriting which had looked like it had been scrawled by a caffeinated bird—you found it so endearing

“spring: cherry blossoms and rain-soaked pavement,” you read aloud, pulling the first candle out.

“‘cause of the park!” kuroo winked at you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “y’know, when we tried to have a picnic but you spent half the time yelling at me to stop stepping in the puddles?”

“tried is the keyword there,” you retorted wittily, though your lips curved into a frown at the memory. “and you splashed mud on my shoes.”

“you mean i decorated your shoes,” he shot back without missing a beat.

the summer candle came next, and the scent of salty air and something faintly fruity filled your nostrils. you froze.

“the beach,” it was such a distinct memory for both you and kuroo, “the one with the frisbee game…”

“where i heroically rescued it from that evil seagull,” he finished, and when you looked up towards him, his grin was unapologetic.

“you ate shit running away afterwards.”

“unnecessary details, babe,” he shook his head, waving a dismissive hand.

autumn smelled like spiced cider and faint traces of smoke, the memory wrapped around you like a worn flannel—cool nights, warm hands, and kuroo pointing at the sky with wild confidence as he made up constellations.

“that one’s kuroo’s cluster,” he’d sleepily said that night, pointing to a random spot in the sky. “because it looks like it forgot what it was doing halfway through.”

that candle earned a spot on the coffee table.

finally, winter. the label read ‘evergreen and vanilla latte’ and as soon as the wick was lit, the room was filled with something achingly familiar. the scent of him—of mornings spent curled up together with his laughter spilling into your coffee like the easiest thing in the world.

you didn’t speak for a moment; you didn’t trust your voice. instead, you reached for the winter candle again, holding it like it might explain something to you if you focused hard enough.

“i thought they might be nice to have around,” kuroo added, his tone quieter now as he watched you with that expression he wore when he thought you weren’t paying attention. “like, if i’m not here or something. you’d still… have the moments. or the scents. or—okay, i’m bad at explaining this.”

“you’re not,” this time you were the one to interrupt him—though your voice betrayed you, cracking slightly at the edges.

his grin usual returned, soft and crooked. “you’re not gonna cry, are you? i don’t have tissues on me.”

you snorted, swiping at your eyes before any tears could fall. “i’m just impressed. you managed to make yet another gift that’s thoughtful and functional. what’s next? a calendar with all the dates we’ve argued circled in red?”

“now there’s an idea,” he laughed—big, loud, and very kuroo. resting an arm along the back of the couch, he sighs. “but that’s for next year. for now, you just get the candles. and me, obviously.”

“ how lucky i am,” you mocked, though when he leaned closer, his forehead brushing against yours, the words fell into the warm silence between you.

“you are, actually,” his voice was low and teasing, “because i really am as great as i smell.”

for once, you didn’t argue.

on the fifth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—five flowers all wrapped up in a bouquet he designed himself. it was just after sundown when kuroo was unlocking the door and stepping inside of your home. the paper he held was crinkled in his grip while the flowers peeked out at odd angles, a mix of bold colors and delicate whites. you cocked a brow at him, eyes wandering and questioning

“is this day five?” you gestured to the bouquet. “don’t get me wrong, i’m so grateful… but what’s the theme here, tetsuro? did you run out of budget or is this an act of minimalism?”

his grin was slow and easy, the kind that always seemed to have a secret tucked behind it. you learned to accept it. he laughed, stepping past you and into your apartment, leaving the cold trailing behind. “i may have argued with the florist over ribbon choices—but that’s besides the point.”

“wha—” he handed you the bouquet with a seductive wink. as you took it, you noticed the odd composition—a single red tulip, a deep purple iris, a white daisy, a bright yellow sunflower, and a pale pink rose.

“five flowers for five things,” stepping back to watch your expression, he continued, “each one is for something i love about you.”

and just when you thought it wasn’t possible for kuroo to surprise you anymore than he already did, you were proven wrong again. stilling, you let yourself feel the weight of his words as they settled into tge tips of your fingers. “you made this?”

“mmm, well i designed it,” he corrected, the smugness now tempered by something a little more humble. “technically i only arranged it. poured my soul into it though. the tulip’s for how bold you are. you’ve got this way of standing out even when you think you’re blending in. it’s infuriating, honestly.”

you ran your fingers over the tulip’s petals, and his voice softened as he pointed to the next.

“the iris is for how much smarter you are than me.” there was no bite in his tone. “don’t get a big head about it, i still beat you at trivia night last month.” you opened your mouth to protest, but he was already moving on.

“the daisy? for how annoyingly kind you are. to me, to strangers, to stray cats in alleyways. you make everyone feel like they matter.”

your throat tightened as his fingers brushed over the edge of the sunflower.

“this one’s for how much light you bring into my life. it’s cheesy as hell, trust me i know, but…” all he offered was a shrug, his grin faltering for a split moment. “i mean it.”

he hadn’t looked up at you yet, still in a dream state as he gazed at the last flower. pausing at the rose, his hand dropped back to his side. his pitch lower, more intimate, when he said, “and the rose is for how much i love you. no explanation needed for that one.”

the only sound you could hear was the faint of the bouquet as you shifted it in your hands. for a moment, all the teasing and the wit and the usual sharpness between you dissolved into something quieter—something raw and real.

“tetsu,” you said softly, but you couldn’t find the words to follow.

if there was one thing you loved more than his gifts, it was his dorky lopsided grin. “i told myself i wouldn’t get all sappy,” he scratched the back of his neck. “but you know how i get around flowers. turns me into a total poet.”

“not a very good one,” if there was one thing you could manage while holding back tears, it was witty retorts to kuroo’s words.

“yikes,” he feigned hurt, but his smile didn’t falter. “so, do you like it? orrrr should i just stick to chocolates next year?”

you looked down at the bouquet. gazing at every colour, at the thought he’d put into every flower, every scent, every message hidden in their petals—your heart ached with the weight of it.

“i love it,” you whimpered, your voice trembling just enough for him to catch it. “i love you.”

his smile softened, his hand reaching up to brush a stray hair from your face. “good,” his voice was warm. “because i’ve got seven more days of this, and i’m not letting you return a single gift.”

on the sixth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—six different ways to say “i love you” in different languages. kuroo waltzed into your living room on the sixth day of his increasingly elaborate holiday gifting holding a small stack of cue cards in one hand and an overly confident grin on his face.

“alright,” he began, dropping onto the couch beside you, “today’s gift is educational: a little bit of culture, a little bit of romance.”

setting your mug of tea down in interest, you were skeptical—like always. “if this ends with me being serenaded in bad french, i’m locking you out.”

he loudly gasped in offense, clutching the cue cards to his chest. “excuse me? my french is impeccable.”

“your french is embarrassing.”

ignoring you, he flipped the first card toward you, reading it aloud. in his handwriting were the words, je t’aime.

“see? classic,” his accent was questionable at best. “it’s romantic, it’s timeless. and you can’t deny that it sounds a little better than just ‘i love you.’”

“except when you say it like that,” you teased.

he pretends to be unfazed, choking back a laugh and your playful jab. he revealed the next card: ich liebe dich.

“this one’s german. it’s efficient and to the point like a well-engineered car,” he said, adding a dramatic comparison. “say it back. come on. ich liebe dich.”

“i’m not repeating that.”

“coward,” he muttered, flipping to the third card: ti amo.

“now, this one is for when i’m feeding you pasta,” he gestures extravagantly. “picture it: candlelit dinner, spaghetti, me leaning over the table like i’m straight out of an old Italian film. “ti amo.”.”

you snorted. “more like you spilling marinara sauce on your shirt.”

“uncultured,” he sighed, shaking his head.

the next card read, saranghae. he held it up with a bit more reverence.

“this one’s korean,” he explained. “it’s sweet, right? got a nice rhythm. saranghae.” there was a pause, almost in quiet contemplation, before kuroo then added slyly, “you’re swooning right now, i can tell.”

“oh, absolutely. weak in the knees,” you said straight faced.

“perfect. that’s the goal.”

the fifth card: te quiero.

“spanish. it means ‘i love you,’ but it’s also like, ‘i care about you.’ multifaceted. practical and emotional,” he said, tapping his temple like it was a genius move.

you smiled, “are you planning to take me on a multilingual tour of love, or are we stopping here?”

“patience, my love,” and kuroo flipped to the final card. aloha wau iā ʻoe.

“that’s hawaiian,” he said, his tone softer now. “it’s not just ‘i love you.’ it’s… bigger than that. like, ‘i carry you with me.’”

he grinned, setting the cards aside. “see? i’m not just a pretty face.”

“you’re insane,” you shook your head, your voice betraying the warmth blooming in your chest and the small smile that lingered across your lips.

“and yet,” he teased, leaning closer, “you’re still here. must be the german.”

“definitely not.”

on the seventh day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—seven handmade coupons for morning coffees made by yours truly, (kuroo). you woke up to the sound of him humming in the kitchen, the smell of coffee curling through the air and gently rolling you awake. when you stumbled into the room (still half-asleep), he greeted you with a little stack of paper slips tied together with string.

“good morning, sleeping beauty,” he pushed a warm cup of coffee into your hands. “your seventh gift awaits.”

you squinted at him and then at the handmade coupons he held out. each one had “one homemade morning coffee” written across it.

“coupons?” you questioned flatly.

“not just coupons,” he quickly answered, moving to send a flick to your forehead. “these are artisanal. limited edition. handcrafted with love.”

“they look like they were crafted by a toddler.”

“ouch,” he whined, clutching his chest as though wounded. “but fine, let’s break it down. seven coffees for each day of the week, exactly how you like them. frothy milk, not too hot. just a dash of cinnamon, because i know you pretend not to like it but secretly, you love it.”

he had read you to filth. “and what happens after i use up all seven?”

“oh, you’ll be addicted by then,” he replied with a charismatic wink. “i’m just playing the long game.”

toying with the crumpled paper and inspecting them more closely, you notice one of them had an additional note scribbled in the corner: bonus: i’ll even let you take the last sip of my coffee ;)

you shook your head in disbelief. this was so unlike kuroo. with furrowed brows, you turned to him, “you hate sharing coffee.”

“uh, correction: i hate sharing coffee with other people. with you, it’s an act of love.”

“and when can i actually make good with these?” you asked, tucking the coupons into your pocket.

“whenever you demand it,” he bowed, “i’m at your service always—currently a barista for hire. oh but i must say, full disclosure, my latte art is limited to blobs.”

“blobs?”

“abstract hearts,” he clarified with a grin. “call it modern—trendy, if you will”

kuroo’s coffee was as much of an experience as it was a drink. the surface of the latte was crowned with an ambitious attempt at foam art—what could generously be described as a heart. a faint dusting of cinnamon kissed the frothy top, swirling faintly as the steam rose.

it definitely wasn’t perfect, but it was him—warm, unpolished, and just a little disordered. you could already imagine it in your head, the endearing way he would’ve tilted his head, squinting at the cup like an artist critiquing his own masterpiece.

you laughed, shaking your head at the thought. kuroo must’ve thought you were laughing at his response because he was quick to be defensive.

“hey, all hearts are beautiful,” his arms were sternly crossed against his chest as he stared down at you. “besides, you drink it—not frame it.”

so with a nod, you sipped the coffee in your hands. to no one’s surprise—he’d made it perfectly, nailing everything down to the faint sprinkle of cinnamon you always pretended not to want.

“okay,” you clapped both your hands together enthusiastically, setting the mug down and pushing all the coupons into your pocket. “you’re on the clock for the rest of the week. let’s see if you can actually make seven cups as good as this one.”

kuroo smirked, holding the cup up like it was his greatest triumph. “challenge accepted. but don’t get used to this level of service. i’m not planning on opening a café any time soon.”

you feigned a groan of anguish, already mourning the image you had of him in an apron with his name embroidered across the front in your head.

“oh, you’re definitely opening a café,” you teased. “i’m making it my eighth gift request.”

“dream big, babe,” he laughed, sending a pinch to your cheek before walking towards to living room. “for now, enjoy the best coffee in town, made by the best boyfriend in the world.”

it was silly and over-the-top. yet, as you watched him carefully pour milk into another mug for himself, you couldn’t help but smile into your own coffee; there might be something dangerously romantic about a man who knows your drink order better than you do.

on the eighth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—eight slices of your favourite pizza. the pizza box was waiting for you on the counter unwrapped. the unmistakable aroma of your favorite pizza in the air—an irresistible invitation. kuroo, sitting at the dining table, watched you approach it with an excited smile.

“eight slices,” he gestured grandly as he stood up, both hands present the box to you. “one for each day of christmas so far. thoughtful, isn’t it?” he pretended to flick back a long piece of hair in an attempt of confidence.

“you know i’ll eat this entire thing in one sitting,” you felt like you could cry from happiness, already reaching for the lid.

“exactly.” he tapped his temple. “a gift that vanishes is a gift you can’t overthink. i’m saving you from existential dread.”

you laughed, thanking him as you opened the box. there it was: your favorite pizza, glistening like a treasure chest filled with molten gold and perfectly crisp toppings. the ultimate kicker? each slice had been marked with a sharpie inside the box.

“tetsuro… what are these labels?”

“guided eating,” he straightened up.

sure enough, written beside each slice in his looping handwriting were notes:

slice 1: for courage, because braving multiple years with me deserves a medal.

slice 2: for patience, because i’m pretty sure i’m still not folding the laundry right and you fix it every time without any complaint.

slice 3: for joy, because watching you smile is better than any christmas lights.

slice 4: for forgiveness (in advance), for what i might say during monopoly later.

slice 5: for luck, because you’ll need it to beat me at monopoly later.

slice 6: for love, because i can’t put that in words so i’ll give you pizza.

slice 7: for adventure, in case you want to try pineapple on your pizza next time.

slice 8: for tomorrow, unless you eat this one too. which honestly, i think you should.

you couldn’t decide whether to laugh, cry, or throttle him for being such an over-the-top sap.

“this is such an odd gift, tetsu!,” you couldn’t stop laughing, though your eyes stung and your chest ached in that intimate, tender way he always managed to conjure.

“oddly perfect?” he sheepishly replied, grabbing a slice and handing it to you. “come on. start with courage.”

immediately you took a bite and sighed. it was exactly as good as you remembered. somehow knowing he’d gone through the trouble of this strange display made it even better.

“you’re quite weird,” you said, wiping your lips with a napkin.

“oh come on, you love me,” he bumped his hip with yours.

you glanced at the box and then at him. you thought about how much of yourself he’d somehow folded into this simple, silly gift—your personality and your habits.

“i do,” you admitted, because how could you not?

as you grabbed the next slice: patience—you decided that eight slices of pizza might just be the most romantic thing you’d ever been given.

on the ninth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—nine random, sweet text messages that pop up randomly throughout the day. the first one buzzed into your phone just as you were pulling on your coat, the frosted morning sunlight bleeding through the blinds.

tetsu: on the 9th day of christmas my true love gave 2 me

tetsu: one notification 2 make u smile.

tetsu: good morning, 2 my favourite person ever.

it was simple and playful—and it did its job. you did smile. giddily tugging your scarf tighter against the chill, you headed out the door.

the second one came while you were waiting for your coffee, a notification cutting through the quiet of the café.

tetsu: if i were a latte, i’d want 2 b the one in ur hand rn

tetsu: u always pick the good ones

you almost rolled your eyes but found yourself chuckling into your sleeve. he had a knack for being perfectly timed and charming simultaneously.

by the third, you realised this wasn’t a coincidence. he was going to send you nine, sweet, little messages throughout today.

tetsu: just saw a dog wearing a little sweater and thought of u

tetsu: not sure why

tetsu: both equally adorable.

it hit your phone as you walked past a store display of knitted scarves, the kind you knew he’d wrinkle his nose at and insist were “over-engineered neck warmers.” you texted back a sarcastic ‘wow, smooth’ and almost swore you could hear his laughter from wherever he was.

the fourth through sixth arrived like little spoonfuls of sugar in your coffee, scattered throughout your day.

#4 tetsu: if i told u i missed u, would u roll ur eyes or tell me 2 hurry home?

tetsu: asking 4 science

#5 tetsu: totally random fact

tetsu: u’re the best person i know

tetsu: not random enough?

tetsu: fine. penguins have knees

#6 tetsu: it’s scientifically proven that texting u makes me 87% happier

tetsu: i just ran the numbers

by the seventh text, you were incredibly flustered. not because they were overly romantic (he always balanced it with his wit), but because they were clever, thoughtful, and wholly attuned to you in a way that felt almost unfair.

the eighth came as you were locking up for the evening, fumbling with your keys.

tetsu: i’d offer 2 carry the world for u but u’re doing a pretty good job carrying it urself

tetsu: don’t work 2 hard

it was such a simple set of words, but it hit you in a way none of the others had. its tenderness slipped through your defenses. naturally, you stopped—fingers tightening around your phone wondering how someone could make you feel so seen from miles away.

the ninth and final message arrived when you were home. you were peeling off your layers and finally sinking into the couch when you felt the vibration in your pant pocket.

tetsu: if love was measured in words then nine texts wouldn’t come close

tetsu: but hey, it’s a start

tetsu: c u soon

the doorbell rang almost immediately after and you couldn’t help but giggle as you opened it to find him standing there with snow in his hair, a grin on his face, and two cardboard cups of steaming hot chocolate in his hands.

“nine texts weren’t enough,” he said with a shrug. “thought i’d deliver the tenth in person.”

you let him in with a kiss. still laughing, you decided that no matter how odd or cheesy his efforts were, you wouldn’t choose to have him any other way.

on the tenth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—ten silly little drawings of you. the tenth day of christmas came as quickly as the past couple days had. after dinner had been packed away—dishes done and table cleaned, you and kuroo sat across each other at the dinner table with bowls of ice cream in front of you. it was then that from under the table, kuroo pulled out and handed you a mismatched stack of papers tied together with a velvet ribbon that looked suspiciously too elegant for something he’d own. you gave him a look, one eyebrow arched. “did you steal this ribbon from one of my gifts?”

“i repurposed it!” he defended, nudging the stack closer to you from across the table with his spoon and air of mock grandeur. “quick! my magnum opus awaits.”

you untied the ribbon, and the first thing you saw was a piece of cardboard with what appeared to be a stick figure rendition of you sitting cross-legged on a couch. above it were the words, “my muse, lost in thought (translation: watching trashy reality tv)”.

“what the—?” you interrupted yourself trying to suppress a laugh as you turned to the next page. a receipt from your local grocery store confused you, but once you flipped to the back, you saw it. kuroo had sketched a profile view of you mid-yawn, the exaggerated swoop of your hair curling over your head like a wave.

“it’s art, obviously,” he chuckled, leaning over your shoulder to get a closer look. “it’s called ‘ten views of my love in her natural habitat.’”

“oh my god, you’re impossible,” there was a familiar warmth growing in your chest—one you had been feeling every day this week.

you flipped through the rest:

a coffee sleeve: sketched was you, deep in concentration with a mug in your hand, sitting on the couch with the caption, “she said she wasn’t a morning person, but look at her with that coffee. magnificent.”

the back of a to-do list: sketched was you, mid-argument with your stick-figure arms dramatically flailing with the caption, “terrorising me because i forgot to do the laundry (but she’s right).”

a post-it note: sketched was you, reading a book with the words “too pretty to be distracted” written at the top in kuroo’s terrible handwriting.

by the sixth drawing, it was on the back of an old takeout menu—you stopped trying to hide your grin. “you’re actually pretty talented, you know that?”

“ridiculously talented,” he grinned back. “and ridiculously smitten.”

the seventh was your face, exaggerated into cartoonish proportions and drawn on a torn piece of fabric. the caption read, “she said i couldn’t draw so i gave her big eyes. now she’s anime”

by the time you reached the tenth which was a hasty sketch of your hand holding his, drawn on a napkin from your favourite restaurant—you felt the laugh catch in your throat. beneath the image, he’d written: “a masterpiece: her, letting me love her.”

“it’s dumb, i know,” kuroo slowly started, suddenly shy and scratching the back of his neck. “but i seriously couldn’t help it. i see you everywhere—on receipts, on napkins, in coffee sleeves. you’re just…always there.”

“it’s not dumb,” you said quietly, holding the napkin like it was something precious.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

you leaned into the chair, kuroo’s head resting atop your own and the stack of silly little drawings sitting in your lap as you went through everything again—your ice creams long forgotten as they melted under the light of the kitchen.

on the eleventh day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—eleven “i’ll do it” moments. he appeared in your doorway that saturday morning, sleeves rolled up and hair a little disheveled. there was an air of martyrdom with his presence so exaggerated you almost thought violins were to start playing.

“i’ll do it,” he announced, almost parallel to delivering the opening line of a shakespearean tragedy.

you looked up from your laptop, alarmed “do what?”

“whatever it is! dishes, laundry, taking out the trash, assembling that ridiculously complicated shelf you bought because it “might come in handy.” ” he punctuated the last word with air quotes, tone laced with theatrical suffering. “today, i am your humble servant. point, and i’ll fix.”

you guessed your skepticism must have obviously plastered over your face because he was quick to add, “no catch, promise.” he held his pinky finger up, “it’s my eleventh gift to you—eleven ‘i’ll do it’s.’”

leaning back with your arms crossed, you gently nudged your laptop aside. “this feels suspicious.”

“suspiciously romantic,” strolling into the room and perching on the end of your bed, he continued. “think about it. eleven acts of selfless service—that’s love language gold.”

“this feels morally wrong,” you both laughed.

kuroo stood abruptly, gesturing to the room like he was on a game show. “okay, quick demo. that pile of laundry in the corner? i’ll fold it. the trash bag sitting by the door? out it goes. oh! and because i’m feeling generous…” he paused dramatically, turning to you with a grin. “…i’ll even organize the pantry.”

you swear your jaw dropped so hard it hit the ground. “no… the pantry? seriously?”

“the pantry,” he repeated solemnly much like a knight vowing to slay a dragon. “i know how much it bothers you when the bowls in there aren’t lined up in order of size. don’t think i haven’t noticed.”

you felt equal parts amused and touched as he grabbed the laundry basket and made good on his first “i’ll do it.” kuroo knew you well enough to know that you’d recognise this wasn’t just about chores. he knew you knew that was his way of showing you he saw all the little things—your frustration at the overflowing trash, or your quiet sigh when you couldn’t find your favourite tea.

by the time he had reached the third task which happened to be untangling the mess of cords behind the tv—you were leaning against the doorway, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“you know,” you began quietly, “you could’ve just gotten me something easy… like socks.”

“i know i said socks were day four material, but they don’t say ‘i love you,’” he didn’t look up as he wrestled with a particularly stubborn cord. “this does.”

and somehow, amidst the clatter of pots being reorganized and the triumphant “got it!” when he finally untangled the cords—you felt a quiet, glowing gratitude. love wasn’t always grand gestures or elaborate gifts. sometimes it was just someone rolling up their sleeves and saying, “i’ll do it.”

on the twelfth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—ten handwritten love letters, a diamond ring, and a promise of an eternity together. you were both walking home from a dinner out, the snow nipping at your nose in the late night. kuroo had insisted you both went for a stroll around your local park before returning home. as you both sat on a bench under a lamppost to take in the coldness of night, he handed you an envelope so unassuming that for a brief moment, you thought he might’ve brought you a pack of gum. the paper was a little wrinkled, and the whole thing seemed as if it had been wrapped in a rush. yet like all his other gifts, it was unmistakably kuroo—disorderly in execution and precise in intention.

he stood up and rocking on his heels, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets nervously. “open it.”

you cocked your head at him, confused and caught off guard by his sudden change in behaviour. “you’re really leaning into this whole romantic streak, huh?”

“leaning into it?” pitch rising as he parroted, mock offended. “i practically invented romance.”

“pfft—” you snorted, “—and humility, clearly.”

and then he was back as quickly as he was gone, grinning sharp and bright. though there was something else beneath it—a quiet flicker of nerves, but it was small enough for you to dismiss it. it was strange the way he wasn’t rushing you or teasing like he usually did. but you tugged the envelope open all the same, your hands suddenly clammy as you unfolded the paper and lifted the top open.

inside nestled neatly were folded sheets of paper. you could tell that one was numbered, the familiar slope of his handwriting filling the margins in messy loops. you tilted your head.

“love letters,” he replied, as if reading your thoughts.

“love letters?” you repeated it like it was a foreign concept.

there it was, that familiar feeling of your chest tightening as you pulled out the first letter. the paper felt heavier than it should have—like it was carrying the weight of something unspoken. you unfolded it carefully, your eyes scanning the page.

the first letter was a story written in his usual casual, boyish tone. it recounted the first time he realised he was in love with you. not in some grand, sweeping moment but in the tranquil stillness of a rainy afternoon 4 years ago when you’d fallen asleep on his grandma’s couch, clutching a bowl of popcorn like it was a lifeline.

the second letter was an apology for the moments he’d been too stubborn or too sharp-tongued—for every time he made you feel anything less than adored.

the third unraveled you entirely.

“if I could give you my eyes for a day, you’d see the world exactly as it is. beautiful, messy—and always better when you’re in it.”

you swallowed hard and set the letter aside. each one felt like a little piece of him, stitched together in ways he rarely allowed himself to be seen. by the time you reached the ninth letter, you were dizzy from it all, vision blurry and nose running.

the ninth letter was the shortest, just two words in his handwriting, “almost there.”

the tenth letter you found written inside the envelope, barely visible unless you were looking for it. it read:

“you’ve always had this way of holding the universe together without even realizing it. let me hold something for you in return.”

you hesitated upon finishing, fingers brushing the edge of the paper and heart thundering in your chest. looking up, you were confused when kuroo was not standing in front of you. it was then that you felt it, the feeling of knowing something impossibly sweet and devastatingly clever was present.

so you turned around, the paper slipping from your hands.

kuroo kneeled there, uncharacteristically still. between his two calloused fingers was an open box, and inside a delicate ring. the usual grin he had was gone now, replaced by something softer and steadier.

“i didn’t write this one,” he confessed quietly, looking away embarrassed. “because i wanted to say it out loud.”

he whispered your name, soft and certain like it was a promise in itself.

and just like that, the world shifted, tilting slightly off its axis as it stopped spinning.

all reblogs and likes appreciated!

KVROOMI © 2024, DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE

[rasberrylovc]

LOVE TO KEEP ME WARM - jj maybank !

-- on christmas morning, on vacation, jj refuses to let you even as much as get out of bed. he insists on staying in bed during the cold day.

word count 702

!!' soft!jj, fwb!jj, fwb!reader

warnings implied sex (lmk if i need to add some)

notes this is my first time writing on tumblr (usually writing on wattpad) so sorry if this wasnt as good as expected. im open to writing tips if anyone has any !!

SOMEHOW, you had, once again, convinced the pogues to spend vacation in your hometown. it was the one place you knew would always snow on christmas day, which you absolutely adored.

you all stayed at your parents house. your mom had insisted for you to, due to having just enough beds for everyone. well, enough for two to a room, and one on the pullout in the living room.

the sleeping plan was quite simple. pope and cleo in room 1, sarah and john b in room 2, you and kie in your old room, and jj on the pullout.

however, jj had convinced kiara to let him bunk with you instead, going on about how it was impossible to fall asleep without another person in the room, and refusing to sleep in a room with any of the others due to the couples being paired together.

she hesitantly agreed, mainly just to get him to stop rambling. so she took the pullout, while jj slept in your room with you.

CHRISTMAS MORNING was definitely the most exciting thing to you. all you wanted to do was get up, dress warmly, go shopping, get hot chocolate, then come back to surprise the others with the freshly bought gifts you got for them.

only, of course, jj had found a way to stopping all those plans. the second you tried to get up, you felt his arm tighten around you. he was still half asleep, but awake enough to know he wanted you to stay.

you turn around to face him, very obviously confused. you hadnt realized he was already awake. that alone ruining your plans, let alone him not even letting you get up.

"jay, i need to shower." you complained. he pretended to think for a second. "mm, no." he eventually disagrees. "just stay in bed, mk?" he wasnt really giving you a choice, his tone supporting that theory.

you groaned in response to his protest. "i have plans." before you can continue on, jj presses a sweet kiss to your lips.

jj kissing you wasnt too surprising to you. what caught you off guard was that he didnt do it in a state of lust, as he usually did. it was soft and slow instead of his usual kisses. but you kissed him back nonetheless.

"s'too cold to be going out anyway. cmon, we can celebrate tomorrow." he says after pulling away. it was a tempting offer, really. only you knew youd have to confirm with the others first.

but then again, he wasnt really asking. he was more just trying to get you to agree. but it was safe to say you were not making it out of the house without him immediately pulling you back inside.

"fine." you reluctantly agree. you were already getting cold anyways, what did you really have to lose?

jj smiles, pecking your lips time after time, causing a small smile to appear on your face. he eventually stops, tugging you closer as you bury your head in his chest.

you could faintly smell his cheap cologne, and what you assumed to be the cookies everyone made the night before. you surpringly enjoyed the smell.

he plants one final kiss onto the top of your head, before drifting off back to sleep. you let out a hum of amusement as you hear his soft snores, before falling asleep yourself.

a/n kinda short, but i just wanted to write something to end my block. its a few hours late to post this depending on time zones, but i hope you liked it anyways !!

taglist none !

not proofread

[firefly--bright]

sound//waves

jean kirstein x fem!reader, modern a.u.

summary ; each sound has its own shape, something tangible for you to feel. jean's shapes are weightless but important, and you find the importance of your own shapes through him. warnings ; reader being self-conscious of her voice :') idk what the trope is here. pining idiots who don't realise they're both in the same boat, also brief alcohol consumption a/n ; hehe,,, this fic was a pretty long time coming i think? but its for @/samepictureofjeankirsteverday on instagrams celebration for hitting 1k days!! so congratulations!! its also inspired by her own fic, quietude on ao3 :) pls give it a read its SO CUTE and i loved it sm <333 congratulations again :33 ALSO i have never done karaoke before so im sorry for any,,, errors. i genuinely dont know how they work and ive watched only like 2 animes with a very vague karaoke scene </3 just pretend that every inaccuracy is For The Plot taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic-again , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable, @candleohappiness , @zombiefiedskeivy

masterlist is in pinned post ✿ enter my taglist ✿ requests for headcanons are open! ✿ playlist to listen to while reading! (it has a couple karaoke songs wink wink) ✿

right tile art credits ; @ppushable on tumblr!

you'd always been conscious of how loud your voice could get. 

a little annoying, you thought, because whenever you got excited about something, your voice would jump through octaves, creating an exponential curve on a graph. when you were with friends who knew how to make you laugh, your throat would make a weird sound - stuck between a guffaw and a choke of self-conscious laughter - if it was particularly funny. and your voice was always stuck between the contrasting spaces of either being too loud or too quiet, never really being able to gauge what was required when. 

you'd rather listen than talk. your voice would work around the right people, your mouth having a mind of its own, spilling contents you didn't agree to, but you'd regret the sound of it later. secrets would lie, open, barren, self-aware, in a disgusting pile of weird decibels on your table, in the space between you and whoever had to bear witness to it. you always cringed at the sound of your own voice after hearing it back in video, wherever it was captured. 

you grew up quiet, never growing used to using your voice until you were a late teenager. not knowing the importance of words until they were said, until after the reactions were met. 

and then you met jean. loud, boisterous laughter filled the room as he shouted the rules of the game, clearly drunk, at a party you couldn't remember the importance of, and you were next to your equally as loud and agreeing friend who shouted cheers and another one, her other half, she had loudly exclaimed, her twin, really, and you could hear the resemblance in the way they both chanted a cheer of “jean! jean! jean! jean!” continuously as the guy wearing a button-up shirt that was now soaked with wine with a bottle of the liquid held a considerable height away from him, drinking with twitching lips and shut eyes. He stopped with a spluttering cough, unashamed still, a large, cocky grin plastered over his lips - plump and red with the tint of the wine. Then he let out a loud whoop and you wondered how he didnt feel the guilt of being loud weighing down on him. Maybe it was the alcohol, you assumed, taking a cautious, controlled sip of your own. Sasha and connie soon joined him, and along with their arm came yours, linked in between sasha’s tight grip.

Introductions were made, voices inclining louder to be heard over the music. “Sash told us about you,” jean shouted, a surprisingly inviting smile on his intimidating face, and you joked around, “yeah shes in love with me!” jean all but nodded with an approving smile, and the rest of the evening by pounding music that you could feel your heartbeat on, and you don't hear jean’s presence until about two weeks after it all.

He was quiet then. Suddenly his face went back to being intimidating, and his voice was heard through a groan the first time you heard it after the boisterous party. “Marc, can you please-”

Marco continues about his day, and then you add on with your unfamiliar voice shrinking under the sounds of the cafeteria that was quickly filling in with tangible shapes of voices. The rest of them have to lean in a little closer to you to listen, and your voice shakes against your chest at the bearable effort just to talk about your mundane and frankly low-grade joke about stagnant coffee that you couldnt even remember after you said it, but somehow made them laugh.

“Oh hey!” marco spoke from beside him after he spotted your head approaching them from a distance, his voice a happy, upbeat version of it’s usual quiet and important self. You waved to them with a smile, not uttering a word until you were at their table. With sasha beside you, you let her do the talking at first. Consonants loud, slight country accent clear as the day above you, she spoke about the “boooorrriinnggg” lecture she just had to attend, her back slumping against the seat. Your face rested consciously on your palm, an unintentional look shared between you and jean that said mostly nothing but quiet and secret amusement. His eyes were pretty, speaking a thousand, weighted words against his lids, all of which were heard clearly by you. Hes a stranger, really, nothing more than a name and a scruffy but pretty face, but that didnt stop the bounds of familiarity working their way through the shared space between you. Marco snorts from beside him, and pushes his remaining fries to the brunette. Sasha hums approvingly, comforting, the waves travelling to you safely. Undisturbed, just how youd prefer them to be, and her voice floats above your body, letting it settle there, with you looking at it’s gentle remnants.

“Ackerman’s classes are always a terror-shock,” jean spoke, now, directly to  you, eyes on yours, and you had to stop yourself from being consumed by the tidal waves of sound - his voice, low, warm, joking, natural as if your presence was just enough for him to find comfort in.  

You laugh along with him and your voice - a hungry animal of itself - involuntarily, becomes more itself than you’ve ever found it to be. Which is a shock, but then sasha rests her head on your shoulder, asking you, “when’s your next class?” her voice vibrating on your shoulder, travelling through your bones. Your voice - the hungry animal - or whatever it gently became, replies with a, “in a couple minutes.” 

“What block?” jean asks, and marco checks his phone for his own calendar. 

You hum even if you don't have to think, “block-b. Just a bit of a walk.”

“I have class the same way. I can walk you,” he says, casually, picking his back up from the ground beside him, his knee knocking into yours for a moment. He doesn't apologize. You get up next, picking up the remnants of the trash left on your table and follow him.

His voice is a constant after that. Surprisingly, his voice becomes something you reach out to, the tendrils of waves asking you to stay a bit longer, to shed your coat, to give him your bag to hold. Gentle commands that all but fuel your hungry voice, lungs soaking into whatever has become of his laughter mixed with yours. 

“Karaoke night!” sasha shouts, entering the apartment with no remorse of her voice being louder than the howling dogs at night. You exchange a natural, knowing glance with jean who stands next to you in the kitchen, handing you a spoon. Connie follows her in, and his presence is just as loud, the shape being a little sharp against your palm, just enough to remind you that this is your friend. His bag flops against the table and he groans with each joint that moves in him. 

“Im going to sing the best songs-” he starts, but jean is quick to cut his voice off, as usual, “-you’re going to sing CPR by Cuppcake you crazy bastard, im going to hit you-” “im not going to sing that! I have taste and dignity and-” “-you have a will to make us suffer.” jean states, and the two of them go back and forth while you hand marco’s cup to him in the living room. “Thanks,” he says, whispered among the background, his lips pursed with an attempt of hiding his laughter. 

You smile back at him, but your laugh isnt hidden. You turn around, hands on your hips, exclaiming, “okay! Karaoke night in three hours. Then we go to mitras’ and eat something good.”

Sasha agreed with a mouthful of food and a muffled voice, and you reeled from the fact that you could project your own voice into the apartment with such force. You’ve always been loud, and your mouth always ended up working by itself, spilling contents you didn't agree to be spilt, and you grew quiet again with the consciousness of it all. You never knew how to strike the right balance between quiet and loud.

But then you met jean, who was looking at you, his mouth drawn between half smirk and half amusement, brows raised only slightly, enough to keep you questioning.

“What?” you asked him. Cornered him, really, and your voice was meant to be sharp but ended up being soft around it’s edges, a happy smile accompanying it, and jean’s smirk widened, just by a bit. He shrugged. “Nuffin,” he said, voice half-hidden and half-proud under the food he was chewing. 

Chips. Barbeque, the ones you bought especially for him, the one sasha was hoarding. You narrowed your eyes at him in faux suspicion, but let it go only a bit after, turning your back to him as his voice travels to you without hinderance. “Sash, stop eating th3e damn-” “i’ll do whatever i want to!” she says, turning her back on him as well, facing the marble countertop of the kitchen with jean’s - now her - bag of chips, crinkling under her fingers as she dug through them, feeding one to you.

Karaoke was set. Three hours timing, as you said - a little too loud, unconscious of it being that way - and your shoes squeak over the floor. There had been a significant wait, but connie’s rambling had done you good. “For once,” jean said, voice barely heard over the sound of all the other occupied rooms, “he’s useful.” “that’s not what you said last night.” connie says, but his voice is octaves higher than jean’s and impossible to ignore. You open the door to the room with a smile, and marco groans. “Guys, keep it in your pants for one night.” “im not the one-!” jean starts, but sasha clamps his mouth shut with her hand. “If you're not going to sing, i don't want to hear your stupid, neighing voice complaining,” she said, a murderous tilt in the sound, something you didn't want to mess with.

Sasha in a bad mood wasn't sasha at all - a learned fact that had been taught very unfortunately to you - and you tried your best to get her moods up with whatever means necessary, hopping next to the big screen and detangling the wire of the microphone as marco scrolled through the song options, humming under his breath. A round of lemon sodas was immediately ordered, and jean left a seat for you in the corner of the couch facing the screen, an unsaid determination to get you to sit closer to him. Connie slung his arm around marco’s shoulders and, like the demon on the former’s shoulder, guided him to choose Copacabana by barry manillow.

“Wanna duet, beautiful?” he asked you, hand flat open for you to hand him the mic. You raised your brows with a smile, “you cant handle me, springer.” even if in reality, it was you who couldnt handle him, his voice ten times louder and unashamed than yours, something you admired.

“sash! Connie’s challenging you!” you say instead, smile poisoning your sentence, making it irregular. “hey! I never said-” he starts, but sasha bounces off her seat to your voice, hugging your arm, taking up the challenge and squinting at connie with vitriol. “You're on, baldie.”

Connie’s not a competitive person. He’d never cared about grades, about being first in class, about races, in board games - it was all just that to him. A game, something to have fun about; an admirable trait if went unpaired with the rest of his jokes. But he liked doing things out of spite - a revenge that flowed so deep that he had to do something drastic. 

Even before the music turned on, before their cue, they'd started their serenading, making marco wince with an adoring smile as he grabbed sasha’s outstretched, inviting hand.

You made your way back to jean, as you always found yourself doing, licking your lips against the cold of the AC blasting in the room, the floors shaking under the weight of your beating heart to the thumps of the song, rhythmic and out of tune. Marco sang well, you knew this, but his voice got lost under the competitiveness of sasha and connie, shouting over each other and clambering over the lyrics as they ran away from the screen, still getting the words wrong. 

You laugh, sitting down, stealing a chip from the bowl jean held in his lap as he flipped through the book of remarks strangers before you had written in the same room, their handwritings messy and intoxicated with the extensive - and expensive - cocktail menu, hearts littered under the praises of their time. 

“I wonder if they added it,” you said, almost shouting as he leaned in as well, head ducking near your mouth to hold your words in his heart. Impossibly close, his cologne masking the smell of the leathery couch and the stinge of cold air, and he lifts his head, a curious glint in his eye only enhanced by the rotating, artificial, lights that played their colours on the wall along with the trapped soundwaves. “Wanna check?” his lips upturned into a smirk, a pink light bouncing off his hair, then green, then a blue, the same colours in the same order projecting onto you and the adoring afflictions of his voice were not lost on you.

Jean chuckled, the sound hiding under the unbearable symphonies, pointing his finger at one of the notes. “Someone wrote-” you had to lean in close to hear him, afraid that you wouldn't catch the waves woven so delicately and carefully for you, that you'd miss them, somehow, “-that they are sad that… oh shit, thats connie.” the note, scrawled with a blue ballpoint pen, complained about how there was a lack of the sonic movie soundtrack on the machine. You laughed, your shoulders shaking under the now weightless time, a physical proof of your smile. Jean held it in his heart, woven carefully, as if it would slip away somehow.

 

Something to do. Together, like a secret, because really, how else would he say it if not like this? Like the shape carved itself just for you, smooth and soft. How else would he say something unimportant so close to you, his hand encircling your shoulders, arm resting on the back of the couch, voice the only thing you hear even if the loudness of the setting is all too present and all too distracting. Because that’s what this was, even with the distracting and present and loudness of the setting, he asks you, and his words form their own shape and fall into your lap, a gentle, warm question with round edges, easy to hold in your open palms that eagerly closed over it to not let it go.

Your heart beats to the thumps of the song. Your teeth ache with the sweetness of his voice as you nod with the same glint in your eye, and the unsaid but well-heard command is enough to get him standing up and walking to the machine, checking and flipping over the songs that offered themselves, his white shirt tinted against the moody lighting, the old bracelet you made him hanging over his wrist with a poorly tied knot that somehow withstood the test of time and weather and temperatures of his warm body. His hand scratched the back of his neck, and the present song was almost coming to an end, not that you were paying attention to it, but it was hard to not remind yourself of the moment you were in when the moment included him, the same ground he stood on being the same ground your feet rested on, the same room his voice held and clung onto also being the same room your own voice was in, floating to his, something you found it doing a little too often.

Your name was spoken on the microphone, brightly, with a wide smile, something you hadn't been used to until you met sasha. Your eyes met hers, crinkled at the ends with a smile wider than her heart, as she pointed at you, “your turn! jean-boy, choose something!” met with another shared and important - because all of them were important - glance with jean, eyebrows raised, affection rippling over his features, and you relented, hopping up to the microphone as she handed it to you.

“Oh, but when i asked you to, you didn't sing? I see how it is," Connie said, teasing smile on his lips. Marco shook his head with a smile as you shrugged. “You dont pay the rent,” you said simply, and the opening to cant take my eyes off of you by frankie vallie clung to your clothes, spreading a wide and knowing smile over your face, glancing at jean again. Again.

Sasha watches. Seeing it play out - not rehearsed, a little clunky, your shoes creaking under your weight as you hop to the beat, looking at jean who, in turn, looks at you, and sasha watches. Your voice hums out the tune before you sing it, before the lyrics start rolling in, impatience staining your tongue because of excitement, and she watches. Connie gulps down his drink from the corner of the room and tries getting up, but marco pushes him back down with a gentle and forceful hand, “dont,” his voice says, lost again, and connie doesnt ask why. Sasha hands her microphone to jean, clunky and unrehearsed, and he takes it without reluctance because he could never refuse being near you. 

Your shoulders shake without effort or thinking, and the usual hesitance that comes to jean so easily, like habit, almost disappears, finding solace in god knows where but he’s just glad its not there right now, with you. Brilliant smile, voice usually small and a little uneasy now grows with the swell of the song and he cant help but not sing. His voice is nothing but background and really, all he’s doing is humming into the mic just as you were moments before, and he sees everything. Your voice makes it hard not to notice you, stark against the background of the four walled-room, head bopping to the beat. It's hard not to notice when something so tangible and breathing and beautiful is in front of him, singing, smiling towards him, looking at him like you do with your eyes all shiny and almost sparkling under the shitty lights, he thinks, how can someone make a karaoke room feel like a shrine? 

He's not poetic. He knows this - out of the two of you, you find more of the metaphors, the small but noteworthy variables with the phrases and words - but he’d turn into a poet just to make one of the songs you like to sing so much. Humming under your breath, kept there until future and important use while making coffee, lost lyrics that you couldn't remember building up at the back of your throat as your hand flew across the your computer’s keyboard but even then he’d choose your inexperienced and unpracticed voice over a well made concert. 

Your lips shine with the light, and he forgets how to breathe. His mic floats somewhere near his mouth, he’s sure of that much, but everything else is lost to him. Your voice becomes his guide, wavering a little at the higher pitches, careful of the lyrics. You mess up once, laugh it off, shrugging your shoulders, and your smile is etched onto the speakers, making their way across the room and into his ears and, god, he can feel it. The beat doesn't matter to him, his heart finds the way of your voice and beats to it. As soft, as careful, unhesitant and unrestrained until the three minutes and twenty-four seconds of the song are over. And all he did was blink.

You turn, handing the mic back to sasha, connie’s standing applause met with a wide, unbashful grin and a little bow, faux pride in your posture. 

Jean all but follows your footsteps only a little ways from sasha, as she chooses another song of her liking, and his eyes are on you, adjusting the sleeve of your shirt that had folded up. You look at him, lips moving under his gaze, sound travelling and only a little delayed because jean thinks about your lips for too long. “You have a good voice,” you remark, smiling, and he blinks. Thank god the place is only dimly lit because his face feels red, heart pumping dangerously close to his chest. 

“Yeah?” he asks, as if he needs confirmation. Really, he just wants to hear your voice again.

You hum. He leans in to hear it as if it's something more important. It is, to him, every molecule that's disturbed by your voice to reach to his ear is something that he needs to be accounted for. He’ll make a home there, he thinks, where your voice lives in between the atoms, the shape it makes mid-air, just for him to hear.

“HORSEBOY THIS ONES FOR YOU,” connie shouts in the already loud speaker, making jean wince, connie pointing his finger between jean’s brows, a scowl on the latter’s features. The starting notes of “my heart will go on” start playing, and jean groans, head tilting upwards, catching the way you laugh softly, and turning to you incredulously. 

“Y’know your bald head is shining like a disco ball right now?” he says in retaliation to the now belting-his-heart-out connie, his hand making a fist over his heart, eyes screwed shut, pinch between his eyebrows, knees bending at an almost-painful angle that will most surely make them hurt later, with marco doing the background vocals, eyes closed, and… was that a tear? 

“Jesus, and then? what did he say?” sasha’s voice loudly asked, uncaring for any sleeping neighbours that would surely be jolted awake by her, coercing you to tell her more about the terrible group project you had just gotten out of last week. “He said he’d just give the work to someone who owed him a favour.” you said with mild but mostly dissipated annoyance.

Marco winced from in front of you, legs crossing two steps at a time. Jean scowled, turning his face to yours from where he climbed beside marco, “what the fuck?” to which you could only shrug with pursed lips. Sasha’s arm was around your shoulders, her fingers tracing comfortable shapes on the cup of your shoulder. 

“Wait, who owed him a favour?” connie asked from behind you, two steps under yours. You spared him a glance and shrugged again, “no idea. And then, of course, he told me, last minute, that they couldn't do it and he didn't have the skills,” you put air quotations around the last word, clearing your throat for dramatic effect, “to complete it himself.” 

“What the fuck does that even mean-” “what a fucking dick,” “god, im so sorry,” jeans voice was the first one you heard, followed by sasha’s, and then marco’s. “I wish we could still guillotine people.” connie spoke up just after you crossed the last step, marco’s shoes squeaking to a halt before your door. You fished your keys out of your pocket, opening the door to its jingle.

“Guillotines are for rich people, dumbass,” jean said, rolling his shoulders back as if the sentence itself burdened him.

“of course you’d say that, you french fuck.” connie spoke, wiggling out of his coat the second he stepped through your door. Sasha went headfirst for the couch, collapsing into the cushions without any plan to remove her own coat. Her soft snores soon filled the apartment - a trait both her and jean shared. The two could fall asleep anywhere and anytime, state of their body be damned. Jean had told you, after a long nap, his voice a low hum, that he had insomnia as a kid. He didn't know how he grew out of it, but it ended up with him on the opposite side of the sleep spectrum - unable to wake up unless shaken very violently. He asked you to slap him awake once, and when you hesitated, connie stepped in with a loud smack to jean’s cheek.

Marco stretched out his arms while walking to sasha’s room. “Im taking her bed.” he says, a tired yawn stretching out at the end of his sentence. Connie groans, “where will i sleep?” he asks, looking at you with a smirk, “if only a beautiful girl with a pretty voice tells me i can use her room…oh, if only,” he sighs, placing the back of his hand on his forehead. 

“Yeah. if only, you bitchless moron.” jean says, and you shake your head with a smile. 

“Do you think women are bitches, jean?” connie asks, the hand on his forehead finding itself on his chest, gasping. sasha ‘s snores break through his sentence.

“No! I.. i love women. I mean, im not like, im not… like a slut or anything, but-” “sounds like something a slut would say. Fuckboy.” “I respect women!”

“Ladies, ladies. Stop fighting over me.” you say, walking towards your room without sparing either of them a glance, expecting jean to follow you. “Cuddle with marco, con, I know you want to.” 

Connie groans, again, a little too dramatically to be taken seriously in the first place. There’s no malice hidden in his voice, none of the usual complains you would've found, “fine. If you say so. See, jean? This is how you respect women.” 

“Youre only saying that because she’s pretty.” jean says. You try not to let it get in your head as you enter your room, your door creaking open. “Night, marco!” you whisper-yell across the hall, even though sasha’s eyes wouldn't open even a peek with any amount of sound. “Goodnight!” he whisper-yells back from across the hall, only a couple steps away from the door of your room. 

Jean and connie’s voices are still arguing about something, but you're too tired to make their words out, all of it becoming gibberish. You clear your throat - a sound that’s enough to get them to stop. “Goodnight.” 

“Hey, wait-” jean speaks, and connie snickers from behind him.

Your room is silent, save from the irregular sounds of the cars passing downstairs, gravel under their rubbery tires. Everythings been said and done; teeth brushed, face washed, pillows fluffed (by jean’s persistence). You collapsed onto bed, leaving enough room for jean to squish into, the sound of ruffling blankets and the plush, squishy pillow under your ear. He lays on his back for a moment, before facing his body towards you, the deliberate motion creating squeaks of spring from the mattress. Everything has its own sound. Jean’s hands tuck under his head, and you resist the urge to laugh at his position. He sees right through you.

“Whats so funny?” he asks, whispers, really. You're not sure why. Maybe it's the overwhelming silence, the inability of breaking the warmth that crosses across both of your bodies, sharing the same blanket.

“You look funny tucked in like that,” you say, imitating his hushed voice. Maybe it is too important, you think, to talk about things that are funny in the moment for no reason but to keep your heart steady against the faraway but present sound of his - just one of those sounds that didn't need to be heard to know it was there for you.

His sigh turns into a laugh. You're both laughing at nothing, soft puffs of air, carbon dioxide overlapping carbon dioxide. Sounds are science, right? This felt a lot like poetry. Maybe they all merge together, and Jean speaks up before you can think more about it, “do you think Connie is spooning Marco right now?” 

You laugh a little more. “Are you jealous?” “that we’re not…cuddling?” he asks, a little unsure, but with a small smile anyway. He's hesitating. You know him enough to know the way his voice - though soft and pliable right now, gaseous against your palms, shape unreadable - sounds when he's unsure. You shrug. “Are you?” you don't know if the whispering is making you bolder or if you're just tired. You’ve always been a little conscious of your voice, a little too in your head about needing to be soft, uncaring if your sentence goes unheard. It doesn't matter as long as youre peaceful, as long as your voice doesn't disrupt disrupt disrupt.

His cheeks go a little red. It's how you know you’ve got him. Your smile turns softer, a little more understanding. “I…okay,” he says. You're both not sure what he means by it, but you can't help but marking it as important, just as everything he’s said to you.

“Your voice is…really pretty, by the way.” jean states, eyes not meeting yours. His lips form a thin line after saying it, as if he’d been wanting to keep it a secret, as if the fact that it somehow got out was a fault. You don't have much to say to that, though, so the sentence lays there, between the space of the pillows, between the blankets. It’s weighed, careful but untamed, and it lingers there for a moment, soft and pliable and unconscious. 

“I mean… like everytime i hear your voice its… its nice. Not just when you're singing. I like that too.” he rambles, voice still a hush, words still soft and pliable - putty-like, shapeless but you catch them and you don't let them go, let them seep into your skin and against your bones and into your bloodstream. “When you pick up the phone, or when you're humming something. I know it's… i know you think it's not meant to be heard. But I hear you. And i… I like hearing you.” he says. He likes hearing you. He likes hearing you. The words don't have shape. They wave over you, not tidal, not forceful, but like the same warmth of the blanket that rests over your shoulders, crinkled at the edges, a little worn out as if he’s been saying it to himself before giving it to you. 

God, and youve always been conscious of your voice. So when you speak next, its a surprise to you when its not the same whisper he was speaking in, instead only a bit higher than it, enough to contain only bits of your voice, the carvings on the roof of your mouth and the back of your throat and behind your teeth have no use hiding, now, because your voice projects forward just enough. Just enough because he thinks your voice is pretty.

“I… i like yours.” you say. Your eyes slip a little shut, and you feel more than hear him shift towards you, his arm crossing over your waist. “Its beautiful. Peaceful. Even when you're…insulting eren.” you sigh into his chest. His breathing holds you just as his arms, and his warm chest stutters a bit as if he’s taking a deep breath, something that tickles the parts of your hair that are near his nose. Every sound has its feeling, every sound creates waves and its on you to make them twice more meaningful as they are despite the words they hold, and even as jean gives you wordless reactions to your senseless but meaningful words, they're all accounted for. They're all just as important, just as held as everything else he’s said because its him.

“Thank you. For speaking to me. For letting me hear you.” you say with finality, no room for argument. As if he’d argue you. His lips press to the top of your head, unmoving. His palm covers your ear, making the soft sounds of his breathing muffled, but his thumb traces shapes of his sound against your ear. 

It tickles a little, but you hear the movement clearly. 

Sound waves, importance given to them. By you and by him. 

✿

[nightwriter357]

Just Friends - You make it feel like Christmas

Sorry to be posting this so late but MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! This year I'm giving you part 8 of my Damien Haas " reader series called Just Friends.

I hope you all enjoy and have a great Christmas 🎁🎄

The cozy scent of cinnamon fills the air, mingling with the warm glow of Christmas lights strung lazily across the room. The tree in the corner looks more suitable for Halloween than Christmas, but it's charming in its own way. Damien sits cross-legged on the floor, glaring at a roll of wrapping paper like it's a puzzle. Shayne is sprawled on the couch, tossing a stress ball in the air. It's time for you all to go home to your families for the holidays soon so an early celebration was a must.

You lean against the counter, cider in hand, and break the silence with a bright, "So... Merry Christmas!"

Damien looks up with a smirk, raising an eyebrow. "It's not Christmas."

"I know," you reply with a grin. "But it's like... pretend Christmas."

Damien chuckles, shaking his head. "First a practice date, now pretend Christmas. What's next?"

"Premarital funeral?" you suggest, barely containing your laughter.

"What—no. Why premarital?" Damien asks, his expression equal parts confused and amused.

"I just wanted to give you the P," you say innocently, trying to keep a straight face.

Damien stares at you, his voice full of mock accusation. "You wanted to give me the what now?"

"The... you know what, shut up," you laugh, waving him off. "Merry Christmas."

Shayne tosses the stress ball once more, catching it with an exaggerated sigh. "So, we're really doing this, huh? Hosting a holiday gathering for this crew?"

"It's not that bad," Damien says, finally managing to cut a piece of tape. "Courtney's bringing candy, Angela's bringing cookies—"

"And Angela's crazy roommate is bringing the crazy," Shayne interrupts, grinning.

"She's not that bad," you say, though your tone betrays your doubt. "She's... spirited."

"Spirited like a feral cat in a Santa hat," Shayne quips.

Damien laughs, shaking his head. "That's not true, She definitely will not be wearing a santa hat."

"Okay, but who's got bets on Angela trying to juggle the ornaments again?" You asks, glancing between Damien and Shayne.

Shayne snorts. "Not worth betting. That's a guarantee."

The sound of the front door opening cuts the conversation short, and Courtney bursts in, her energy instantly brightening the room.

Courtney dumps her stuff  onto the coffee table with a huff. "Okay, spill. What's Angela's roommate like? I need to mentally prepare before I meet her. Angela keeps dodging my questions, which only makes me more nervous."

Damien pauses mid-wrap, glancing at you. "Where do we even start?"

You smirk, settling onto the arm of the couch. "She is... a character. She dedicated her life to solving this case. At least, that's what she says."

Courtney raises an eyebrow. "That sounds... intense."

Shayne snorts, sitting up straighter. "Oh, it is. She's been chasing the killer like it's her life's mission. But she's never actually solved a case."

"Not one?" Courtney asks, incredulous.

"Not even close," Damien says, grinning. "But she's got these real good insane stories about her time on the force."

"She says stuff like, 'Eat my ass,' as casually as you'd say, 'Good morning,'" Shayne adds, laughing.

Courtney stares at all three of you, wide-eyed. "You're messing with me."

"Oh, we wish," you say, unable to hide your amusement. "She's a walking, talking hurricane with a nicotine addiction and a flair for the dramatic."

"She's... Dedicated," Damien offers, though his expression suggests he's grasping for something positive to say.

Courtney lets out a slow breath, dragging a hand through her hair. "I can't tell if I'm terrified or intrigued."

Shayne chuckles. "She'll be fine. Just don't ask too many follow-up questions about the Creekside Killer unless you're ready for a full PowerPoint presentation."

"Noted." Courtney glances toward the door, as if expecting her to burst in unannounced. "This is going to be... interesting."

As if on cue, the door swings open, and in walk Angela and her roommate, the latter's wet bangs dripping in the Christmas season's slush. Angela gives a cheerful wave, while her roommate pulls out a cigarette and prepares to light it, muttering something about the cold weather.

"Whoa, whoa!" Damien says, standing quickly. "You can't smoke in here."

Sarah Christ glances up, raising an eyebrow as she tucks the unlit cigarette behind her ear. "Relax, you little worm. It's just for the aesthetic."

"Sure it is," you mutter under your breath, exchanging an amused glance with Damien.

Courtney watches the exchange, her mouth twitching as if she's suppressing a laugh. 

You glance around the room, catching everyone's attention. "Alright, everyone. Let's get started with Secret Santa."

Shayne perks up from his spot on the couch. "Finally! I've been dying to see what everyone got."

Damien settles onto the floor near the tree, looking relaxed. "So, are we doing this one by one, or is it a free-for-all?"

"One by one," Sarah chimes in, the unlit cigarette now dangling from her lip. "Let's make it last." 

Shayne's the first to hand out a gift, his signature grin plastered on his face. He hands Courtney a beautifully wrapped box, and when she opens it, she gasps, pulling out a gorgeous yellow patterned silk robe.

"Shayne, this is beautiful!" Courtney exclaims, her eyes lighting up. "I'm going to look so fancy lounging around in this!"

Shayne bows dramatically. "Well, what can I say? You deserve nothing less."

Courtney beams, giving him a quick hug. "Thank you so much!"

You shoot Damien a pointed look, and he smirks in return, clearly thinking the same thing as you. The two of you have teased Shayne about his not-so-secret feelings for Courtney more times than you can count, and this little gesture just added more fuel to the fire.

Next, Courtney hands Sarah Christ a small, neatly wrapped box. "This one's for you," Courtney says with a hint of nervousness in her voice.

Sarah Christ takes the box, turning it over in her hands with a smirk. "What's this? Another crime for me to solve?"

"Ehm..no?" Courtney replies, waving a hand.

Sarah tears off the paper, revealing a sleek lighter engraved with the words "Let there be light—Christ." She bursts out laughing, holding it up for everyone to see. "Oh fuck yeah, this is brilliant. A Christ lighter for Christ. You're a genius."

Courtney shrugs, clearly pleased with herself. "Seemed fitting."

Sarah Christ clicks the lighter open and closed a few times, inspecting it. "Are you sure I can't smoke in here?"

"No!" Shayne cuts in before anyone else can answer.

Sarah Christ rolls her eyes, leaning back in her seat and nudging Angela. "I could get a warrant!"

Angela snorts, crossing her arms. "No, you couldn't!"

Laughter fills the room, and Sarah pockets the lighter with a nod. "Thanks, Courtney, you really know me well."

Courtney raises an eyebrow but Sarah Christ doesn't seem to notice as she hands Angela her gift. "Here. Don't say I never gave you anything," she says with a crooked grin.

Angela takes the bag, and pulls out a sleek pair of noise-canceling headphones. Her eyes widen as she looks them over. "Finally, I can get some peace and quiet," she says with a grin, holding them up. "No more listening to people rant about the Creakside Killer."

Sarah lets out a dry laugh, leaning back in her chair. "Peace and quiet? Must be nice. My brain’s more like… I don’t know, walking down a dark alley, then—bam!—some thug shows up, takes everything, and leaves my brain standing there like an orphaned billionaire."

Shayne pauses mid-sip of his drink, raising an eyebrow. "So... Batman?"

Sarah blinks, her expression blank. "Who’s that?"

Shayne sets his glass down, staring at her like she just grew a second head. "You’re literally describing Batman."

Sarah shrugs, completely unbothered. "Never heard of him." She waves a hand dismissively. "Anyway—"

Everyone bursts out laughing. You chuckle along with them before turning your attention to Damien, who's sitting there, an amused look on his face. He meets your eyes and raises an eyebrow, as if signaling it's time for the next gift exchange.

Damien grins and hands you your gift. "Alright, your turn."

He hands you a gift with a playful smile. You open it carefully, peeling back the paper to reveal not one, but two cinnamon-scented candles. 

Shayne, immediately noticing the gift, smirks. "Hold on, Damien, are you giving her the same candle I gave her last year? What happened to being original?"

Damien grins back. "Nah, this is an upgrade, Shayne. Last year, she got all misty-eyed over one. This year, I thought two would really make her day."

You raise an eyebrow at Damien, teasing, "So, you're trying to top Shayne Topp, huh?"

Shayne lets out a dramatic sigh. "I mean, it's cute that you're trying to improve on perfection, but let's be real: nothing's beating the original."

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "You two are ridiculous."

Damien chuckles, leaning in a bit. "Maybe a little, but I know you love these."

You smile and wipe a fake tear from your eye. "Thanks, Damien. They're perfect."

Finally, you hand Shayne your gift—a twisted straw. His eyes light up as he holds it up like it's the greatest thing he's ever seen.

"A twisted straw?" Shayne says, a grin spreading across his face. "This is... this is incredible." He wipes a real tear from his eye.

You laugh. "It's just a straw, Shayne. Don't get too carried away."

Shayne twirls it around in his fingers like it's a prized possession. "No, you don't get it. This is the best thing ever!" He gives a dramatic sigh, as if overwhelmed. "I don't even know how to explain it. This twisted straw... it's perfect. It just speaks to me, you know?"

The room fills with laughter as everyone passes around their gifts, each one a little more unexpected than the last.

As the evening winds down, the warmth of the holiday spirit starts to fade. Soon, Sarah Christ, Angela, and Courtney start gathering their things, preparing to head home for Christmas.

Sarah Christ looks around the room, nodding at everyone. "Glad I took my one day off to spend with you guys," she says, her tone suggesting she's genuinely enjoyed herself, even if she has a funny way of showing it.

Damien glances at her, raising an eyebrow. "Wait, you only get one day off?"

Sarah shrugs nonchalantly. "Yep, but clearly, I made the right call. This was... unexpectedly tolerable."

Courtney chuckles, clearly surprised. "Well, you're not the only one. I didn't expect to have this much fun."

With the goodbyes exchanged, they head out together, leaving you, Damien, and Shayne alone in your apartment. The sounds of the evening fade into a gentle silence as Shayne goes to get his bags, leaving you and Damien standing in the quiet aftermath of everything that's just happened.

You and Damien glance at each other, both seemingly at a loss for words. "So," you start, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve, "I guess we'll see each other in a week."

Damien nods, his hands resting on the back of his neck. "Yeah. Weird, huh?"

You chuckle lightly. "It's just... it's just that we're, you know, roommates, right? I mean, we've been living together for a while now."

Damien raises an eyebrow, but you can't quite tell if he's joking or being serious. "Yeah, We're not really used to being apart."

"Right?" You nod, relieved to have your thoughts validated. "It's like, we've been sharing a space, and now I have to go home and it just feels... off." 

Damien laughs, though there's a slight hesitation in it. "Yeah, when you're around someone this much, saying goodbye.. even only for a while, is hard."

Just then, Shayne calls out from the hallway, his voice loud and casual. "Alright, I’m outta here, you two! Catch ya later!"

You and Damien exchange a brief glance before you call out, "Bye, Shayne!"

"See ya, man," Damien chimes in, his voice equally casual.

Shayne, already halfway out the door, doesn't even stop to respond, but his voice rings out from the hallway. "Later!"

You and Damien both stare at the door for a second, then glance back at each other. You break the silence with a dramatic sigh. "Where were we? Oh, right... It’s hard saying goodbye to someone you live with."

There’s a brief, awkward pause as both of you try to act like it’s not obvious.

Damien looks at you for a moment, a knowing smile creeping onto his face. "Totally," he agrees with a teasing tone. "It's just because we're roommates."

"Wow, 'just'" you say, clutching your chest dramatically. "It's like you don't care about me at all."

There’s a flicker of something in his expression—too quick to fully catch—but his smirk softens, just a little. "More than you think," he says, his voice quieter now.

The playful edge in your voice falters slightly. "Oh really? How much do you care about me, Damien?"

His eyes lock onto yours, and the air between you shifts, the weight of everything unsaid settling in the space between. His voice is low, almost hesitant, when he says, "I care enough to hold back." The words slip out like a confession, unguarded and raw.

Your breath catches, the meaning behind them hitting you harder than you'd expected — all that comes out is a whisper. "Don’t."

His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes, and the space between you suddenly feels impossibly small. The tension thickens, electric and charged, like the moment before a storm unleashes.

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s you. But when his hand brushes against yours, it’s like the floodgates open.

In one fluid motion, you step closer, your hand clutching the front of his shirt as if to anchor yourself. His lips crash into yours—not rushed, but purposeful, like every ounce of restraint you’ve both held onto is dissolving in the heat of the moment.

The world outside fades, shrinking to nothing more than the feel of him against you. His lips are warm, insistent, and every movement feels like a silent declaration, but impossibly intense, as if the kiss holds everything you’ve both been too afraid to say, every feeling you’ve tried to suppress.

When you finally break apart, reality rushes back in, dizzying and disorienting. Your chest heaves with each breath, your heart pounding against your ribs. The silence that follows isn’t empty—it’s charged, alive with the gravity of what just happened.

You meet his eyes again, searching, but neither of you says a word. It’s as if speaking might break the fragile, perfect moment hanging between you.

Then your phone buzzes, sharp and jarring. Josh has arrived at your destination.

The shift is immediate, like a breath that's been held too long, suddenly released. Damien's smile falters just slightly, his eyes flickering to your phone, his expression unreadable for a beat. His gaze softens again, but there's something more in it now.

You turn your phone around to show him the Uber notification. "Seems like it's time for me to go."

"So... Merry Christmas," Damien says quietly, as though the weight of everything still hangs in the air, just beyond reach.

You blink up at him, heart still racing, breath uneven as the reality of what just happened settles in. "I thought it 'wasn’t Christmas yet'?"

He smiles, soft and earnest. "You make it feel like Christmas."

You laugh, shaky and overwhelmed. His words settle in your chest, warm and heavy, and you realize you’ve never felt more at home then in this moment, when you had to leave.

[604to647]

Holidays in the 604

Hope everyone has been having a good holidays so far, however that looks for you or best suits your sensibilities 🥹🥰🫂🎄🎄

I started to write write some HCs for what the holidays might look like for the couples in a few of my series (Safest with You, The Rockford Portfolio, etc.) but for reasons below the cut, haven't had much energy or motivation to write (no need to read, it's a bit of a downer and kind of rambly!) - I'm hoping that I can find a little bit of both in the next few days and maybe get some thoughts down to still post.

For those same reasons, I haven't been on here much, to my detriment if I'm being honest - this place is a source of escapism for me and not being able to come on here for more than a few minutes a day has felt a bit offputting. I feel like I've missed a lot of amazing holiday stories that would have likely boosted my spirits a bit - I'll try to go back and find them but if you have or read any that you wish to recommend/share, please do let me know!

Similarly, thank you to everyone for your tags/mentions/asks - I want to get to them and maybe still participate in a few tag games if it's not too late when I muster up some energy. Thank you for thinking of me!! I truly wish that you all continue to have a lovely holiday season and look forward to ringing in the new year! You're all such a welcomed presence in my life and I'm grateful to each and every one of you for being here! Hope to see you soon 🥹 KISS KISS 😘😘

Ok, now as to why Emily has a bit of the holiday blues this year:

I didn't grow up with a lot of hard set Christmas traditions, celebrations around the end of the year didn't go much beyond the commercial and the holiday season was mainly appreciated for being time off (from school, work), a time to rest and relax. There was cheer and joy, but as the kids say these days, it wasn't that deep. I've since married into a family that puts A LOT of pressure on Christmas - with an emphasis on physical togetherness and adhering to traditions/customs, that (to me anyways) can feel at times more performative than enjoyable; I totally understand the comfort in doing things the way they've always been done, but a lot of times it feels like people are just checking things off a list rather than genuinely enjoying (for example) baking the Christmas cookies, you know what I mean? Couple that with my priorities for my kiddos' Christmas, the way we spend Christmas now can feel a lot like a season of obligation. Depending on what the particular plan is for that year, it can also be incredibly hard, draining, and not all that jolly for me.

This was one of those years.

I hosted the big Christmas dinner at my house and also had those from out of town staying with us for a week. I'm a Virgo who thinks of her home as her sanctuary, am a bit fastidious about her things, and sees value in being forthright. It's a lot for me to have people taking over my house, making messes, and pushing/crossing boundaries that I've tried to set due to previous visits, all while maintaining a certain level of holiday cheer and slapping on a facade of "it's fine" when I definitely don't feel that way. I'll admit I wasn't always successful this past week.

Mr. 604 is very supportive and knows his family can be a lot, but at the end of the day a) he's just a man 😂 (and not a miracle worker) and b) they are his family and he himself has had to "grin and bear" a great many things over the course of his life, so he has more practice at it but doesn't necessarily have any advice to impart on how to better cope with the chaos.

It makes me feel like a curmudgeon for not being able to suck it up more and pretend for the sake of the kids, or even to help maintain this performance of "family togetherness" that seems to be the whole point of whatever the heck everyone was doing. So this holiday season has thus far been exhausting, filled with guilt, and left me feeling a bit empty.

I am okay and recovering now, it will just take a few days I think. If you read this far - thank you! I just needed to rant a little bit - I don't feel much like myself these days and that in itself can be depressing, especially at a time when I'm supposed to be experiencing the opposite. Here's to some rest, some quiet, some peace in the last few days of 2024 for myself, Mr. 604, and anyone else who needs it! 🤞🏻🥰

[beanghostprincess]

A tale of daisies & larkspurs

For @sanusoweek || Day 2: Fairy Tale / WLW (pretend this was posted on time)

Relationship: Sanji/Usopp (F/F)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Recommend reading on Ao3 but the main ones are: Transphobia, gender dysphoria, child/domestic abuse, and violence (I swear this is happy too don't get tricked by my angst)

Chapters: 14/14

Summary:

‘I love you’, her mother always says. ‘My precious daughter. My angel.’ But her father’s words are still louder. “It is the only thing he will never be able to obtain.” He turns around to approach her numb body, as she uses her last efforts to hold on to Pedro’s armor. Judge doesn’t smile, but he has all the fun in the world when he frowns with disgust at his son. Son. “A true love kiss.” — Usopp smells like wild berries, daisies, and wood. Like ancient books, fire, and dirt. Like chemicals, poison, and deadly flowers. Like sunlight, wet grass, and thousands of thousands of songs Sanji hasn’t been able to hear. It is impossible to know what a song smells like, but she is quite sure they all have the scent of that music box Usopp made for her. She always brings gifts whenever she comes. It makes the princess feel less trapped and more… It wouldn’t be more, since she isn’t even a bit free. But it makes her feel free. Liberation, that’s what she smells like. Freedom.

Read on Ao3!!!

More of my works!

Check out @aimtodraw's fanart here!!! I loved it so so much and I had to hold myself back from screaming in the middle of work when I saw it--

Also @the-orion-inexpirience's art I asked them to draw quite obviously inspired by this fic!!!!!!! It inspired me so much to keep writing!!!

[kiisaes]

fuckass birthday cake

[robo-writing]

Cockwarming with the MK1 boys

Kuai Liang

Cockwarming? Never heard of it.

You have to explain it before the visual clicks in his head, and it’s only then you see him nod in agreement.

Surprisingly receptive to the idea, it doesn’t take him much convincing. He enjoys the idea of close intimacy.

When would you like to start?

“Now? If you say so, little bird.”

There’s a peace that blooms in him, despite the salacious position you’re in. Hands rubbing into your bare back, nose buried into your neck as he inhales your scent, the hitch in your breath as you adjust yourself on his length.

It would be relaxing, if the feeling of your pussy wasn’t currently driving him up a wall. Everything is heightened this way, every breath making you clench against him, every movement making him shudder in bliss, a repetitive loop of sensations that keep the both of you trapped in each other’s embrace.

You move, he follows. You whimper, and he tastes the sounds on his tongue. You stay like that until you fall asleep, where he wakes up and the first thing he feels is the warmth of your cunt.

Bi-Han

Confusion is painted on his face when you tell him your idea.

Eyebrows raised, he didn’t know you to be the type to be so forward, surprised at just how eager you were.

“Hm, seems simple enough.”

At first he didn’t understand the appeal—if you wanted to have sex he could easily hold you hostage to the bed.

But fine, he would indulge you.

As it turned out you are far more creative than he gives you credit for. He might enjoy this newfound position more than he thought.

Every time you squirm, it’s another slap to your ass. The sound rings loudly in your ears, the clash of skin only dwarfed by your whimpering.

“Bi-Han, please—“ you beg, arms wrapped around his neck, scared to move anymore in fear of your husband’s wrath. “Just a little bit, I need more—“

Another hand comes down on your backside. You jump in response, then shiver when Bi-Han’s cold hands soothe the aching flesh.

“You decided the rules darling, no moving.”

You almost want to argue, but the look in his eyes freezes you in place. You’re forced to obey, shaking with anticipation for the moment Bi-Han finds you ready and fucks you like you need.

Tomas

“You want to what?”

Poor Tomas, his face turns a shade of red you’ve never seen before. He has to ask you to repeat yourself to make sure he heard you correctly.

When you do he becomes even more flustered, but it does spark a certain…curiosity.

He’s open to anything when it comes to you, and he would be a liar if he said otherwise.

As sweet as Tomas can be, it’s like he’s a different person when you’re like this—possessive, greedy even. He holds you by your ass and refuses to let go, kissing at your face when you shudder at the feeling of his cock inside you.

So big, so fucking full.

“Is this what you had in mind?” He grunts, barely stopping his hips from forcing you to bounce on his length. You can see it in his eyes, the barely-held back urge to dig his fingers into your skin and fuck you like he wants to, it’s only your pleas that keep him complacent for the time being.

You see shades of the sweet man you’ve come to love, almost overshadowed by the lust that pools in his very being. He wants to cum so bad, but more than that he wants to be good for you.

Johnny Cage

“You’re not kidding right? Please tell me it isn’t April.”

He’s over the moon, he’s actually thought about it before but was worried you wouldn’t be up for it.

But hearing you ask for it? You’ve given him far too much freedom, and you might regret that in the future.

Safe to say that it becomes his new favorite pastime.

Johnny was the one who invited you over in the first place, something about “needing to focus on his newest script.” A very obvious lie, but you suppose that hindsight is 20/20, especially where your boyfriend is concerned.

Instead of focusing on memorizing his lines, he instead memorizes what makes you tick, what buttons he has to press before you’ve become a writhing mess in his arms, how far you fall on his cock before your legs start shaking.

“Can’t help it baby,” he says, rutting into you softly. “You’re just feel too damn good.”

You almost want to beg him to fuck you, but you know him better than anyone—if Johnny says he’s going to keep you on his lap, he means it. So even if he’s barely focused on the script in his hands, you can be sure as hell you’re going to be sat on his cock until he’s had his fun.

Kenshi Takahashi

He laughs a bit, entertained at the thought.

You, sat pretty in his lap? It makes his heart beat faster.

He asks if you know what you’re getting yourself into, asking him a question like that, but your excited nod is enough of an answer for him.

“Okay then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Kenshi feels the heat that spreads through your body, a benefit of losing his sight. He knows all your weak points, his heightened senses aware of every reaction you have to his touch.

He knows you better than you know yourself, even without sento he knows how desperate you are to move.

“This is what you wanted, right?”

He coos in your ear, tattooed hands rubbing circle against your shaking hips, a gentle squeeze reminding you to keep still. You nod in reply, but it doesn’t stop the soft noises leaving your lips.

Raiden

Turns into a shade of pink you didn’t know existed

Lost for words, it takes him a moment to register what you’ve said before responding

“Well, if you’re interested, I wouldn’t mind…”

Poor man, he doesn’t know how to express himself, but he is very on-board!

He tries his best, really he does, but how exactly is he supposed to stay still when you pulse around him so deliciously?

He knows he’s supposed to enjoy this, but being unable to move is driving him up a wall. You have to scold him like a child every time his hips try to move higher.

He stares at the ceiling, head tilted backwards in an attempt to calm down his racing heartbeat, afraid that even the sight of you will make him lose control. In, out, his breathing is labored, your voice doing nothing to quell his urges.

“Relax baby,” you say, running your fingers through his hair. “We still have the rest of the night.”

Kung Lao

You’ve never seen him smile that wide before.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

If you didn’t ask him, he would’ve. He’s just glad you saved him the effort.

The moment you two walk into the bedroom he’s pawing at your pants. He’s impatient, and can you blame him?

“Kung Lao, calm down!”

You try to plead with your boyfriend, but it goes in one ear and out the other. What was meant to be a relaxing past time is now a struggle to keep his wandering hands to himself.

“Come on, don’t you want me to touch you?” He teases. His lips find their way to your nipple, lapping at the pebbled nub while his fingers slide between the two of you.

“This wasn’t the plan,” you whine in response, unknowingly pressing yourself into his greedy fingers. “I wanted us to enjoy this…”

“And we will,” he promises, circling your clit with a twinkle in his eye. “Just want you to feel as good as possible baby.”

Liu Kang

He’s heard of the act before, but never really gave it any thought.

“You sound like you’ve thought about this often, darling.”

He can’t help but tease you a bit, but he’s completely in agreement.

When he has a moment of free time he invites you to sit on his lap, grinning when his fingers dance across your skin.

For a god, Liu Kang sure can be a tease.

In his private quarters he keeps you close to him, one of the rare moments where he has no obligations and can simply enjoy himself. You thought this would be a perfect time to act on your little suggestion, and he thought the same.

Where you erred however, is misjudging a god’s patience.

Two hours ago you eagerly stripped for your husband, and in those two hours you’ve been left teetering on the edge, every time you close your eyes for a moments peace Liu Kang finds it fit to let his fingers remind you of where you are.

A repetitive cycle with no end in sight.

Your clit throbs with an incessant need, but you’re unable to do anything except take what he gives.

Syzoth

Beg your pardon?

You literally see his pupils dilate at the thought

“Really? Are you sure?”

He has his own misgivings about the idea, still ashamed of his ancestry as a Zaterran. It took him a while to become intimate with you but this…

You assure him that this is something you want, and he eventually agrees.

You gently coax Syzoth onto the bed, making your hips flush with his. You can see the doubt begin to flood his mind, until you drag his hands from the bed and onto your body.

“There’s no rush baby,” you murmur, resting your head on his chest. “Let’s just stay like this, hm?”

You hear his heartbeat return to its natural rhythm, his hands slowly brushing against your spine. Tentative, testing the waters, as if you’d shatter if he held you too tight. As the minutes pass he becomes more comfortable with your position, the feeling of your warmth enveloping him.

“I admit, there is something very peaceful about this…” he hums. You make a noise in agreement.

[coddda]

Hiiiiiii. Episode 25/26 lawlight analysis rant thingy here. I don't know how to write an intro for this so let's just get to it LOL

I think one of the reasons that the rain/foot scenes stick out so much (the. Sheer insanity of a Foot Massage Scene in an anime revolving around two guys trying to kill each other aside 💀) is the fact that the anime specifically suffers a bit in terms of adapting a few of the "emotional" moments in death note.

And I don't mean "emotionally impactful" exactly. For example I think the adaptations of scenes like Raye and Naomi's deaths were very impactful and the atmospheres of their final scenes were great, but I mean more from a characterization standpoint (if that makes sense). Being more focused on mind and logic games, Death Note as a whole isn't as invested in individual characters' deeper feelings as it is in its action (which isn't necessarily a criticism per say, it's simply part of the nature of a mystery thriller series). But just because they're fewer and farther between doesn't mean there are none at all. In the manga we do get to see, for example, how much Light actually cared for his family and especially Sayu, and how he actually felt more conflicted and suffered lack of sleep/appetite when he first used the Death Note.

The anime specifically as an adaptation is pretty good at adapting the main mind fuckery and action of Death Note, but its lacking in properly adapting scenes like the ones I mentioned above is a criticism I see somewhat often, and it's pretty fair imo. Compared to all the other adaptations, it certainly seems to fall short on an emotional level: the musical has entire songs going in depth about the characters feelings and relationships, the 2015 jdrama is. Insane and has its emotional moments in spades (because it's a TV drama, which are more focused on portraying emotional conflict and the like), even the 2006 movies has its emotional beats and L Change the WorLd is. Well. Oh Man.

Anime Light to a lot of people is like. Light but he's "already evil" (which I have my own thoughts on but I digress). Light but after using the Death Note for like 2 minutes he's already like "fuck yeah time to kill criminals". Basically the anime doesn't take as much time to delve into his less cynical sides or really delve into his already vague and harder to decipher feelings in general, he is noticeably colder from the get-go here, etc.

But that's part of why I think episode 25 manages to stand out so much tonally (apart from it being, y'know, the episode L literally Dies). I love the episode so much and could probably rant for hours about how much I love the artistic choices made in it but what I'm trying to get at here is that it's one of the very few moments where the show tries to go deeper into specific character's emotions, and one of the very few moments where the show Attempts (emphasis on "attempts" because, well, you'll see in a bit) to get more in-depth into Light's feelings apart from his cynicism/apathy/justice. ness.

L in these two scenes in episode 25 is, well, pretty damn open about how he feels. It's usually interpreted as him knowing that he's going to die, and you can see it. He visibly looks/sounds lost, somber, etc. He never really had much to hide around Light to begin with (since he doesn't really care about hiding himself the same way Light does) but especially not now and it Shows, and I personally thought it was pretty cool to delve into his thoughts/show how he feels this way. The somberness can be felt throughout the entire scene, even people who don't already know the plot of Death Note from the manga could probably tell that he's about to die.

In the manga, once L starts suspecting Misa again and Rem realizes what Light is trying to do, it goes straight to Watari and L's deaths, but the anime instead gives a distinct and unexpected pause in the middle of this where L contemplates his own death. It's fucking great, and the shift from straight action to slower emotional weight makes these scenes stand out a lot, since, like I said, the show usually focuses more on the former. But it's kind of ironic, too.

Not only does the anime open up L's feelings more in these scenes, but it also tries to dig deeper into Light's feelings as well through L. And it's really funny honestly because while, yes, these are the more "emotionally open" scenes of the anime Light still manages to be Incredibly avoidant and contribute almost nothing to the entire ordeal.

L is visibly upset -> "Yeah Ryuzaki, you're not making any sense at all" (Not addressing the obvious conflict from L)

"Tell me, Light. From the moment you were born, has there ever been a point where you've actually told the truth?" -> "[The most stale, over-explained, avoidant answer to a "yes/no" question that you could ever hear + blatant attempts to reframe the question]"

(L's half-smile here kills me) "I had a feeling you'd say something like that" -> [Nothing]

"I'm sorry" -> [Nothing]

"It'll be lonely won't it? You and I will be parting ways soon" -> [Nothing]

^ From this point Light continues to say literally Nothing for the rest of the scene. I'm not even joking, from then on the rest of Light's voicelines are reduced to nothing but vague noises of confusion.

Everytime L calls Light out as a person ("Has there ever been a point where you've actually told the truth?" / "I had a feeling you'd say something like that." / "Won't it be lonely?") he doesn't actually acknowledge anything. Out of those three lines, he only answers verbally to if he's ever told the truth, and even then it's the most blatantly people-pleasing answer ever, as it usually is with Light. And I don't think it's because Light just. Doesn't care about any of what L's saying at all, or that he doesn't know what the hell he's talking about (questioning Light's authenticity as a person, saying it would be lonely when they part), instead he's choosing not to acknowledge any of what this means about himself or him and L at all. He's like a fucking wall.

And like, for the truth question in particular, the show makes sure that you know it's not something that Light just. Doesn't care enough about to answer. The hard cuts to silence are a very rare but extremely effective way that the show conveys an extremely important moment (see: Light regaining his memories, Matsuda noticing Light opening the warehouse door before he escapes (not as much of a "direct" cut to silence but still)), and cuts to multiple angles/framings/zooms of the exact same shot are also used for the same purpose (see: Light hugging Misa when she was crying, Matsuda aiming his gun to shoot Light, Light regaining his memories Again). Just like the scene where Light gets his memories back, the moment L's question finishes the show utilizes both. That question cut Deep. There's is a solid Almost 5 seconds of silence before the sound of the rain gradually starts fading back in, and honestly that should be telling enough as is (but of course Light doesn't actually admit that. Or anything at all really, so). Oh also another fun detail! We do not see Light's face At All (except for the shot where you can see his mouth moving but not his eyes), for the Entire time that he's going on his spiel to L. We Will Be Revisiting This Later, by the way. This is not, in fact, the first time you're going to see this detail from Light.

The only sort of reciprocation that we see from Light during Any of these two scenes is when Light dries L's hair while L dries his feet. Biblical meanings/references aside it's interesting because it's the only time he directly does anything "for" L in these scenes, but even then he doesn't try to pass it off as anything meaningful really the same way L does ("You're still soaked", a purely neutral and factual statement. It doesn't Add Anything compared to L's. Sin atonement loneliness grieving stuff. While Light is showing his own reciprocation to this more personal moment he also tries to keep it impersonal enough that it doesn't actually have to mean anything deep). And when L says "I'm sorry" after he once again gets no response from Light. It's also after this that L gets that pained look on his face, like he knows that at this point he's not actually going to get anything meaningful from Light (again, very significant and rare from L in the show. We've seen him in distress (see: when Ukita died, hell, when Watari dies), but even then he mostly manages to keep his usually neutral expression), we never see him "look sad" like he does here):

I just think it's interesting that this is one of the few scenes in this particular adaptation of Death Note where they try to open up the character's thoughts/feeling (especially considering the fact that they. lowkey blunder in adaptations of original scenes from the manga), and L himself is being rather open (not that he ever really tries to hide what he thinks nearly as much as Light), and yet all Light contributes to it in return is like. Actually nothing. Bro fumbled it. There is no resolution to any of this, to any of what L asks at all, to any of the many opportunities for a meaningful conversation, and the only thing even relatively close to an answer that you can get from Light is what you can infer from how he acts in the episode after L dies, where he's just going through the motions, but hardly acting as if he's actually living at all.

(Honestly I think the transition from this scene with the taskforce to the subsequent scene with Misa says enough on its own. Light's expressions and tone says everything:)

(Oh sidenote but. This shit again:

"Light, this is our first date in forever. can't you enjoy yourself a little more?" ('Why don't you seem happy? We can finally be together since L is dead') -> No response, Light instead changing the topic to him wanting to move in with Misa without changing his mannerisms at all

Also there's that one detail again. You pretty much don't see Light's expression when he speaks here at all, except for one shot of his eyes, which is quite literally the exact same shot they used when he "saw" L, just altered for the new setting. You have No idea what he looks like when he's responding to Misa, although it's probably fair to assume that it's the same empty stare he has for the whole Two Shots where you can clearly see his whole expression in the entire scene.

Something something Light Yagami bad at feelings I think you get the point though)

I guess Light's Kind of showing what he's feeling now? He'll admit to himself that it's boring without L, but no more than that. Light never actually admits to anything "significant", and L's dead already anyway, so what would that even do?

And then we get, uh. Basically nothing from Light. For the next 5 Years. Except that he joined the NPA, so, uh, yay? Good job, Light you totally nailed it! Thank you for allowing us as an audience to delve deeper into your inner thoughts and feelings as a character so we can find out more about you as a person! Very helpful! Thank you for not sabotaging one of your few dedicated opportunities to look into yourself as a person and reflect on your relationships with others and being 100% honest with yourself! We stay winning guys.

Anyway, this got way too long for a scene that's over a decade old, and I've probably just said everything that everyone else has already said in this fandom before. But unfortunately this has been living in my head for way too long and I must scream. I just think this episode's neat is all :)

tl;dr Part of the reason why the rain/foot scene (tbh episode 25 in General) stands out so much is because the Death Note anime specifically was a bit robbed in terms of its more emotional character moments compared to the other medias, which makes more somber/introspective scenes like the ones in episode 25 stand out a Lot in comparison. But it's also incredibly ironic because it's one of the few moments where the show (or specifically L) tries to look deeper into Light's character, but because he is so avoidant for the entire duration of these two scenes he adds basically nothing at all. It's almost funny. Mostly sad. It's also very gay. Aand post

Okay actually nevermind one more thing I talked about how the jdrama is supposed to be more emotionally in-depth because it is a TV Drama and just for the record, same thing happens there! I could probably do an entire analysis of the Blue Scene in this context like I did with episode 25 but I'd literally be here forever, so uh, just take this iconic line as my main example:

Same Thing. L's statement "I wish we could have met some other way" is personal. It's his own wish, his own regret that he is expressing to Light. While Light's reply obviously has that same regret implied it's also phrased in a specifically impersonal way. It's closed off. "This is the only way we could have met" it closes off the topic and simply renders L's wish as ultimately futile. Light does not say that he Also wishes he could have met L a different way even if it was likely impossible, instead it's a cold statement of cynical fact.

Idk just. Something something L being able and Willing to be more openly sentimental/emotionally open towards Light/about Light vs. Light's inability to be honest with anyone including himself and his own nature preventing any form of meaningful reciprocation. Something something self-sabotage, y'know the drill. God don't even get me Started on how sincere L's tone is when he says "It'll be lonely won't it?"(at least in the eng dub) in the anime I could talk about his tone in that scene for ages. Also yes all of this relates to L Change the WorLd too by the way. Don't ask how it just does okay.

I do think that scenes like these (rain/foot scene, The Blue Scene. Uh. L Change the WorLd The Novel Adaptation) show, at least in those adaptations, that L does genuinely care for Light, and show that he values him as a friend not just in the mindgame-equal sense but also just like, a more sincere sense you know. Idk if that made any sense and that's a whole other topic for another day but you guys just have to believe me on this one alright please please believe me buries head in hands. Okay post over finally thanks for coming to my tedtalk hope you enjoyed my very-unnecessarily long analysis of the week

[puppyeared]

my stardew farmer ^_^ he doesnt have a green thumb for shit so he keeps animals and does mining

some tidbits i came up with while playing hehe

reclusive and doesnt really go out of his way to talk or visit people unless its an errand. but he also doesnt try to befriend others to get something out of it, so he has a very easygoing approach to making friends. on good terms with linus and sebastian since he runs into them most often.

if he respects or takes a liking to someone, he'll greet them with miss/mister (name). if you get close to him he starts using first name basis. if he doesn't like you, he'll refer to you by your title without using your name. only a few people have caught on to this.

the farm he inherited, Milky Way Farm, was the site of a meteorite crash and sometimes you can find shards of meteor debris littered around the farm (i picked the hilltop farm bc of this lol)

lost his sweater and pants a long ass time ago and doesnt have the time to look for them, so hes been working in his sleep clothes ever since

isnt actually grandpa's real heir to the farm... ;)

[grelleswife]

Miri and Rei are all smiles on their excursion together…though a distraught Kazuki appears quite peeved at having to miss out!

1 2

[voidshrub]

Hiii hello first art post!!! I hope you guys like addi fanart :D

Woag wow they kiss,, Context? Backstory?? Sorry this is all for the aesthetic I dunno how they got like this :3

Click (pink) belongs to @brightgoat and Link (green) belongs to @e40536 :D

This is the only post I’ll ever be brave enough (and proud enough of) to tag them on probably because I am an anxious coward. Also expect me to draw them a bunch. I might be late to the hype but the brainrot is still strong (Help)