#and i think that is my problem with what they are trying to do with sw these days

[moonstruckme]

Hi! So I have the issue where I’m not able to turn my brain off I guess and I’m having to constantly be aware of everything happening around me and managing everyone because if I don’t do it no one will. It’s so tiring to never have a minute to not be a very aware of every little thing. That being said, could I request a Remus or poly!marauders where reader is able to not be in constant manage mode? I know that’s really weird and if it’s too much just ignore this. Thank you for everything you do on here ❤️

Not weird! Very relatable actually haha. Thank you for requesting angel <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 823 words

“I like my system,” James says as you kneel in front of his suitcase, folding shirts. “My pants go on that side, then shirts in one corner and the rest in the other.” 

“I don’t think it counts as a system if you’re just piling stuff in, Jamie.” 

“How do you figure?” 

“Well, doesn’t it bother you that they’re all wrinkled?” You frown, taking out a balled-up pair of trousers. It bothers you, and they’re not even your clothes. 

“Not really, no. It’s a holiday, lovie, who am I trying to impress?” 

“Um, me?” Sirius shoots a look across the bedroom. He’s busy stuffing things into his own suitcase on the other side of the bed. 

“Oh, always,” James says gamely. “But you love me whether my shirts are wrinkled or not, don’t you?” 

Sirius makes a wishy-washy noise that sees James tossing a pair of socks at his head. He dodges and they bounce to the floor. 

“Did you remember your glasses cleaner?” you ask James, feeling about the pockets of his suitcase. 

“All under control, angel. It’s in my backpack.” 

“Perfect.” You finish neatly folding the last of his things and stand to kiss him. “Thanks.” 

“Thank you. Though you didn’t have to fold my underwear, I could have managed that myself.” 

“It was no problem.” You round the bed to where Sirius is packing, peering down at his suitcase. 

He looks up with a raised brow. “Can I help you?” 

“Are you packing your conditioner?” 

Sirius’ other brow comes up to join the first. “Yes, I am. Do you have a problem with my hair smelling lovely?” 

“No.” You smile, rolling your eyes when he pinches the back of your thigh playfully. “Just remember that it has to be under a hundred milliliters if you’re not checking your bag.” 

“I’ve got it, doll. You worry about your milliliters, and I’ll worry about mine, m’kay?” 

You hum. “And, um…” 

“What?” Sirius’ tone is dry, but it’s all fondness in the tilt of his mouth as he looks up at you. “You gonna fold my underwear, too?” 

“No, just, have you eaten? I don’t know if we’ll have time to eat at the airport.” 

“I think Remus wants you, sweetness.” 

“Hm?” 

Sirius points with his chin, and you turn to find Remus watching you from the doorway to the bedroom. He looks a particular brand of appealing in his travel clothes. The trackies James got him for Christmas probably shouldn’t go so well with his overlarge jumper, but Remus being Remus, of course it works. He beckons you toward him. 

“Oh, okay.” You glance back at Sirius one more time as you go. “Don’t forget to take your lighter out of your bag, security will take it away.” 

“Love you too!” 

“Hi,” you say to Remus, who wordlessly folds you into a hug as soon as you leave the bedroom. “Everything okay?” 

He hums. “Everything’s great, yeah. Are you excited to go?” 

You’re bemused but pleased by his hand running up and down your spine, his freshly shaven jaw pressed to your temple. “I am, yeah.” 

“Mm. Relaxed?” 

“I’m…yeah, sure.” 

Remus chuckles softly. “You seem a bit strung up, lovely. Are you all packed?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Good. Me too. Anything else you need to do before we go? Have you eaten?” 

“I ate, yeah.” You glance back towards the bedroom, the movement almost involuntary. “I think I just need to make sure—” 

“You’re all ready then?” 

It’s not like Remus to cut you off, but when you turn back around his expression is all fond patience. 

“I think so,” you say. “At least, my stuff is all done.” 

“Perfect.” He kisses your head, then takes your hand, leading you away from your boyfriends. “Let’s relax for a bit while they finish up, then, yeah?”

You let Remus guide you to the couch. At first sitting, then curling up against his side, your head resting over the steady beat of his heart. His hand runs up and down your arm, and slowly the tension seeps out of you. 

“Sorry,” you say after a while. “Was I being annoying?” 

“No,” Remus reassures you. “Of course not. You’re only helping. You just don’t have to, you know?” 

You cringe at yourself. At the clarity of hindsight. “Nobody asked for my help.” 

“We’re adults,” he agrees. “We don’t need to be managed—or we shouldn’t. If Sirius packs too much conditioner, he can sort it out himself.” 

“Right. Sorry.” 

Remus tuts, kissing the top of your head. “Please don’t be sorry. We all just want you to be able to relax. Give yourself a break, yeah?” 

“Yeah, okay.” You snuggle closer to him, letting the last of the tension sap from your body. “That doesn’t sound so awful.” 

“I’m glad.” The smile is audible in Remus’ voice. He rubs your arm again, encouraging you to relax further. 

“But what if James doesn’t know—” 

“Dove. He’ll figure it out.” 

[comicaurora]

hi, you seem to be drawing a lot. can you please tell me, will drawing ever become easy? or is it always a struggle?

(because for me, drawing seems like a neverending fight against artblock, and at this point, i start wondering if it's not really artblock, but instead it's just the reality of art making)

It's not so much that it becomes easy. It's more that you'll find new things about it that are hard.

Art will never become effortless because you will start finding new challenges to wrangle with, but the act of wrangling them is a good part of the fun. Finding new visual effects you struggle to capture or comprehend the shape of, let alone put down on paper. You might start off struggling to render shadows on a figure, and then as you progress you start wondering how to do shadows of foliage, or caustics of light projected through water, or how glowing eyes would cast shadows on a face, etc. New complexities reveal themselves as old struggles are mastered.

If you're struggling with something that feels like artblock, the problem might not be in your hands, but in your eyes. What to draw is at least as much of a challenge as how to draw it. If you notice your eyes snagging on small details or vistas and you catch yourself trying to work out how to capture that effect, that's your artist eyes at work, and the better you get, the weirder your artist eyes will make you.

There's an exercise my mom recommends that she got from her old teacher: three life drawings a day. Of anything - a chair, a glass of water, a tree, someone's dog, your own hand. I think this is less about honing your techniques and more about honing your eyes, training them to snag on everyday things and observe their complexities, the nuances, the way they really look, not just the way you think of them looking.

When you're a kid and you're drawing your first landscape, it's probably a house and a tree under a yellow sun in a blue sky. The tree looks like a lollipop, the house looks like a box with a hat, the sun is an egg yolk surrounded by lines, the sky is the bluest crayon you have. Maybe it has fluffy clouds in it if you were thinking ahead, cuz it's hard to draw white crayon or pencil over already blue drawings. This hypothetical drawing is a pure manifestation of art without artist's eyes; it is made entirely of what you understand things to look like, not how you see them. No real tree looks like a green lollipop. The sun is a blazing white ball that shades half of the dome of the sky in painfully bright white, and the sky is only blue in the loosest sense - even without clouds or sunsets confusing things, the sky will always fade to a lighter shade closer to the horizon. It is never uniform blue. Clouds usually look like shredded cottonballs around the edges, not fluffy rounded boubas.

This awareness extends to more complicated things. We know glass is clear. When we draw something made of glass, how can we capture that clarity? Do we just draw the outline, maybe some token specular highlights to show that it's catching the light? Or do we render the way it bends and distorts the image passing through it? We know gold is yellow and shiny; do we draw it as a yellow sparkly thing, or do we capture how it reflects the space around it? We know that water is blue and reflective. Do we draw it like we would draw a shiny blue car? Do we render a glass of water like a blue raspberry icee?

Actively perceiving the world as it is takes work and practice, but it's a vital component in all art - even completely fantastical art that is not at all drawn from life references. Skin has a particular luminosity to it, subcutaneous scattering of light that is inobvious if you just know that Skin Looks Like A Color. Even if you're painting a goblin or a mermaid or a centaur, capturing how the light hits their skin can make the difference between them looking like an action figure and looking like a living thing. If you're painting a landscape that isn't earth, it helps to have observed what earth's clouds and atmosphere really look like, how they catch and scatter the light. You have to know the rules in order to break the rules.

I can honestly say it never gets easy, but it does become a lot of fun, and if you're currently struggling to find the fun of it, it will get better the more you hone your eyes.

[obeymeluv]

In Your Defense [PT 1 - Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw]

You decide to work at Sam's for Valentine's Day and your crush just happens to hear a customer hitting on you. If they get arrested, can you be their alibi? AKA: This person has a death wish and you find out your crush might be jealous?

Note: Each one is random and some will be longer than others. If I made everyone the same length this thing would be MASSIVE and I would probably die.

Not proofread because of the length. Trying to get everyone done today. It's my last day off for a few.

Whatever part Ortho is in will be platonic, obvs.

Happy V-day!

Riddle likes to think he's made great strides not being angry but hearing some utterly disgusting joke about 'how much do you cost?' sends him like nothing else ever has. This guy is tall and so unimpressive, so plain, so average that Riddle can't really recall him at all. Maybe that's just the absolute fury blurring his vision. He knows he's not breathing but his chest isn't burning near as much as his face; the heat is spreading quick and he can feel it in his cheeks and neck. Temples pounding, his vaguely aware of the growl bubbling in his chest as it threatens to slip past his clenched teeth.

Ace calls it his teapot snarl.

Before Riddle knows it, he's flown off the handle and he's going off on a rant. The whole shop is quiet, people physically backing away as he just methodically unravels everything about this cretin from outfit, posture, presence, delivery, unoriginality--everything. Honestly, he doesn't even remember everything he said. The redhead doesn't even tune back into the sound of his own voice until he ends the onslaught with, "You've just paid twenty thaumarks to embarrass yourself but that pales in comparison to the fact that you thought you had a chance with them. You should be ashamed!"

The man slinks away, sad little bag dragging off the counter.

Whispers and giggles diffuse throughout the shop. He ignores the looks that come his way, using the time to come back to himself. Riddle fixes his cute casual clothes, content with the fact you picked them out together. He catches sight of the matching rose clips on your outfit and in you hair and smiles softly. "A strawberry cookie and a cake pop, please." he clears his throat, fishing his wallet out of his pocket.

Sam had an assortment of sweets and he was going to capitalize on strawberry's popularity while he could. He saw you root through the display case, carefully considering the designs even though they were all supposed to taste the same (allegedly).

"Sure thing. Your total is 12 thaumarks. Thanks for stopping by Sam's Mystery Shop! Happy Valentine's Day!"

He hands you the thaumarks as you take the time to slide the I LOVE YOU cookie in his bag.

----

Deuce is an honors student! He is a good boy that's going to make his mother proud!

HE IS SO GOING TO PUNCH THIS MOTHERFUCKER IN THIS FACE!

His shoulders tense, fist clenching at his side. "Why, you think they're cheap? Something to be bought? What an insult!" his head snaps up as he stares down the slightly taller boy. Deuce's teal eyes turn a dark turquoise; the giddy glint of seeing you and chocolate eggs in one place turns to something sharp and steely. He hands the chocolate eggs to Ace, turning right back around to stare the creep down. Old habits die hard; he's grinding a fist into his hand.

"Aren't you the guy always complaining about limited time sales being unfair? Not my problem you missed the window." the guy scoffs, leaning back against the cashier counter. "Anyways," the guy tilts his head back and starts talking to you.

You look uncomfortable and angry that you can't handle this yourself. Professionalism and all.

"You may have caught the window but I'm about to show you the door." Deuce draws up on him with a quickness people have never seen. Not many people know about all the fights he used to get into. Gripping the guy's hair almost to the point of pulling it out, steering him like a panicked bull, Deuce all but chucks him out the front door of the shop. He turns around to walk back inside and buy his chocolate eggs but that spine-tingling feeling of someone fixing to take a cheap shot makes him pivot and nail the guy with a solid kick to the chest. The guy falls back on his butt, breath hitching.

Deuce scoffs and wipes his shoes on the step before going into the shop. The door is almost closed behind him when he hears a strained grunt. He's been in enough fights to know the guy is off the ground and making one last attempt to catch him from the back. More than done with this and just wanting his damn eggs and to say hi to you in all your festive lace, he shoulder checks the door like he's trying to shove Jack out of the lunch line (which he would NEVER, EVER DO).

The guy falls with a satisfying thud and Deuce tries his best to relax his face as he resumes his place in line. It's red from aggravation and the fact he's fishing for his thaumarks because he's forgotten what pocket he put it in. "Sorry about that," he tries to uncrumple the thaumarks a little before handing them to you. "And the face. My face. Not your face! Your face is fine! Like, you're not ugly! I just, uh--"

"Take the change, Deuce-y!" Ace is standing behind him, guiding his nervous body like a puppet. He makes Deuce grab the change and turns him around, shoving him away from the counter before he can make it any worse. "Now help me move this guy's body! He's out cold!"

---

Ace can only laugh when he hears that line. First of all, it's weak. Secondly, the dude must not have any faith in his game if the delivery depends on you being captive behind the counter. During work hours. With an obligation to be forward facing and listening to whatever he says.

"Why? You worried about your budget, buddy?" Ace laughs, hands laced together behind his head.

The guy snaps up, stick-straight. "N-No! I was just--" his face is blooming pink.

"People aren't products, bro. There's no discounts." Ace shakes his head.

"W-What I meant was, I want to take you on a date!" the guy turns back to you and flashes a big smile. All of Ace's pouty mutters fall on deaf ears. Not because he's being quiet, but because the guy is straight up ignoring him. He's not sure where the idea comes from--he'll blame it on an itchy hand--but he sneaks a couple of small candies in the guy's pocket. Sam's familiar top hat bobs into view, snaking around the shelves.

"DON'T FORGET TO PAY FOR THE STUFF IN YOUR POCKETS!" Ace felt confident in his sleight of hand tricks. It wouldn't be the first time he tricked NRC students. It's actually really easy to do. That works in his favor because if everyone can't get their story straight or agree on what they saw, he's a free man.

Sam materializes at the edge of the aisles and seems to stare into the boy's soul. "Young man, please step aside."

Ace looks like the cat that ate the canary as he moseys up to the counter and slaps the box of cherry cordials down. He buys a cherry sucker at the last second, not seeing it at first. "Thanks, Sweets!" Ace winks at you as he strolls out with the bag.

Sam nearly scares him out of his skin, leaning against the wood just outside the door. Ace finally feels the tug of shadows on his feet. "Speaking of sweets," Ace flinches and hides his ear with his blazer, groaning as Sam hooks an arm around his neck and pulls him into his chest sternly. "I understand your frustration, Little Imp. Young love is adorable in all it's wiles! But mark my words, Little Imp: if you lie about wrongdoings in my shop again, you will not come back. Clear?"

"Yes sir." Ace gulps.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Little Imp."

---

Trey isn't really surprised to hear what he just did. 'Boys will be boys', as the saying goes. Frankly, he's disappointed. He's heard smarter things come out of his little brother and sister.

He adjusts his glasses, mentally trying to relax the knot between his eyebrows.

Should he say something? Of course he wants to. It's you! He's been on the other side of the counter plenty of times and has had vivid daydreams of sticking a customer in a stand mixer. But, then again, he has a reputation to uphold and anything he does could reflect back on Riddle.

And send Riddle into a fit, giving him something else to handle.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized he'd have the element of surprise. People--especially men--don't cook enough to know how much arm strength it takes to lift twenty pound bags of flour on the regular. Or the stamina it takes to walk said bags from Sam's shop to Heartslabyul. Even the small five-pound bag of sugar in his basket would suffice as a weapon; the sugar was packed enough to hit like a brick if he lobbed it.

Trey's running the options through his head, almost settling on just saying 'how much for you to stop?' when he sees the end of a sucker rolling between the guy's teeth. Too easy, Trey pushes his glasses up on his nose, hand hiding his smile and the quiet incantation for "Paint the Roses".

All of a sudden the guy is gagging and running for the door. You and everyone else are wondering what the hell just happened. He doesn't come back in. One brave soul suggested he had a really bad gag reflex and the sucker did him in. Only Trey knows it was a mix of sour milk and the pungent soy sauce tart nightmare he tricked Riddle into making once.

"Just this, please. Oh! And what Sam had on hold for me." Trey hands you the sugar, relishing in the brush of your hands.

"Candied violets and a bag of sugar. Twenty thaumarks, please."

"Thanks." Trey smiles at you, laying the sugar flat so his delicate, delectable candied violets don't get crushed.

"Thank you." you smile brightly, handing him the change.

----

Cater wants to gag. Normally Valentine's confessions are cute and IN THE RIGHT SETTING pickup lines are amazing. This? This is a tragedy. Mostly because there is ZERO chemistry and you look #uncomfortable.

He's big on consent since he's always looking for collabs and people to pose with on Magicam so maybe that's why this scene bothers him. Aside from the fact that you're out of this guy's league, obviously. Like, it's really an insult to your time.

'How much do you cost?' Really? You're #priceless.

His brows furrow, lips thinning as he wonders what to do. He plays with the idea of Split Card and creating a small crowd of copies to boo and jeer the guy but the store would be even more packed than it already is. Cater's green eyes twinkle as it hits him. Turning his phone longways, he zooms in on the guy and tells him to keep going because he's live on Magicam. "Don't worry! I've already got all the V-day tags on there! Everyone will see it!"

He's friends with practically everyone at NRC so this guy will be seen by everyone.

Something sick and unfriendly and satisfied swirls in him as the guy's face pales in real time. If he zooms in a little, he can get the beads of sweat in there. "I'll, uh--another time, okay?" the guy darts off and abandons his handful of candy at the register.

"Haul coming later! 'K, bye!" Cater sends a peace sign to the camera, smiling at his own face. He swipes the little chocolates into his basket nonchalantly. He's not even the biggest sweets person but those are his now!

"Gonna have a spicy Valentine's Day, huh?" you ring up the cups of spicy ramen.

"You know it!" he laughs.

"I get it. You have to balance out how sweet you are." you smirk up at him. "Twenty-four thaumarks, please."

#in love. #kiddingnotkidding. #sendhelp. #downbad.

----

Leona doesn't even know why he bothered to show up to Sam's. He could just send Ruggie to get whatever he wanted. The variety of jerky was somewhat tempting but he could just as easily take the bus and get a proper meal off campus. And yet, he stood there with a gloved hand in his pocket, tail swishing back and forth in mild agitation. His green eyes sweep over the winding line until they land on you at the front.

His cheeks warm a little and he scoffs at himself, pretending to pick through the hanging strips of sunflower seeds as the line moves. Every step gets him closer to this soft, powdery scent with just a hint of sweetness. He starts to blame it on all the chocolate and candy and sugary shit exploding out of every possible spot in the store but there's this unmistakable undertone of skin.

Your skin.

He's only caught the scent a million times while hiding from people in the Botanical Gardens. Or when he's forced to attend class, catching a hint of you in the halls.

Leona's not sure why he cares anything about you because you're not magical. You're not interesting.

You shouldn't be, but you are.

You're literally the only person he's ever met from another world. You have no context for the Sunset Savanna or the hierarchy of it. To you, everyone is impressive. He can be something to you.

Why does that matter? He doesn't even know. That's what he tells himself, anyways. You say you have no magic but Leona thinks you can read minds. The look you always give him isn't a pitying one, but a curious one that seeks to dissect him and force him to face everything he keeps shoved deep down inside himself.

Part of him is waiting for the day you pull the right thread and he comes undone in the way he knows he need but can't find the strength for. Somewhere in that knotted mess is his true feelings for you. The stuff he can't admit.

You stand admirably on your own two feet, roughing it out like Ruggie, but you're so far from the intimidating women of the Sunset Savanna. You're approachable and soft; you're built like prey but you have the quick thinking of a predator.

Something in your demeanor changes--your hands pause and flutter nervously--and he's on alert. He's careful to relax his grip lest he crush the box of protein bars for Jack. His ears sling forward and his eyes narrow as he catches that half-baked flirting attempt. Leona doesn't even bother to hide the sneer twisting his face.

Just the thought of you with that hopeful schmuck is nauseating.

Suddenly the scent of all the males around you is overwhelming. Disgusting.

"If you have to ask about the price, you can't afford it. Haven't ya ever heard that before?" Leona 'hmphs' triumphantly, one hand on his hip as he bends down slightly to stare the chump in the face. "Askin' about the price is tacky."

"Wh-what was my total again?"

All Leona had to do was stare at the back of the human's neck. Humans, much like prey animals, grew really squirmy when a predator stared at them too long. Or encroached on their space, much like he was doing. It was for the hell of it at this point.

Leona made a mental note of the guy's face as he scampered off like a terrified cub and looked forward to the day he could send a stray spelldrive disk in his direction.

"Hey Herbivore," Leona plunked the basket down unceremoniously.

"Hey Leona," you looked down at the random stuff in his basket, trying not to smile at what just happened. Something warm and--dare he say it?--proud welled up in his chest when he realized you were happy about him scaring the guy off.

The heart-shaped stickers he kept finding on everything when he got back to Savanaclaw helped, too.

----

Ruggie lived for the holiday specials at Sam's. He was a bit put out that he wasn't picked to staff the Valentine's shift but the in-store discounts were a small consolation. It'd be better if he could stack them with an employee discount but he'd take what he could get! His mouth started watering as soon as he entered, sniffing out deliciously fluffy donuts.

Hopefully people would be distracted with the lollypops and chocolates and leave his donuts alone!

He choked down the occasional nervous whine when people gravitated too close to the donut display, distracting himself with the decor and wondering what would be most profitable to flip. His eyes began to wander to the people in front of him; Ruggie tsk'd at how casual and unguarded they were. Ripe for the picking, he looked at their wallets and fistfuls of thaumarks just out in the open.

If he wasn't worried about being banned from Sam's and losing some gigs he'd--

"How much do you cost?"

EXCUSE ME?! Ruggie freezes, eyes going wide and ears twitching when he hears that. The dude said that and LIVED?

Oh, right. You're not a Savanna girl. The girls back home would beat him up and make him pay them to stop. Or just smack the shit out of him hard enough to put him in a coma. Maybe break his jaw so he can't drop anymore awful lines.

Women are to be respected! Not treated like something you can purchase!

Given that you weren't a Savanna girl and were bound by the rules of 'I'm currently on the clock', Ruggie took things into his own hands. You could just treat him later!

"Laugh with Me!" Ruggie hisses, backing into the closest display. It was a little bump to him but far more to the guy up front. He waved his arm around, skimming the bags of gummy candies while the guy at the register knocked down a whole tower of balloons on a stick. Bending over just enough to line the guy's head up with the counter, Ruggie lunges forward.

WOMP!

Oh it was so satisfying. The guy is hopelessly, helplessly stunned. He gathers his bearings and Ruggie slides his foot out; the guy loses his footing and slams into the counter again.

Only two times before he gives up? Kind of weak-willed, Ruggie thinks with a little smirk as he side-steps the disoriented guy and waits patiently to check out. Sam tends to him while you get the donuts he's been craving.

They'll taste even better because they smell like you. Happy Valentine's Day to him!

-----

Jack is usually very stoic but a lot of people mistake his stoic observation for irritation. He would blame it on his intimidating physique but he's not sorry and takes great pride in his appearance. He's a beastman--a Howl!--he's supposed to be intimidating! Intimidating appearance aside, Jack is also a very helpful soul.

A good boy, if you will.

The only reason he's in Sam's is on Ruggie's behalf. He was tasked with picking up a few things and was more than happy to help out his senior. They were from the same dorm, after all! Practically a pack! You have to help your pack!

He's not really bothered by the amount of people, more focused on keeping his tail out of people's way and making sure he doesn't knock anything over. All at once, the atmosphere changes a little. There's a hint of sour in the air and a noticeable hike in someone's pulse.

It's your pulse. You look...distressed? Why are you distressed? Where is the threat?

Whatever it was, he missed it and he's cursing himself.

His ears swing forward as he catches bits and pieces of conversations. Some people are complaining the guy is taking too long, other people are laughing at his crappy pickup line. Some people are wondering if it's going to work.

This was a weak display if he ever saw one. The guy didn't even look confident in himself! All of your body language has now firmed up into rejection but the guy's not getting the hint. He's trying the 'oh, c'mon!' thing his siblings do when they want to play.

You don't know it, but you've been feeding Jack when he trots by in wolf form. He likes to finish off his morning jogs in wolf form to really stretch his joints and obliques. It was supposed to be a one-off thing, him following the tantalizing aroma of food to your door. Your cooking is fantastic and while you don't know that you're a pack mate, you're a pack mate!

You're just a pack mate who feeds him and gives him occasional pets. And these to die for scratches that he'd kill to feel with his real skin instead of fur. Any touch would be fine, really. Not that you'd ever know.

Jack doesn't even know he's growling until people start moving out of his way. The growl crescendos as he walks towards the guy. Tail bristling, Jack opens his mouth to show off sharp canines. "Get lost! They're not interested in you! They're just trying to work!"

As expected, the guy tucks tail and runs. Jack snorts, licking his lips that have suddenly become dry. His ears don't know what to do, caught between catching all the murmurs behind him and wanting to press down in embarrassment.

It's quiet but he hears it. "Thank you, Jack."

"Don't mention it," he crosses his arms, looking everywhere but you as you scan his items. He was avoiding looking at you directly but he notices you slip a few extra beef sticks into his bag. He blushes.

Yeah, don't mention that either.

[ara-the-great]

Sylus might be the most supportive man you have ever seen in your life. No matter how largely you mess up, he is there for you. This is true for making both gifts and problems for him.

You made a cat's eye bracelet that looks like a wildly tangled string of rope? It's sturdy and he already has it on as soon as he heard you made it (you couldn't take it off him even if you tried). That candy you made that got a bit too...cooked?(It was burnt actually) He snacks on it like it's the most delicious thing (aside from you that is). He says he prefers it a bit bitter and that it has a complex flavour profile. Makes you kind of think how far you can push it before he says something.

Soup with an ungodly amount of salt? He needed his electrolytes in. Oddly shaped pottery you made? It's an abstract piece of art. Half baked cake? He was craving something fudgey.

Just as you were about to make the most sour salad known to man he comes up from behind you to wrap his arms around your waist.

"You seem busy. What is my little kitten making?"

"Salad. Found a new recipe for a lemon pickle salad with kimchi. Try it!" you beamed pushing the face crinkling "salad". The mere smell of it alone was making your eyes watery

Taking a tiny bit was enough to make him flinch back. "That's........ Interesting. Chough- it's got quite the kick to it." He coughed trying his best not to twist his face into oblivion. "You have been making so many things for me how about I do something for you? I haven't made a dish in a while-"

"BAHAHHAHA IM SORRY BUT WHY ARE YOU SO NICE THATS THE MOST RANCID AND HORRIBLE THING I HAVE EVER MADE!" you said almost falling out of his hold while laughing.

"Oh I see what's going on here. Is that why Mephisto caught you dumping the whole salt shaker into the soup?" He chuckled as he flicked your forehead

"Oh god you knew? Why didn't you say something?" You said still giggling

"Sweetie I genuinely appreciate everything you do for me. After all it is you." he laughed nuzzling his head into your neck. He pulled you away from that monstrosity you had created and spun you in his arms till you were looking right at him. "Even if you fed me poison id say it's the most delicious poison I have had but just for the time being I think you should leave the kitchen to me"

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Better Than Me

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Rating: M (Mature)

Fandom: UConn's Women's basketball

Warnings: Heavy angst, toxic dynamics, cheating, sneaky link behavior, explicit language, jealousy

Summary: nobody's better than paige in more ways than one

I knew I was playing with fire.

Being with Paige was a bad idea.

Being with Paige while I had a girlfriend? A worse idea.

And yet, here I was—pressed against the cold backseat of her car, her hands gripping my thighs like she owned me, her lips tracing slow, taunting kisses up my neck.

“Tell me again why you still with her,” Paige murmured, voice low, teasing.

I sighed, tilting my head back against the seat. “Paige—”

“Nah,” she cut me off, leaning back just enough to look me in the eyes, her thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “For real. What she do for you that I don’t?”

I knew this game. Paige loved pushing me, loved reminding me that no one could touch me the way she could. That no one got me like she did.

“She treats me good,” I muttered, but even I didn’t sound convinced.

Paige scoffed, shaking her head. “Yeah? Then why you in my car right now, letting me touch you like this?”

I had no answer. And Paige knew it.

A slow smirk stretched across her lips. “She ain’t better than me.”

I exhaled sharply, gripping her hoodie as she leaned in again, her breath warm against my lips. “You think you got me like that?”

She grinned, her hand slipping under the hem of my hoodie. “I know I do.”

Paige had been my problem for a while now.

It started as something reckless—stolen moments, secret glances, late-night texts that turned into even later nights in her bed. It was supposed to be nothing.

But Paige Bueckers didn’t do ‘nothing.’

She wanted everything. She wanted me.

And she hated the fact that I was still with someone else.

It got worse when she saw us together.

I was at a party with my girl, keeping things lowkey, trying not to give Paige too much attention. But it was impossible to ignore the way she was watching me from across the room, dark-tinted windows of her expression giving nothing away—but I knew her too well.

She was pissed.

And Paige pissed off was Paige dangerous.

I felt her before I saw her. A warm presence at my back, breath ghosting over my shoulder as she leaned in, voice just loud enough for me to hear over the music.

“Tell her you gotta take a call.”

I stiffened. “Paige—”

Her fingers brushed over the small of my back, featherlight, enough to make me shiver. “C’mon, baby. Five minutes. I won’t even touch you.”

Liar.

And I was a liar too—for following her out onto the balcony, for letting her back me against the railing, for letting her pull my hoodie strings like she was reeling me in.

“She’s looking for me” I whispered, trying to ignore the way my body reacted to her closeness.

Paige tilted her head. “Then why you still out here with me?”

I closed my eyes, exhaling through my nose. “You don’t fight fair.”

She smirked. “Never said I did.”

The thing about Paige was—she didn’t lose.

Not on the court, not in life, and definitely not when it came to me.

She made sure of that a few nights later, when she showed up outside my dorm after a game, still in her UConn hoodie, a cocky glint in her eyes.

“You break up with her yet?”

I sighed, arms crossed. “Paige—”

She tsked, shaking her head. “I’m done sharing.”

“Paige, it’s not that simple—”

“Yes, it is,” she cut me off, stepping closer. “You either with me, or you not.”

I swallowed hard.

Because we both knew the answer.

Paige smirked, tilting my chin up with her fingers. “So what’s it gon’ be, ma?”

My heart pounded.

And for the first time in a long time, I made the right choice.

A week later, I was sitting courtside at UConn’s game, wearing Paige’s hoodie.

And when she walked off the court, sweaty, smug, victorious—she didn’t even hesitate before pulling me into her arms and kissing me like she had been waiting her whole life for this moment.

Because she had won.

Like she always did.

[rcvcgers]

Rotten Apples, pt. 3

part one part two

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: you go out with caleb but things turn south.

word count: 8.1k words

warnings: extreme loathing, kinda funny, sad at the end, a good mix of everything! a hint of foreplay! mentions of death! not proofread!

author's note: hi all! this is a bit on the longer side so i apologize! part four is most definitely in the works, though! i hope you enjoy the chapter! i hope i got everyone who asked to be tagged! please yell at me if i forgot you!

taglist <3 : @kebarney , @pinkismyfavcolor , @romils , @erisnxxi , @rik0shii , @reni502 , @spacehopper27 , @llamabois , @likesvader , @pandoras-rabbit , @princessfruit , @lukassafespace , @jexizia , @etsuniiru , @tinnyrabbit , @orianakira , @xiaorixx , @beomluvrr , @sanzy4 , @vickykazuya , @blcknebula , @sleepydang , @flamedancer13 , @gojosbedwarmer , @silmeria-lafleur , @ikiru-wa , @animecrazy76 , @fealy , @jexizia

Seven o’clock is approaching fast and you have yet to find anything to wear. Your closet has been emptied, clothes scattered across the vinyl flooring of your apartment. Dresses, pants, and blouses fill in the blank spaces of the floor. You tip toe around the messily laid out outfits, sending pictures to your closest friend for her opinion,

It doesn’t really surprise you when she video calls you, laughing at how seriously you’re taking this dinner.

“Are you trying to impress him?” Your friend snorts. You prop your phone against a book on the counter. “I thought you didn’t like him?”

“I don’t,” your response is immediate and snappy, “I would like to have a nice dinner, though.”

“How do you know you’re actually going out to dinner? What if he’s there to kill you, you know, like some serial killer type shit.”

“He is our beloved Colonel, after all. I can’t pass up the opportunity he’s handing to me.”

“An opportunity to what? Find another military sugar daddy that wants you on his arm? Bitch, please,” Your friend rolls her eyes and shakes her head when you hold a red dress to your body. “I don’t think you should go. My expertise tells me that this is a bad idea.”

“Your expertise?” You throw your head back and laugh. “Your expertise from what? All of the true crime documentaries you’ve watched?”

“Yes, actually,” she proudly states, a ‘fuck you’ smile spreading across her face.

“I’m going,” a fake smile spreads across your face when you glance at yourself in the mirror. “It’s a free meal. I’m not going to pass it up!”

“You’re making a major mistake! You should go in sweatpants. Put in no effort whatsoever. He’s the guy you’ve been trying to forget, right?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, glancing at her face on the phone screen, “he’s kind of hard to forget, though. He’s—”

“A dreamboat? Got you a single butterfly toy when you were kids? Has the prettiest eyes? This is going to end up horribly and you know it. I’m not going to stop you…just don’t come crying to me when he breaks your heart.” Your friend hangs up after that.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, eyes focused on the dress that you hold up in front of yourself. It slips out of your sight and your eyes drop down to the baggy sweatpants you have on.

They haven’t been washed in a couple days and there’s a stain from the takeout you ordered the other day when your favorite show had its season premiere.

Sweatpants, you roll your eyes with a chuckle, he’d hate that.

A slow smile spreads across your face. Maybe you will be in sweatpants and the shirt you sleep in when he shows up. You never agreed to the dinner, after all. What could Caleb possibly be expecting from you?

It’s not like this dinner is going to solve all of your problems. It’s not going to wash away the sins he’s committed against you nor will it bring you much solace even if things go well.

A black dress catches your attention from the corner of your eye. The hanger finds itself between your fingers. you slowly lift it into the air, silently examining it, before holding the dress against your body. Your steps are slow and meticulous. They’re almost hesitant to see what it looks like on you.

Your hands trail across the soft fabric of the dress. It has a box neckline, cutting low on your chest, with long sleeves, and a skirt that stops just halfway down your thigh. You squint at the dress, familiarity tingling in the back of your mind.

It couldn’t be…no…right?

The dress falls to the floor. It pools at your feet, your body shuddering. You grasp the spot over your heart, feeling the beats speed up. A faint ringing buzzes in your ears. You didn’t expect to see the black garment in your closet.

Did your mother pack it without you knowing? She was horrendously overbearing while you packed your room up. The move from Linkon to Skyhaven was brutal on her. She had almost convinced your father to follow you so she can have the peace of mind knowing that you know somebody there. Thankfully, he talked her down, but it didn’t make her maternal instincts go away.

Out of all the things she helped pack for you: did she have to pack that dress?

Grumbling obscenities under your breath, you cleaned your apartment, wasting time.

You simply weren’t going to go. Your friend was right, all this is going to do is bring back bad memories and ruin your night. With the floors now cleared and free from your disastrous attempt at fashion, you flop onto the couch, kicking your feet up onto the coffee table. The television switches on, the laughs from Skyhaven’s news anchors filling the silence of your apartment. You roll your eyes and click to the next channel. A reality show pops up with older white woman screaming at each other.

It’s trash but it works.

You grab your phone and the screen lights up. Just as fate has it, a notification pings, the banner floating at the top of the screen. You don’t recognize the number and shrug it off, swiping it away. You move to a familiar app and begin to play the game.

It only feels like a few minutes, when in actuality it’s been an hour, when there’s a knock at the door. The sound floats in the air before it comes again, much more demanding this time. You turn around, looking over the edge of the couch you have sunken into, and raise an eyebrow.

An uncomfortable silence fills the air. The knocks don’t continue nor can you hear anyone, like your landlord, calling your name. There are no alarms and no sound of chaos from the hallway.

Huh. Weird.

 You turn back to your game, groaning when your tiny character falls off the platform and into the lasers below. You chuck your phone into the other side of the couch, head rolling back and over the arm rest. You stare at the door, laughing to yourself.

That would be so fucking crazy if that were Caleb at the door. How would he even know where to find you? You definitely didn’t tell him where you live nor did you confirm this dinner he invited you on.

Life is weird though. Dead men come back to life and they suddenly pay attention to you. What’s even crazier is that the dead man wants to see you tonight.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Your body jumps from the couch, the sudden sound scaring you back to life. You land on your feet, sharp pain shooting through your ankles. You gasp and collapse back onto the couch, loudly whining.

You hear your name through the door followed by continuous knocking. Quickly making your way to the door, you swing up open and quickly dodge a balled fist that misses the door.

“Woah!” Caleb’s voice causes you to groan. “I almost got you there! Sorry about that!”

Your eyes narrow at him and that damn charming smile of his. You lean against the doorframe, pulling the door to your side to block the view of your messy apartment. Caleb’s a head taller than you, though, so your efforts are in vain as he cranes his chin up, looking inside.

“How did you find my apartment? How the fuck do you know where I live?” You ask, completely baffled by his presence.

“I may or may not have abused my power when you didn’t answer my texts,” he says it so casually that even you think that what he did was okay. You blink for a couple seconds, comprehending what he just said, when your eyes get caught on his outfit.

He wears black dress pants matched with a white dress shirt. He sports a black jacket over his arms and shoulders with no tie hanging around his neck. unconsciously, your eyes drift to the collar of his shirt. You expect to see a certain silver necklace around his neck, one that you’ve seen in countless social media photos.

It isn’t around his neck.

Hope strikes your heart, causing it to skip a beat. Your cheeks heat up.

You hate how easy it is for you to like him again. Is the bar that low that him opting not to wear a necklace has you wanting to go to dinner with him?

Fortify your mental walls, dammit! Do not give in to the temptation that is Caleb!

“I love the sweatpants look. Very classy. But you should probably change, our reservation is in thirty minutes,” his purple eyes scan the small sliver of your apartment.

It’s actually a lot different than from what he initially imagined. The couch is in the middle of the room with the television pushed up against the wall. Behind the couch is a small table with two chairs. He assumes that the kitchen is to the right of it because your bedroom is to the left. The walls are somewhat bare. Only a few pictures and decor hang from them.

At least your place feels alive and lived in compared to his.

You raise an eyebrow. He mimics you with a chuckle. You purse your lips and Caleb has to mentally tell himself to not close the distance and kiss you.

“A reservation?” He nods in response to your question. “I can’t. My heater broke I’m…waiting for maintenance to come by and fix it.”

“I can fix it,” his reply is immediate.

“No, it’s fine, really—”

“It’ll take me five minutes! You can get dressed while I fix it,” he speaks over you so casually as if this were everyday banter between you two.

It’s like that with his pipsqueak, but never you.

Caleb pushes some of his weight onto the door but you push back. He stops and looks down at down, brows furrowed.

Why won’t you let me help you? He thinks to himself.

Caleb rests a hand on the door, palm flat and fingers stretched out. He leans down and inspects your face.

You wear a large frown which is matched with a deadly glare, one that he isn’t particularly fond of since your years together in high school. Your eyes keep moving away from his, looking everywhere but at him, and he frowns.

“You’re lying to me,” Caleb states. His posture straightens, arms crossed over his chest. You match his posture, throwing him a dirty look.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes. Yes you are,” he leans down to your eye level. You get a closer look at his eyes, noticing that the gold you saw before is actually more of a bronze. Perhaps he’s never been a golden boy this whole time. Your hardened expression falters. “Go get changed. I’ll wait inside for you.”

Caleb takes a step towards you, the door creaking open. Your hand smacks against his chest, right on top of his heart. His heart thumps inside his chest. Your fingers involuntary curl into his chest, pushing him back. Your eyes remain trained on the top button of his shirt.

“No,” you say, finally looking up into his big eyes. “Stay…right here.” You swipe your foot in a line in front of your apartment door. He watches then looks back up at you. “Don’t cross this line. I’ll be right back.”

You slam the door in his face and quickly lock it. Caleb stands out in the hallway. He blinks at the door, unsure of what just happened, and turns around to face the hallway.

Progress. That’s what this is. It’s progress. Progress towards you two reigniting the spark of friendship. The Colonel hopes it turns into something more. He needs it to be more than slammed doors and tense moments in interrogation rooms and apartment hallways.

Caleb watches as people pass by in the hallway. He can’t hear you inside, most likely deep inside your bedroom getting changed.

Getting ready for him.

The thought of you getting all dolled up for him gets Caleb excited. His smile grows with every passing second. A few men walk by and Caleb makes for sure to glare at them, arms crossed, chest puffed out, asserting dominance over them.

He sighed when the last one disappeared into the elevator. The faint click of the door’s lock catches his attention and he takes a single step back, watching as you slowly open the door.

His heart pounds in his chest, ears and cheeks growing warm from the sight of you.

You look absolutely stunning in the black dress you wear. He likes how the sleeves cover your arms yet it leaves your upper chest exposed. It’s like you’re teasing him, luring him in for more. Your hair is pulled back and out of your face. Your face isn’t beaten, instead opting for a more natural and casual look, and you shrug your long purse strap over your shoulder. You’re much taller, too, and his eyes fall onto a simple pair of heels. Looking back up, Caleb smiles.

You are the image of perfection.

His eyes barely skim over the top of your head now. Maybe his neck won’t hurt as much looking down at you.

“You look…amazing.” Caleb can barely get his compliment out, fumbling over his words and growing feelings towards you. His heart swells at your small smile and nod. You turn, keys jingling in your hand. You take a second to breathe. The warmth in your cheeks irritates you.

You hate how your body constantly betrays you when he’s around. It’s a curse, not a blessing.

“Ready?” His voice quips once you turn around from locking your apartment door. You hesitantly nod, forcing a smile onto your face, but it falls once he extends his hand to you.

You stare at his fingers, which have a few scars wrapped around his skin, before looking back up at him. Caleb’s smile is so hopeful. The corners of his eyes slightly crinkle. You sigh, stepping around him, his fingers brushing against your arm.

Caleb watches as you walk down the hallway, your jacket draped over your arm, purse bouncing against your side. He releases a disappointed sigh, fingers curling back into his palm. He forces his feet to chase after you, watching as you press the elevator button.

The Colonel attaches himself to your side, making sure to keep a respectable yet close distance. It’s silent. The faint dings from the elevator grow louder. The doors slide open and you step inside, Caleb following suit.

The metal box slowly lowers. Caleb’s eyes remain on you, utterly captivated by the sight. You look forward, opting for the buffed metal door.

Caleb would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of the door.

“Where are you taking us?” You break the awkward silence of the elevator. You glance at him and your eyes meet. You slowly bat your eyelashes at him, sighing.

Please prove me wrong, you internally plead, inner voice desperate, please prove that you aren’t the same boy I knew in high school.

Before he can respond, the elevator slide open. An obnoxiously large group stands on the other side. They wear bright pink cowboy hats and sashes, their eyes half-lidded.

Oh shit. It’s a bachelorette party. That’ll be fun to listen to tonight.

They wave hi, which you and Caleb return. As they slowly pile into the elevator, their voices grow loud, causing your ears to ring.

Caleb slides in front of you, gently pushing you against the back wall. His forearm rests against your head, the man trapping you in your spot. You look around him.

The elevator is completely packed. The inhabitants push together, morphing into one big blob. Your eyes dart to Caleb’s torso, noticing that there’s a few inches of space between you.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You look up, his face hovering in front of yours.

Your lips barely graze over each other. He’s slightly hunched over, face slightly grimacing from the bachelorette party bumping into him, stepping on his feet.

You hold back a laugh, covering your mouth. Caleb turns his attention back to you, a half-amused grin tugging the corner of his lips up.

“You’re laughing? At a time like this?” Caleb whispers into your ear, leaning in. The strands of his hair tickle your forehead. He leans in closer, lips grazing against your ear. “C’mon now…cut me some slack. I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

His breath is hot on your ear. Shivers run down your spine, the tingles making themselves at home in your stomach. Frozen in place, your eyes move to his shoulder.

A small speck catches your eye. Inside the small elevator, you push your arm against the pressure from the other people. Caleb’s gaze follows your hand. You breathe in sync with him, both watching as you pluck a single eyelash from his cheek, right below his eye.

Your fingertips graze against his skin, leaving electric shocks in their wake, and scoop the small eyelash from his skin. You inspect the eyelash with close eyes. Your gaze flits to his, his purple eyes staring not at your eyes but your lips.

“Make a wish,” your whisper fills the tension between your bodies. His bottom lip quivers. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek, feeling them heat up.

Caleb tilts his head down. He slowly slows at the eyelash on your finger, the hair disappearing, your eyes meeting once again.

My wish is you.

His breath is cool against your skin. It brings you no relief. Instead, your body inches closer to him, burning under his gaze of desire.

The two of you don’t even realize that the elevator is now empty. There is no bachelorette party cornering you. There is no reason for you two to be so close.

You hate to admit it but you don’t want to move. Caleb doesn’t either. He can’t get enough of your perfume, the way your touch was so light and careful against his face, almost as if you were scared to get even closer to him.

Do you feel it?

Do you feel the center of gravity that is pulling us together?

You clear your throat and dip under his arm. The further you get from him, the easier it is to breathe. You don’t even look at him from over your shoulder, scurrying out of the small enclosure.

Caleb hangs behind. His fingers curl against the elevator wall, eyes closed. He grimaces, harshly biting down on his lower lip. Your perfume lingers in the air. The warmth of your affection tickling his skin. He lets out a haggard breath, his back slowly straightening. He fixes his jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt, and exits the elevator, finding you outside.

You stand alone and off to the side, just hidden enough for people not to notice you but visible enough for Caleb to immediately find you. Just as the purse strap slips off your shoulder, Caleb collects it in his hand. He slips the jacket from your arms as well and eases your hand through the first sleeve, helping aim your next arm through the second.

“Thank you,” you breathe out, your breath visible in the cold night air. He nods, clearing his throat. “I think you were interrupted before.”

“Was I?” Caleb’s eyes flutter, looking down at you. You chuckle and raise an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah, I was, wasn’t I?” You nod. “A colleague recommended the restaurant to me. I thought you may like it.”

“Oh?” His intention takes you by surprise.

He actually…thought of you? Wow. You didn’t know he could do that.

You don’t give it much thought, though. It’s probably due to her not being here.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

The outside of the restaurant takes you by surprise. The outside is made up of dark metal with grooves in it that imitates wood, which is a stark contrast to the rest of the Skyhaven’s white metallic look. A long window surrounds the perimeter. It’s a thin line and doesn’t take up much of the wall space. A faint, golden glow seeps into the glass.

Caleb’s long strides keep with your pace. He walks close to you, your purse acting as a boundary between your hips. You glance inside the restaurant’s window, seeing couples and semi-large parties inside the main dining room.

The Colonel opens up the business’ door, smiling down at you as you step inside, quietly thanking him.

The atmosphere is warm, the chilled air tingling away from your skin. You feel a pair of hands on your shoulders, shrugging your jacket off of your body. You watch him with an intense gaze.

His shoulders are so broad. You swear you can watch as his muscles tense then relax under the fabric as she hands over your jackets to an employee. Caleb turns to you, nodding as the hostess walks away. You swallow whatever spit you have in your mouth. You tell your feet to move, goosebumps forming across your skin when you feel his touch on the low of your back.

Caleb sticks close behind you, fingers grazing up and down your body. His eyes stare at the exposed skin of your neck, eyes drifting up to the side of your face. He smirks, watching as your lips part with a gasp, his fingers inching their way around your side. He’s unable to get a full grip of your side, though, when the hostess places menus on the table before you.

You step to your chair but Caleb is too quick for you, dragging it out. You roll your eyes at him and sit, the man pushing the chair in to meet your body. He sits at the spot in front of you, the table circular and on the smaller side, with a lit candle in the center of the table.

Taking a glance around the restaurant, you notice that you and Caleb are more towards the back. It’s like you’re hidden away so nobody can see you. Couples at other tables lean in, smiles adorned on their faces over the candle light, the dim lighting of the restaurant casting shadows over their faces.

The scenery and atmosphere is…strangely romantic.

“You look great in that dress,” Caleb’s voice brings your eyes back onto his. They drop to his arms, where his white sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Your breath gets caught in your throat. You tear your gaze away and settle back onto his eyes.

“Thanks. I haven’t worn it for a year,” you respond with a shrug.

“Yeah?” He leans forward, his smile growing, “when was the last time you wore it?”

“Your funeral.”

Oh. Well. You know…I don’t know how to respond to that, Caleb thinks to himself. He purses his lips, brows knitted together, eyes narrowed from unease.

You stare at him with your arms crossed over your chest. You raise an eyebrow at his sour reaction. He was the one who died and magically came back to life with no explanation.

He sits up in his chair, resting his hands in his lap as his piercing violet eyes tear into yours. You shift in your seat, crossing one leg over the other as he comes up with the proper words to respond.

A waiter approaches the table, their face just barely illuminated from the light. He wears all black clothing and his smile is a little too friendly, his eyes dragging across your bare chest. You suck in a breath and glance at Caleb, who glares at the waiter.

“Good evening. May I start you two off with a bottle of wine or an appetizer?” The waiter asks, looking at you, not even a second to stare at Caleb. You simper at his gaze, only feeling slightly uncomfortable, as you take the wine list from his hands.

“He’s paying, so we’ll make it an expensive bottle,” you muse with a quiet chuckle. Caleb’s eyes break from the waiter and land on you. Goosebumps litter your skin as you pretend not to notice the intensity radiating from his body. “We’ll do this one,” you point out a name on the list to the waiter.

He dips down and his putrid cologne tinges your nostrils. You lean away, wincing from how his scent burns the inside of your nose. His lips curl into a toothy grin.

“Great choice. I’ll have it out for you in a few moments.” He walks away and you watch him. You relax into your seat when he vanishes from your eye line, turning back to Caleb. 

“Could you get even closer to him?” Caleb’s raspy voice cuts through the low lighting. You raise an eyebrow, confused by his sudden possessiveness towards you.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Caleb,” you roll your eyes and lean forward, dress grazing against the table, “you’ve only been in my life for twenty four hours. You don’t get to have a say on who gets close to me.”

“Don’t I?” He matches your lean, his purple eyes glowing from the candlelight. “I was in your life for a good amount—”

“Emphasis on was,” you interrupt him. He swipes his tongue over his teeth, shaking his head ever so slightly at you.

You know you’re teetering on a very, very line and fragile line with Caleb. A small amount of payback won’t kill the man. He did lead you on for that good amount of time he was in your life for so if it’s any consolation for you, it’s deserved.

“Let’s have a nice dinner,” you sigh. His darkened expression softens, his eyebrows relaxing. Catching a glimpse of his fists, you see them relax as well, his knuckles no longer white. “However, I do think you owe me an explanation about your so-called ‘death.’” You pause, looking to the side, before rushing to get the words out, “and I don’t want to talk about her either. I…I don’t particularly have fond memories of the three of us since things ended badly. I hope you can understand that.”

Caleb’s eyes slightly widen. A part of him knew that this was coming. He had been distracted all day, sitting at his desk, ignoring all of his duties as Colonel. He went through every memory that he could remember, ones that weren’t influenced by the chip in his body, and came to realization that towards the end, you weren’t there.

In the memories that you were in, you were in the background while she took center stage. It made Caleb feel like a fool, truly. He agonized over it. Just to know that he could have caused you so much pain and emotional turmoil ripped his heart apart. He plans on repaying and making up for it until his final breath.

Even in death, Caleb will find ways to make you feel important, that you matter.

“I promise,” he breathes out, eyes never leaving yours, “to not bring her up. Consider her banished from our relationship.”

You lean into the back of the chair, putting your full weight into it. You stare at him, wondering if what he said can be trusted. You sigh and nod, forcing a small smile onto your face. He beams at you and nods, sighing from relief.

The side of your heel glides against his leg. He sucks in a breath and you bat your eyelashes at him. You take your bottom lip between your two teeth, knowing that it will drive him absolutely crazy. The Colonel shifts in his seat, his eyes taking all the liberties he wants.

His demeanor has shifted so many times within the last minute. He went from happy, to sorrowful, then his anger took over, and now the look on his face tells you that he’s feeling some form of lust. Adrenaline runs through your veins because you simply don’t know what Caleb you’re going to get next.

He licks his lips when you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You turn your attention to the dining room, looking upon the other couples and groups that mingle inside. A soft chuckle shakes your body.

The waiter comes back with a bottle of white wine and two glasses in hand. He sets the glasses in front of the two of you, but neither dare to break their gaze.

Caleb’s eyebrow slightly perks up and you tilt your head to the side, a sly smirk forming on your face.

The wine is poured, the pale yellow alcohol sitting pretty inside the glass. You make the first move. The glass is cool in your hand and you swirl the wine around, bringing the glass to your glossy lips.

The first sip of the Pinot Blanc has an exceptional fresh taste to it, complimenting the dryness to the wine. The aroma is fruity with hints of apple, Caleb’s favorite, and a side taste of citrus.

You glance at the waiter, who hovers at the small table. Caleb clears his throat, glaring at the man. The waiter doesn’t pay attention to Caleb, his eyes staying on you.

“The wine is delicious, thank you,” you set the glass down, fingers resting on the base of the glass. He nods but stays in his spot. Caleb’s fists ball on top of the white cloth. He opens his mouth to speak but you’re quick to tap his knee with the tip of your high heel. You roll your eyes and take a deep breath, leaning towards the waiter. “As you can see, I’m here with him and not you. So, if you could please give us some privacy, that would be nice.”

Caleb watches you in awe. Your dominance is refreshing and is something he hasn’t experienced with her in a long time. She typically gave up after five minutes but you? You are fiery. You know what you want and you also know how to tell people to fuck off in ways he never knew how.

Has he finally met his match? Can you be the one to meet his fiery passion and loyalty?

“You can leave this here,” you reach out to the waiter, tapping the label on the wine bottle.

The waiter obeys, scrambling away. Caleb watches it as if he’s at a magic show, completely enthralled with the display you’re putting on for him.

This is a completely different side of you, one that he’s never seen before but desperately wants to get to know. If Caleb didn’t know any better, he would think that you also want to indulge in the sweetness of your blossoming love.

“Try the wine,” you grab your glass, emptying the contents into your mouth before refilling it. Caleb watches with an amused smile, tasting the wine as you said to do, and pauses. It’s…it’s delectable. It hits all of the flavor notes he’s been dying to taste in a good wine.

And you were the one who managed to find it.

“Hey,” he leans forward, capturing your attention. “Can we…start over? You know…a fresh start for us?”

Your eyes read humor and your smile is divine. You think about his proposal for a moment, tearing your gaze away, opting to look at the menu.

You know that he’s eagerly waiting for a response. Knowing Caleb, he’s impatient to know the result of your calculations. He watches you, focused on the way your foot taps against his shin and how your eyes scan the menu as if there’s anything remotely interesting on there.

Caleb is right there and he knows that he is way more interesting than the variety of food options the restaurant has to offer.

“What do you say?” He pesters. Your eyes shoot to his. Chills run down his spine.

“New life, new you, right?” You muse. Caleb can’t help but laugh, turning his head away from you.

Have you always been this funny? Your humor knows no bounds, truly. While some people would have groaned at your words, Caleb couldn’t help but see the lightheartedness behind them.

He knows that his death must have taken a large, emotional toll on you. It’s never easy losing someone you were once close to. Perhaps your humor is your way of dealing with uncomfortable and awkward situations. He can’t fault you for it. He too has been known to make light of many uncomfortable scenarios, such as failing his psych evaluation at the DAA. 

“Thank you,” he releases a sigh he didn’t even know he was holding in. You shake your head, his interest piqued.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” you bring the glass to your lips, licking them, “consider this dinner as your trial run.”

“Noted,” Caleb responds, eyes trained on your lips, wondering when he’s get a chance to taste the flavor of your lip gloss.

The dinner runs smooth, smoother than you or him could have ever anticipated. Your glasses never went empty and after a bottle or two, you could feel your tipsy giggles taking over your body as Caleb watched you with the biggest smile on his face.

Whenever you covered your face from embarrassment, he always made sure to peel them off so he can look upon your gorgeous face. He loves the way your cheeks turn a light pink color, an effect the alcohol has on you, and how your entire demeanor changes. You become light, airy.

Caleb basks in your delightful chuckles and you can’t help but feel closer to him every time he told you one of his stories from inside the Deepspace Tunnel.

The best part of it is that whenever you shared stories from your translator job, he didn’t make you feel insignificant or insufficient compared to him. Sure, you weren’t in a direct line of danger like he is. You don’t fight Wanderers nor do you patrol the Deepspace Tunnel like it’s nothing.

Your average Tuesday consists of translating, and sometimes even decrypting, secret messages and speeches that the Farspace Fleet intercept. To you, it’s a boring old desk job. To Caleb, you are one of the most integral parts of his job. Without you, his job would be much more difficult and he would be in shambles.

He always knew you were smart but your skills as a translator and linguist are truly impressive. He may be able to able to fly some of the most difficult planes and spaceships, but he’ll never be able to fully understand how to comprehend a different language.

It feels like there were no walls between you two. No angst for you to cling to and a time for Caleb to finally, and quite regrettably, get to know who you are after all these years.

To him, you’ve changed so much. You’ve broken free from your shell, one that him and her put you in, and have grown into a woman who is utterly captivating, someone who can control the room with a simple look and a voice that he never wants to stop listening to.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you breathe between quiet chuckles. You lean forward, a genuine smile on your face. “You’re telling me that you and your squad were scared of a creaking noise?”

“Yes,” Caleb leans in, slowly reaching out for your hand. His large hand lays on top of your tiny one and he is surprised that you don’t immediately pull away from him. The tips of his fingers trace the top of your hand, leaving random swirls and letters into your soft skin. His sight lowered to your hands.

It feels domestic to him, something that he never thought or imagined he would have with you. But here you are, allowing it to happen as you breathlessly laugh at his moment of stupidity while on patrol.

He loves it. He loves—

“Caleb?! Where have you been?! I’ve been worried sick!”

His fingers stop, eyes shooting up to you. Your posture shifts. Your back is as straight as a board, eyes dissociated from the world.

You have become an entirely different person when her voice shrilled form behind you.

You can’t bring yourself to turn and look at her. You listen for her footsteps, hearing them approach before stopping behind you.

“You forgot your necklace at home! I was worried that something happened to you. Who are you with?” She circles the table settling the space to the side of the table. Your hand retracts from his and Caleb can’t help but stare at the tears that brim in your eyes. You look to the spot around his neck, one where the necklace that dangles from her hand should be hanging. 

“I left a note for you—” Caleb begins.

“Is that who I think it is?” She says in a hushed tone to him, staring you with a look that says back off. 

Your eyes stagger to meet his. His lips part, staring at you like he’s just been caught red handed.

Of course. It was so easy to see what this is.

You tilt your chin up, finally looking up at her. She’s all dolled up, makeup absolutely flawless, elevating her natural beauty. She wears a simple blue bow in her dark hair, which travels just below her shoulders. Her outfit is pretty too, nothing that you can pull off anyways, and she radiates I’m better than you energy.

Your stomach turns on itself. You stare at the wine glasses, ears ringing, wondering why the fuck you had to drink so much. It’s because you felt comfortable with him, yes, but you should have known something like this would happen.

You’re nine years old. She feels left out so you give her a present to open. You hate sharing your birthday.

You’re twelve and sitting alone while they get ice cream together. You’re filled with disappointment when they forgot to get you something.

You’re fifteen years old again. The sting of rejection and embarrassment cuts into your skin at the sight of her when he says he can’t go to the dance.

You’re sixteen years old and watching as they leave your game, hand in hand, not even bothering to say goodbye.

You feel your inner child die. Caleb the Knight has finally slain the monstrous and rotten dragon that has done nothing but ask for love.

“How have you been? It’s been forever since I’ve seen you!” She beams at you.

“I’ve been fine,” you fake a smile but are unable to keep a cheery charade as your smile immediately falters, the corner of your lip twitching. Your nostrils tingle. Your throat throbs from holding back tears.

“You should have waited for me back at the apartment,” Caleb’s face never turns away from yours. A quiet gasp falls from your lips.

At the apartment? Are you sleeping with her? Are you two dating? Have I been made a fool again?

Questions flood into your mind. You’re unable to stop them, not that you want to anyways, as the realization of what’s happening weighs down on your shoulders.

This is the unmistakable feeling of dread.

You stare at him, tears threatening to fall from your eyes, as your hands grip onto the skirt of your dress for dear life. Your nails dig into the palms of your hand through the fabric, stinging your skin.

“I’ve been waiting! I didn’t know you were meeting up with someone,” she turns to you and looks at the plate in front of you. “Is that salmon? I love salmon!”

Suddenly, you hate salmon.

Thinking rashly and acting off of pure instinct, you stand from your chair. The table clatters, silverware clanging into each other, when the top of your thighs hit the table.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, glass of wine tipping over, splashing onto her. It shatters on impact when it falls to the ground. Embarrassment crashes through your body like a tsunami, ears turning a bright red color from the heat you feel in your head.

“Are you okay?” Caleb jumps to your side, grabbing your arm with kindness and sincerity. You rip your lib away from him, shaking your head.

“I’m fine,” your voice shakes. You look at her, who watches with a dropped jaw. “It was…so nice seeing you again.” You push the painful words out, your throat tightening around itself. Nausea sweeps your body and you grab your purse from the back of your chair, throwing the skinny strap over your shoulder. Without thinking, you turn away from the duo, who are so clearly made for each other, and rush through the restaurant.

You accidentally bump into a hostess who leads a couple to their table. You gasp and drop to the floor, helping her up, choking out apologies to her. You hear Caleb call your name from behind, trying to keep up with you, but refuse to turn around.

You simply can’t! You can’t see the look on his face, the one every man has when he realizes that he was caught being a two timing scumbag. 

This is just like high school. This is just like the failed homecoming dance when you cried yourself to sleep. This is just like the time Caleb ditched your game because she wanted to go home and watch a movie instead.

Hot tears streak down your face. You wipe your eyes, the fabric around your hands soon becoming soaked from the salty tears. You rush to the door, everyone’s eyes on you. The employee in the coat closet stares at you with bewildered eyes. You ignore him, leaving your jacket behind, as you burst into the ice cold night air.

There’s no rain but you really hoped there would be. You’d be able to escape into the night, going unnoticed as you ran to your apartment. It’s be cinematic, yes, but in all the worst ways possible. It would have been your punishment for being so fucking stupid.

How could you have thought that this would have gone well? Did you really think that Caleb, out of all people, could actually fucking care about you? He’s a man! He could care less about your feelings! As long as he ends the night in bed next to her, he’d be fine.

It wouldn’t matter if you cried yourself to sleep that night. It wouldn’t matter if you deleted and blocked his number. It wouldn’t matter if you ended up getting hit by a car, falling into a deep coma that you’d never wake from.

The only thing that matters is that Caleb is in love with her. Not you.

Your vision is blurred. Your mascara streaks down your cheeks. The street is busy, filled with cars from the night traffic. They whizz by at top notch speeds, your dress skirt getting caught in the air. You hold your hand out, trying to hail a taxi.

“Taxi!” You yell in a pained cry. Your legs wobble. Your arms ache. Your body feels as if it’s shutting down on itself from the grief you’ve just gone through.

Caleb breaks through the restaurant door. He scans the area, chest rapidly rising and falling, and his eyes land on you, who sways back and forth right next to the curb. His heart sinks into his stomach and he leaps towards you, hand outstretched.

You feel your body tense, going still. A tear stops halfway down your cheek. Your eyes dart around, looking for someone to help you. Your name shoots from Caleb’s mouth and you let out a cry, closing your eyes.

“Leave me alone!” You sob. His evol releases you but you’re immediately pulled into his chest. His arms trap you against him, body trembling from sadness and anger, his palms flattening against your hips. “Let me go, Caleb.”

“No. Let’s talk about this,” his chin rests on your shoulder, hunched over. He presses his nose into the side of your neck, his breath only making your body hotter than it needs to be. “Let me explain, please!”

“No! You don’t — Caleb!” You throw your shoulders backward. He stumbles back but takes you with him. His arms remain frigid. “Let me go.”

“No.”

“Caleb, I swear on my life that if you don’t let me go, you’ll never see me again.” Your words push through gritted teeth. Caleb stares at you, knowing that’s not true, that wherever you go, he’ll follow like a lost dog. He humors the sentiment, though, and slowly relaxes his grip.

You turn around and shove him away from you. Red eyes, ruined makeup, and a heart that has officially rotted, you stare at him. He tries to come close to you but you shove him away, using every bit of strength you can muster. He takes a step back, a sigh escaping his lips.

“I swear, it’s not what it—”

“What it what? Looks like?!” You yell at him.

People turn their heads and watch. They whisper amongst themselves, pointing and bringing their cameras out to record incase the encounter goes south. Cars honk and sirens blare in the distance.

“Please,” his voice cracks, a hand extending towards you, “this is all one big misunderstanding!”

“What could be misunderstood, Caleb? The fact that she came looking for you? Or the fact you brought me to a place that men take their mistresses to?” You turn away but he uses his evol to turn you back around. You let out a frustrated yell. He holds his hands up, shaking his head.

“Hey, hey, let’s try to calm down—”

“Calm down?!” Your screech interrupts him. You point to the restaurant behind you two. “Caleb! You made me your mistress! She literally showed up looking for you! She brought that stupid fucking necklace and asked why you weren’t home!”

“Please—”

“Shut up! Shut up!” You turn around, holding your face in your hands. Your breaths are deep, heavy, as your lungs burn from the inside, the lack of oxygen causing your body to ache. You hunch over, hand over your chest, fingers digging into your chest.

Maybe it’s the wine clouding your judgement, maybe it’s the walls you built from the constant years of betrayal and lackluster friendships, but you just want to disappear.

Anywhere but here would be better. Hell, even a date with George would have been better than this.

Caleb is quick to circle you. He drops to his knee in front of you, trying to get a look at your face, to try and have a conversation. He brushes hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“I’m so stupid,” your words are just above a whisper. Caleb shakes his head, fighting back tears of his own.

“No. No you aren’t. Don’t say that,” the words tumble from his mouth.

“Yes, I am. I thought I could trust you. I thought that things changed—”

“They did change! She’s just here on a mission and needed a place to stay, that’s all—”

“I don’t care. I don’t care,” you shake your head, lifting your head up. You take a deep breath.

You look at the chaotic street. Cars drive by and honk at each other. They don’t stop for anyone. All of the anger and sadness you once felt slips from your body. Your mind and body go numb.

“I don’t want to see you again.”

Your words shake Caleb to his core. He stands, looking down at you.

“No! No, please don’t do this to me—”

“I can’t trust you. You’ve made me look like an idiot.”

“Let me make it up top you!”

“I want nothing to do with you. Or her. I deserve better than this. Than you.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“You haven’t changed. She’s always going to come between us.”

“That’s not true! I have changed!”

“You’ve broken my heart, Caleb.”

Caleb grabs hold of your shoulders. He cranes his head down so he’s at eye level with you. You stare into nothing, unable to stop the tears that roll down your cheeks. He stares into your eyes, his devotion and his everything.

That’s you. But you can’t see it.

“Caleb?” Her voice carries to the two of you. “Where are you? Let’s go home!”

You can’t help but laugh. Hysteria takes over your body. You finally come out from your dissociation, looking into Caleb’s violent and bronze eyes.

“You better hurry up or she’ll leave you too.” You shrug his hands off of your shoulders, stepping around him. You whistle and a taxi immediately pulls to the curb. You get in, the last part of your beating heart turning into outright decay, your core nothing but rotten scraps of the girl you’ve left behind.

[goldfades]

idk if sb alr requested this but hayes being an absolute mamas boy

does not let his dada touch mama at all

here's one more for yall!

Maisie’s house was bustling—full of laughter, chatter, and the occasional sound of a football game playing in the background. Everyone was enjoying themselves, catching up, snacking on appetizers.

Everyone except Hayes.

Hayes was plastered to your side, tiny arms wrapped around your neck like a little koala. He had no interest in the conversation, in his cousins, in anything except keeping full body contact with you at all times.

And the second anyone tried to talk to you?

Oh, Hayes had a problem with that.

"Y/N, oh my god, you have to try this dip—" Maisie started, only to be immediately interrupted.

"No!" Hayes huffed, tucking his face into your shoulder like he was shielding you from her.

Maisie blinked. "Excuse me?"

You sighed, rubbing Hayes’ back. "Baby, Aunt Maisie’s just talking to Mommy."

Hayes lifted his head, giving Maisie a hard stare before turning back to you with wide, innocent eyes. "Mama."

Maisie snorted. "Oh, okay. I see how it is."

Joe was already grinning from his spot on the couch, shaking his head as he took in the scene.

Then Jamie walked in. "Hey, Y/N, can you pass me that—"

"NO!"

Jamie froze, looking between you and your tiny, overly possessive child.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, confused.

"Hayes," Joe called out from across the room, barely holding back his amusement. "You do know Mommy is allowed to talk to other people, right?"

Hayes frowned at him before turning back to you, his little hands gripping your shirt tighter like you were about to be ripped away from him.

"Ma-ma," he whined, clearly done with all these distractions.

You sighed, kissing the top of his head. "I’m not going anywhere, baby."

That seemed to satisfy him—until Dan’s wife, Lily, sat beside you and smiled.

"Y/N, have you seen that show on Netflix? I was just—"

"No!"

Joe burst out laughing as Hayes physically turned your face away from Lily’s direction, effectively cutting off the conversation.

Lily raised a brow. "Are you serious?"

Joe wiped at his eyes. "He’s so serious right now."

Maisie shook her head, grinning. "God, I hope this never ends. This is the best entertainment I’ve had in weeks."

But you were starting to get a little worried.

You tilted your head down at your son, who was nestled so firmly into you, it was like he was fused to your skin.

"Baby," you murmured gently. "Why don’t you go play with your cousins?"

Hayes shook his head violently, gripping you tighter. "No. Mama."

Joe, who had made his way over, crouched in front of you two. "Okay, buddy, I think it’s time to share."

Hayes glared at him.

Joe chuckled. "Okay, damn."

"You are in so much trouble," Maisie teased. "The minute she tries to leave for a girls' night? Disaster."

Lily nodded. "The first day of preschool? Catastrophe."

Jamie smirked. "Oh, and when he finds out you guys go on date nights without him?"

Joe winced. "Alright, enough."

But you were already imagining it, the meltdowns, the clinginess, the tantrums.

Still, as you rubbed slow circles into Hayes’ back, listening to his little content sighs, you couldn’t help but smile.

"Guess I’ve got another man in my life, huh?" you teased, glancing at Joe.

Joe groaned, shaking his head. "I don’t stand a chance."

And from the way Hayes smirked smugly into your neck, you knew Joe was right.

[cosmosluckycharms]

Show☆Time

this night has opened my eyes

After a while of you sobbing quietly on the floor of your room, you finally got up and locked in.

First off, you changed out of your performer costume into a more casual outfit.

Your performer costume was soaked from the water, so you hung it up to dry and clean later.

You needed a plan

so you started a plan.

You had lots of ideas planned out. All of which were very elaborate.

Different ways to get them all together to make amends, different ways for them to talk, plans to make everyone apologize and get together to become a troop.

You get out your comically large whiteboard and regular-sized markers and start planning on what to do.

You spend a couple of hours finding ideas, only for you to keep running into problems.

You didn't know what to do.

You were stuck.

You decided to just walk to the park to tell Tsukasa you would have to quit, it was nearby anyway.

Walking out of the manor wasn't hard, they wouldn't notice you walking out. They were away at whatever rich people jobs they had.

You never saw them at night, and you never understood why.

As you made your way to the theme park, you tried to make yourself as small as possible to not get seen by anyone bad.

You tried to calm your nerves by thinking of memories to keep your mind off the whole situation.

You think about how one time when you were younger, around 10 years old, while getting up to get water you saw Nightwing in costume in the kitchen.

You saw as he froze like he was shocked to see you walk in.

You smiled at him and waved, you were half asleep and assumed he was a hallucination.

He waved and smiled back to you and you just walked back to your room.

For a while, you assumed that either Nightwing was coming into the manor to steal something, or he was just visiting.

Either that or you were dreaming.

You assumed you were dreaming.

You smiled at the memory. Nightwing has been one of your favorite vigilantes since you were younger.

You liked how his smile seemed to light up the room.

You liked how his smile reminded you of your older brother, Dick's smile.

You wanted to smile like Nightwing and Dick.

You were close to the park when you saw a red hood on a rooftop.

You saw him watching you, somewhat menacingly.

You get scared for a moment, You've heard stories about the crime lord and the people he's killed.

Sure, they were bad people and you had never done anything bad, but you could never be too sure!

You smiled and waved to him, which caught him slightly by surprise. Usually, people didn't smile and wave at someone they were scared of.

You walked a little faster, you needed to hurry before it was too late at night.

The park closes at 9, and it was now 8:26 pm.

You didn't notice how Red Hood kept watching you.

You didn't notice how he started coming towards you.

As soon as he got within 7 feet behind you, you could sense him.

You spun around dramatically to look at him.

You waved to him, again. "Hii!" You said excitedly, hoping this interaction will take your mind off everything. You realized you did not sound as excited as you usually did, probably from the sadness you felt.

"You around happy," He said walking towards you.

He didn't know why he felt the need to talk to you. He had never even had a conversation with you.

"Not really." You looked down at your feet, slightly sad.

You see him sitting down on a bench nearby and patting the seat next to him.

"Well, what's up?" He asks as you sit down next to him.

"What do you mean?" you asked, your leg shaking from nervousness.

Were you in trouble? Had you done something wrong? Why was he stopping you? Didnt he have people to fight?

"I mean, you look upset," He said, pointing out the obvious.

You started explaining everything to him.

About how you started a group and how it fell apart.

"I don't know what to do. I was just on my way to tell my friend I was gonna quit. It's no use to keep trying." You said while having your head in your hands and trying not to cry.

Jason didn't understand.

You usually weren't like this.

You usually wouldn't quit.

You were the type of person to keep going no matter what.

He leaned up against the railing of the bench. "Well, why would you quit?"

"What do you mean?" You asked as you lifted your head from your hands.

"I mean, why quit when you're almost there? All you have to do is go to the park, find them, and tell them to keep going. encourage them like you encouraged others." You watched as he stretched a little.

You thought about it for a minute.

"Plus, wouldn't you want to keep going for your grandfather? he would want you to keep going, right?"

He was right.

You had to keep going.

You had to go ahead and convince Tsukasa to apologize to Nene and Rui.

You had to convince them all to stay together.

You got up from the bench.

"Thank you for everything, Mr. Red Hood!" you waved bye to him and started running towards the theme park.

You checked the time on your phone.

8:47 PM

If you ran fast enough, you could probably make it in time to find Tsukasa and make him apologize!

So you ran.

You ran and ran like there was no tomorrow.

When you finally got to the park, you stopped for a second to try and find Tsukasa.

You find him packing his stuff up on the stage, and he has also already taken off his performer costume.

You grabbed him by the shoulders and practically yelled to him "TSUKASA- WENEEDTOGETTHEGROUPBACKTOGETETHERANDANDAND-!" You talked too fast. You made no sense. You were scared and nervous.

"Y-Y/N! Slow down! I can't understand you!" Tsukasa said, his head feeling like it was spinning.

You took a deep breath and started yelling again, this time you accidentally shook him violently. "WE NEED THE GROUP BACK TOGETHER! We need to create smiles! Us breaking up was a dumb idea!" Your eyes were slightly teary, you were passionate about this.

It took a couple of minutes of you convincing Tsukasa (and apologizing for shaking him and leaving him dizzy) before you guys went to look for Nene and Rui.

When you guys finally found them, the park was about to close for the night. You guys had to hurry.

Nene and Tsukasa apologized to each other, Nene for ruining the show and Tsukasa for yelling at her.

Rui was holding a slight grudge, which makes sense, but you were sad about it.

It took all 3 of you to convince him to come back to the stage and forgive Tsukasa, and it worked!

You all got kicked out of the park for the day because technically you guys were trespassing, so you 3 parted ways and went home.

While walking home, you started thinking about your day.

You liked thinking about it, it made you feel like you were living through it again.

You realized you had never told Mr.Red Hood about your grandpa.

How did he know about that?

oh god rhis was so short sorry

PLEASE why do i keep accidentally neglecting emu reader hi guys

also jasons prolly ooc sorru

taglist:@shirp-collector-of-fixations @maybeethan69 @iluvcatzz @tacendxx @ninihrtss @tsxukikami @d3sperate-enuf @staarflowerr @chaoticmoontimetravel @crazycaoticsimp @sugarrush-blush @kaitense1 @ryuushou

[ghost-in-the-stalls]

I was going to put this in the tags but it's long enough and a direct response that I think I should just add it here.

Yes, to all of this, unironically and unhesitatingly.

For what it's worth for everything I'm about to say, I am a licensed social worker and am currently employed as a mental health clinician. But I have not done any research on this personally and don't have sources at the moment to back this theory up (im going to look into that today actually. I'm curious to see what I find.) This is just all speculation from a professional, so take that for what it's worth. I'll try to add some sources later when I'm not on mobile.

See I agree with what was stated up above about anxiety and depression. I also think its possible it could apply to diagnoses considered less "general," like adhd.

Example. I was recently diagnosed with adhd. The only reason I bothered to pursue the diagnosis was because it was impacting my ability to function throughout my day, and I wanted to try medication. (Personally, I think those are the only times you really should pursue a professional diagnosis, but that's a separate conversation...)

The most notable complaints I had about what I was experiencing were:

- struggling to focus on one task instead of bouncing around between everything on my to do list

- getting overwhelmed and paralyzed from the amount of thoughts and tasks that were in front of me

- struggling to stay on a task that requires my full focus (like reading) because I simply can't give that task my full attention

- conversely, going too long engaging in one task (usually a preferred relaxation task) and neglecting other parts of my life. This typically happens for me on weekends, when I'm trying to play video games instead of think about work.

There are other symptoms that I qualify with, like interrupting people (or struggling not to), being physically jittery and fidgety, being easily angered when certain things happen, etc.

For me, a lot of this ties back to - and was made most clear by - the amount of tasks I have to regularly engage in in my life, and my difficulty keeping up with it all and functioning effectively through it.

Now on one hand, the DSM V is written with a focus on symptoms that interfere with life functioning. And things that stop necessary tasks from being completed tend to fuck our lives up more than something that makes us a little too talkative or fidgety.

But also. And I will say this again and again and again.

A diagnosis is a tool and label. Not a law of the universe. Not a cause. It is a human attempt at categorization of known symptoms, with the intention of relating to effective treatments.

(And that^^^ is something you'll learn from any decent psych 101 class. Mine wasn't decent and I had to go a few classes beyond before we actually started framing it that way.)

With that in mind. Here's a question.

Is my adhd just innate within me, and something that would have been there, regardless of what my life looked like? Is it a specific way my brain deviates from the "norm," and something that, with the right technology and testing, could have been detected and diagnosed without my even noticing any symptoms? Something that exists in a vaccuum without touching my other diagnoses of anxiety and depression?

Or. Is it maybe just a quick and easy way of saying "this person cannot keep up with the stimuli in their life without becoming overwhelmed. And it is effecting their functioning to a notable degree"

That second option is a gross oversimplification, but I hope you take a second to sit with how much the first option sounds like eugenics. If the problem is innate within you, then if we just improve our technology enough to detect it in everyone who has it and separate them from the "norm," then we can weed out the problem, right? Okay, Elon.

How much of my adhd could be a culmination of the fact that I'm overwhelmed with stimuli 24/7 and have lost my ability to focus effectively because of it? How much of my clients' adhd could be a result of the same, possibly combined with the fact that many of them have experienced or are currently experiencing trauma? Which is known to impact ability to focus on tasks, as well as create a hyperactive body system?

This isn't to say adhd is a bogus diagnosis. The same way that the anxiety and depression we experience within our current world state is also not a bogus diagnosis. We're still experiencing it. We still fit the diagnostic criteria. And treatment still helps.

My point of all this is, yes to what's above. And also, maybe it would be good to reframe the ways we view diagnosis in general, to take it a step further, and to recognize the very clear and present causes of what a lot of people are experiencing nowadays. In my opinion, it goes beyond anxiety and depression.

(Also. For the people saying you'll go nuts if you aren't busy. Take a look at why that is. Is that a sustainable way of living? Are you comfortable just existing as yourself? Are you trying to distract yourself from something, or avoiding something uncomfortable? Have you possibly adapted well to the pressure of being constantly busy? Think about it from a different angle)

[takes1]

oh my lord i love your writing it literally has me geeked every time. any possibility you write more for my man asahi? i’ll take anything you have to offer but i can’t stop thinking about something similar in premise to the wrestling where, instead, it’s 7 minutes in heaven? possible details about the closet they’re in being too small for him, perhaps~ because what asahi fan doesn’t appreciate some size difference goodness

asahi azumane x reader w/ size kink

i literally said, out loud, "ohhh!!!" and started writing it as soon as i saw this ask - you have a gift for ideas my love. thank you for sending this in!!!

warnings. heavy nsfw. minors DNI

details. fem!reader / 7 min. in heaven / heavy size kink / heavy claustrophilia / soft top!asahi / mutual?crushing / manhandling / thigh riding / making out / hickeys and marking / semi PDA / rough but sweet!asahi / 2.3k words / oh lord another maybe? two parter

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. my imagines. my request box

"Well, it's not a closet per se," Suga cocked his head at the half-done, dusty, crawl space the group chose for this game, "But it'll do, right?"

Asahi glanced down at you and didn't stop. You were taken by a big wave of chills, crossed your arms, looked away, then back up-- and he was still looking down at you. Any hope of subtlety was over.

He nodded, despite being the most effected by the size problem of this unfortunate reality.

"Well, there's nothing in it."

A fair point. The other closets were filled with closet-like things. Towels, cleaning supplies, pantry items, tools. The group, consisting of mixed-up members of Karasuno volleyball teams, had a fun treasure hunt with that stuff, but this was what you were after. A closet to play your thirsty game in.

'Unfortunate' was just one mode of perception. Less room meant more contact, but nobody was saying that aloud.

"Can you even fit in here, dude?" Nishinoya clambered out with relative ease, albeit sideways.

Every girl except you looked away as Asahi tried, embarrassed at the way the boards creaked, how he wouldn't be able to enter normally because his shoulders were too wide for the space. He had to bend at the waist because he was far too tall. You scanned the empty space in front of him, warm and tingly.

There was some room! You could fit there and you would, maybe, die trying.

Ever since Daichi retired to his room for the night, nobody had taken up the burdensome mantle of responsibility. His dad-like severity had a strong influence on the types of activities that were 'allowed' to happen.

7 Minutes in Heaven would have never been brought up with him present.

As long as the Karasuno teams were quiet enough to not wake him, you could carry on.

It's not that a game of spin the bottle, or some truth or dare, was necessarily scandalous, but it was enough to get everybody giggling and generate the who-has-a-crush-on-who type of conversations. Since everybody left downstairs were the interested ones that hadn't gone to bed already, it left this smaller, more intimate group to carry out some otherwise repressed desires.

You weren't the first to go in, but it was clear that the first pairing didn't do anything. That was fine and all, and a good reminder that you didn't have to kiss, if you didn't want to.

When Asahi was asked who he wanted to spend the time with, he returned your previous admission from a different game.

"I mean- why would I not say (Y/n)?"

He looked from Suga, who had taken the mantle of 'fun-mom' in all of this, being the bottle-spinner and card-holder and question-maker, back to you.

You realized the time he took to look at his friend was probably the only instance in the past 30 minutes that his eyes hadn't been locked onto you, ever since you admitted your little crush for him.

Getting in was about as easy as you imagined.

It had you both packed so tight that you had maybe an inch to move, at best. It forced you to put your hands on each other, just to stay oriented in the pitch black, and not trip.

"G-od," He sighed, and you earned a centimeter of space for two seconds. Then he had to take another breath and you were immobilized again, "We gotta- gotta adjust, or somethi-ng."

A strained, "Y-eah," was all you could get out. This was not a space meant to fit two people.

"I think, if... I..."

In the darkness, all you could see was some vague shadows move as he stretched down. His palms swallowed up your sides, and you desperately tried to keep your excitement down when you felt for his shoulders. He curled you up and threaded a strong, wide thigh between yours.

Most of it was genuine adjustment, but that didn't mean that it felt any less erotic. Just having to wrap your arms around his body and pull, so that you could sit higher up on his leg, was making your heart race.

"That feel better?"

His grumbly tone forced your thighs to tighten, the way you sat becoming more arched.

You could only give him a whisper, voice strained, because of how nervous you felt, "Yes."

Asahi chuckled right away, his breath ghosting right past your temple.

It was impossible to tell if he was bent to purposefully be close, or if there was no space to straighten more. You assumed the most polite option.

"You, uh- you... comfortable?" He muttered, more against you instead of anywhere else he could've possibly spoken, "Comfortable enough- I guess?"

You laughed, "Sure, yeah."

His thumb started rubbing against your side as he laughed with you. You could feel yourself getting wet, and tried to suppress any automatic squirming.

"You're- a... a nice seat--," Your face scrunched, your innocent words unsuccessful at trying to make things silly, and easy.

"Oh?" He chuckled at you.

"I- didn't--," You looked up in the dark, but couldn't see anything, and tried to pray away your embarrassment, "I did not mean it like that."

His grin spread, and you could feel his stubble really clearly against your forehead.

A tiny kiss to your hairline made your fingers grip his t-shirt, your spine straighten, your poor heart work even harder.

"It's okay if you did," The smile in his voice was so sweet.

Kissing him was shockingly simple. You felt like you had lots to say, things to explain, but they were so unimportant when his lips were soft and reading you like an open book.

The only crucial detail needed, for the moment, in this closet, was that you were super into him, and he was at least entertaining it.

For minutes, he couldn't decide where, how, he wanted to hold you. His arms would trade off between pulling you against his front in a hug, so he could feel more of your body on his.

Or, he would take more of a direct route of using his hands to pull you in for kisses, by the back of the neck, with his other palm keeping you pressed hard against his thigh.

The switch would happen any time you weren't heavy enough on his leg, or when your back wasn't arched enough to stay smushed against his chest.

"M-mh-," He was rolling your hips for you, weighing you down more on his thigh, flexing it just so.

You squirmed, having to part, at his lewd sounds.

He searched for you, huffing, in the dark, "Does that feel good?"

The tone he used with you was genuine, despite how dirty the phrase felt. For a moment, he stopped rubbing you against him.

You swallowed the mixture of spit in your mouth and tried to wipe the drool off of your lips, trembling, "Y-eah, it-- it's--,"

When your hand dipped to fix the seam of your shorts, you accidentally grabbed something warm, and stiff, and just off of where he had you grinding.

"Oh-! Sorry," You retracted your hand, face radiating heat, "I'm sorry."

His chest swelled in a restrained gasp through his nose. His voice was higher, and different as he reassured you it was completely fine.

"Was- that--? Mmh--," Before you could finish your tentative question, he wrapped one arm around you, palming half ass, half hip, while the other yanked you against his torso. It seemed he had realized a good middle ground between his holds.

Another partial moan at how he was able to pull you further up -so that you were trapping his cock between your bodies- got cut off by another clumsy kiss.

He bit you, at your bottom lip, and it throbbed for the rest of the time you kissed him. It made you shove a hand down the back of his shirt, give him an otherwise embarrassing sound, that he ate right up.

What you could feel of his print throbbed against you. A weakness radiated down through your fingers and toes as you scratched lines into his bare skin. It didn't do shit. It was like he didn't even feel it.

Actually, you wanted that shirt off.

It took just three seconds of pitiful tugging for him to let off, pull it over his head with one hand, and swing it to the dusty floor. Forgotten.

He was rough when he put his hands back on you, when you returned it, tugging, wanting to be closer however possible.

"Fuck-!" You sighed, breathing hard, fast, at his busy sucking down your neck.

His nails dug into your skin, his breathing characterized by needy groans that sounded a lot like he in the middle of a workout, if anything.

Since when did he like you back? Was it just because you were available? Would he have done this with any of the girls on your team? Not that it was much of a competition- none of them thought he looked 'civilized' enough to entertain him as an option.

Your legs were jelly, your thoughts heavy, but it didn't matter.

His shoulders would stretch further with every huff, expanding and resetting, and you couldn't stop yourself from scouring every inch while he was over you. It was getting hot in here. He was getting tacky, a little slippery in some areas.

He bit you too hard in a soft spot and you cried out, barely stuffing the sound into his bare shoulder. It was loud and you both knew it was audible through the other side of the door.

Asahi slowed, as gentle as he started, again, with an apologetic hum in the crook of your neck.

"Sorry," You could hear his smile, "Too much-"

He sighed and collected his nerves for a second as he readjusted his grip on you. More palm, less fingertips. It didn't sting as much and you missed it.

He said definitively, mostly to himself, "That was too much."

"I liked it!" You reassured him quietly, palm moving from his shoulder, to his neck, to the side of his face.

"I liked it. I liked it," Got repeated, in a tiny giggle, as he stilled.

You were delivering multiple little pecks across his face, craving his intensity as soon as you lost it. You tried holding him tighter, but it wasn't the same when he wasn't pushing and pulling.

That tingly sensation of his breathy laugh, his skilled tongue, was back on your neck, closer to your ear.

You melted at once with a whimper, the need to rock your own hips short-lived because he pushed his own against your heat.

"Ahh-!"

He grinned, sucking another bit of skin in an obvious spot, "Shhh."

The heartbeat between your legs was strong. He could feel it clearly against his thigh, wishing it was better placed and put to good use.

His fingertips were digging, pushing past the waistband of your shorts, further down, palm against your tummy. Maybe it was that feeling, maybe it was your enthusiasm, or maybe the fact that you were so wet he could feel that, too, but something possessed him to start getting greedy.

But he paid for it. While you were encouraging him, a hand around his thick forearm, guiding and pushing it down, a gasp already on your breath-- you were both completely blinded.

No courtesy knock. Just a bright light and a loud screech. Asahi retracted his curious hand in a flash, but there was not much else to do to make this look less provocative.

Though the sound was higher-pitched, it was not made from anyone on your team.

Nishinoya dropped to his knees, slack-jawed, and that's all you were able to register before the door slammed shut again.

Suga scolded him from the other side, others were shushing incessantly.

"You were supposed to knock, Noya!!"

"Now Daichi's gonna wake up! Nice going, dumbass!"

It gave you both enough time to try and separate. However, without opening the door, you couldn't get fully off of one another.

You were shaking, beyond nervous, and forcefully sobered. Not exactly happy.

"Um- that was great. Thank you," It was a short, and curt, way of telling him you didn't expect much after this. You had one hand on the door.

Asahi grabbed you by the waist and dragged you back. "C'mere--,"

His rough, messy, desperate last kiss was enough to leave you dizzy. He readjusted himself during it with one last rub.

"We're not done yet," He told you. Another hasty peck to the top of your head, and he was leagues lighter in tone, "Uh, sorry- As far as I'm concerned. Do what you want, though!"

He turned the knob for you and pushed it open a crack. You stumbled out, wiping your mouth.

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco @screamin-abt-haikyuu

potential for part two but i need to refrain from making promises. lmk if you're interested and i can make a taglist if i revisit!

my masterlist. more haikyuu. my imagines. requests open.

[scoupsakakitty]

LOOOOOVE YOUR BLOG i'm literally obsessed with idol!scoups fics and u r soooo good in writing them <333

not sure if you are open to requests but in case that you are, i'd love to see an angsty one with idol!scoups, maybe one where they fight ??? and cheol has to go on tour or work or something so they're not okay for quite a while and make up once he gets home :(((

Silent Apologies | idol!Scoups x Reader | angst, fluff

The argument had started over something small—something stupid, really—but it had escalated far beyond what either of them expected.

"You always do this, Seungcheol!" Y/N's voice wavered with frustration as she stood in the middle of their living room, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "You shut me out, and then you expect me to just be okay with it!"

Seungcheol ran a hand through his hair, his patience already frayed. "Because I don’t want to fight with you, Y/N! I’m exhausted, I have so much on my plate, and the last thing I need is another argument!"

"So what? You think I don’t get tired too? That I don’t have feelings?" Her voice cracked slightly, but she refused to let it show any weakness. "You act like you're the only one who has problems, but you're never here anymore!"

His jaw clenched. "You knew what you were getting into when we started this! My schedule isn’t something I can just change!"

"I'm not asking you to change it, Seungcheol! I'm asking you to at least talk to me about it instead of pushing me away!"

He exhaled sharply, looking away. "I can't do this right now."

Y/N scoffed, hurt flashing across her face. "Of course you can’t. You always run away the second things get hard."

That was the last straw. His temper snapped. "You think I run away? I do everything I can to keep this together! I'm trying my best, Y/N! But maybe my best isn't enough for you!"

Silence followed his outburst, thick and suffocating. The words hung between them like a wound neither could take back. Y/N swallowed, blinking away the sting in her eyes. "Maybe it’s not."

The finality in her voice made Seungcheol’s stomach drop, but he was too proud—too angry—to reach for her. Instead, he turned on his heel, grabbing his jacket. "I have a flight to catch."

Y/N watched as he walked to the door. "Fine. Go."

The door slammed behind him.

The flight to Indonesia felt longer than it should have. Seungcheol sat in his seat, staring blankly at the screen in front of him, but all he could think about was her. The look in her eyes before he left. The way her voice had cracked. The way he had let his anger win instead of fixing things.

His chest ached with regret.

By the time the concert rolled around, he was running on autopilot. His members noticed. His energy was off. His mind wasn’t there. Even as he stood in front of thousands of fans, singing and dancing like he’d done a hundred times before, his heart wasn’t in it. Because his heart was somewhere else.

With her.

When the final song ended and the cheers filled the venue, Seungcheol barely let the sound settle before he rushed backstage. He ignored the cameras, the staff, the lingering adrenaline. He needed to get home.

Y/N had spent the last two days drowning in her own guilt. She hated the way they had left things, hated the last words they had exchanged.

What if something happened to him while he was away? What if those words were the last thing they ever said to each other?

The thought alone had made her sick to her stomach. So, instead of wallowing in regret, she did what she could to make things right. She cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, made sure everything was perfect. And then, she cooked. She made all of Seungcheol’s favorite dishes, the ones he always craved after long flights. Because she knew that he would come back to her.

And then, as if her heart had called out to him, the front door swung open.

Seungcheol stood there, exhausted and breathless, his suitcase slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor with a dull thud. But Y/N didn’t care about that.

She ran to him.

His arms were around her in seconds, crushing her against his chest as if he was afraid she might disappear if he let go. "I'm so sorry," he murmured into her hair. "I shouldn't have left like that. I shouldn't have said what I did."

Tears pricked at her eyes as she buried her face in his shoulder. "I was so worried about you. I hated the way we ended things."

"Me too," he admitted, pulling back just enough to cup her face in his hands. His thumbs brushed over her cheeks, his gaze soft but filled with remorse. "I never want to fight like that again."

She nodded, leaning into his touch. "Me neither."

A small smile tugged at her lips as she grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the kitchen. "Come on, I made your favorite."

Seungcheol's eyes softened even more when he saw the food on the table. "You really made all this?"

She bit her lip, suddenly shy. "I just… I wanted to do something for you."

His heart swelled with affection. "You didn’t have to, but thank you."

They sat down together, the tension of the past few days melting away as they ate. Seungcheol kept reaching for her hand between bites, as if he needed to remind himself that she was still there, that they were okay.

And they were.

Because no matter how bad the fights got, no matter how far apart they were, they always found their way back to each other.

[captain-bubble-wrap]

Quinn wanting to pamper us but he's not really sure what he's doing?

"Am I doing this right?"

Quinn's fingers clumsily prodded at your shoulders, hoping whatever he was doing felt okay. His latest injury of the season had him staying in Vancouver instead of traveling with the team. For several weeks, his mood hadn't been the best, and you had dealt with the worst of it. Now, he wanted to apologize for his behaviour, and treat you in a way where you wouldn't think he was just trying to buy you off.

He had made you dinner, which had been wonderful, even though you had offered to help him. Quinn wasn't having any part of it, and every time you'd try to, he'd insist you just have a seat. He knew what he was doing in the kitchen, but you felt guilty just watching him do everything by himself.

Now, however, he had decided to massage your shoulders as you sat in front of him on the floor, with him on the sofa. Though the sounds you were making made him wonder if he wasn't just causing you more pain. "It seems like I'm hurting you."

"No, no, you've just-- Ow!"

Quinn withdrew his hands immediately, "I'm sorry!"

"You don't have to stop. That's just a tender spot." You laid your head towards your right shoulder, hoping to alleviate some of the sharp tension that Quinn had triggered. "I'm alright."

"Are you sure?" He questioned, slowly returning his warm hands to your skin. "I never want to hurt you."

Breathing deep, you closed your eyes against the pain once more, hoping to hide it from Quinn, so he wouldn't keep thinking he was making everything worse. "Ye--yeah, I know.

"Baby, if you want me to stop, I will. I don't like making you feel this way -- doing more harm than good. How about I just make you an appointment for a massage tomorrow?"

Letting out the held breath you didn't realize you were holding, you felt like you had somehow hurt his feelings. "Quinn, I'm good. I've just got some-- really painful knots in my shoulders. They're going to hurt until I get them dealt with. You haven't done anything wrong."

Leaning down to kiss the inflamed skin, Quinn later let his fingers undo the scrunchie holding your hair in place. As the locks fell about your face, he coaxed you to lay your head back while he decided that a scalp massage would be a better option. Instantly, your eyes rolled closed feeling his digits work deep into your hair. He was slow in his movements; applying the right amount of pressure to take your breath away -- in the best way possible.

"Is this better."

Containing the urge to let a moan answer for you, you swallowed hard before answering, "You-- have no idea. Thank you, baby."

His soft laughter at your words made him feel better. "You're welcome. And thank you, for everything these past few weeks."

Words were beginning to be difficult for you, "Oh, it's-- it's no problem. I know things have been hard for you."

It was insane how good his fingers felt --how good he was with his hands-- and you could have drifted off to sleep had it not felt as good as it did.

"What do I have to do for you to do this more often?" You begged, your eyes still closed in bliss.

"Just ask me, that's all."

[jollyhunter]

Okay, if you’re struggling with this, let me tell you something:

I’ve done this to such a self-sabotaging degree, that I not once dared to write down a story - not even finish a single drabble - because nothing ever felt like it was good enough. I did this for over a decade.

About three months ago (when I posted my first ever one shot) I finally realized what my problem was.

I always focused on the end product. The goal. Would it be good enough? Whenever I would sit down, I imagined what the end result would need to look like. I’m a perfectionist to a fault, so this put a lot of pressure on me. And pressure and perfectionism cancel out fun and unrestricted creativity.

And that’s when I realized that the one thing most important to me, was completely neglected: Fun.

Now I try to focus on the path. And to have fun with it. Focus on what you have power over. Don’t do it for a goal you can’t reach.

Does every story I post fulfill my expectations? Absolutely not, most don’t for a fact. But I don’t care because I had some real fuckin fun writing that thing. (And I probably learned a thing or two)

It might sound so simple and obvious but to me it was like someone gave me my childlike personality back. Just create! Just do it! Have fun! No restrictions! No right or wrong!

I still struggle with my perfectionism, but this has worked wonders for me so far and every time I catch myself writing without fun, I stop and ask myself: why am I writing this?

tl;dr So I guess the moral of the story is: If you think you can’t get out of this hell-cycle, know that I’ve been there for over a bloody decade and I made it. So you can, too 🧡

Friendly reminder to not punish yourself for creating. 

[writeriguess]

Having a super hard time right now so could you do a single dad kirishma or bakugo or shinsou and they’re struggling trying to juggle parenthood and being a pro then they meet y/n she’s new to their agency and she just so happens to catch their eye, just a simple receptionist but she has so many ideas. They’re so busy that they don’t even get the chance to actually meet her until one day she comes up to their office with an idea for a daycare in the agency since she’s getting so many call outs about people who don’t have child care. She offers to run/teach the daycare as well since she was a teacher back in the states before she moved and it turns out this is the key to their own problems and they slowly fall in love with her.

author's note: Hey, I just wanted to clarify something. I’ve noticed that “comfort fics” sometimes get published quickly after being requested, which might give the impression that I prioritize them. However, that’s not the case—every fic is written and published in the order it was requested.

If you requested this piece, you might have noticed that I didn’t publish it immediately after seeing it. Please know that I don’t rush requests out of order. The only time I made an exception was for an emergency request, but I now realize that was a mistake, as some people overlooked my author’s note explaining it was a one-time thing. I’m sorry for any confusion, and I appreciate your patience!

Safe in Your Hands

The constant buzzing of his phone was a persistent, grating reminder that life didn’t slow down for anyone. Not even for Katsuki Bakugo.

“Goddamnit,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples as he read yet another text from the daycare. His son, Ryo, had caught a cold and needed to be picked up early—again. He wasn’t mad at the kid, never at him, but the frustration of trying to juggle being a top pro hero and a single father was wearing him thin.

His office was a mess of paperwork, mission reports, and unfinished emails. He was barely keeping his head above water, and his agency, while thriving, was in dire need of some structure. Or a miracle.

That’s when a soft knock at his door pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Come in,” he grumbled, expecting another stack of files or another meeting he didn’t have time for.

Instead, you stepped in.

“Good afternoon, Dynamight-san.”

He barely looked up at first, recognizing you as the new receptionist. You’d been here a couple of months, always polite, always handling things smoothly. He’d noticed, even if he never had the time to actually speak to you. You were a quiet force in the chaos, managing things from behind the front desk with a calm confidence.

“I, uh, hope I’m not interrupting,” you said, shifting slightly but holding your ground. “I have an idea I wanted to run by you.”

His gaze flickered up then, curiosity outweighing his exhaustion. “What kinda idea?”

You stepped forward, placing a neatly written proposal on his desk. “I’ve been getting a lot of call-outs from employees who are struggling with childcare. And I’ve noticed you’ve had to step out unexpectedly for similar reasons. I was a teacher back in the States before moving here, and I was thinking… what if we had an in-agency daycare?”

He blinked, stunned into silence for the first time in what felt like months.

“I’d be willing to help set it up, even run it,” you continued, your voice steady. “It’d give the staff some peace of mind, knowing their kids are safe while they work. And it might make things easier for you, too.”

He stared at you for a long moment, your words sinking in. No one had ever suggested something like this before. No one had ever looked at the chaos of his life and offered a solution so simple yet perfect.

“Tch,” he finally scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “You’re serious about this?”

You nodded. “Completely.”

And just like that, something in his chest loosened.

Maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t doing this alone anymore.

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Once Bakugo approved the daycare idea, you got straight to work. There were meetings to hold, rooms to convert, supplies to order, and staff to hire. Despite the long hours, you found yourself energized by the project. The employees were thrilled with the idea, and as word spread through the agency, more and more heroes began stopping by to offer assistance.

Bakugo was still a little wary, though. He wasn’t the type to trust easily, but he couldn’t deny that things were starting to feel a little less overwhelming.

One evening, as you were reviewing the final details before the daycare’s official opening, Bakugo showed up at the converted space. You looked up from your clipboard, surprised to see him standing in the doorway with Ryo in his arms. The little boy, looking sleepy and snuggled into his father’s shoulder, blinked at you drowsily.

“Figured we should do a test run,” Bakugo muttered, stepping inside. “See how the brat likes it.”

You smiled warmly. “Of course. Come on in.”

Setting Ryo down gently, Bakugo watched as the toddler hesitantly explored the room. His tiny hands ran over the soft mats, and he eyed the shelves of toys with curiosity. Slowly, he toddled toward a plush All Might figure, giving it an experimental squeeze.

You crouched down next to him. “You like that one, Ryo?”

The boy looked up at you, then at his father, before nodding shyly.

Bakugo exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Looks like it’s a hit.”

You grinned. “I think so.”

For the first time since you’d met him, you saw the tension in Bakugo’s shoulders ease slightly. Maybe this really was the answer to the problem he hadn’t been able to solve alone.

As the weeks went by, the daycare became an integral part of the agency. Parents were relieved, the kids were happy, and Bakugo—though he’d never say it outright—was grateful beyond words.

You and Bakugo started seeing more of each other, too. At first, it was just in passing—quick meetings to discuss logistics, brief encounters when he dropped Ryo off. But then, it turned into coffee breaks, conversations that stretched a little longer each day, small moments of laughter that neither of you had expected.

One evening, after a particularly long shift, Bakugo stopped by your office. You looked up, surprised to see him lingering in the doorway.

“Hey,” he said gruffly.

“Hey,” you replied, setting your pen down. “Everything okay?”

He hesitated, then sighed. “Yeah. Just… wanted to say thanks. For everything.”

A warm feeling spread through your chest. “You don’t have to thank me, Bakugo. I’m happy to help.”

His gaze softened, just a little. “Still. You’ve made shit easier for me. And for Ryo.”

You smiled. “Well, I’m glad. He’s a great kid.”

A rare smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah, he is.”

Silence settled between you, comfortable and warm. And in that moment, you both knew—this was just the beginning.

As months passed, your presence in Bakugo’s life became more than just professional. He found himself looking forward to seeing you every day, whether it was during a hectic morning drop-off or a quiet evening chat after work. Ryo adored you, always running to you with excitement when he saw you at the daycare.

One night, after a late shift, you were locking up when Bakugo showed up with Ryo asleep in his arms. He was exhausted, but there was something softer in his expression than usual.

“Wanna grab a late dinner?” he asked, almost shyly.

You blinked in surprise before smiling. “I’d love to.”

And just like that, everything changed. The weight on Bakugo’s shoulders didn’t feel so heavy anymore. Because for the first time in years, he wasn’t carrying it alone.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Heart shaped

pairing: lee felix x gn!reader

genre: fluff, roommates to lovers au

warning/s: just disgusting fluff

a/n: this is an old drabble that has been in my drafts for like half a year. i wanted to post dolly today but since i got delayed here's a little something, happy valentine's day my babies🩷

You're slowly waking up. Your eyes flutter before you finally open them and they land on the window.

It's still dark out. 3am. That's what it says on your clock.

Great. This is the third night in a row that your roommate woke you up with strange noises in the kitchen. The last two nights you tried to ignore it.

Felix isn't the type of person to do stuff like that on purpose, so you let him be. Whatever he's doing won't be long, right?

Well, here you are, proven to be wrong.

You sigh, deciding you really need to get up and check what he's doing.

"Felix?" your voice startles him and he turns from the stove abruptly. He looks like a deer caught in headlights.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Did I wake you up? I'm sorry!" he panics, scrambling around the kitchen and moving stuff.

But you can see what he's trying to hide. There is at least five trays of well- kind of heart shaped cookies, some of them are burnt, some were crushed into pieces, some had icing on them.

"Are you nervous baking?" you chuckle, coming closer and you can see redness forming on his freckled cheeks.

"Yeah, something like that." he nods, avoiding your eyes.

"Are you making heart shaped cookies?" you try again.

"I'm trying to make heart shaped cookies." he corrects you, finally looking up at you. "I accidentally burned the first batch. And the second one, they started falling apart. And then this third one just wasn't the right taste. And the fourth one, the icing looks weird. And-"

"Why don't you breathe?" you place your hands on his shoulders as he almost starts hyperventilating.

"Yeah, yeah, that's like important." Felix says and you chuckle at his 3am brain.

"Can you tell me why you're doing this?" you ask when you think he's calmed down a little.

"I'm..." he swallows, "I'm trying to confess to someone."

"Oh." you nod. "And you wanna bring them cookies?"

"Yeah, exactly." he says, biting on his lip nervously.

"Since I'm not sleeping anymore, I could help you?" you suggest and he chuckles.

"Now that would be ironic." he says.

"What? Why would it be ironic?" you ask.

"No, no reason." Felix smirks at your 3am brain.

"Okay, you can help me."

Both of you get to work, to make perfectly heart shaped cookies that are also delicious and don't crumble the moment you grab them.

You wonder who the recipient is, but you don't want to pry, if Felix wanted to tell you he would.

-

"Alright, let's do a taste test." you nod confidently once they're done.

The two of you grab a cookie each and count down to one before biting into it.

"Mm, these are perfect!" you exclaim, eyes wide.

"They're so good!" Felix matches your excitement.

"Hey, thanks for helping me." he adds, smiling at you fondly.

"No problem, good luck with your confession." you say.

"Thank you." Felix chuckles.

-

When you walk into the kitchen the next morning, you see something covered up on the table.

You walk over to it slowly and realize there's a little paper with your name on it.

Your brows furrow in confusion as you pick up the note and reveal what was covered up.

"Oh." you gasp when you see the cookies you worked hard on last night with Felix, all nicely rounded in a cute basket with decorative flowers.

You take a look at the note but there's nothing on it except your name.

"See, this is why I said it's ironic you're helping me." Felix's voice startles you and you turn around and look at him.

He's leaning on the fridge, arms crossed on his chest as he smirks at you.

"W-what?" you ask like you're dumbfounded because there is no way.

"They're for you. I'm confessing to you." his smirk turns into a shy smile, his demeanor changing into something softer.

"Oh."

"Is that a good 'oh'? Or a bad 'oh'?" he asks.

"It's a good 'oh'." you chuckle and Felix comes closer to you.

"I like you. I have for a while. And I was wondering if you feel the same. And if you do, maybe we can take this basket of cookies on a picnic date with us." Felix says and you chuckle at him, your heart rate picking up speed.

"I'd love to take the cookies on a picnic date."

Both of you laugh, and Felix is leaning closer into you.

"Does that mean you like me? Or you just like the cookies?" he asks, his breath hitting your cheek and making your heart flutter.

"Both." you whisper with a smile and Felix presses his lips on yours gently.

Your eyes flutter shut as you stay still for a few moments before both of you lean away sheepishly.

"You know..." you start and Felix looks at you expectantly.

"I would've said yes even if the cookies were burnt or crumbling into pieces." you say and he blushes, fidgeting with his hands.

"Good to know."

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[reflectionsofacreator]

[takes a long drink from my Arizona iced tea] so like one of the central themes for FFXV is like, growing up, sure. You know that, I know that, whatever. Coming of age, coming into your own, taking the mantle of king, whatever you wanna call it. Cool, awesome, we love a good coming of age story!

But I find the sub theme of that one to be probably the most fascinating? By and large, all the chocobros have to deal with the fallout of being lied to by the adult figures in their lives, and it's the most prevalent with Noctis and Gladio. Don't get me wrong, there's a lot of it in Ignis and Prompto too, but the particularly insidious way that Noctis and especially Gladio were lied to sometimes gets me.

See I don't even really think it was actually all that intentional. Not really a conscious act by Regis and Clarus, or the society around them? More like... I dunno, the lies that you get told by your parents as a little kid and you grow up to realize that the world is a lot different than you thought.

That being said, Noctis was absolutely lied to by his father; both about the nature of the King of Light and the idea that he'd succeed Regis as reigning monarch. Regis did it out of love, knowing that Noctis would die young, and reasoned that Noctis should get to have a relatively normal life, but it was still a lie. Gladio, likewise, was lied to by his father and Regis, told that he would be the next monarch's Shield, that he would fulfill a role that's got a pretty set expectation in their society.

See, Gladio expects Noctis to act a certain way, to act as King, and he gets increasingly frustrated when Noctis doesn't, or can't live up to that. He's not precisely wrong to expect it either, given their roles and their statues, and knowing that they're taking the throne during a full blown war. The problem is that Noctis was never taught how to be the thing that Gladio was told Noctis was going to be? And that's what causes friction with them all the time. It's fascinating, watching it play out and realizing the underlying issues with their relationships actually have very little to do with them as people and instead because of what they were told to expect from each other.

Gladio is also his own kettle of fish that I don't think the narrative is quite self aware enough to articulate properly, or even get into. Gladio falls into the trap of toxic masculinity very often -- struggling to articulate his feelings, expressing most of his feelings as anger, picking fights rather than talking about what's going on, using his strength as both a character aspect and bonus, etc. The list goes on. There's also the fact that he's sort of portrayed as a bit of a womanizer and the masculine ideal; tall, rugged, strong, etc which plays into all of that. XV plays him very straight (and straight) with these concepts, and just sort of ... expects it to be fine? Which is at odds with how the other three bros interact and are more emotionally available towards each other, leaving Gladio as one of the weaker bros in canon.

It kind of sucks too, because like, there's so much to unpack with him? His DLC is about wanting to have the strength to protect Noctis on the surface, but really when you look at it... you could also argue that the DLC is about Gladio's fears that he'll end up as dead as his dad did (ha, try that for alliteration) and the crushing weight of failure. Gladio has every right to fear his mortality, fear the fact that he is, nominally, the first in line on the battlefield and the the last defense for Noctis. If Noctis is to die, they will go through him first, and that's! Scary! But the game doesn't really get into that, hardly at all, and it makes picking up the pieces for Gladio kind of frustrating. Out of all the bros, he's the one I have to dig the most to find any kind of depth despite being prime real estate for it.

Anyways Gladio and Noctis' dynamic is fascinating if you actually start to unpack it, especially because it's built on the lies that their fathers fed them as children (that they themselves also bought into). I'd go so far to argue that between the two pairs, Noct/Gladio is in much more of a dire need to sit down and actually hash out what they are to each other, outside of their king/shield dynamic. Noct/Iggy certainly has shades of that, but Ignis has decided that they are friends and that he will defy fate if he must, let the world burn if he must, to save Noct's life. That has some depth beyond king/retainer that they're presented as. Noct/Gladio are sort of just... falling into the king/shield dynamic because they're expected to, and it sort of hampers their relationship and their communication.

I'm gonna scramble them both like eggs, probably into an omelette. They make me Think you know