#That's what gets us into this mess in the first place | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

karikarasuno · 2 days ago

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part one

law is handy. well, he's good with his hands. he's a surgeon after all. so when he sees you struggling to push a box that's nearly twice the size of you into your home, he's out of his car in seconds.

sure his arms are sore from working all day and he feels the beginnings of a headache prick at his temple. but he can't help himself when he sees the box you've managed to wrestle upright almost topple over and onto you.

"fuck," you whisper yell, but it's loud enough for him to hear as he quickly approaches you. his hands somehow wrap around yours where they grip the cardboard. the sudden contact startles you and you yelp, jumping back in fear.

"shit, sorry," he's apologizing immediately, pulling the large box away from you and towards himself. "you looked like you needed some help."

"oh so you came rushing over to rescue me?" you smile when you realize it's just him and not someone attempting to rob you.

"i guess you could say that," he chuckles, shifting the box that was clearly too heavy for you to carry alone to one side so he could see you. "do you want me to bring this in for you?"

he watches your cheeks form a pretty blush which satisfies him in a way he doesn't really understand.

"that would be nice actually," you say, your eyes sliding from his hands up his arms. he appreciates the attention even though he won't admit it aloud. "you're probably stronger than me anyway."

"yeah, probably," he laughs through his nose, hiking the box a few inches from the floor as he follows you inside. he didn't think his offer through first, though. because stepping into your home is like stepping into another world entirely.

his house his clean. organized. marie kondo'ed to a tee. and that's not saying that yours is a mess. it's just cluttered. every place has a thing but every thing has a place. its the definition of organized chaos. yet it feels lived in. and comfortable. and nostalgic almost.

and the smell. it’s smokey like bourbon, but with a hint of something sweet. vanilla. oddly enough, it reminds him of his brother. now he’s craving a hug. how weird.

“you can just set it there,” he hears you say, pointing to an empty space in your bedroom. chopper comes bounding out, friendly and excited. you had to hold him back by his collar so law had enough space to put the large box down.

“thanks,” you say as law straightens, “it probably would’ve taken me twice as long to lug that in.”

“it was no problem,” he says wiping his hands on his scrubs, and trying not to cringe once he remembers he’s still in his work clothes.

“yeah yeah yeah you’re big and strong, I get it,” you wave your hands around. he blushes. hard. “but you don’t gotta rub it in.”

he drags a hand down his face to settle the burn in his cheeks.

“you know, i can build it for you too," he offers, realizing that if it was too heavy for you to carry, it might be a struggle for you to build.

"no, its fine," you dismiss him, gesturing for him to follow you out the bedroom. "if you keep being nice to me i'll eventually fall in love with you."

you say it so casually. so flippantly. and he knows you're just kidding, but it still sits in his chest in an uncomfortably full way. but he laughs to cover it up.

"alright then," he says walking towards your still open front door, "the offer still stands if you ever need it."

****

cora is over. he's decided he needs to use law's grill. not that law really uses it. but he conceded to cora's request, because he promised to cook dinner. and law is very much tired of eating grilled chicken and rice since it's the only thing he has time to make these days.

"i have steak, veggies, and a tray of shish kebabs i found at the store that looked interesting so i bought them," cora says, organizing the food on an aluminum platter to take out to the lanai.

he forgets the tongs, so law grabs those from his utensil holder before following cora outside. he's just excited to get a home cooked meal to be honest.

but what causes him to pause-- to stop fully in his tracks-- is the sight of you, downward dog on a yoga mat in your backyard. directly in his line of sight. he's not sure when you took up yoga or when you started doing it outside, but he can't help but stare.

"hey," cora snaps in front of law's face, "gimme this." he steals the tongs from law's loose grip.

you've now moved into child's pose, chopper slumbering peacefully beside you. he has to force his eyes away from you, regardless of how flexible you appear to be.

“who’s that?” cora asks, fiddling with the grill to turn it on.

“just my neighbor,” law says, trying his hardest to maintain nonchalance. but you make it harder for him when he looks up again and finds you standing beside your mat and stretching your arms out over your head.

you’re in a sports bra and shorts. and that’s it.

“right so i gathered that much,” cora responds, clicking the tongs together, “but what i meant was do you know her?”

“as my neighbor, yes,” law says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. cora rolls his eyes and directs his attention back to the grill.

and maybe, in an ideal world, cora would’ve left it at that, but that’s before he sees you approaching. chopper is running enthusiastically in front of you, tongue hanging outside his mouth as he runs straight up to the screen.

“chopper, down!” you scold as he places his front paws on the door.

“i’m sorry,” you continue, grabbing chopper by the collar and tugging him down, “we’re currently working on his over friendliness.”

“it’s ok,” law says, glancing over at cora who’s staring at the interaction with a little too much interest for law’s comfort.

“hi,” you greet cora, saying your name and smiling politely.

“cora,” he replies. “this guy’s older brother.”

he tilts his head towards law, busying himself once more with the grill. and law’s pretty sure it’s not even on yet.

“Y’know,” law starts as he approaches you, “you apologize to me quite often and you really don’t have to.”

“ugh, I can’t help it,” you complain, exasperated but your lips are stretched with a coy grin. “it’s a bad habit i picked up because of my dumb ex.”

law’s surprised. he wasn’t expecting you to be so open or forthcoming. so casual about your life as if you don’t mind sharing it with him. a stranger.

“anyway, i’ll work on it,” you chuckle, letting go of chopper’s collar now that he’s calmed down again. but now that your hand is free your cross it over your body to hold onto the yoga mat that’s propped on your opposite hip. he knows you don’t do it on purpose, but the gesture presses your breasts together in a way that accidentally draws his attention.

his neck grows hot.

“speaking of, did you ever get around to building that…” he trails off when he realizes he has no idea what was inside the box.

“oh! my dresser.” you shake your head. “turns out you need tools like a drill and not just the flimsy screwdriver I have in my junk drawer.”

“i could have told you that.” he finds you endearing. which is a problem because he knows he’s starting to like you. as more than just a neighbor.

he can also feel cora’s gaze burning holes into his back. nosey son of a bitch.

“yeah well, i’m working up the courage to go to the hardware store to buy one. the men in there are just always so fucking pushy, i hate dealing with them.”

“i have a drill,” he says plainly, trying not to show his annoyance about how offhandedly you refer to the weirdos that seem to lurk in every aisle of that place. like this is just a normal occurrence for you.

“can i borrow it? that would actually save me so much time and sanity.” your eyes light up, hopeful.

“i think it would be easier if i just did it,” he offers again. it’s obvious to him and maybe to you, but most definitely to cora, that this is law’s attempt at trying to spend more time with you.

“i’m starting to think you don’t trust me,” your eyes narrow playfully, and you purse your lips at him skeptically. “and after all we’ve been through.”

you pout. feigning hurt, but your eyes are alight with something else entirely. law’s stomach flips.

“it’s an expensive drill,” he shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pant pockets, silently praying that he looks unaffected by your antics; that are absolutely working on him.

“fine, when then? i’m free tomorrow evening.”

“that works for me.”

the smile you give him is sly. knowing. and completely disarming to him.

“perfect, it’ll give me enough time to think of how I’ll return the favor.”

before he can contest to let you know that you don’t have to return anything to him, your back is facing him and chopper is following happily behind you.

he watches you leave. mostly dazed from speaking with you. and enjoying it more than he probably should have.

but his bubble bursts when cora says, “hm, next time just invite her over for dinner. maybe that’ll make it less obvious that you’re trying to get in her pants.”

#there will inevitably be more added to this au bc it’s legitimately all I can think about #neighbor!law au #shortnsweet🍒#trafalgar law #law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader

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keisgirl · 2 days ago

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2.0 ; miya atsumu

pairing; atsumu miya x reader

wc; 5k

is being miya atsumus clone the best thing in the world, or will she find a way to carve out her own identity on the volleyball court?

you grew up with the miya twins, tangled in the mess of their rivalry and camaraderie, always in the middle, always keeping up.

they called you the girl version of atsumu, from the moment you first stepped onto the court. same position, same drive, same reckless grin when you won. number seven stitched onto your back like it was meant to be there. you were quick, sharp, loud-mouthed, just like him.

and they never let you forget it.

"oi, girl-tsumu," atsumu would call, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "yer servin’s slippin’. ya gonna let me take the crown this year?"

"dream on, miya," you'd shoot back, flicking his forehead hard enough to make him whine. osamu would snicker, always watching the two of you go back and forth, never stepping in—just there to witness the chaos.

as kids, it was fun. as kids, it felt like being part of something bigger than yourself, like belonging. you bleached your hair when he did, let the color burn your scalp just to prove you could. you matched him beat for beat, dive for dive, living in the shadow he never meant to cast but did anyway.

but then you grew up. and suddenly, it wasn’t as fun anymore.

because when atsumu got praised, you got compared. when atsumu won, you were just second place, the girl version of him, as if you weren’t your own person. the name ‘miya’ carried weight, and even though it wasn’t yours, they tied it to you like a leash. you thought you could be his equal, but all they saw was an echo.

“yer too sensitive,” atsumu says one day, after you snap at a teammate for calling you ‘atsumu with a ponytail.’

your hands curl into fists, nails digging into your palms. “maybe yer too blind.”

atsumu blinks. “huh?”

“yer too blind to see that i ain’t you.”

the words hang in the air between you, sharp and cutting. you see the moment he realizes, the moment he pieces together every forced smile, every tense laugh, every time you swallowed down the bitter taste of second place.

his mouth opens, but you don’t wait to hear whatever he has to say. you just turn and walk away, wondering if you’ll ever stop being a reflection.

suddenly, you don’t play volleyball anymore.

suddenly, you’re not inarzaki’s genius girl setter.

suddenly, you have black hair.

suddenly, you don’t feel like yourself.

suddenly, you don’t talk in class.

suddenly, you’re first in grades, not in physical education.

suddenly, the girl who used to be on the court screaming at her teammates is now the one sitting in the back of the classroom, silent, unnoticed.

and people start to notice.

your teachers hesitate before calling your name, expecting the loud, confident voice that used to answer so easily. your classmates steal glances at you when tests get handed back, murmuring about how you’ve replaced your talent for setting with perfect grades. the volleyball team stares at the empty space on the court where you used to stand, the absence of your presence a hole they can’t seem to fill.

osamu, usually unbothered by everything, nudges atsumu one afternoon. “ya talk to her lately?”

atsumu scoffs, crossing his arms. “she’s the one avoidin’ me.”

“yeah?” osamu raises an eyebrow. “or maybe ya just never noticed how much she hated bein’ ya shadow.”

atsumu doesn’t have a comeback for that. because deep down, he knows. he just never thought you’d actually leave. never thought you’d change so much, that the fire in your eyes would be replaced with something distant, unreachable.

so one day, he corners you after school, standing in front of your desk before you can escape.

“what the hell’s goin’ on with ya?” he demands.

you don’t look up from your notebook. “nothin’.”

“bullshit,” he huffs, grabbing your pen and tossing it onto the desk. “ya dyed yer hair, quit the team, don’t even look at me no more—how the hell is that nothin’?”

you sigh, finally meeting his gaze. there’s something tired in your expression, something he’s never seen before. “it ain’t sudden, ‘tsumu.”

and that’s what scares him the most. because if it wasn’t sudden, then that means it was happening all along. and he just never saw it.

“i left alive, but at the same time, i felt like atsumu miya, ya know?” you murmur, voice quieter than he’s ever heard it. “like i wasn’t myself. i was just... you.”

atsumu stiffens, his breath catching.

“besides,” you continue, leaning back in your chair, staring at the ceiling. “the girls’ volleyball team can manage just fine. it’s not like we ever made it to spring high anyway.”

third year. the last year.

atsumu feels the weight of your words settle deep in his chest. there’s something final about them, something irreversible. and for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know how to fix it.

atsumu tries to ignore it at first.

he tries to act like nothing’s changed, like you’re still the same person who used to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, the one who used to bicker with him over who had the better toss, who used to swear up and down that one day, you’d be the setter people remembered most from inarizaki.

but he can’t ignore it. not when you won’t even look at him, not when every interaction between you now feels like he’s talking to a stranger.

he watches from the court, gaze flicking to the empty space on the benches where you used to sit. back when you stayed after practice even if you didn’t have to, back when you’d drill him on his serves and let him rant about whatever was on his mind. back when he never had to think twice about where you’d be—because you were always there.

except now you aren’t.

he lasts a month before he finally snaps. before he marches into your classroom after school, ignoring the way your classmates whisper as he looms over your desk.

“we’re talkin’. now.”

“no, we’re not.”

atsumu’s jaw clenches. “yer bein’ real difficult, ya know that?”

“not my problem.”

his patience wears thin. “what the hell happened to ya?”

you exhale through your nose, flipping a page in your notebook like he isn’t standing there, like he isn’t practically shaking with frustration. “i grew up, atsumu. maybe ya should try it sometime.”

“bullshit,” he hisses. “growing up don’t mean abandoning everything ya cared about. ya loved volleyball.”

“yeah? well, maybe it didn’t love me back.”

that shuts him up. because he doesn’t know what to say to that—doesn’t know how to argue against something so heavy, so full of something he doesn’t understand.

his fists tighten at his sides. “ya really just gonna throw it all away?”

“what’s left to throw away?” you mutter, finally looking up at him. and there’s something in your eyes, something hollow and tired and so unlike you that it makes his stomach twist. “i was never really playin’ for myself anyway.”

he swallows hard. “that ain’t true.”

but you only shake your head, gathering your things before standing, brushing past him like he’s not even there.

“if it ain’t, then why did it feel like i had to disappear to be seen?”

and atsumu has no answer for that either.

“ya got it bad,” osamu remarks one afternoon, watching atsumu glare at his untouched lunch.

atsumu scoffs, stabbing his chopsticks into his rice. “shut up.”

“yer miserable,” osamu continues, undeterred. “and ya know why.”

atsumu doesn’t respond, just shoves a bite of food into his mouth like that’ll stop his brother from talking. it doesn’t.

“always hoverin’ around her, always lookin’ like a kicked puppy when she ignores ya.” osamu shakes his head, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “if ya ask me, it’s kinda obvious.”

atsumu scowls. “nothin’s obvious.”

“except that ya like her.”

he nearly chokes on his food. “what?!”

osamu raises an eyebrow, entirely unimpressed. “oh, come on. ‘tsumu, ya been in love with her since we were kids.”

“yer talkin’ shit.”

“am i?” osamu leans back, arms crossed. “then why does it bother ya so much that she’s not playin’ anymore? why can’t ya let it go?”

atsumu opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. because as much as he wants to deny it, the truth is sitting right there, laughing in his face.

he’s spent years trying to outrun it, masking it with teasing and rivalry, with stupid fights and mindless competition. but now that she’s gone—now that she’s slipping further and further away—he realizes that osamu’s right.

he’s always been in love with you.

he finds you after school, waiting outside the gates, hands shoved into his pockets like it’s just another day.

“what now, atsumu?” you sigh, stopping in front of him.

he exhales sharply, staring at you like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle he should’ve figured out years ago. “yer right,” he says finally. “i never saw it.”

you blink, caught off guard. “saw what?”

“that i was losin’ ya,” he admits, voice quieter than usual. “that ya weren’t just my reflection. that ya were yer own person this whole time.”

there’s something vulnerable in his face, something raw, and it makes your chest ache in a way you don’t want to acknowledge.

“i don’t want ya to disappear,” he continues. “not from volleyball, not from me.”

you hesitate, searching his expression for any sign of insincerity, but all you find is honesty. and maybe a little desperation.

“i dunno if i can go back to the way things were,” you murmur.

atsumu nods. “then let’s make somethin’ new.”

he’s close now, closer than he’s ever been, and suddenly, you’re not just thinking about volleyball, about rivalry, about anything other than the fact that atsumu miya is looking at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“i mean it,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t want ya to just be the girl version of me. i want ya to be my girl.”

your heart stumbles in your chest, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re standing in his shadow. you feel like you’re standing beside him.

and this time, you let yourself smile.

atsumu had already confessed.

it had been awkward and kind of messy, because he’s atsumu and of course it was, but it was real. undeniable. a moment so big and sudden that it left you standing at a crossroads with no map, no clear direction except the weight of his words anchoring you to the present.

so you said yes.

not just to him, but to volleyball. to trying again.

except trying again means stepping back into a world that’s always seen you as someone else’s shadow. and no matter how much you want to believe that things will be different this time, it’s hard not to slip back into old habits.

“damn, ya even move like him.”

it’s a passing comment from a teammate, said with no real bite, but it still sticks. the way it always does. the way it always has.

you shake it off, try to ignore it, but the more you play, the more you notice it too. the way your hands twitch into the same mannerisms, the way you call plays with the same sharp confidence, the way your presence on the court starts to feel less like yours and more like his.

and maybe that wouldn’t bother you so much if you hadn’t fought so hard to be something else.

“what’s goin’ on with ya?” atsumu asks one day, watching as you linger in the gym long after practice has ended.

you don’t turn to face him. “nothin’.”

“bullshit.”

his footsteps echo against the polished floors, stopping just behind you. you know he’s waiting for you to talk, but you don’t know what to say, don’t know how to explain the creeping feeling of losing yourself all over again.

“i just…” you exhale, gripping the ball in your hands. “it’s stupid.”

“it’s not.”

he says it so easily, so confidently, like it’s a fact. and that alone makes something tighten in your chest.

“everyone still sees me as your copy,” you admit finally. “i don’t know how to play without fallin’ back into it.”

atsumu is quiet for a moment, and then, gently, he reaches out, fingers curling around your wrist, thumb brushing against your pulse.

“then stop tryin’ to be different from me,” he murmurs. “just play like you.”

your breath catches.

because you never thought of it that way before. you’d spent so much time trying to prove that you weren’t just another miya atsumu that you forgot to figure out who you actually were.

“easier said than done,” you mutter, but there’s no real bite to it.

he grins. “yeah, well, lucky for ya, i happen to be an expert at bein’ myself.”

it’s stupid. it’s so stupid. but it makes you laugh anyway, and when he leans in to steal a kiss, you let him, because for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re drowning in someone else’s reflection.

you feel like you.

playing like yourself, as it turns out, is just playing like him.

but that’s okay, you think. because this time, you’re not fighting against it—you’re making it your own.

and maybe that’s why, for the first time in inarizaki’s history, both the boys’ and girls’ teams qualify for spring high.

It happened fast. one practice game, then another, and suddenly, the tickets are in your hands, the realization sinking in. you’re going to spring high. and apparently, word has spread fast enough that university scouts are interested in watching you play.

but that’s a thought for another time.

because right now, you’re in a gym, tying your freshly bleached hair back into a ponytail, watching as atsumu scowls at you like you personally offended him.

“what?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

he gestures vaguely at your head. “yer tryin’ to steal my look.”

“please,” you scoff. “if anything, i pull it off better.”

“ya wish.”

“i know.”

before he can throw a comeback, osamu saunters over, phone in hand, suna right behind him.

“oi, oi,” suna muses, tilting his head as he looks between you and atsumu. “this is gettin’ kinda creepy.”

osamu hums, nodding. “y’know, we always joked about ya bein’ the girl version of ‘tsumu, but now? now yer just his clone.”

“take a picture,” suna says, already pulling his own phone out. “this moment deserves to be remembered.”

“yer both the worst,” atsumu grumbles, but he doesn’t move away, and neither do you.

because as much as you roll your eyes, as much as you pretend to be annoyed, there’s something warm about the way osamu adjusts the camera angle, about the way suna snickers under his breath before snapping the photo.

it’s a moment that feels like childhood and the future all at once—like proof that, no matter what happens, you’ll always have this. always have them.

spring high awaits, but for now, you let yourself enjoy this. let yourself smile as suna shoves the phone in your face, as atsumu ruffles your hair, as osamu mutters something about how he’ll use this to embarrass you both later.

it’s stupid. it’s so stupid.

but it’s yours.

spring high is everything you expected and nothing like you imagined.

the energy is electric, the anticipation thrumming under your skin as you step onto the court. it’s bigger than anything you’ve ever played in before, and yet, it doesn’t scare you. not this time.

maybe because you know you belong here. maybe because, when you glance at the boys' court in the other venue, you know he’s there too.

it’s funny. for so long, you hated being compared to atsumu. hated the way people called you his copy, his shadow. but now? now you don’t care. because you’re not his copy—you’re his equal.

but not everyone sees it that way.

on the way to the restroom before your next match, you overhear them—two university scouts talking in hushed voices.

“she plays just like miya atsumu,” one says, almost amused.

something tight coils in your chest, the words digging under your skin, itching like an old wound. but before you can turn away, the other scout hums thoughtfully.

“or maybe,” they say, “miya atsumu plays just like her.”

that gives you pause. because for the first time, it isn’t a comparison meant to diminish you. it’s a statement that acknowledges you—your skill, your presence, your worth.

and suddenly, the tension melts away, replaced with something lighter, something almost giddy.

you hold onto that feeling as you return to the court, and later, when you catch atsumu during a break between matches, you can’t help but tell him about it.

“guess what i heard?” you start, rocking back on your heels as he tilts his head at you.

“somethin’ dumb, probably,” he says, deadpan.

“nah,” you grin. “somethin’ real nice, actually.”

you pause for effect, then smirk. “some scouts said i play just like miya atsumu.”

he scoffs. “duh.”

“but,” you add, savoring the moment, “the other scout said maybe miya atsumu plays just like me.”

that makes him pause. his brows lift slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he considers your words. then, after a beat, he huffs a laugh, reaching out to ruffle your hair.

“‘bout time someone got it right.”

when you step onto the court again, you play the way you always have—with precision, with instinct, with a fire that matches his in every way. you don’t have to fight against it anymore, don’t have to deny the way your movements sync up, the way your presence commands the game just like his does.

it’s a hard game. the best teams in the country are here for a reason. but you push through, setting perfect balls, making impossible saves, throwing yourself into every point like it’s the last one you’ll ever play.

and then you win. not the whole tournament—not yet—but the match, the one that guarantees you another game, another chance to keep going.

when you walk off the court, chest heaving, jersey damp with sweat, there’s someone waiting for you near the sidelines.

“ya looked good out there,” atsumu says, arms crossed, a stupid grin on his face.

“you too,” you reply, shoving his shoulder as you walk past.

but he catches your wrist, spinning you back around before you can go. there’s something in his eyes, something different. something you’re still getting used to.

“yer the real deal,” he says, softer this time. “not just ‘cause ya play like me. ‘cause ya play like you.”

your heart stumbles in your chest, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you in this massive stadium, the rest of the world fading away.

then he grins again, tugging you closer, voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “but i gotta admit, we do look good together.”

“oh my god,” you groan, yanking your wrist free. “don’t make me regret bleachin’ my hair.”

he laughs, easy and warm, and when you walk away, you don’t have to look back to know he’s still watching.

because this time, you’re not walking alone.

nevermind, spring high is chaos.

it’s sweat and exhaustion, adrenaline and pressure, the deafening sound of the crowd screaming for a win. it’s the last chance for third-years. it’s everything and nothing at once.

the boys’ team blazes through their matches, tearing down opponents like it’s their only purpose, and you do the same. for the first time in your life, you’re not just keeping up with atsumu—you’re standing beside him, in your own court, your own battlefield, chasing the same dream.

but dreams don’t always end the way you want them to.

it happens fast. the boys make it to the finals, just like everyone expected them to. but across the net is karasuno. an unpredictable team, a team that shouldn’t have even made it this far, a team that plays with something reckless and untamed in their veins.

it’s a war. point for point, neither side gives in. atsumu is sharper than ever, his sets perfect, his serves cutting through the air like a weapon. you winced when his set was a bit off then sighed when osamu reached it. but on the other side, there’s hinata. and kageyama. and something about them just doesn’t break.

and then, just like that, it’s over.

inarizaki loses.

for a moment, there’s only silence. then the reality crashes down, the weight of it pressing against their shoulders. suna looks pissed but resigned. osamu looks torn between frustration and acceptance. and atsumu—

atsumu is staring at the scoreboard, jaw clenched, hands in fists, like he’s trying to hold onto something that’s already slipping through his fingers.

you don’t say anything, don’t try to tell him it’s okay, because you know it isn’t. so instead, you wait until the crowd thins, until the interviews and formalities are over, until he’s finally sitting in the hallway outside the locker room, staring at the floor.

“it wasn’t enough,” he mutters when you sit beside him.

“it never is,” you say.

he laughs, but it’s hollow. “yer not gonna tell me we did great?”

“nah,” you lean back against the wall. “you wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

he exhales, sharp and tired, then turns his head to look at you. you meet his gaze, steady and knowing, because you’ve both lost before. you’ve both fought for something and had it slip through your fingers. you know what it feels like.

but you also know that this isn’t the end. not for him. not for you. not for any of you.

“yer up next,” he finally says, nodding towards the girls’ side of the tournament. “ya better win.”

“duh.”

and maybe that’s enough. for now.

because even in the aftermath of loss, there’s still the next game. still the next step. still the future waiting for both of you.

and you’ll be ready.

when you step onto the court for the semifinals, the crowd stirs. whispers ripple through the stands.

“number seven…? looks exactly like that number seven on the boys’ team.”

“they play the same too, don’t they?”

“no, she’s sharper, her feints are cleaner.”

“nah, atsumu’s serves are better.”

“but she’s fast. like—really fast.”

you hear it all. you always have. but this time, it doesn’t weigh as heavy. this time, when you glance towards the stands, atsumu’s sitting there with his arms crossed, a smirk on his face like he already knows you’re about to shut them all up.

and you do.

by the time the match is over, there’s no more comparisons. no more questions. you make sure of it.

you blaze through sets, direct plays with the precision only someone like you can manage. the semifinals are grueling, the longest, most exhausting game you’ve ever played. your body aches, your lungs burn, but you don’t stop—because this is your last year. your last chance. and you won’t let it slip away.

when the final whistle blows, you don’t even register it for a second. you’re staring at the scoreboard, at the impossible score, at the realization hitting you like a tidal wave.

inarizaki’s girls’ team made it to the finals.

before you know it, you’re being tackled, arms wrapping around you, voices screaming in your ears. your teammates are crying, laughing, shaking with disbelief. and when you finally glance towards the stands, atsumu is on his feet, cheering louder than anyone else.

“she’s good.”

“she’s atsumu’s twin.”

“nah,” the voice comes from a coach sitting close to the court, watching you with interest. “maybe atsumu is hers.”

when you hear it, your lips twitch into a smirk.

later that night, you tell atsumu, smugly, playfully. he groans, ruffling your hair even though it’s already messy from the match.

“shut up.”

“not my fault you got overshadowed.”

“yer my girlfriend, you should be nice to me.”

“i am nice. i let you sit next to me.”

he flicks your forehead, but his grin is unmistakable.

and maybe—just maybe—that’s the best part of all of this.

not the wins, not the competition, not even proving yourself.

but knowing that no matter what, you and atsumu will always be standing next to each other, pushing each other forward, even if the world only sees one shadow.

but the night after the boys' loss is quiet, too quiet. (maybe cause they got lectured after being praised)

even with the weight of victory on your shoulders, you can feel the air around you, heavy with disappointment. the inarizaki boys were supposed to go all the way, to take the championship, to cement their names in history. instead, they lost. and no matter how well they played, no matter how hard they fought, the sting of it is still fresh.

atsumu hasn’t said much. osamu is silent, suna is brooding, and the rest of the team is lost in their own thoughts. but even with all that, they still show up for you. still cheer for you. because you made it. because the girls' team, the brand-new, barely-established girls' team, is in the finals.

“yer gonna win,” atsumu says that night, his voice hoarse from shouting during your semifinals. he leans back against the wall in your hotel room, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “yer gonna bring back that trophy.”

“you sound so sure,” you murmur, stretching out your leg, wincing slightly.

his gaze flickers to you, narrowing. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing.”

it’s a lie. your knee has been screaming at you since the second set of the semifinals, but you didn’t say anything. didn’t let it show. you don’t have time to be injured. not now. not when you’re one game away from winning it all.

atsumu watches you for a second longer, then sighs, ruffling his hair. “don’t push too hard.”

“i always push too hard.”

he lets out a breath, something almost like a laugh. “yeah. i know.”

later that night, as the team settles in, as exhaustion weighs down on everyone, you stay awake. staring at the ceiling. feeling the dull ache in your knee, feeling the pressure settle on your chest. you think about everything that’s led you here, about the hours, the sacrifices, the moments of doubt and frustration.

and then you think about tomorrow.

one more game.

one more chance.

and no matter what, you’re going to take it.

the finals.

the first set is smooth, clean. you send a perfect toss to your wing spiker, and they score. your movements are fluid, precise,muscle memory carrying you through. you can feel the weight of every pair of eyes in the gym, hear the murmurs in the crowd.

“number seven…?” someone whispers the same phrase heard multiple times again. “looks exactly like that number seven on the boys’ team.”

atsumu’s name is everywhere, floating through the stands. comparisons, expectations, judgments.

second set, things start slipping. your sets are a little off, the timing just a fraction of a second late. you don’t miss, but you don’t feel right, either. the moment the ball leaves your hands, you can feel the weight of atsumu and osamu’s stares from the stands. especially atsumu’s.

third set. you send a toss too far, forcing your spiker to stretch for it. you grit your teeth. something is wrong.

you dump the fourth ball yourself, surprising the blockers, earning a point. but your team is still trailing by three.

fifth set. you go for a quick set to your middle blocker, jumping–-

pain. your knee gives out mid-air.

you don’t hit the floor hard, but the moment your knee buckles, the entire gym gasps. you wince, not in pain, but in frustration, in disgust. because you already know what comes next. you can already hear atsumu’s voice in your head, his inevitable lecture. he cares—he always does—but the competition is bigger than that. and you? you didn’t even last the first full game to three.

as the referee calls for a timeout and your coach rushes over, you swallow hard, forcing yourself to sit up. you don’t want to look at the stands, don’t want to see the expression on atsumu’s face. you already know what it’ll be.

but the game isn’t over yet.

and you sure as hell aren’t done.

“you’re done.”

atsumu’s voice is sharp, cutting through the noise of the gym like a blade. he stands (spawns??) in front of you, arms crossed so tightly his knuckles are white. there’s a fire in his eyes, something between anger and worry, something barely held back.

“no, i’m not.” your voice is steady, but your body betrays you. your knee screams when you try to straighten up, the weight of your stance unsteady, but you refuse to let it show. not to him.

“yer knee just gave out,” atsumu says, voice rising with frustration. “you can’t even stand properly, dumbass. ya think yer gonna play like that?”

“watch me.”

he scoffs, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. “yer so goddamn stubborn. do ya even hear yourself? ya wanna wreck yerself for this one game? ya wanna throw away everything ya worked for, all for what?”

“you wouldn’t back down.”

the words are like a slap. atsumu flinches. his mouth opens, but nothing comes out. for once, he has nothing to say.

so you press on. “if it were you, you’d keep playing. you wouldn’t give up just because of some stupid knee pain.”

his hands curl into fists at his sides. “yeah, maybe i would. but that ain’t the point.”

“then what is?” you snap, stepping closer. “you don’t get to lecture me about pushing myself when you’ve done the exact same thing! you don’t get to stand there and tell me to stop when you never have!”

his jaw clenches. “it’s different.”

“how?!”

his voice finally cracks. “because i ain’t watchin’ someone i care about destroy themselves in front of me!”

the words hang in the air, heavy, suffocating. your breath catches in your throat.

the gym is too loud, the echoes of sneakers squeaking against the floor, the sound of the crowd buzzing in your ears. and yet, all you hear is him.

you swallow hard. “i’m playing.”

atsumu exhales sharply, shaking his head, something like defeat flickering across his face. “yer impossible.”

“and you talk too much.”

he lets out a dry laugh, bitter and frustrated, but he doesn’t stop you. he just mutters, “fine. go. see how far ya get.”

so you do.

the deuce drags on. and on. and on.

34-34. then 35-34. then 35-35.

you can hear the announcers losing their minds. you can hear the crowd buzzing, the tension so thick it makes the air feel heavy. no one is backing down. no one is letting up.

every muscle in your body screams. your legs are barely holding up. every time you land, the pain ricochets up your knee like a gunshot, but you bite down hard on the inside of your cheek and keep going. keep setting. keep pushing.

38-38. then 39-38.

one more point.

one more chance to finish this.

your hands tremble as you wipe your palms on your jersey, blinking back the tears blurring your vision. not from emotion, not from frustration—from pure, unbearable agony. you can’t feel your legs anymore. your arms are heavy, your body is screaming, but you refuse to stop. you refuse to let it end here.

atsumu’s voice echoes in your head.

“ya wanna ruin yourself for one game?”

“yer impossible.”

you take in a shaky breath, shaking his voice out of your mind. you have to focus.

the next serve flies over the net like a bullet. your libero gets under it, barely keeping it up. you sprint forward, nearly stumbling, fingers reaching for the ball—

you set.

perfect.

your spiker jumps, swinging, hitting clean, sending the ball crashing into the court on the other side.

40-38.

match point.

but you don’t get to celebrate.

because the moment the ball hits the ground, the moment the whistle blows, your legs give out.

you collapse.

the world tilts, your vision spinning, the sounds around you muffled and distant. you barely register the hands grabbing at you, the voices shouting your name. all you can feel is the burning in your lungs, the numbness in your legs, the tears slipping down your cheeks, unchecked, unstoppable.

you don’t know if you won. you don’t know if you lost.

all you know is that it’s over.

#keisgirl 🌷#hannahly!'s thoughts #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #fluff #angst #hq atsumu #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #inarizaki #atsumu miya #haikyuu atsumu

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writermai05 · 15 hours ago

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HIGHSCHOOLSWEATHEART! JOAQUIN TORRES HEADCANONS

A/N: Danny Ramirez in On My Block you will always be famous in my heart (I only watched like the first couple episodes of it but I remember fine shyt being in the ones I did watch and thought of him everyday until I saw him again in TFATWS LMAO) I used comic! Joaquin's family background since I don't think we see it much, if not at all, on screen.

Also, I see y'all liking. Leave requests, I beg.

You and Joaquin have kinda known each other since childhood, always in the same classes and schools, but you didn’t really get close until freshman year when you were seatmates in the same algebra class

This man was WHIPPED; immediately.

You missed a day cause you were out sick? He’s got notes for you. You didn’t eat lunch because you forgot to pack any and don’t have money on you? He packed extra just in case.

If you ever complimented him on anything, he’d just DOUBLE DOWN on that shit. You said you liked his hair styled a certain way? He only ever styled it that way from then on.

Finally asked you out when you were sophomores for homecoming.

He was literally so nervous, constantly asking his mom and Abuela how he looked while they helped him get ready :(

When he saw you; all done up his jaw was on the FLOOR

Like, man was so down bad, his mom had pinch his elbow to snap him out of it.

He was a bundle of energy, just excited and nervous all in one.

Was so thrilled when you agreed to dance with him

Side note; this man can DANCE like he definitely grew up dancing with his mom, getting dragged into the open dance space at the family functions

That night, the two of you stayed out late and went to a park to just talk and look at the Miami sky line at night, the city lights so bright despite all the darkness that surrounded you.

You guys just talked, for hours. Joaquin talked about what it was like immigrating to the states with his mom and Abuela, and all his hopes and dreams. What he wanted from the world. The people he looks up to. You shared a lot of yourself with him that night too, bonding over your strong sense of justice and wanting to just make the world a better place.

He knew he wanted to marry you after that.

Obviously, his mom was not down with that. She didn’t want him to get married you and then regret it later. (You guys were also like, 16 years old so, illegal?)

But he is a stubborn man. So he waited, saved up enough money up until you guys were both in university together.

Literally proposed at graduation, in front of both your guys’ families. You were a mess.

Honestly, probably a smart decision considering he left for basic training shortly after (get those military tax benefits, reader!)

When I say this man wrote nearly everyday, I mean it. When he left you gave him a notebook for him to write his letters in, and boy oh boy did he WRITE

You went to his BMT graduation, and tapped him out. He literally picked you up so fast, held you so tight. He cried so much. (I CAN GO INTO HEAVY DETAIL, AND I W I L L)

He did still have to go to school after for recon, but at least he didn’t have to exclusively write letters, y’all could talk on the phone and such. (Note: I just learned that it takes TWO YEARS of more schooling until you can officially become Air Force Special Recon Airman…Joaquin Torres the man that you are.)

Long Distance was hard, and there was literally nothing more that he wanted than to be with you, but you both held strong, him coming home for your birthday and major holidays, and you flying to visit him (wherever he was training at the time)

I could go on, but that is where I shall end for now...

#writermai05 #joaquin torres #captain america brave new world #the falcon and the winter soldier #the falcon x reader #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #marvel mcu #marvel movies #marvel cinematic universe #masterlist

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wholemeallbread · 2 days ago

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Btw the toxic bf hc(?) drabble(?) idk Rin made me sick to the stomach and made me feel anxiety ( which is a good thing) I never stopped thinking about it you have some insane talent.......I would love to see you build on it more...

OH YK WHAT i was thinking literally yesterday how the song heather would fit rin sm... though i was thinking it would be the opposite and kinda like a love triangle with sae sorta thing... or maybe just like thinking of him as a younger brother?? like youd be wearing sae's sweater/jersey hehe ANYWAYS i don't remember what i wrote so lets just wing it!!! ill do a liiiiittle bit more

honestly? rin's childhood friend is perfect. pretty, talented, outgoing... not only that, but she hailed personality traits that rin had previously expressed that he disliked. whenever you tried to be playful with him, he would harshly brush you off, but when she did it, all of sudden he didn't mind. he hated it when you borrowed his clothes without asking, but when his friend admits that she stole at least half of his hoodies before she left, and all of a sudden he didn't mind.

you genuinely thought that you were all of rin's firsts. when you first got together, he admitted that was true. until you found out he was lying. and how did you find out? through her instagram post. her with an arm around his shoulder, winking at the camera while simultaneously having her lips smooshed against his cheek. "remember our first kiss? 💋" was the bio. you knew she only meant well, in a more than comfortable sort of banter, that she probably didn't know about the relationship in the first place because she could be a little ditzy and forgetful... god, you wanted to believe that so bad, and you knew it would always be rin at fault.

you doubt rin even introduced you as his partner in the first place. the amount of times she's invited herself to your dates together to restaurants is abysmal, and the only reason you continuously ask to keep going on dates with him was in an attempt to finally get some alone time. it's not that she's bad company – absolutely not. it's just the way her and rin subtly interact when you're right there next to him is what sets you off.

you always notice those longing glances in her direction when it's her time to leave. you always notice how he cares about her just that little bit more, picking off the food she doesn't like on her plate or making an effort to wipe the messes that she spills on herself. you always notice how he's that little bit more punctual, even threatening to leave you behind when you're running only a minute late. yes, he's done that for you in the past; but now? it's like he's not even the same man you used to know. he doesn't even flinch when those same things happen to you.

and now? you're starting to think that she takes priority over you.

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dc418writes · 1 day ago

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•Me vs Myself•

✨Pairing✨: Terry Richmondxblack!reader

Summary🪄: You haven’t been yourself lately which worries Terry. How can he help though when you refuse to let him in?

🚨: language, angst, mention of insecurities, overthinking, underlying symptoms of anxiety/depression, ends in fluff tho bc it’s me your resident softie🌸

*DISCLAIMER!: I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP of pictures used as they were all found via Pinterest*

“There’s no use, you’ve already ruined everything,” the small, annoying voice in the back of your head spoke right at your eardrum. “He doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore.”

You steady decorated though, placing dinner plates and silverware at yours and Terry’s usual seats. If he didn’t have anything extra to do, he’d walk through the front door in the next 10 or 15 minutes and you wanted everything to be perfect.

He’s not gonna want to deal with your issues.

Your hands faltered slightly at that thought, but you pushed through continuing to arrange the bouquet of mixed flowers so they’d fit perfectly in the glass vase.

“There,” you state taking a moment to appreciate your work. The mix of pinks, purples, yellows, and greens brought a much needed smile to your face after going so long having to fake one.

“Food is done, table set…glasses!”

As soon as you made it to the cabinet, stretching a bit on your tip toes to reach the clear glassware, there was your boyfriend entering through the front door. His head nearly hit the doorframe as he walked over the threshold placing his keys on the newly installed golden hooks after locking the door behind him. He removes his jacket and shoes next - as part of his usual routine - before finally turning to notice the beautifully set table.

“H-Hey,” you softly wave with your free hand feeling just as timid as the night of your first date. “I uh…I made dinner.”

“I see,” Terry replies in that deep, baritone voice beginning to slowly move towards you.

Figures you’d mess this up too. You always mess up something.

“There’s salmon in the oven and rice and broccoli on the stove. I can fix your drink if you want?”

“I got it.” When he removes one glass from your hand to fill it with ice you feel that crack in your heart chip an inch more. He really was done and everything was your fault. You and your confusing emotions. How difficult you could be. Why can’t you just be…less you?

“Water?,” he asks pulling you from your mental dungeon.

“Huh?”

“Do you want water or something else?”

“Oh, water’s fine,” you answer before handing over the last glass. Terry’s on your heels following you to the dinner table to set down both glasses as you gather the plates. You don’t get far though with his thick arm quickly grabbing your waist to pull you back.

The way he says “sit” isn’t harsh or disciplinary, as if scolding a child, but careful and full of concern. Similar to the way he’s treated you all this week. You’re sure he can see the thudding of your heart as you sit in the chair closest to him. Probably feel the heat beginning to radiate from your stressed body while you twisted the gold butterfly ring around your finger, but he doesn’t say anything. He only leans forward to pull your chair even closer making you initially gasp from the surprising movement before a brief giggle leaves your lips. It’s your first genuine giggle in days and has Terry’s lips curling in a small smile.

“What’s wrong? Really.”

“Not-,”

“Before you say nothing or that you’re just tired, I know it’s more.” Those greenish-blue eyes seem to hit deep into your soul silently urging you to confide in him. And the way his thumbs intimately trace back and forth on the backs of your hands, - practically swallowed by his - you feel the tears prick at your eyes. That random tickle forms in your throat making your voice waver and sound just as broken as you felt.

You’re so weak. People go through so much more and you can’t handle this?

“I get it if you’re not ready-,”

“It’s dumb,” you whisper choosing to focus on your joined hands rather than his intense gaze that was sure to push you over the edge.

“Nothing you ever say is dumb,” he counters. His own hand itches to lift your chin, but instead he leaves you be patiently letting you collect your thoughts.

The most important thing was you talking. If staring into the fridge with a bowl on your head made you comfortable enough to do so, then so be it.

A humorless chuckle leaves your lips just before you sniffle, “That’s debatable.”

“Factual.” Terry’s dorky, yet sweet, response is a vast contrast to the heart stopping smirk on his full lips, and you can only shake your head as you fought the smile desperate to break through before sniffling once more.

A watery sigh passes to the open air as you grip his hands. “I…I don’t know what happens…but sometimes I just get really down. Especially about myself.”

Ugh you sound so needy! No man wants to deal with a woman who can’t stand on her own.

“Did something trigger you?”

“Externally, not really. It’s more so me thinking about the things I do…or don’t do.”

“Like?,” he asks leaning forward to kiss your knuckles providing comfort and urging you to continue.

“Like…when I accidentally burnt the toast the other day,” you inwardly cringe thinking about the dumb mistake having such a big impact on you. “If I would’ve paid more attention, then I could’ve caught it was in there too long. And feeling bad about that then sets off this cascade of thoughts.”

It’s been that way since middle school. One little mess up or embarrassing moment reaffirming an insecurity that had you shrinking in on yourself. Wanting to hide away until your mind had quieted enough that functioning didn’t seem so difficult.

Your parents unfortunately didn’t help with trying to process those complicated feelings. “You don’t need to be crying over that.” “You’ll be fine.” “You need thicker skin. You let stuff get to you.”

At the base level, you knew they were trying to set you up for adult life that didn’t care if you felt depressed or sad. You still had work to do and bills to pay. However, it left you invalidating yourself and criticizing your heart for feeling so deeply.

Terry nods quietly taking in your words. Although it was common for him to ponder his next words - wanting to speak thoughtfully and express himself clearly - his brief silence feels longer than usual and only makes you more uneasy.

You think he wants to deal with this right now? You’re a burden

Before the first tear can reach your jaw, Terry’s there wiping it away, and the next one that follows. “I-I’m sorry. I’m ruining everything-,”

“You’re not and you don’t need to apologize for hurting baby. Everyone has stuff they’re carrying, that’s part of life. You don’t have to carry it alone though,” he explains.

“But if I don’t even wanna deal with it, I don’t wanna put that on someone else who has their own stuff to work through.” It takes nothing for Terry to shift your sobbing, shaky body to sit in his lap. His soft lips leaving kiss after kiss on your temple as he gently rocked you back and forth rubbing soothing circles along your back.

“It’s not force if I’m willing to take it. We’re in this together; just like you got me I got you.”

“I’m supposed to be your peace,” you whisper into his pec, “not make stuff complicated.”

At that he has to move you so you can see the signature lift to his brow and that “you’re fucking with me right?,” look in his bright eyes. “Who says you’re not my peace?”

You simply shrug - and mentally take note of the embarrassing wet stain you left on his shirt. Luckily there was a load already waiting for your attention.

“You s-said you loved how easy we are. So I thought-,”

“Nah baby that’s not what I meant. Since the first time we met we just..fit. We’re ‘easy’ in that I feel like I’ve known you my whole life even though it’s just been a year. I feel safe and seen with you, so I don’t have to worry about you judging me,” Terry explains unknowingly shooing away those demons running rampant in your head back a few steps. “Or givin’ me that cute side eye you gave that lady in the store the other day.”

“…she had like 29 items in the 10 items or less line. Then tried being all ‘oh sweetheart’ and ‘sugar’ with you like I was invisible. Grandma had it comin’,” you mumble making him chuckle before pecking your plump bottom lip. A small, watery laugh even slips from you causing Terry’s smile to adorably deepen at the prospect of you feeling better.

“You’re my peace in more ways than one, and I’m sorry I don’t say it-,”

Happy? Now he feels guilty when he’s done nothing but be good to you. You’re so ungrateful.

“Nonono baby you’re perfect!,” you quickly try to rectify. This is also why you kept things to yourself; to not offend anyone. “I…I don’t..”

That overwhelming heat rises in your face again - your tell-tale sign of impending tears since childhood - as you try to slip from his grasp. Terry’s large hands hold you in place though so you can’t hide this time.

“You’re okay. Breathe.”

“I just don’t want you to feel like you’re doing something wrong when it’s me with the issues,” you manage to clearly explain amid your fresh set of tears.

How is anyone gonna ever deal with you?

“I hear you, but that’s why we gotta communicate. We talk about it so no one assumes.” Terry had a point. If he was the one being distant and hardly talking to you, you’d immediately think it was you. How it was something you had to have done or said. That he was no longer interested and just waiting for the right moment to cut you loose, or just leave altogether never to be heard from again.

Shifting your body so you’d straddle his strong legs, now you have no choice but to meet his dazzling eyes filled with a warmth that just makes you want to snuggle into his chest and never leave. Not that he would have a problem with that either.

“What I think we should do…is once a week, we check in.” He must feel your body tense the way he softly says “wait” while his hands soothe along your sides. “If one of us doesn’t feel like talking that day, that’s fine. That day’ll be a distraction day.”

“What kind of distraction?,” you ask with a quirked brow earning a playful swat to your thigh.

“And you call me nasty,” he teases. “But distraction as in…what did you call it…brain rot? Whatever you want to get your mind off stuff.”

“Okay..sounds good.”

“But, two days later we talk no excuses. And if someone says they’re ‘fine’, the other can call bullshit and why they feel it is.”

“So basically, once a week we check in and either A. Discuss everything then or B. If we put it off, a couple days later there’s no more distraction option. We talk no matter what?”

“Yea..that okay?,” he asks wondering if maybe he overstepped. He wanted to help you get more comfortable with opening up, but he also didn’t want to push you to do something thus making things worse. “If not we can-,”

“No, I like it. Let’s do it,” you smile confirming your new plan with a soft kiss. “You’re always so patient.”

Terry’s deep chuckle rumbles from his chest against yours. “Thank you. You are too you know? And strong. And kind. Considerate. Beautiful.”

After every compliment, Terry leaves a peck somewhere on your face until your giggles fill your apartment. It’s one of the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard - although you wouldn’t agree - and hopes he doesn’t have to go without it again.

Your face finds his neck, taking in his sea salt and wood sage cologne mixed with his natural scent, when you’ve calmed down. Terry’s fingertips trailing along your spine has your nervous system relaxed for the first time today. And most importantly, your head quiet while you focused on the calm beating of his heart.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“I always got you,” he whispers near your ear.

A/N🎤: hi! So this is very much self indulgent, as I’ve had a…very emotional past couple weeks. Anybody else that’s struggling right now, I hope you know how much you’re loved and that things will get better. I’ll be honest it may not be tomorrow, but the better days will come🌸💕

#terry richmond #terry richmond x black reader #Terry Richmond x reader #rebel ridge #aaron pierrexreader #aaron pierre x black reader #aaron pierre

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blueblossomcherry · 1 day ago

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Mornings in the Studio

pairing: han jisung x reader

warning: pet names (love, baby)

genre: fluff

wc: 713

When your boyfriend was on tour, you missed him severely. It was even worse, however, when you both were home and never had any time to interact. It made you feel so lonely, the fact that you knew Jisung was there but you could never see him. It was like he was a figment of your imagination. He was gone before you woke up and back when you were asleep. You couldn’t handle it, so you decided to go to the studio to see him, your loneliness getting the better of you. You knew he would be okay with you showing up, he had always told you, “If you need me, you can always come see me, no matter what I’m doing.” It made your heart flutter when he first said it and it still does every time you think about it. He always made sure to put you first in your time of need. You had texted Jisung, still not wanting to just show up unannounced. When you arrived, you knocked on the door of the studio. The door swung open, revealing Jisung in comfy clothes. In the background, you could see Changbin messing around, forming flawless beats. “Hey,” He breathes out, smiling widely. You immediately pull him into a hug, feeling your eyes water at the sight of him in front you for the first time in weeks. He hugged you back tightly, rubbing your back with his hands. By the time you let go of each other, the tears had begun falling. “What’s wrong, love,” He asks, placing his hand on your cheek, wiping your tears with his thumb. Your breath hitches at the pet name he uses, even in a time like this, he knows how to make your heart skip a beat. “I just missed you,” You smile tearfully. He grabs your hands and squeezes them, comforting you. “I missed you too. Now, I still have a little bit of work to do,” He says, dragging you over to the couch in the room. You hesitate, wanting to be closer to him, but you know he has work to do. Not wanting to seem too clingy, you sit down, pulling out your phone to distract you.

This only works for a few minutes, as you find yourself missing your boyfriend's touch even more. The urge grew even stronger until you couldn’t bear it anymore.

By this time, Changbin had already left, so you got off the couch, walking slowly to Jisung. You didn’t want to disturb him, but just being in his presence wasn’t enough anymore. When you get to his chair, you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Baby, I have work to do,” He breathes out a laugh. You sigh, nuzzling your face into his neck.

“I know, just a minute please,” You plead. You understood that he was busy, but after weeks without seeing him, all you craved was his touch. He laughed, pulling you into his lap.

You sat there for a while, his hands playing with your hair, before he dragged the chair that Changbin was sitting in, closer to you.

“Here love, sit here so I can finish,” He tells you, clearly ready to finish his work so he can spend time with you. You do as he says, also ready for him to get done with his work.

“Can we go back home when you’re done, or do you have more stuff to do?” You ask, hoping he’ll tell you that he’ll be completely done after this.

“No, we can go home,” He smiles, amused by your eagerness to go home with him.

“Can you produce a song with one hand?” You ask him, still needing to have some sort of physical contact with him.

“I’m not sure, but I can try,” He winks and gives you his hand. You latch onto it, playing with his fingers while watching him produce their newest song. A few moments later, you hear him speak.

“Okay, I'm done now,” He tells you, watching as you smile and silently cheer.

“Okay, lets go,” You reply, gathering your belongings and practically running out of the room with him.

You couldn’t wait to get home and spend the rest of the day with him.

#stray kids #han jisung #jisung x reader #jisung #han #stray kids x reader #skz stay #love stay

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vidals-harkness · 2 days ago

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circle sewn with fate, unlock thy hidden gate (part 1)

summary: your perfectly 'normal' friday morning got interrupted by the mad search for a coven with a witch who's reputation precedes her.

fic type: angst

pairings: agatha harkness x teen!reader, teen x teen!reader

word count: 1.6k

series masterlist | masterlist

You sat at the kitchen island and watched your mother go off her rocker and ballistic about…well, everything. It was entertaining, to say the least, but it was also nothing short of absolutely irritating.

“Coming in here after all that time, thinking she’s gonna…” she muttered angrily. “Look at my front door!”

“Well, if you weren’t such a hopeless lesbian and just, I don’t know, talked to Mami, we wouldn’t be here, would we?” You scoffed, annoyed.

“What?” She rounded on you, before yet something else caught her eyes. “Ugh! Whose shoes are these?”

“Probably the guy you kidnapped,” you shrugged, nodding at Teen, who stood at the closet entryway, trying to undo the tape from his mouth.

“Okay. She’s unstoppable,” she said, pausing for a moment.

“No, she’s not, you’re just being stupid,” you said, rinsing your bowl and putting it away.

“And you’re giving me attitude?” She scoffed.

“Oh, tragic,” you rolled your eyes, walking over to grab a broom, ready to sweep the mess up.

“The house is yours, random boy. Be sure to tell the vengeanceseekers I said hi,” Agatha said hurriedly, gathering some stuff. “Y/n, grab stuff we can use to survive on the road—“

The boy bunny-hopped to the doorframe, and spent a moment taking off the tape around his mouth before blurting out, “Take me to the Witches’ Road!”

Both you and your mother froze, looking at each other.

“Come again?” The older woman said, brow raised.

“The Witches’ Road,” the boy repeated. “I want you to take me there. Please?”

“Is this twink for real?” You asked, eyeing your mother.

“Hey!” He protested, only to receive a shrug in return.

“The Witches’ Road doesn’t exist,” Agatha said, crossing her arms to face him.

“You’re lying,”

“Am I?”

“That’s just what real witches say to keep the amateurs out,” he replied. “The Road will give you the thing you want the most,”

“And what could you possibly desire? Free glitter eyeliner for life?” You snorted, leaning on the broom.

“Dude, what is your problem?” He said, irritated.

“Hey, I’m my mother’s daughter,”

“The road does give you what you desire,” Agatha interrupted. You already sensed the cogs turning in her brain and it made you sick. “If you make it to the end,”

“And I can. I will,” he said indignantly.

“Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully, casting you a sideways glance which you reciprocated with a scowl. “The Road is no place for a kid,”

“I’m 16!” He protested. “Oh, sorry. Teen,” she replied mockingly. “I don’t know where you heard about The Road…Books, the Ballad, legend, lore…But it will kill you,”

“Didn’t kill you,” he countered.

“Cause she’s a stubborn bitch,” you huffed under your breath.

“Well, I’m exceptional,” she said simply.

“That’s my point,” he said.

“No, please don’t fuel her humongous ego—“ you sighed.

He rolled his eyes and added, “Okay, so, confession, I know an egregious amount about you. I’ve been obsessed since I first read up on your Salem days,”

“So not only are you a twink, you are also a creep, fantastic,” you nodded sarcastically.

He rolled his eyes at you, continuing, “One of my favorite “you” eras,”

“That’s a good one,” Agatha nodded appreciatively. She looked at you and said pointedly. “At least a omeone appreciates my work,”

“That’s why I came here last night,” he said. “That’s why I saved you from the spell you were under,”

“If you’ve got the goods to break a spell cast by the Scarlet Witch,” Agatha said, eyeing him curiously. “Why do you need The Road?”

“I mean, I’ve studied, don’t get me wrong,” he said, making her smile tightly in acknowledgment. “But that can only take you so far. I wanna blast, to shield, to levitate—“

“So you want a shortcut,” she interrupted. “The Road promises that what’s missing awaits you at its end,”

“Oof,” you chuckled. “That’s rough, never meet your heroes, Teenie,”

“Shut up,” he snapped, turning back to Agatha. “Power is what I’m missing. Sounds like it’s what you’re missing, too,”

You paused and watched your mother nervously. She was a strong woman, crazy every now and then, but she wasn’t stupid, was she? She couldn’t possibly take up on this offer with some random kid she kidnapped under a spell.

“Nope. Too risky. No time,” she said finally, about to walk off again.

“If you wanna run, fine,” he shrugged. “But these people who are coming tonight sound serious. You really think you can outrun them with no magic at all?”

“Twink’s got a point,” you sighed. While yes, it was an idiotic thing to do, the Road was safer than the Seven, without a doubt. At least there, death would be quick and painless and devoid of any nightmarish methods.

“Who are you?” Agatha asked, squinting at him.

“My name is…” his words distorted, and you saw his lips vanish completely, only to reappear again after he had finished.

"Say again," your mother demanded, eyes squinting slightly at the sight of it.

"I'm..." there it was again. Distortion, something scribbled over his lips.

Your mother and you shared a look. 'Something's up,'

"Interesting..." she mused, eyeing him curiously. "I'm driving,"

You groaned. This woman was on a whole different level.

"I don't like this, Mom," you muttered, catching her by the wrist. "I really don't,"

She shook your hand off her. Ouch. A glare graced her sharp blue eyes. "Trust me,"

"When was the last time those two words meant anything to you?"

"When was the last time you weren't so suspicious?"

"Whatever," you huffed.

Of course it was like this. Power, power, power. You couldn't remember the last time she'd stopped, paused, asked you 'how was your day, baby?' but she wasn't that kind of mom...was she?

Fix it, fix it, fix--

You shook your head. Stupid voices. This is what happened when Death and Chaos raised a child. There was nothing you could fix. Not when the thing you wanted to fix was...

...sitting at a makeshift car.

"Need your pills, Mama?" You scoffed, walking right past her, grabbing the keys, only to have them snatched from you by Agatha.

"You’re driving," she tossed the keys in Teen's direction, much to your dismay.

The crisp Westview afternoon beat down upon you, with sharp sun gleaming over suburban rooftops, casting sharp shadows over the empty streets. It was quiet, normal, calm--

"Miss Harkness! Miss Harkness!"

And there it went, right as you were enjoying it. Teen.

"What do you know about covens?" He asked, enthusiastically.

You rolled your eyes. "Calm your ass down, fanboy,"

"Y/n," Agatha warned before walking and continuing, "Just that they’re drawn together by mysterious forces of fate, and that they’re the truest form of sisterhood and--"

"Oh, my God. Are you taking me to meet your coven?" He gasped, interrupting her.

She shuddered. "No. Those harpies are dust. But we do need a coven to access The Road,"

"Right. Of course, that makes sense," he muttered.

"Wow, it can understand common sense," you gasped sarcastically. "Well done, Junior,"

"Fuck off," he huffed. He caught up with Agatha. "It is the Witches’, plural possessive, Road,"

You glared daggers into the back of his head as he sat in the front of a Subaru, Agatha beside him. Jealousy, ugly and burning, twisted in your chest. What was she trying to do, palling up with this random kid she kidnapped on a Thursday evening in delirium? Had she no sense? No dignity? No grief?

Your fingertips tingled, and the voices rose. Fix it, fix it, fix it. Fix what? Fix a relationship like porcelain? Fix this power-hungry woman with a thirst for nothing else?

"So where do we just find a coven?" Teen asked.

"You call yourself a witch?" You scoffed. "You got some homework to do, Twinky,"

"Wherever you are, a coven there shall be," Agnes shot you a look through the mirror.

"That’s beautiful,"

"Hardly," you scoffed.

"She's right. It’s definitely not," Agatha shrugged. "But it is the Covenstead Rule. Within any three mile radius, there will be a collection of witchy enough people to form a coven,"

Teen fished around in his pocket and held out a worn journal. "Can you actually jot that down for me?"

"Ooh, where's the unicorn fluffy pen, Twinky?" You teased. "Gushing about your dream guy from class in your diary?"

"No," he gave you a pointed look. "There’s a pen in the glove compartment,"

"Oh," Agatha had that look in her eye as she got the pen. "Okay. Of course. Will this be…" she promptly flung it out the window.

"I'll remember it," he shrugged. "So, with a Covenstead, it’s unlikely we’ll find witches as high profile as you--"

"Yeah, there’s no such thing, Teen," she interrupted. "You know, but all we need is a bit of talent. Even the most downandout witches, when in close proximity with each other, bring out a magical spark,"

"A spark you seem to have lost," you muttered as the car stopped. Here, the energy felt strange--buzzed like a frat party, but calm like before a storm. Your eyes landed on it: Madame Calderu's.

A psychic. You hated psychics. Know it alls who had no notion of personal space or intellectual personal space.

"You think there’s a real witch in there?" Teen asked as Agatha did up her hair.

"Nah, probably some ugly fucking harpy," you scoffed, shoving past him.

"We’ll see if she knows the secret handshake," Agatha shrugged. On seeing that he was believing her, she groaned, "No,"

A grin spread over his lips. "I feel really optimistic about this,"

The shop was dim, lit primarily by the candles of the space. It smelt of incense and essential oils, and it made you want to throw up. Trinkets hung from every place, and it made your chaotic thoughts more chaotic than usual. The lights glinted off the surface of the crystal ball--which warped the floral tablecloth it was placed over.

And right then, a voice.

"Welcome to the curious,"

@eletricheart, @misty-melody, @mmemalwa, @skittlebum, @lexietargaryen, @natashasmuse, @angelbeingatitspurest, @skittledemon, @wandasreallover , @gaylorvader, @lovelyy-moonlight, @lizziescutiepie, @rosierogie, @lanadelreyaesthic, @circe143, @babybeeelle, @kafkas-left-titty, @delusional-4-fake-people , @filmedbyharkness , @nothecoffeemachine03, @believe-in-magic13 , @liloandstitchstan , @scarlettwidow09, @pixelfaery, @darkexil, @agatha-harknesses-housewife

hi bao buns! sorry this is SO overdue, i've been swamped with work, motivation problems, and now studies. i figured it'll be exhausting to write out such huge chapters for every episode, so i might break them down into parts <3 thank you for your patience!

love, jace.

#baby witch from death #miniseries #agatha all along #agathario x reader #agatha harkness x child!reader #mom agatha #angst #teen x reader #billy kaplann #billy maximoff #agatha harkness

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forsaken-headcanons · 1 day ago

Note

I remembered someone say the Elliot would be scared of cashier due to the shoplift ending

I have another idea for this,what if Elliot can be that scary too

Elliot doesn't usually do that now,ever since he got anger management after he put people into the oven and attacked people with pizza cutter N stuff out of anger,and also had cooked them into pizza after he finished them(yes he committed canbalisam and murder)

Until C00lkidd messed with his pizza place for too much, he had enough and almost killed him and his dad (007n7 was lucky enough to teleport him and C00lkidd away just in time with their c00lgui,right before they meet their demise and become pizza topping for Elliot's dinner)

Elliot and Cashier talk about their killstreak as if it's a normal topic, everyone is freaked out by it (especially 007n7,he is fucking traumatized,he would mostly stay 4 meter away from them unless he is running from killer or he is dying and really needs heal)

All survivors took awhile to get used to them,they thought they're killer in the first place cuz of those conversations. Although,the spectre do sometimes makes them the killer for fun(the spectre just want to see how much damage they can do with full power, cuz they have potential and skills in it)

C00lkidd is hesitant to even touch or get too close to Elliot a single bit in the first place, cuz he is traumatized. So in order to fix this,the spectre decided to let other killer keep convincing C00lkidd until he isn't hesitant anymore.

(alternatively,the spectre just removed that trauma part of memories,but I wanna yap alot instead of just "you fear? *Makes you forget your fear* not anymore" type stuff,cuz that'd be too boring for me)

I made this HC cuz I had an idea like "what if those ordinary workers you meet everyday is the scariest things you would ever encounter in your life if you ever piss them off"

(tbh,my memories on gasa4 are mostly blank now cuz it's been years since I last played,to the point I literally thought I never played them before until I watched a video on the ending and realised it feels familiar and part of my memories is back(I should play the game again)

-randomized anon

(I'm italic now lol)

Good lord.

Yes, you should play GASA4 again. It's peak, I promise.

#forsaken headcanons #forsaken #forsaken roblox #roblox forsaken #randomized anon #gasa4 #elliot forsaken #c00lkidd forsaken #007n7 forsaken

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backwardshatnick · 3 days ago

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heartbeat ♡ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

in which matt can't sleep peacefully without hearing the lub-dubs coming from your chest.

pairing: small spoon!matt x big spoon!reader wc: 1.05k notes: reader is called ladybug (inspired by "lessons" from @blushsturns (thank you!!) and matt's instagram story). also i'm trying to experiment with povs so instead 'you' everything will be in first-person. let me know if this format is comfy or should it be changed :) [divider credits to @firefly-graphics]

i took my left leg out of the duvet and tried to close my eyes and let the sounds of our breathing and pumping hearts drift me away into my interrupted slumber.

sure, i managed to get a few extra minutes of rest but it was still too warm. i removed the lavender duvet that matt and i share and took the beige coverlet instead to keep myself comfortable with both my legs out and feet peeking at the edge of the bed, in hopes that this minute attempt would cool my body.

but it is still hot.

while it is still winter, the past week has been too temperate for the season where the pavements are sloshing with ankle-deep puddles and mud, ducks are starting to make their way to the now not icy allée and schoolchildren stomping away in their yellow rubber galoshes.

looking down into my outfit, i had a plain pink t-shirt on with fleece pyjama bottoms that had a matching teddy bear print. it must be the pants and i am desperate to get changed into something that is not as thick. not wanting to wake matt up, i slowly and gently got down from the bed, stepping on the contrastingly frigid wooden floor as i made my way to find the other pair of my slippers which were strewn across our bedroom.

stepping out of the room, i went straight to our bathroom where the freshly folded pile of clothes could be found in the wicker rattan basket on top of the washing machine. fishing through them, careful not to unravel matt’s work, i finally found my pair of dark green shorts that i frequently wore to sleep and switched into them immediately.

the clock that we had on our kitchen counter beeped once, signifying that it was only one in the morning. as the kitchen was located in between our bedroom and bathroom, i decided to pour myself a glass of water before coming back. tiptoeing to look into the cabinet, i managed to take out a brown ceramic mug and headed over to the fridge with my hand reaching out to pull the handle.

grabbing the blue brita filter, i started pouring what was left and made a mental note to refill it once i was done with my late-night drink. however, the brown mug had slipped down my fingers while i was closing the door, watching the water streams leaving the mug in a blink. with a harsh drop, the fragile mug had shattered on the floor, my refreshment dousing it damp.

“matt, stop sneaking up on me like that!”

it was obvious that he was panicking as he had rushed to grab a rag and broom to clean the mess up, “i’m sorry, i’m sorry i didn’t mean to. let me help you with that, ladybug.”

while waiting for him to be finished, i topped up the brita and got the both of us empty mugs, placing a camomile tea bag in each as i filled the electric kettle with water and leaving it to boil.

it was serene in the kitchen, the only source of light being the overhead lamp on our stove and the consistent bubbling from the kettle filling in the silence before it was soon replaced with a gentle click. i stood up as matt slid the chair out next to me and while pouring the water he voiced out, “what are you doing still up? i swear you were next to me the whole time i was asleep.”

“i was so sweaty and had to switch into these shorts and was about to go back to our room, but i figured that since the both of us are awake, do you want some biscuits? we can move to the couch instead and watch a movie.”

“it’s my turn to pick, right? we watched 101 dalmations last week, so let’s go with peter pan,” he answered, carrying both of our mugs to the wooden coffee table situated in our living room. i followed suit after i had arranged the pastries we have from our pantry on our cake plate, the sugar crystals from the cookies glistening under the warm glow of our stove.

in the living room, matt had already set up the film as i could hear the well-known blue walt disney intro and jingle, followed by the tune of the second star to the right, as the movie continued to play.

i set the plate on the table together with our mugs and made my way to the couch that we had, removing the white throw blanket to wrap them around the both of us. matt settled and laid his head on my lap, the depth and clarity from his deep sapphire eyes glinting and staring into mine as he said, “we are about to have a magical night.”

we both fell asleep halfway through the movie and i was awoken when i heard the villain song where the pirates sang and danced after they succeeded in capturing the darling children. i was about to stand up and switch the tv off when i could feel matt’s arm halting my movements, wrapping them around my waist.

“where do you think you’re going? come here and hold me for a bit, i love to listen to your heartbeat when we cuddle.”

a giggle escaped my mouth as i haphazardly traced my fingers over the remote control to switch the tv off, “we’re sleeping on the couch tonight?”

“as long as i get to hear my ladybug's lub-dub we will.”

“of course, mr. matt,” i replied, both of my arms stretched out as he proceeded to rest his head on my chest when we were both sat on the couch.

he looked up to me, brushing his soft pink lips on mine before lightly pressing his ear to my torso, “that’s mr. darling to you tonight. sleep tight, my ladybug. i love you.”

“and i love you more, mr. darling,” wrapping both of my arms around his obviously larger frame while he had his hands clasped together, our speech slowly slurring as i could finally doze off to the now cool, but snug-enough air, where alongside the soft sounds of respiration and palpitations, we were accompanied by the subdued buzzing roar of the fridge.

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #matt x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo blurb #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #olive𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

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slimespecter · 13 hours ago

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i keep thinking about how i never talk about my characters, and decided im gonna change that! keeping any future oc ramblings tumblr exclusive. because i like yall

of course, first up is stanley. gonna start by copy and pasting his info from his toyhouse profile below! (which you can also check out here!)

Computer technician by day, guitarist and singer by night.

Name: STANLEY PRESCOTT

He/Him - Age: 25 (Born on August 14, 1982 - His storyverse takes place in the mid-late 2000’s!) - Height: 5’10 ft (178 cm)

Voiceclaim: Keith Murray

Stanley’s a bit of an aimless adult, just going through the motions - working at his dads computer repair shop part-time, messing around with electronics instead of fixing them - He’s good at his job, after all computers are what he specializes in, but he never realized just how… Boring it would be. Starting a band with his best friend Richie has brought some excitement, and given them a good excuse to constantly hang out and party. Hell, he’ll take any excuse to find some fun in his mind-numbingly boring life.

He still feels some obligation towards helping his dad out, though, and his part-time job helps his band cover costs, so he’ll deal with it till they make their big break. Till then, he’s satisfied playing small shows and is just happy to be hanging around his closest friends. Although… He can't really explain it, but ever since he tried repairing his dad's computer to resell it, he feels like lately his own electronics have been acting rather... Buggy.

Random Notes:

Personality:

Stanley can come off as a bit cocky and self-assured, especially when on stage performing for an adoring crowd - what can he say? He loves the attention! But he’s overall a nice, friendly guy. He’s very witty and playful, and a tad sarcastic - he loves bizarre, dry humor and being a facetious ass to his friends. He’s definitely much calmer and pleasant to talk to than he seems - at least, compared to how he acts on stage and around his closer friends. He often shies away from more serious situations if he can help it, he hates confrontation and will avoid directly confronting a situation if he can - which usually leads to shit building up and blowing up in his face. Once pulled into a situation, however, he doesn’t shy away from it - just because he hates confrontation doesn't mean he’s afraid of it, but he’ll try and keep things from blowing waaay out of proportion if possible. He can get very snarky, blunt, and direct when upset - which is very rare, its hard for him to get seriously upset. He’s often called stubborn, as once he’s set his mind on something it can be hard for him to budge on whatever it is. He can also be very irresponsible and impulsive - If it piques his curiosity even the slightest, its easy to drag him along for whatever - he’ll often indulge in his own wants and skirt away from his responsibilities to go out and have fun, go drinking, party, etc. He‘s young, he’s kinda dumb, and he just wants to have fun!

Ever since he fixed his dads stupid computer (and got shocked when he plugged it in), electronics have started to glitch out, spark, and stop working whenever he’s near for no reason. He has no idea why this happens, and it interferes with his job- and it gets worse whenever he gets worked up, often accidentally shocking himself and the tech around him.

His hair started prematurely graying when he was 18. He owns it though and claims it makes him look cool and mature- although he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel at least a bit self conscious about it. It goes completely gray by the time he reaches his mid 30s.

Richie’s the one who taught him guitar, and gifted him his first guitar- Rocky, a blue stratocaster. He has a growing collection of guitars that he‘ll switch between, but mainly uses Rocky (his blue strat) and Crash (his green custom-built strat) when performing. He also taught himself to play drums- he isn’t very good at it though.

He‘s a huge nerd when it comes to his equipment - god, don’t even get him started on his collection of guitar pedals or his set up. You wont be able to get him to shut up. Anyways, check out his sweet pedalboard setup - Hey, wait! Where’re ya goin’?

He drives a 2000s Toyota Sienna!

Diet Coke addict. Fuck, he loves the taste of fizzy ultra processed chemicals.

He loves cats! Unfortunately, he is also allergic to cats. Will this stop him from petting any he sees anyways? Absolutely not. Allergies be damned. In fact, he has a cat of his own (named Russel!) He’s also allergic to shellfish and kiwi’s - which he doesn’t like as much.

#oc ramblings #ill think of a tag for text posts later #but woe. stanley info be upon ye (again)#i never shut up about this guy and i never will

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theslumberinggod · 1 day ago

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Life Is Good (Zhongli X Reader)

You celebrate Zhongli's birthday from the comfort of your little cottage, reminiscing on how tumultuous life had once been.

Pairing: Zhongli X Reader

•~°~•

A deep chuckle reverberated through the air, “My dear, what have you been up to?”

Golden evening sun spilled through the humble cottage’s little arched windows, splashing on the utter disaster strewn about you. Pots and pans were stacked nearly to the ceiling, every surface was stained with some sort of ingredient, sugar, flour, and other necessary baking items were haphazardly left on the counter. You stood there in your little kitchen, apron caked white in flour, sugar, eggs, hair messy, brows furrowed in a deeply serious expression.

You held your wooden spoon out like a weapon, brandishing it at your husband before he could take another step inside the small cooking space.

“Not another step, my dearest,” You threatened, “I am not done with my surprise yet.”

Zhongli stood there, gloved hands placed behind his back, a brow raised. His golden eyes flicked over the disastrous scene, and the corner of his lips quirked up in a gentle, knowing smile.

“But, I am already here…?”

“Shoo! Go get changed into something other than your work coat! You smell like the dead!” You stepped forward, frantically waving your hands. The state of your husband’s aroma was greatly exaggerated but it caused him to lift an arm to get a whiff of his sleeve.

“Very well my dear,” He chuckled and turned, letting you chase him out of the small room into your shared bedroom.

He let out a chuckle, shutting the door before you could protest further. Goodness that man! The nerve to come home early so randomly. You turned on your heel, flitting back into the kitchen to finalize your surprise.

“I will call you out when I am ready, Zhongli!” Zhongli, Zhongli, Zhongli---it had taken some time for you to get used to calling him that. Something other than Rex Lapis, something other than his many, many names.

As you attempted cleaning up, glancing out the window at rolling hills and rising mountains, catching sight of your chickens picking through the backyard, it dawned on you how idyllic this all was.

Here you were, making a birthday cake for your husband of some-two thousand years or so in a little cottage on the outskirts of the capital of Liyue, without a single worry other than being this mess you had to clean, chickens to feed, and if this birthday cake turned out alright or not.

You closed your eyes.

Once, you were Miles Lapis, the sword to the word of the God of Contracts. He spoke, and you would carry his verdict out. The first Millelith, his most devout soldier.

Should you have to take up the blade again, should you once more face a battle where you waded knee deep in ichor and the bodies of friends and foe, you would do it. You would do it.

But you hoped that time wouldn’t be any time soon.

You were enjoying this period of peace, this period, this chapter of a new life.

You opened your eyes.

You exhaled shakily, peeling yourself away from the hallways of your mind, smiling to yourself at the domestic sight around you, shushing ghosts of the past for the pleasant aroma of the present. You went about decorating Zhongli’s cake, listening to him shuffle in your shared bedroom.

“Is it ready yet, dear?” Zhongli called through the door. Oh no, he really had been patiently waiting and you had went and got lost in your thoughts again.

“Almost! Okay, you can come out, o sit at the table!” You called, not having to raise your voice much because of the small space of the home. Curiosity in his eyes, Zhongli stepped out. He had changed in his ‘casual’ attire, which was really just a less tightly done up version of his work clothes. He always liked looking pristine, and you couldn’t complain, it was like an extra sugar coat to the eye candy he already was.

The former Archon slipped out the small back door just past you as you dramatically used yourself to cover the cake, causing him to let out an amused noise. You watched with glee as he spotted the set table, a lacey tablecloth pulled over it with your best dishes set out, the patterns glinting in the setting sun.

Hurriedly you discarded your apron and glanced in the mirror by the door, grimacing at the messy state of yourself, but shrugged it off. Zhongli has seen you in worse states---covered in blood that wasn’t yours and such.

Wiping your hands off with a damp dishtowel, you grabbed the cake and shouldered through the rickety little door out onto the patio, endeared to the sight of Zhongli already soaking in the sight of the sun setting over the countryside, dragging the curtain of night from the highest arches of the endless sky sprawling above Liyue’s twisting landscape.

You loved how he enjoyed every little thing. Every little day, and all it had to offer. He turned to you when you entered the porch, and you unabashedly grinned, holding up the cake.

“Happy Birthday, Zhongli!”

His eyes widened, and bemusement crossed his features, “This is wonderful darling but…my birthday?”

“You silly, handsome little dragon,” You shook your head, setting your glorious creation on the table, its size and weight enough to cause the poor thing to wobble a little. You plopped down in your chair, looking up at him. “Don’t tell me you forgot today was your own birthday?”

Zhongli let out a laugh as he leaned back in his chair. There was the slightest flush on his cheeks, a somewhat flustered expression only you could ever draw out with your terms of endearments and teasings, “I suppose I was quite caught up in the week. I’m the utmost grateful for your remembrance, or I would’ve missed out on this delightful thing you have conjured for me.”

You flushed, before reaching out and gently smacking his slender hands as he reached for the cutlery. “Thank you my darling, but I will be serving you.”

Zhongli chuckled, but made no comment on the human customs you had latched onto. Humans adored traditions, and even though you gave up your humanity a long time ago, you latched onto little bits and pieces like this. You cut him a sizable slice and handed it to him, eagerly watching him like a hawk as he took a small bite, polite as ever and savored the taste.

His eyes widened slightly in surprise, “...Is this Old Sumeran Chocolate from…?”

“Yes,” You nodded rapidly, “I pulled some strings and called some favors, but I got my hands on some. It was quite sad watching this kind of chocolate disappear since it was our favorite, but I found out there are preservation efforts and I couldn’t help myself. I just had to.”

The way Zhongli smiled made the weeks of scrounging pocket change and wrangling Xiao and Lumine for help, writing letters, endless failed cakes and slaving hours away in the kitchen all worth it.

“You wonderful creature,” Zhongli closed his eyes as he took another bite, pure delight on his familiar features. “Do you remember the first time we had chocolate like this together?”

You furrowed your brows as you leaned to cut yourself a slice of cake, “I don’t think so. It was my go-to snack for so long until people stopped growing it.”

“You’re the one who introduced it to me,” He said with a hum, gentle and soft with his words, “It was just before battle, during the Archon War. Before the Millelith were established.”

You paused mid-slice of the cake. No wonder you didn’t remember that. That was before---before this. Before you and Zhongli sealed a contract that turned you into Miles Lapis, the First Millelith, his sword-arm, his.

Life had been a blur of panic, looming death and the crushing agony of loneliness. You had lost all you knew and loved long before that contract was sealed, long before the war finally ended.

The chaos didn’t end after you and Rex Lapis became partners, not even the panic, the looming death, even the loneliness, but the cracks had been filled with Rex Lapis, your commander, your god, your friend, your something more. He had given you someone to love, and gave you someone to be loved by---a sturdy foundation for which stars could not remove.

You could only remember vividly the day it happened. The day the contract was proposed---sitting in the battlefield, the memory foggy but clear and sharp as a knife---

You pulled yourself out of your thoughts, away from the ghostly hallways in your head, once again immersed in the cool evening breeze, the golden light that made Zhongli’s eyes glow, the sprawling countryside filled with greens and beautiful hills and cliffsides, trees and flowers.

Zhongli, patiently eating his cake, here, at a small table, in a small cottage, celebrating his birthday---his 6-thousand-something birthday, but right now it was only his twenty-eighth birthday.

“...Did it work? Did it lift your spirits?” You ask quietly as you focused on fixing yourself a piece of cake before taking a bite, savoring the delightful taste.

“Yes,” He smiled softly, lifting his eyes once again to you, “It was so unexpected. It was just a little chocolate. But it was precious---I realized that night you were quite precious, and I would be quite bereaved should I lose your presence.”

You smiled bashfully, “We were both lucky I lived long enough for us to both come to the conclusion that we should not be separated.”

“You know there’s no such thing as luck,” Zhongli hummed, shaking his head.

“Is that so, my silly dragon? Look at your shirt. Surely you didn’t do that on purpose.”

He looked down, eyes narrowing at the sight of some frosting that had fallen onto his coat. He sighed, wiping it carefully off. “...I simply was too busy getting lost in your eyes and delicious cooking.”

Your face warmed at the compliments, heart aflutter---for even after all this time, he still managed to make you feel butterflies, “A flattering excuse, my darling.”

Conversation passed between the both of you as the sun began to disappear behind the mountains and the air chilled. All your chickens began to meander into their coop, crickets voiced themselves and night birds called out. The air chilled a little more, the warmth from the lantern above you both making itself known. The conversations that passed between you were of today’s events and of times long past, conversations others would find strange and absurd but were to you nothing more than an elderly couple discussing the lovely highlights of their long life shared together.

As the cake steadily disappeared, and you both wandered back into the kitchen to clean up together (you had insisted on doing it yourself, but Zhongli insisted otherwise) and quietly laughed and talked. Eventually, you had cleaned up, and the both of you lay back on your bed in your small, modest room, hands intertwined.

“I hope you had a good birthday,” You whispered, laying on your side facing him, blankets pulled to your chin. He smiled softly with a gentle hum, the tiredness of a mortal body hanging both over you, the tired, sleepy kind.

“I have. It has been delightful, one I will remember for many years to come.”

“...And…thank you,” You squeezed his hand, looking away, “Thank you for this. I like…I like our life right now.”

He lifted your hand and kissed your fingers gently, drawing your gaze back to him “Me too.”

“This life is good.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #x reader #zhongli #zhongli genshin impact #rex lapis #rex lapis x reader #rex lapis genshin impact #zhongli x reader #fanfic #writing

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 2 days ago

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can you please write about Platonic Yandere Visenya x female child reader? I love your work<3

Warnings: mentions of death, canonical death, fluff, maternal!Rhaenys, protective!Rhaenys, takes place before Maegor is conceived, reader is the first rider of dreamfyre,

Words: 1148

Summary: After the death of her sister Rhaenys, Visenya is forced the task of raising her daughter (y/n) while Aegon takes to rearing his male heir Aenys.

What was she to do with a daughter?

Visenya was never one for children. That was the main reason as to why it was Rhaenys who became round with child first and not she. Alas, Rhaenys was no longer in the realm of the living, leaving her twins behind: the sickly older Aenys and then you, sunny and robust.

Difficult enough to be in a state of deep grief, now Visenya was tasked the duty of raising the three year old princess. Being the heir to the realm, Aegon immediately swooped in to care for Aenys. Alas, neither Aegon or Rhaenys knew what to do with you.

With scrutinizing purple eyes, Visenya holds the you at arm's length. Her iciness never appeared to bother you too much. Simply smiling with your plump cheeks turning the pinkest of hues. Visenya melts a bit, remembering her younger sister at the same age. You looked so much like the late queen that it almost hurt Visenya to gaze upon you.

"Guess we're stuck with each other." Visenya quietly muses before setting you back down on the ground.

You weren't having any of it. Using all the strength your pudgy legs could muster, you get to your feet and toddle after her when Visenya moved away.

One perfect brow quirks up. "What?"

"Vi!" You screech and reach out to grab at the hem of her skirt.

Her nanny gasps, darting to collect you in her arms. "I-I'm sorry, your grace! She's a very tenacious child."

You're fighting against the strong hold she has on you. Cheeks puffing out and limbs flailing for freedom.

It makes Visenya smile.

"Yes, she's definitely a Targaryen. More so than her brother."

"Vi! Vi!" Now, your face had swirled into an ugly, red, screaming mess. Regardless of the attempts your nanny made to soothe you, you were inconsolable. Two other maids spring into action to cheer up the shrieking. The more you fought, the funnier Visenya thought it was.

Finally just to get you to shut up, Visenya reaches out for you and places you at her hip. You happily clung to your aunt, the tears drying up instantly. "Leave us. You're all useless."

They readily flee at her command, not wanting to wait around any longer.

Visenya rolls her eyes. "Alright, you can come with me. You must be quiet though. And no more of that ugly crying."

"Yes!" You giggle, forgetting the tantrum you'd just thrown.

The two of you were stuck with one another.

Very well.

Visenya would raise you as her own.

And much to everyone's horror and surprise, Visenya becomes a doting, protective, vicious mother.

"There's my princess!" Aegon coos. Visenya had been overlooking the design of the dragonpit, ordering the workers as she saw fit while you carried around a small silver-blue dragon you'd lovingly named Dreamfyre.

At the sound of her 'husband', Visenya pivots on her heel to get between you and Aegon. Beside the king was the Crown Prince Aenys with his own small dragon Quicksilver.

Visenya mentally compares the twins of her sister Rhaenys. At four years old, you prove to have quite the personality. You were notorious for running away and hiding from your maids. Once Dreamfyre was hatched, the small she-dragon became your partner in crime. The hatchling could always be found draped around your neck.

Aenys, after Quicksilver's hatching, gained a stronger constitution than he'd had the majority of his life, but he was still behind you. To Visenya, you'd make the better ruler.

"What's this about news about Dorne that I've heard from our cousin, Orys?" Visenya positions you behind her, ever selfish. You get around her and wave at your twin brother, who smiles back at you and returns the gesture.

Sighing, Aegon straightens to his full stature to wearily glare at his sister. "Must we discuss this in front of the prince and princess?"

"Unfortunately we do since you haven't visited us for a while." She folds her arms in front of her like a shield. "And your men don't think I should be privy to this delicate information."

"I'll talk to them." huffs out Aegon. "I wanted to see my daughter and Aenys misses his sister. It's not like you've made an effort to come to see us either."

Visenya couldn't really argue with that despite her tongue begging to lash out at her brother. Gently, her hand smoothes down your silver-blonde hair.

You're all too happy to show Dreamfyre off to your father and brother, completely ignoring the agitation in your aunt's demeanor. When you were first put into her charge, Visenya would never have guessed how much she would grow to care for you. In you was the last living visage of her sister Rhaenys.

Aegon kneels to speak to you at eye level and examines the beautiful dragon curled upon your shoulders. You were the exact copy of your mother, pretty with gentle features. But you had Visenya's fiery spirit, much to Aegon's chagrin. Your looks as you grew would definitely gain you a legion of suitors, yet with how you already had an attitude, it was clear that only the bravest suitor would be able to win your hand and temper your fire.

When Aegon reaches out to caress your hair, Visenya immediately snatches his hand. "That's enough. If you haven't noticed, the princess and I are quite busy."

There were so many words Aegon could sling at his sister. So many that he wanted to unleash if only to hurt her and remind Visenya that she wasn't even your real mother. That he could take you away from her at any minute.

Instead, he uses his front teeth to bite down on his tongue and hold himself silent because if he were really being honest, he'd have to acknowledge how well she was raising you. You seemed happy and well-rounded. Smart and so sure of yourself even at only 4 years old.

"Very well." Aegon yields to his sister. "But don't forget, we still have our arrangement later tonight."

"Yes. I won't forget." Visenya tosses him a dismissive wave of her hand. Now that no Rhaenys existed, someone else had to tend to Aegon's needs. Being his last remaining wife, the duty fell on Visenya.

Watching Aegon and your brother Aenys retreat back to the Red Keep, you tug on your aunt's skirt. "Why don't you like when papa tries to pat my head?"

Visenya releases a sharp exhale from her nostrils. "He lost all right to be your papa when he chose Aenys over you." If Visenya had it her way, you would be installed as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She would forge Westeros into a great empire for you to rule over. The Targaryen legacy would be handed down to you. "Regardless of whatever he may think, you're my daughter now. My heir."

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