#and it’s fine with normal weather. like whatever

[darklight-owl]

Whenever people online go "Woah Christmas in the summer I can't imagine what that's like" I just show them this song:

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Hit The Gas

[Written to 'Renegade (We Never Run)' from Arcane]

Technically speaking, Mr. Masters, Gotham's new aspiring crime lord, did provide them with a getaway car. It's just that, in Tim's honest, objective opinion, said car sucks major ass.

First of all, it's white, which is, well, not the best color for disappearing into the night. Then, it's old — not vintage old, thank fuck, but definitely made before 2005 — and long overdue for a makeover. Tim doesn't see a single part of it that doesn't have a scratch or a dent on it, and are those bullet holes on the passenger door?

Eh, whatever, this is a staged escape anyway. Tim doesn't need it to be successful, he only needs an alibi. Someone — their driver, in this case — to later tell Masters that Alvin Draper did everything he could to keep the package safe. So he can stay in the man's moderately good graces even after they get caught by Batman tonight.

Tim makes it to the car first, throws the back door open and slides inside in one motion, slamming it behind him. Jason, the drama queen, jumps in through the open window and into the front passenger seat.

"Hit the gas, they are on our heels!" He yells at the driver, struggling to turn himself over and put his ass in the seat. Serves him right, opening the door and getting in the normal way would have taken literally two seconds.

The car jolts into movement without a moment of hesitation — so at least the driver has a good reaction time — but Tim still hears a dull sound of a betarang hitting the rear end of it. Nice throw, Cass!

It's only then that he cares to actually look around and realize a few things. A few, arguably, very important things. Like the fact that their driver is a redhead girl who looks barely sixteen. Or that there are two kids, looking no older than ten, in the back seat beside him.

He blinks and stares. The kids — both boys, one of them white as milk with a dark mop of hair and the other one black, wearing glasses and a red beanie — pay no mind to either him, Jason in the front seat, or the speed the car is going at. In fact, they pay no attention to the outside world as a whole, hunched over an outdated PSP. They are playing it together, one of the kids in charge of action buttons and the other one controlling the D-pad, so Tim can understand the need to focus: it takes some impressive teamwork to sucessfully go through the game like that. And they are using some complicated combos while at it, wow.

Wait, no, this is such a wrong time to marvel at videogame skills! They are kids, in a car, in a getaway car, in the middle of a car chase with the fucking Batman!

They take a sharp turn, and Tim grabs onto the handle in order to not bump into the door.

"Oh, you didn't tell me we're racing with the Batmobile," the redhead girl says, but it sounds surprisingly nice and polite, like she's merely asking about the weather.

"Yeah, well, we didn't expect that kind of trouble either," Jason snaps back, scrunching his nose, but the girl just laughs softly.

"No, don't worry. It's no trouble," she assures almost gently, and then reaches one hand behind the seat without looking, tapping the black boy on the knee, "Tucker, sweetheart, switch with me?"

Hold on, what?..

"But Ja-a-azz," the white boy whines.

"We've just got to the boss fight," Tucker pouts, but the redhead just taps his knee more insistently.

"And I'm sure you'll get to it again after we make it out," she says, still perfectly polite and collected. Tim glances out the window. Either this girl has nerves of steel or there's something very wrong with both her and the kids; they are going at least 95 mph, and she keeps only one hand on the wheel like it's nothing.

"Ugh, fine," the kid rolls his eyes and nudges his friend in the shoulder, passing him the console, "Save it, I'll get the cord."

"What cord?" Tim asks because he thought this was a simple undercover mission, but now he gets a sneaking suspicion there's a lot more to it than it looked.

Tucker, with one hand under the driver's seat and searching for something blindly, turns to glare at him.

"The control-cord," he answers like the dumb one here is Tim, "How else do you think- A-ha!" His face lights up as he emerges victorious from under the seat, holding... Yeah, a cord, okay. Which he plugs into the PSP that the other boy hands him without prompting.

"Maybe fasten your seat belts, this is about to get interesting," Jazz offers, but doesn't do so herself. Neither of the kids do it either, and Jason just snorts dismissively.

"You're saying it wasn't 'interesting' before?" There's definitely some teasing in his voice. Tim looks down to the package in his lap, a metal box holding some unknown but evidently very important content.

He fastens his seat belt just in time. The car jerks and speeds up — they are definitely past 110 now. And Jazz is not holding the wheel.

It only takes a moment for Tim to connect the dots and look to the PSP in Tucker's hands. Sure enough, instead of a game, his screen is now a perfect replica of the car's windshield in real time, and his fingers are firmly placed on controls. Like he's done it hundreds of times.

They are racing the Batmobile, and a ten-year-old is driving. This mission is fucking wild.

"Brakes, brakes, BRAKES!" Jason yells from the front, and Tim only gets a moment to notice the quickly approaching back of a truck in front of them and realize they are going to crash before their car just goes through it with no resistance. He even looks in the back window to make sure he didn't hallucinate the truck, but no, it's still there and still real.

Did they... Phase through it?..

"What the fuck," he mutters under his breath.

"Language, there are kids in the car," Jazz chides him with a huff of laughter, and then there's a click.

"What the f- fudge," Jason repeats the question, albeit much louder and way more alarmed than Tim before.

When he turns back around, the redhead is holding a grenade launcher. It doesn't look like a model Tim is familiar with, but it's for some reason painted white, just like their car. Is that some kind of Masters' thing?

Wait, that's a grenade launcher.

Jazz ties her hair in the back in less than two seconds and then reaches up to the roof of the car, pressing a button to open the sunroof.

"Wait, you can't shoot a vigilante, they'll-" Tim yells over the wind, but Jazz just smiles at him and stands up on the driver's seat, peeking out and taking position. Tim throws a panicked look at Jason — they sure didn't plan for anything like this. The car chase was supposed to be over in less than a few minutes, none of them thought that Masters, a fairly new figure in the Gotham underground, would have a kind of vehicle that can phase through things and drive at- at 150 mph through the city roads! Not to mention some strange fucking kids and a teenage with grenades!

"She won't kill anyone," a voice comes from Tim's side, and when he turns his head, he finds the other kid, the one he doesn't know the name of, looking at him, his eyes calm and unblinking. And slightly glowing, okay, and here he was, thinking this clusterfuck of a ride can't get any weirder.

"How do you know?" Tim snaps because there's only so much he can deal with at once in the span of five minutes. The kid shrugs.

"It's Jazz. She has morals," he says, like the word disgusts him, and Tucker huffs a laugh.

"You have them, too. Vlad and Dan killed people before, though," he argues, his eyes still glued to the screen of the PSP.

"Not in Gotham," his friend adds, seemingly just for the sake of having the last word in the argument.

Whatever Tim wants to say back gets cut off by a sound of a gunshot. He turns to the back window again, his heart stuck in his throat, but it looks like the white kid was right: the roaring Batmobile is still on their heels. Whatever the redhead tried to do, she missed.

"Danny, on three!" Jazz yells from above, and the kid springs to action like he's been waiting for this moment his whole life.

"One!"

Tucker moves out of the way as Danny climbs over him and towards Tim, unceremoniously shoves the precious metal box away and all but falls into Tim's lap despite his loud yet wordless sounds of protest.

"Two!"

The boy yanks the latch and throws the door open, leaning down while still sprawled over Tim's knees, and Tim grabs the back of his shirt out of reflex. It doesn't matter that the whole thing is a disaster, he's not letting a ten-year-old fall out of the car on his watch.

"Three!"

There's a loud pop somewhere behind them, and the car suddenly turns and drifts sideways, the sound of skidding tires grating on Tim's ears. Yet, he still feels Danny move and sees him reach and touch the ground. There's a short moment of panic — at this kind of speed, the pavement will shave the skin off the boy's hands in seconds — but then there's a shimmer of white bursting from Danny's palms.

When Tim looks up, the road behind them is covered in ice, the smooth surface of it shining in the yellow light of streetlamps. And, a bit further, there's a thick layer of smoke that should definitely hide them from the view of pursuers.

Smoke grenades. And ice powers. That explains the glowing eyes, Danny must be a meta.

The car shifts again, changing directions, and Tim, almost like in slow-mo, sees the metal box that they've gone to such great lengths to steal, slide towards the open door and tip over the edge.

He is still holding Danny's shirt, and the boy is still hanging halfway out of the car.

The seat belt is pressing tightly into his chest.

The box falls out, and Tim shuts his eyes close. Fuck it, he can fail the mission, it's not the end of the world, Jason can still try and weasel his way into Masters' close circle, and Bruce would understand if Tim explains why quickly enough, it's okay, no big deal-

"Gotcha!" Danny yells cheerfully as the car makes a sharp turn and comes to a halt all of a sudden.

Tim opens his eyes.

Danny, a wide, wicked grin on his face, is holding the box in his hands.

"You're a little shit," Tim breathes out, and the boy laughs, wiggling on Tim's lap and trying to get back inside the car.

"Born and raised," he answers with such a shit-eating expression on his face that Tim doesn't even bother holding back his urge for petty revenge. He releases his death grip on the back of Danny's shirt and gleefully watches the brat lose his balance and faceplant the ground.

The 'quick' undercover mission is sure getting an extension, but somehow, he can't bring himself to feel bad about the fact.

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Moving! Moving in two months! Working on moving when I was literally doing this shit exactly a year ago! *SCREAM*

[solxamber]

Unstable Stable || Leona Kingscholar

You were an S-ranked Guide just trying to live your life, but now you're emotionally (and spiritually) babysitting SS-class menace Leona Kingscholar—who’s decided you're his personal charger and refuses to unplug.

or: Guideverse AU!

Series Masterlist

Life used to be normal.

You know, back when your biggest problem was whether to risk food poisoning for that suspiciously cheap sushi combo. Taxes were annoying, capitalism was soul-sucking, and people still thought “ghosting” only applied to dating. Cute times.

Then the gates showed up.

Like surprise holes in the fabric of reality. No warning. No gentle push notifications. Just BAM—mystical rift to MonsterLand™ opens in the middle of your grocery store and suddenly your choices are “fight or die with a half-priced avocado in hand.”

And that would’ve been it for humanity—extinct in a week if not for the emergence of Espers. Superpowered humans with the ability to close these gates and yeet the nightmare creatures back into the void.

Cool, right?

Except—Espers are dramatic. They're the “I’m fine” as they bleed out types. The “I didn’t sleep for three days, but I still went into a Class-A gate because I felt vibes” types. They save the world, but emotionally? Spiritually? Mentally? Absolutely not okay.

That’s where you come in.

You're a Guide. The human equivalent of emotional duct tape. Your job is to wrangle these unhinged battle gremlins post-gate before they disintegrate or cry themselves into a psychic nosebleed. Sometimes both.

It’s like babysitting, except your babysitter is also a licensed therapist, a soul mechanic, and sometimes a romantic interest depending on how "fanfic" things get.

Is the job dangerous? Constantly.

Are the Espers dramatic? Tragically so.

Is there a union? Not unless you count the Group Chat of Collective Suffering.

And does it pay well? HAHAHA.

Still, between dodging death and massaging the egos of glorified magical toddlers, you’ve somehow become really good at this.

Which is great, because your next assignment?

Is going to change your entire life. Probably ruin it. Possibly give you feelings. Definitely not covered by health insurance. (But then again, what is?)

It’s raining like the gods themselves are ugly crying, but you? You’re bone-dry and smug. Perched on your little foldable stool like a judgmental gremlin, your umbrella is perched just right. Stylish. Functional. Invincible.

Across the street, a cluster of fellow Guides are soaked to their very souls. One of them is trying to use a clipboard as shelter. Another’s shoes have absolutely given up on life. They glare at you like you personally invented weather.

You take a sip of your lukewarm vending machine coffee and shrug.

“Sorry losers,” you say cheerfully, “get on my level.”

Then the gate sputters, flickers, and folds in on itself like a haunted paper fan. The Espers return—bloodied, bruised, twitchy-eyed and definitely seconds away from fainting like overcooked noodles.

Chaos erupts.

Guides leap up, yelling names, waving emergency blankets, fumbling for their med kits. People are screaming things like, “Catch him, he’s falling—OH GOD, HIS ARM,” and “Who packed juice boxes in the trauma bag again?!”

You stay seated. Sip your coffee again. It's mostly rainwater now. Whatever.

Then someone stops in front of you. Tall, soaked, radiating the exact vibe of someone who has murdered for being woken up too early.

And he yanks your umbrella to cover himself.

“I am not getting soaked again,” he grumbles, shaking rainwater out of his hair like an angry golden retriever with a six-pack.

You blink.

“Uh. Hello?”

Leona Kingscholar. SS-Class Esper. Walking lawsuit. The man once growled at a government official for chewing too loudly.

And now he’s under your umbrella like this is some shoujo manga and he’s your tsundere warlord boyfriend.

He side-eyes you. “Aren’t you gonna guide me or whatever?”

You panic a little. “I—I’m not certified for SS-Class. I’m just S-Class.”

He snorts. “Didn't think you'd forget me, herbivore.”

What does that even mean??? Is this… Esper code for “I like you”? Or “I won’t kill you today”? Who knows. He’s already sinking to the ground like a dramatic cat, using your thigh as a pillow without even asking.

And just like that, you’re guiding Leona Kingscholar while sharing an umbrella in the pouring rain, your fellow guides still watching like you’ve been chosen by some eldritch force.

Welcome to your life now. Hope you brought snacks.

Leona is basically half-dead in your lap, but still manages to look like he owns both the rain and your dignity.

You sigh and set your coffee down, running your fingers through his wet hair. It’s soft, unfairly so, and smells like something expensive. His breathing starts to even out under your touch, eyes fluttering shut as your stabilizing energy pulses through him.

He doesn’t say anything. Just rests there with his head in your lap like this is a Tuesday afternoon nap spot and not the wet, cracked sidewalk outside a gate that just tried to eat reality.

You keep going. Until—

He grabs your wrist, eyes suddenly sharp. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

You blink. “Uh. No? Pretty sure I stopped doing that in college. Why?”

He scowls. “You’ve been channeling too long. Idiot. Burn yourself out and you’ll fry your nerves. Can’t stabilize anyone if you’re unconscious in a puddle.”

You try to pull your hand back but he doesn’t let go. “I’m fine, Leona—”

“I need you alive, herbivore.”

You freeze.

Your brain does a little Windows error sound.

And then he’s standing, still holding your umbrella like it’s his now, yanking you up by the wrist like you’re the fragile one. You try to protest, but he ignores you entirely.

“Your car’s this way, right?”

“…How do you know where I parked—”

“Because you always park near the vending machine. Which is stupid, by the way. You don’t even lock it.”

You're still processing the fact that Leona Kingscholar, Mr. I-Hate-Everyone, has apparently been keeping track of your parking habits, when he tosses your keys back at you like a lazy monarch commanding his carriage.

And that’s how you end up being frog-marched to your own car in the rain by a grumpy, half-stabilized SS-Class Esper who refuses to let go of your umbrella.

You’ve barely had your morning caffeine and the email has the audacity to say: Transfer Notice – Effective Immediately. No warning. No prep. Just vibes and bureaucracy.

You're sent to the high-level West Sector Guidance Office. The same one with SSS-Class Guide Vil Schoenheit, the gold standard of grace, glamour, and glaring disapproval.

So naturally, you walk in clutching your sad little cardboard box of office plants and off-brand snacks, looking like a lost intern who accidentally wandered into a luxury spa for dangerous superhumans.

The receptionist is too busy having a breakdown over printer ink to help, so you start aimlessly wandering the halls, trying not to make eye contact with any Espers that could punch through concrete.

And then someone yanks your box out of your hands.

You flinch, ready to throw hands, until you realize it’s Leona. Hair still a mess. Hoodie on like he just rolled out of bed. He doesn’t greet you. Doesn’t ask how you are. Just nods his chin, “Keep up, herbivore.”

You scramble after him like a duckling with no sense of direction. “Leona—what the hell is this? Why am I here?”

He doesn’t even look back. Just strolls down the corridor with your office supplies like they belong to him now. “Told ‘em I only want you.”

You short-circuit. “What?!”

“They asked if I’d take Vil or the new SS-rank from Sector 4. I said no. Told ‘em to transfer you instead.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. “You… requested me?”

He shrugs like this isn’t causing you a spiritual meltdown. “Whatever. You’re not annoying. You stabilize me fast. You don’t treat me like a bomb about to go off. You’re fine.”

And then—like this conversation hasn’t just rewritten the structure of your career—he dumps your box onto a random desk and starts walking off.

“Wait, that’s it?” you call after him. “You’re just—leaving me here?”

He lifts a hand in a lazy wave. “See you tomorrow.”

You stare at the desk. Then the hallway. Then the spot where your sanity used to be.

You don’t understand what’s going on. But let’s be honest—you’ve never understood anything and that’s never stopped you before. You graduated on sheer vibes and a terrifying ability to guess multiple choice answers with unearned confidence. You once guided a Class A Esper while half-asleep and running on a breakfast of sour candy and spite. You thrive in chaos.

So when you show up at your new desk (which may or may not have been assembled incorrectly), you take a deep breath, sip your mediocre vending machine coffee, and prepare yourself for another confusing day of “just wing it and hope no one dies.”

And then Leona walks in.

No knock. No warning. Just opens the door like he owns the place—which, considering the way your coworkers scurry out of his path, he might as well.

You’re ready to guide. You roll up your sleeves. You stretch your fingers. You mentally prepare for the usual Esper touch-their-hands routine.

Leona?

Leona lays down on the office couch like it’s a five-star hotel bed. Puts his head in your lap. And knocks out like a tranquilized jungle cat. No explanation. No shame.

You blink. “Um. Hello? Sir?”

No response.

You glance around to see if this is some prank. Nope. Just you, a couch, and a warm grumpy lion man making your lap his personal pillow.

So you do the only logical thing: sigh, roll with it, and start guiding like this is completely normal.

The stabilization process is smoother than usual. Leona’s energy calms fast, his breathing evens out, and it’s honestly the most peaceful you’ve ever seen him. He doesn’t even twitch when you accidentally brush a hand through his hair mid-guidance.

When you're done, you gently nudge him. “Hey. Nap time’s over, sunshine.”

He grumbles like you’ve just committed a crime and blinks up at you with all the judgment of a cat disturbed mid-snooze. Then, with the reflexes of a seasoned villain, he sits up, grabs your coffee off the table, and chugs it like it’s his birthright.

“Hey!” you cry, scandalized. “That was mine! That was my life juice! That’s the only thing tethering me to this mortal realm!”

He hands you the empty cup with all the remorse of a man who steals from vending machines and sleeps through emergency drills. “You can get another.”

And then he leaves.

You stare after him. You stare at your empty cup. You stare at the void where your caffeine used to be.

This job is going to kill you.

But you’ll die confused and employed, and that’s the best you’ve got.

You’re at the farmer’s market. Living your best domestic fantasy. You’ve got your reusable tote bag, your overpriced jam, a bundle of fresh herbs like you’re the protagonist in a cottagecore fever dream, and a leek that you're weirdly proud of because it was the biggest one in the pile. Life is good.

Then a gate opens.

Right there.

Next to the cheese stall.

The sky splits like a broken lightbulb, the air warps, and BAM—there's a rift to monster hell spewing nightmare fuel in the middle of tomato season.

You don’t know how it happened. One moment you were asking about eggplant pricing, the next you were in a technicolor void smacking a drooling, three-eyed creature with your leek like your life depends on it. Because it does.

You’re cornered by something that looks like the illegitimate child of a bear and a blender, just about to accept that this might be it—death by demon at a farmer’s market—when a figure crashes in, trailing lightning and rage.

Leona.

He surveys the chaos with a look of supremely irritated confusion. “Why the hell are you here?”

You, still holding the leek like it’s a holy weapon: “I don’t know, man, you tell me! I was just buying root vegetables!”

He groans like you’re giving him a headache worse than the gate, and with a single swipe of power, the monsters start dissolving into nothing. He suppresses the gate like he’s swatting a fly, and before you can say “gluten-free honey loaf,” he’s grabbing you by the arm and dragging you back to solid, blessed, non-nightmare reality.

You’re trying to catch your breath. You’re covered in monster goo. Your leek is bent in half. And you’re shaking.

“Okay,” you say, trying for calm but sounding like you’ve just survived the apocalypse (because you kinda have), “let’s get you stabilized so I can go sit in a bathtub forever.”

You reach for him—but your hands are trembling too much. You’ve seen monsters before, sure. But not that close. Not nearly getting your face chewed off.

Leona notices. His brow furrows. “Tch.”

Then—softly, carefully—he pulls you into his chest.

You freeze. Not from fear this time, but from the sudden warmth of him, from the way he smells like dust and heat and something grounding. You feel his hand gently settle between your shoulder blades, like he’s not sure how to comfort but he’s trying anyway.

“You don’t go in the gates,” he murmurs. “I go in. I’ll suppress every last one of them, no matter how many pop up. You just stay out here, alright? You wait for me.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him look at you like that—not annoyed, not smug, but serious. Protective. Like your safety matters more to him than anything else.

You nod into his shirt. “Okay.”

And he holds you a little longer. Just until you stop shaking.

You form a temporary bond with him after the whole gate-at-the-farmer's-market debacle because let’s be honest—your energy reserves were not built for stabilizing a lion in man’s clothing on a daily basis. You were running on fumes and instant noodles. One more session and you'd have crumpled like a used juice box with a sad little wheeze.

Leona didn’t even flinch at the idea of a temporary bond. Just looked at you like finally and said, “Took you long enough.”

Now, you’re guiding him and only him every day. Which sounds intense, but honestly? This is the freest you’ve been since graduating. No more being pinged at 3 AM to rush to a different gate across the city. No more sorting through esper tantrums or being asked if your hands are “certified emotionally soothing.”

You’ve got one glorified cat man to take care of, and he doesn’t even talk during sessions. He just shows up, flops onto your couch, puts his head in your lap like it’s routine, and is unconscious within minutes.

You're so free, you picked up a hobby. You, the overworked guide formerly known as Burnout in a Coat, now crochet lopsided scarves while waiting for Leona to show up. Sometimes you experiment with baking (badly). You’ve even started watching those long, slow documentaries about birds that people put on to fall asleep.

You are, shockingly, thriving.

Every now and then Leona’ll glance at your latest attempt at a potholder-turned-coaster-turned-abstract-art and grunt, “You’re getting better.”

Which, in Leona-speak, is basically high praise.

Life is weird. Life is monsters and gates and nap-hungry espers with bad attitudes.

But life is also calmer now. Just you, Leona, and the occasional crocheted disaster.

The rift today is the kind of thing news stations send helicopters for. It's so massive that your phone buzzes with emergency alerts and a “Good luck lol” from your supervisor. You’re standing just outside the barrier, watching chaos unfold like it’s a live-action anime, umbrella in one hand, your thermos of emergency caffeine in the other.

Then—bam—some random, shaky-looking esper stumbles out of the gate and straight into your arms like you’re the protagonist in a romance drama. You're mid-stabilization out of pure reflex, patting his back like “there, there, emotionally damaged soldier,” when a low growl cuts through the sound of the rift and monster screeching.

Leona storms out of the rift next, all raw power and pissy vibes, his coat half burned and dust clinging to his hair. He sees you cradling Random Esper #453 like he just walked in on something illegal. His expression goes from “I need a nap” to “I'm about to commit a felony” in zero-point-three seconds.

Without saying a word, he grabs the guy by the scruff of his tactical vest like a misbehaving kitten and just yeets him toward another approaching guide.

"Not yours," he growls, before quite literally collapsing into your arms with all the elegance of a sack of emotional bricks.

You don’t even get the chance to complain. He’s already out, breathing slow and heavy, head tucked against your neck like he belongs there.

And you? You’re stuck holding one of the most powerful espers in the world like a sleepy toddler while another guide screams in the background about how Leona threw someone at them.

Just another day in your life.

You are three seconds away from emotionally combusting in front of a full-length mirror, clutching two jackets like they personally offended you. One is sleek, black, mysteriously expensive-looking, the kind of jacket that says “I pay taxes and win arguments.” The other is fluffy, cozy, slightly ridiculous, and makes you look like a sentient marshmallow with excellent taste.

You’re weighing your options with the seriousness of someone deciding between saving the world and saving ten puppies. There are charts. Internal debates. You're about to do the unthinkable and consult the price tags when—

SWOOSH.

The jackets are gone.

You blink. Arms empty. Sanity shaken.

You whirl around and see Leona—yes, Leona Kingscholar, SS-class esper, noted napper, chaos incarnate—casually walking away with everything you were holding. That includes:

• The jackets

• The socks you forgot you picked up

• A weird little plush you were definitely only holding "ironically"

• A novelty mug that says #1 Guide, Certified Not Dead (Yet)

You trail after him, fast-walking with the energy of a startled mall pigeon. “Excuse me?! What the hell are you doing?!”

Leona doesn’t even slow down. He makes a beeline for the register like this is just a regular chore.

“You were taking too long,” he says over his shoulder, as if that explains anything.

“I was deciding! With purpose! With nuance!”

He pays. Effortlessly. Doesn’t flinch at the total. Just swipes his card with the bored grace of someone who buys entire coffee shops out of spite.

You arrive at the register breathless and confused. “I didn’t ask you to buy my—my impulse garments.”

He takes the bag, hands none of it to you, and starts walking out. “Didn’t say you had to ask.”

You make a strangled noise, flapping after him like a duckling trying to make sense of capitalism and emotional whiplash. “Are you—are you okay? Did you hit your head in the last gate? Why are you shopping for me?”

“Can’t have my Guide dying of hypothermia,” he mutters. “Especially not because they can’t pick a jacket.”

“That doesn’t explain the mug, Leona!”

“Sure it does.” He turns, smirking slightly. “You’ll need it tomorrow.”

“For what?!”

“Come to the gate.”

And with that cryptic nonsense, he strolls off into the distance.

You stare after him, confused, and wonder how exactly you ended up in this weird half-domestic cold war with a man who solves problems by spending money and napping through consequences.

Dragging an unconscious SS-ranked esper to your car is not as easy as it sounds. Especially not when that esper is six feet of solid muscle, deadweight, and attitude—even while passed out.

It starts at the gate. After the monsters are suppressed and the chaos settles, Leona doesn’t get back up. You wait—he always gets up. Even when he’s cranky, bleeding, covered in soot and monster gunk, he always stands with that infuriating smirk, like he’s just taken a nap in a flower field. But this time? Nothing.

You run to him, heart slamming against your ribs, calling his name. No answer. Just the quiet rise and fall of his chest. Stable vitals, sure, but his magic signature is drained.

You can’t leave him there—not sprawled out in the dirt like a fallen war god. So you do what any sane, worried, emotionally-compromised Guide would do—you throw all logic out the window and start dragging.

Getting him into the car is a series of humiliating maneuvers that you’re certain would be classified as a war crime if recorded. He keeps slipping down. You have to brace your back against the seat and heave like your spine won’t sue you in the morning. At one point, his leg knocks the gear stick and almost sends the car rolling down the street. You cry a little.

Finally—somehow—you make it. You slam the door shut. Collapse in the driver’s seat, sweating like you’ve just run a marathon. And then—because fate is a comedic little gremlin—you have to carry him again. Up the stairs. To your apartment.

You consider leaving him in the hallway for a second. Just one second. But then he mumbles your name in his sleep, and your heart betrays you by going all soft and stupid.

Once inside, you get him on the couch, check his vitals again, and then begin your descent into spiraling anxiety.

Because he still isn’t waking up.

You pace. You hover. You poke. You even lightly slap his face once (he doesn’t react, but you apologize anyway). You check the clock. You make tea. You don’t drink it. You Google how long can espers sleep before it’s an emergency and get conflicting answers and a concerning ad for calming dog chews.

Two hours later, with your thumb hovering over the call button for emergency services, you’re just about to commit to panic when he stirs.

He stretches like a lion waking up from a particularly satisfying sun nap. Hair a mess, shirt rumpled, magic signature humming faintly back to life. You gasp like someone just turned the world back on and smack his arm with all the force of a mildly annoyed wet sock.

“You absolute menace!” you cry, voice cracking under the weight of emotional exhaustion. “You scared the life out of me! Do you want me to die first?! Because you are on a damn good track—”

He blinks up at you, unbothered. Like you’re background noise to the dream he just left. Then he raises his hand and—pat pat—smooths it over your head like you’re the one that needs comforting.

“‘m fine,” he mutters, which is frankly not the point, and then he drags you down onto the couch like you’re a weighted blanket.

The couch. The tiny two-seater couch that you got on sale and have never once regretted until this exact moment.

He adjusts slightly, making enough room for exactly one leg and half your soul, then shuts his eyes again like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You stare at him, betrayed by the calm of his breathing, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, and the weight of everything you feel but haven’t said.

“Leona,” you whisper, voice too raw to be anything but honest.

“Sleeping,” he grumbles, completely unmoved. “You should too. You’re loud.”

So you stay. Your hand still buried in his hair, your heart still halfway out of your chest, your soul wrung out like a wet towel—but you stay.

And somehow, in that cramped, lumpy, too-small space, surrounded by exhaustion and emotion and quiet, you find the first real moment of peace that day.

It’s not supposed to happen like this. Gates break, yeah—but they’re not supposed to breach before the espers arrive.

You're still in your uniform, badge clipped on, hair barely brushed, breakfast halfway digested (a mistake), when you arrive at the scene, and—

You freeze.

It’s a remote town, or used to be. Right now it looks like a war zone someone dropped from the sky and left in ruins. Roads cracked and splattered. Buildings collapsed like toy blocks. Smoke curling into the sky like it’s auditioning for a post-apocalyptic music video.

And blood.

So much blood.

You see espers fighting—familiar ones, ones you’ve guided before, their faces hard and blank as they tear through monsters like paper. But the monsters got people first. You see the cleanup teams already moving in. You hear crying. Someone screaming names. And then you see bodies being carried out in bags.

You step forward and your stomach lurches.

You force yourself to take a deep breath. You’re a Guide. You have training. You are not allowed to cry. You are especially not allowed to cry in front of espers who just fought through hell. You breathe in, focus on your mantra: I am here to help. I am here to help. You swallow down the nausea like it owes you rent.

That’s when you feel it—warmth behind you, a solid presence—and then large, rough fingers gently slide over your eyes.

“Don’t look, herbivore.” Leona’s voice is low, soft, somehow more grounding than anything you’ve clung to today. You don’t even flinch at the touch—just close your eyes properly under his palm and let the sounds of chaos fade a little.

You breathe out, finally.

When he lets go, you turn your head, eyes shut, and nod once.

He doesn’t say anything else—just places a hand on your back and steers you gently toward the tents that have been set up nearby. Emergency stabilization camps. Medical supplies stacked up. Guides running back and forth. Your people. You should be helping.

Leona sits you down first.

You start working. Slowly. Mechanically. He leans against your side as you place your hands on him, guiding the storm in his mind back into stillness. He’s watching you the whole time, like he’s memorizing your breathing pattern, your expressions. You don’t say anything, not even when your hands shake slightly at first.

When you’re done, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t make a smart remark. Just sits with you, quiet.

You lean your head against his shoulder for a second. Just one.

“Herbivore,” he mutters. “You okay?”

“No,” you say honestly. “But I’ll do my job.”

And he doesn’t argue. Just lets you rest before getting up and hauling a blanket off the supply pile and dropping it onto your lap with a grumble about “stupid guides forgetting they’re human too.”

You smile, small and tired, but real.

You lasted longer than most would’ve. That’s what you keep telling yourself.

But it doesn’t make it easier when you turn in your resignation. Doesn’t make it hurt less to watch your fellow Guides blink in stunned silence. Doesn’t make it easier when the manager doesn’t even try to talk you out of it—just looks at you with that tired, knowing gaze and signs the form like they’ve seen a thousand others do the same.

And it really doesn’t make it easier when you go home and cry into your instant noodles like a defeated anime protagonist.

It’s not that you don’t love your job. You do. Or you did. But after the last breach… after seeing what happens when you’re too late… something inside you cracked.

You can’t keep holding people together when you’re falling apart.

So you go home. You unplug your work tablet. You turn off your work phone. You decide, firmly, that for the foreseeable future, you are retired. You make a little ceremony out of it. You throw your Guide badge into the drawer, slap a cartoon band-aid on your mental wounds, and decide your new job is to be horizontal and useless.

You don’t expect the knocking.

Frantic. Panicked. Desperate.

You open the door and Leona’s there—disheveled, annoyed, and clearly having run through multiple “I don’t care” speeches in the hallway before deciding none of them applied.

“Why’d you leave?” he says, skipping greetings entirely. His voice is rough like he ran here. Or yelled at a few people on the way.

You look at him. And you break the news gently.

“I quit.”

He stares at you like you just said you decided to become a professional soap-eater.

You try to explain—how you can’t take another bloody battlefield, how the sound of someone sobbing over a friend’s body has made a permanent home in your ears, how the pressure of always needing to be stable is crushing your chest like a vice.

“I just… I can’t do it anymore, Leona. I need a break. I need to feel human again.”

You expect pushback. Some snide comment. Accusations of cowardice or weakness.

But all he does is stare at you a moment, eyes sharp but quiet. Then, finally, he asks, “You happier like this?”

You blink. “...Yeah.”

He nods once. Then pushes past you like this is his house, grabs the half-eaten bag of chips from your counter, flops onto your couch, and turns on your TV like nothing happened. The audacity.

You just watch as he scrolls past every serious movie and lands on the stupidest slapstick comedy you have saved. And then he’s lounging there, one arm slung across the back of your couch, chewing chips like he pays rent.

You don’t ask him to leave. You don’t even sit far.

You curl into his side, just a little. Just enough to feel someone warm, someone solid, someone who didn’t leave even when you quit the one thing tying you together. And he doesn’t move, doesn’t make a snide comment, just lets you sit there while two characters on-screen fall face-first into a giant wedding cake.

You snort softly. He huffs a laugh.

Maybe the world can wait a little longer.

You're not supposed to be here.

You're retired. Done. Free. You’ve been living a soft life, surrounded by overpriced lattes and therapy podcasts, learning to crochet ugly little hats for your houseplants. You’ve earned it. You deserve it.

But the moment the alert flashes across your screen—“Category Red Gate Breach”—your blood runs cold.

You tell yourself you’re just going to check. Just to make sure. You don’t bring your badge. You don’t bring your stabilizing gloves. You bring anxiety, a hoodie, and a tupperware of homemade cookies, because apparently trauma turns you into someone’s tired suburban mom.

When you arrive at the site, the street’s already cordoned off, flickering with damage and Gate residue. Monster ash drifts through the air like cursed snow. The temporary field hospital is chaos—Espers limping, bloody, barely upright, Guides running ragged trying to stabilize them before they keel over.

You’re not supposed to get involved. You’re not.

But then you see him.

Leona. Stumbling slightly as he walks, covered in dirt and blood and smoke. He bats away the hands of every Guide that comes near like they're flies. His expression is sharp, but his eyes are glazed. Too bright. Too wild. His coat’s half off his shoulder and his aura is fraying at the edges—like he’s running on fumes and sheer attitude.

You run to him.

“I told you to take care of yourself!” you shout, more out of panic than anything else. “You absolute menace—what the hell, Leona?! Have you not had a single guiding session since I left?! Are you trying to die?!”

He doesn’t answer. He just turns his head slowly, eyes locking on you like you’re a dream he’s too tired to question. His breath stutters.

And then he’s pulling you forward—no warning, no words—just grabbing you and kissing you like the world hasn’t ended yet because you showed up in time.

And you freeze for a heartbeat. Just one. Then your hands are on his shoulders, in his hair, your lips meeting his as the unstable storm of his aura crashes against yours.

You guide him—not with standard channels, not with gloves or focus crystals, but with your whole self. Through the kiss, through the desperation in your grip, through the way you’re pouring every unspoken emotion into him. Every “I missed you,” every “You idiot,” every “Please be okay.”

And slowly—slowly—his breathing evens. The twitch of his muscles fades. The trembling stops. He leans into you, forehead pressing against yours, and whispers, hoarse and raw, “Knew you’d come.”

You hold him tighter.

It happens on a normal, sunny day.

Leona’s in your apartment, lounging like he lives here—which he sort of does at this point, considering how often he shows up without knocking. He’s flicking at one of your crocheted cactus hats with a deeply unimpressed expression, like it's personally offended his sense of aesthetics.

“You’re wasting perfectly good yarn,” he mutters. “This thing looks like a limp sea anemone.”

You throw a cushion at him. “Shut up. It has character.”

He snorts and catches it easily. He looks too big for your space. Too dangerous for your IKEA throw pillows. Too important to be wearing a hoodie you accidentally shrank in the wash, but he is, and it’s riding up just a bit at his waist.

And you—you’re just watching him, feeling the weight of it. The Gate breach. The kiss. The way he let you in like you never left. The way you still know exactly how to guide him better than anyone.

You set your tea down a little too firmly and blurt, “I want to form a permanent bond.”

The room stills. Leona doesn’t move. His hand is frozen mid-poke, just inches from your succulents-in-hats lineup.

“What?”

You swallow. “I want to bond permanently. With you.”

He turns to look at you slowly, eyes sharp, reading every inch of your face. “You serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“You sure this isn’t the post-massacre adrenaline talking?” he says, voice flat. “People say weird shit after trauma.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Okay, yes, I saw several eldritch nightmares and had to fight one with a leek, but I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I’m not going back to guiding just anyone. I only want to guide you.”

Leona’s quiet for a long time. Then he sits up—really sits up—and leans forward, forearms on his knees, staring at the floor like it's hiding answers in the carpet pattern.

“You don’t get to change your mind after this,” he says, low. “It’s a one-way door.”

“I know.”

“You’ll feel what I feel,” he says. “You’ll know what I feel. Even the ugly stuff. Especially the ugly stuff.”

You smile. “Leona, I’ve seen you eat cold pizza at 7 a.m. while shirtless and complaining about filler episodes. I know ugly.”

He groans like you’ve physically injured him and slumps back again. “You’re gonna make me regret this with your dumb jokes.”

But there’s a warmth in his tone now, soft and fond and careful.

He stands up and walks to you, crowding into your space, eyes locked on yours like he’s giving you one last chance to back out. You don’t. You reach out and link your fingers through his.

And he exhales shakily. “Okay then.”

He presses you back into the couch—your stupid, lumpy, too-small couch with the blanket that smells like lavender detergent—and his hands are cupping your face, his forehead resting against yours.

He looks at you, eyes bright. “You’re stuck with me now, y’know.”

You grin. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And just like that, you’re not just a guide and an esper anymore.

You’re his. And he’s yours. Permanently.

Leona remembered the first time he met you like it was a fever dream—a chaotic, embarrassing, infuriating fever dream.

He’d been a rookie then. Raw, unstable, claws out at the world and not interested in anyone who thought they could leash him. He didn’t need a guide. Didn’t want a guide. Especially not in some packed training center with too many bodies and not enough air.

And then you happened.

He had just come out of an intense simulated Gate. Aura flaring wild, brain buzzing with static, teeth gritted like he could physically bite down on the overwhelming noise in his head. The instructors had already radioed for a Class A guide, probably even a Class S, someone who could deal with an untamable lion.

Instead, they got you.

You must’ve been nearby and operating on some unhinged kind of autopilot, because you stumbled into the fray like a grad student five espresso shots deep and grabbed him by the collar without even checking his ID tag.

And then—then—you had the audacity to guide him.

It wasn’t the gentle coaxing kind either. It was hands in his hair, forehead pressed to his temple, murmured words like a mantra while he struggled to get away. He’d cursed, snarled, told you to back off before he did something you’d regret.

And you? You pulled his ear.

Pulled his fucking ear like he was a naughty cat on a countertop.

“Sit still, I’m working,” you’d snapped at him, voice sharp and fed-up like this was your fourth Gate that day and you were not about to let some rookie cat-boy ruin your stats.

And then—

Then it all bled away.

The noise. The storm. The static. It melted under your touch, under that weird, grounding, relentless presence of yours. He remembered your aura—bright, strong, so confident in a way you clearly hadn’t earned yet, but hell, it worked.

By the time he came back to himself, panting and blinking in the too-bright light, you were already gone, off to stabilise the next idiot without even sparing him a backward glance.

He had to ask someone your name.

It pissed him off for weeks.

Because you hadn’t even realized who you’d grabbed. You hadn’t known he was a potential SS-class Esper. You hadn’t cared. You’d just seen a wild beast and told it to sit down while you fixed it.

And somehow… it had worked.

He remembered it like a film reel soaked in rain—gray skies cracked open, streets slick and flooding, people scrambling like wet rats to get to cover. And in the middle of that chaos, you.

The only dry, smug bastard in the entire goddamn city.

The rain hadn’t touched you. Not one drop. Umbrella balanced perfectly, a coffee in one hand, phone in the other, like the gates of hell hadn’t just burst three blocks over. You were humming. Humming, for crying out loud.

And Leona had frozen mid-step. Not because of the gate, or the suppression order blaring in his ear—he didn’t even hear it anymore.

It was you.

The same energy. Same aura. That same maddening calm like a slap to the face. He didn’t even need to reach for his senses to know it was you—the one who yanked his ear and made his soul stop screaming all those years ago.

He’d spent months trying to forget that moment. Or rather, trying not to remember it too fondly. That was the worst part: how easy it had been to just give in to your touch. No fights. No snarling. No claws. Just... quiet.

And now here you were, in his city, acting like the rain had never met you, walking through a Gate breach zone like it was your stupid, peaceful backyard.

You didn’t even flinch when he stepped up to you.

Didn’t bristle.

Didn’t bow like the others.

Just blinked at him and went, “I'm just an S class guide.”

And that—

That pissed him off.

Because you didn’t recognize him.

After all that? The ear-pulling? The spiritual mugging you gave his aura? The time you wrangled his chaos into submission with the annoyed grace of someone trying to fix a printer jam?

You didn’t even remember.

Leona’s eye twitched.

No. Fine. That was fine. He could work with this.

He’d just have to remind you.

He leaned in, voice low and lazy, that smile curling sharp and knowing. “Didn’t think you’d forget me, herbivore.”

Still blank.

“Oh?” you said, sipping your coffee like he wasn’t radiating enough energy to fry the sidewalk. “Should I have?”

Leona huffed a laugh through his nose.

Okay. You wanted to play this game? Cool. He’d just put himself on your schedule. He’d get stabilised. Regularly. By you. He’d show up with his whole chaos bleeding out and dare you not to remember what you did to him back then.

He’d make sure you remembered.

And by the time you did, he'd already be sleeping in your lap.

He remembered that day like a fever dream.

The burn of energy spent down to the marrow. The static buzz in his skull, everything blurred and muffled. He didn’t remember passing out. Only that when he cracked his eyes open again, he was on a couch that was too soft, under a blanket that smelled like you.

And you—

You were pacing.

Pacing like your heart was about to break through your chest. Muttering to yourself. Swearing quietly. Picking up your phone like you were about to call for help—and that was when it hit him.

You were scared.

For him.

You, who once yanked his ear like he was a brat in time-out. Who lectured monsters and officials alike with the same exhausted sigh. You were standing there, shoulders hunched, knuckles white, about to call an ambulance like he was something fragile.

Leona would never forget that look.

Wide-eyed. Raw. Like you’d just lost the world and were scrambling to piece it back together.

He stirred just to stop you from dialing, more out of instinct than anything, and your reaction—Sevens. You swatted him like he was the one who gave you heart failure, your voice wobbly as you whined about how close you’d come to losing your “life juice thief.”

And something in his chest broke a little.

He didn’t say anything. Just patted your head with a heavy hand, tugged you onto the couch like you weighed nothing, and pulled you close. Too tired to talk. Too overwhelmed to pretend.

You didn’t argue. You just curled against him, the two of you folded together on that stupid couch not built for two.

He fell asleep with your heartbeat right there, under his hand.

And later, when he pretended it was the proximity that calmed him and not you, he knew he was lying. Because that image of you—panicked, pacing, nearly in tears because of him—was burned into his brain like a brand.

He thought: No one’s ever looked at me like that.

And maybe that’s when it happened.

Maybe that’s when he stopped running from what you meant to him.

Leona remembers the gate break too clearly.

Not because it was the bloodiest he’d seen—though it was. Not because the air had smelled like ozone and rot, or because the monsters had crawled out of that rift like nightmares given shape. Not even because they lost people, though the weight of that had sunk deep into his spine.

No.

He remembers it because of you.

You weren’t supposed to be there. You were supposed to be off somewhere doing idiot hobbies and yelling at your succulents. Not standing there, pale as ash, looking at the wreckage with wide, hollow eyes.

He’d spotted you across the chaos, just as another stretcher went past you, another guide screaming for medics. And you just stood there, frozen. Staring. Not blinking.

Leona moved before he even realized it, instincts kicking in harder than battle mode ever had.

You didn’t flinch when his hand covered your eyes from behind.

"Don’t look, herbivore," he muttered. Not like a command. Like a plea.

You made a small sound—shaky, half-choked—and he felt it. That tremble that ran through your body like a frayed wire.

And he knew, right then, that he’d never forget your expression. The look of someone who’d seen one horror too many. The kind that made you never sleep easy again.

He turned you around, tucked you under his arm like he could shield you from the world with just his presence alone, and walked you to the temporary camps.

You guided him there—your hands still trembling, voice quiet—but you guided him all the same.

He watched you carefully the whole time, like if he blinked, you’d disappear. Like if he wasn’t careful, you'd shatter.

And he swore—

If he could help it, he’d never let you wear that look again. Not for gates. Not for anyone. Not even for him.

Leona had felt fear before.

The kind that came with being outnumbered by monsters too big for even his claws to take down. The cold sweat of overusing his abilities to the point his bones felt like glass. The fury of watching comrades fall mid-battle.

But none of it—not once—had made his stomach drop the way it did when he opened your office door and saw the place getting cleared out.

Your desk was bare. The plant you used to scold for not thriving was gone. The mug that said “Espers are drama queens” was nowhere to be found. There was just a box, some paperwork, and a couple of Guides gossiping in the hallway.

“Transferred?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“Nah,” someone said. “Resigned. Burnout, probably.”

His vision tunneled.

Burnout.

You’d burned out—and you hadn’t said a word.

Leona didn’t even remember leaving the office. He just remembered standing in front of your door, knuckles aching from how hard he knocked, heart rattling in his chest like something was trying to break free. You opened it after what felt like eternity, hair a mess, hoodie too big, eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

And you smiled.

Small. Tired. But real.

It wrecked him.

You explained in soft words—words that he barely heard because he was watching the way your shoulders curled in, the way your voice wavered when you said “I needed a break.”

And Leona… he said nothing.

Because what could he say?

“Come back?”

“Let me fix it?”

“I need you?”

No. He wasn’t good with words like that. So he just walked past you, flopped on your couch, and turned on the dumbest show in your streaming queue. The one with the laugh track you always made fun of. The one you claimed made your brain smooth enough to nap.

And you came and curled next to him without saying a word.

Leona didn’t sleep that night. He watched you instead. Watched your face soften as the tension bled away. Watched your chest rise and fall. Watched the proof that you were still here, even if a little frayed at the edges.

He stayed until morning.

Because if you couldn’t carry the world for a while, he’d hold it up for you instead

Leona refused to let anyone guide him after you left.

They tried, of course. S-class guides who were calm and polished, eager to work with him. People with pristine records and delicate, careful hands. They hovered around him after every mission, offering stabilizing touches and soft-spoken reassurances, but he bared his teeth at every single one of them.

He didn’t want calm. He didn’t want pristine.

He wanted you.

And it wasn’t like he meant to be dramatic about it, either. He knew how it looked—how reckless it was to take on gate after gate without being stabilized. He could feel it in his bones, the exhaustion chewing at the edges of his mind. His temper frayed easier. His sleep was worse. But every time someone reached for him, he’d shrug them off like their hands burned.

Because letting someone else guide him after you?

It felt like cheating.

Even if you’d never been his. Even if you’d never called him yours. Even if you’d left the job entirely and moved on, arms full of groceries and that stupid smug grin on your face like you hadn’t just ripped something vital out of him.

He endured. And endured. And endured.

Until that gate. The breach that nearly turned into a disaster. His vision had been half-gone from the overload, his hands shaking from pushing himself too far. He was stumbling toward his car, snarling at the idiots trying to grab him, when you came out of nowhere, yelling at him.

Scolding him for not taking care of himself.

You, who had no reason to be there. You, with your arms full of cookies and your dumb little apron still dusted with flour. You, who looked so heartbreakingly angry and worried all at once, like he’d carved a hole in your chest and left it open.

He barely heard the words. He couldn’t think past the rush of your voice and the you-ness of it all.

So he kissed you.

He didn’t ask. Didn’t hesitate. Just leaned forward, dizzy with the ache of needing you, and kissed you.

You didn’t pull away.

You kissed him back with a kind of fury that made his knees weak, like you’d been waiting just as long, like all your feelings were poured straight into your touch. You guided him with your hands on his face, your forehead pressed to his. And for the first time in weeks—months, maybe—he could breathe again.

You were his fate. You always had been.

And Leona Kingscholar had never once considered being free.

Now, you're permanently bonded.

Leona comes home, not to silence or tension or the eerie calm of an empty apartment—but to you. You, burning something in the kitchen again. You, curled up on the couch in those ridiculous socks that he secretly bought two more pairs of because you kept losing them. You, complaining about your houseplants like they personally offended you, even as you tuck a blanket around one because “she’s sensitive to cold.”

He walks through the door and something tight in his chest unwinds. Every time.

Sometimes he still expects it to go away. Like he’ll blink and wake up, stuck in some sterile recovery room with a lecture coming and a headache already forming.

But then you smile at him, bright and familiar, and you say, “Welcome home, dumbass,” with that soft tone you always save just for him.

And it hits him again: you’re his.

You bonded with him. Not temporarily. Not out of desperation. You chose him.

Leona doesn’t care for sentimentality. But he knows—knows—he’ll never forget the day you tugged on his ear and made him yours.

Because something about the way you touched him… the way your hands didn’t shake… the way your voice didn’t flinch…

He hadn’t felt fear. He hadn’t felt chaos. He’d just felt—settled.

Even now, when you steal his hoodies and press kisses to the corners of his mouth and scowl when he eats the last cookie, he still remembers that exact moment. The tug on his ear. Your hand in his hair. The audacity you had to treat him like a person before he’d ever earned it.

He comes home to that now.

To you.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Leona Kingscholar doesn’t feel like he’s enduring the world.

He feels like he’s living in it.

You’re both tangled up in the sheets, legs braided together, skin warm with the afterglow, when you roll onto your side and ask, “Hey… why me?”

Leona blinks at the ceiling, arms behind his head. “Why not you?”

You nudge his side, unconvinced. “No, seriously. You had your pick. So what made you want me?”

He’s quiet for a second. Then he says, almost casually, “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?”

“Our first meeting. It wasn’t during that gate in the rain.” He shifts, turning to face you fully, voice low and quiet. “It was way before that. Back when we were both still rookies.”

You squint, thinking hard. “You mean—?”

“I was a mess,” he says, lips twitching at the memory. “Raw, half-feral. I’d just come off a surge and nobody could get near me.”

You stare at him. He stares back.

“You,” he says, tapping your forehead lightly, “stomped over, grabbed me by the ear like I was a misbehaving mutt, and told me to ‘stay put,’ like you weren’t terrified I’d snap your arm off.”

And then it clicks. It clicks.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “That was you?!”

He raises an eyebrow, almost smug.

You burst out laughing. Actual, full-body, face-hiding, breathless laughter.

Leona watches you lose it, and something deep in his chest tugs—gentle, powerful, unmistakably warm.

He thinks, this.

This right here. The sound of your laughter in his sheets, the crinkle of your nose, the disbelief in your eyes as if you couldn’t possibly have manhandled one of the most dangerous espers in the country—this is what he wants every damn day of his life.

You’re still giggling when you huddle closer to him, pressing your forehead to his.

“I pulled your ear,” you murmur, like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “No wonder you’ve been so whipped since day one.”

“Watch it,” he warns, but there’s no heat in it. Just fondness.

You grin, and he kisses it right off your mouth.

Masterlist

[mystic-writings]

we’re just fine | daryl dixon

PAIRING — Daryl Dixon x Fem!reader

SUMMARY — after the fall of the prison, you find yourself in alexandria, alone. two months later, your family finds their way back to you. 

WARNINGS — angst, canon-typical violence/situations, pregnancy, fluff 

WORD COUNT — 5,000

NOTES — idk what happened to me all i know is i blacked out and then this was made. enjoy i guess

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Despite the pure monotonous routine you’d gotten used to during your two months in Alexandria, you couldn’t say that it wasn’t sometimes extremely boring. Your only saving grace was the mealtimes you had with Aaron and Eric at the end of the day. At least they had the sense and experience outside the walls to be able to carry out a conversation that wasn’t about what food you were eating or how the weather was. 

It was why you hated when they went out on recruitment runs. As their roommate, you felt awkward being in the home by yourself when they left the walls; as though you were intruding. You felt that way in a lot of aspects. An intruder on a perfect life that these people had grown used to in the wake of the apocalypse. A life where their only worry was whether or not Aiden and Nicholas would find the right ingredients for the food they’d planned on cooking during their supply runs. 

But there was nothing to be done aside from making a meal for one, eating alone with only a soft classical music CD to fill the silence, and to wait for the couple to come back home so you would have normal people to talk to. 

You were glad for them and the runs they went on, though. Or they never would’ve found you, and you’d likely be dead in a ditch by now. 

Your hand shook as you gripped the handle of your blade, wide eyes searching the pharmacy for any signs of walkers, or people. Being on the road alone for as long as you had been was making you feel like you’d gone crazy. Maybe you had already. 

Sweeping the small aisles, you found no signs of life. Most of the shelves were already empty, likely having been raided during the early days. Still, you grabbed whatever was available to you, shoving it into your bag before ducking into a corner, knees pressed to your chest as you rooted around for one of the final few cans of food you had left. 

You’d been rationing out what used to be a plentiful supply for a few weeks now. One can of food per day, nothing more. A lot of what you had was thanks to the traffic blockages on the highways and interstates you’d wandered along on your way out of Georgia. What used to be two cans a day for almost three weeks turned into one for the past week and a half, bordering on two. 

The lack of food wasn’t your only issue anymore. With no signs of life from your former group, you had every reason to believe that they were all dead. Logically, you knew they weren’t. You’d seen some of them escape in the firefight, yourself included. But without any real way of tracking them down, they were as good as dead. Not to mention the sudden and constant fatigue that the southern sun seemed to give to you, making traveling more difficult than you had originally planned. 

Even with no end in sight, no real indicator that the man you called your husband was still alive, and no true hope for your future, you still persisted. You found places to sleep for the night, whether in abandoned cars or gas stations off of turnpikes. You found just enough food to supply you for a few more days if you managed to stretch it thin enough, and you kept going. 

Just as you were about to crack open a can of corn, the crunching of glass and shuffling of footsteps alerted you to the body that had just entered the pharmacy. Its footfalls sounded too heavy and spaced out to be anything but a human. 

Gripping onto your knife, you held your breath and gently placed the can on the floor. With your bag still on your shoulders, you kept your body crouched and your ears peeled, moving around the person — no, people — moving around the pharmacy. 

“I’m telling you, we’ve already been here. There’s nothing left to take,” a voice reasoned. 

The footsteps ceased for a moment, and you paused, praying they hadn’t heard you. “I know. Doesn’t hurt to check, though, right? I mean, we can’t exactly go back empty handed. Aiden’ll have something to say about it.”

“But we aren’t out here for supplies,” the other stressed, “we’re out here for people, remember? New members?”

“I know,” their partner chuckled, footsteps resuming as they rounded the last aisle. You ducked between the shelves closest to the door, hoping to just outrun them and not have to fight them. There was a pause, a palpable beat, before he spoke again. “But I think we might not be coming back alone.”

A cold chill ran through your veins at the former’s words. He knew you were in here. He’d seen your can of food, or heard your shuffling around the pharmacy. In an instant, you were at your full height, eyes wide as your fingers clutched your knife tighter and you ran, against your better judgment, toward the pair. The blond was the one closest to you, his back facing your front. With as much energy as you could muster, you hooked your arm over his shoulder, dragging him to your chest as you pressed your knife to his throat. It wasn’t hard enough to do any real damage, but you knew that if you absolutely had to, you’d apply pressure. 

“Who are you?” You spat, hand shaking as it gripped the knife. “What do you want?”

“Woah, woah, calm down. It’s okay. We’re not here to hurt you.” The brunet immediately jumped into negotiation mode, putting his hands in front of him. The position reminded you of Rick, oddly enough, and your heart twinged as you adjusted your grip on the knife. 

“Then what are you here for?” You spat. “Like you said, there’s nothing worth taking here.”

The faintest of whimpers escaped the lips of the man you held hostage, dragging both yours and the brunet’s attention to him. “We’re just—” the blond gulped. “We’re recruiters. We have a camp not too far from here. A safe one. We’re looking for people to join us. People who have— have experience, out here.” 

His words, as stuttery and fearful as they were, confused you. 

“I’m Aaron,” the brunet said, keeping his arms up in surrender as he slowly slid the backpack from his shoulders. “That man you have is my partner, Eric. Everything he’s saying is right, and I can show you. I have pictures and a brochure in my bag, if you’ll let me get it.” 

Hesitantly, you nodded. Even if he had a weapon, most of your body was blocked by his partner — Eric. There was a highly likely chance that he wouldn’t try to harm you while you kept his friend in your grip, however weak it was becoming. 

Slowly, Aaron reached into his bag, pulling out exactly what he said he would. With Eric still in your grip, he showed you pictures of the place he and his friend called home — Alexandria. “Look,” Aaron sighed, stepping back a bit. “You seem like someone we could use. You have experience that we lack. Plus, it seems like you’ve been out here by yourself a while. We have walls, food, running water, and proper shelter. And if you decide to come with us, our leader, Deanna, will interview you. If she allows you in and you don’t like it, you can leave any time you want. We won’t keep you there if you don’t want to be, okay?”

With a shaking nod, you let go of Eric, nudging him toward Aaron, who enveloped the other man in a tight hug. “I— I can leave if I want to, right?”

“Of course, you can. No one will stop you, and that’s a promise.” 

It took a bit of getting used to, but you were glad that Aaron and Eric had found you that day. You’d been skeptical of things in Alexandria for the first few days, but you warmed to the entire situation a lot easier than you thought you would. You supposed it was because of how things were at the prison, but even then you weren’t alone.

Aaron and Eric, while not pushing the topic often, had managed to get to know enough about you and where you came from before they’d found you that they considered you a close friend. 

You’d only told them the briefest of answers. That you were with a large group in Georgia from the beginning, that you’d been with one of them for most of that time — even, at some point, considering yourselves to be married, though the symbol you’d had to show it had been lost months ago — and then another group came along and took everything away from you, simply because they could. 

The safety and privacy that the couple provided was something you were more than grateful for, even if you were sure you wouldn’t be able to have it forever. 

Because while Aaron and Eric, along with the rest of Alexandria, provided a structure and a sense of normalcy for you, you couldn’t shake the grief that fell upon you every time you were alone. 

The thought of Daryl being out there, combing every inch of Georgia for you while you were so far away, was enough to bring you to tears. It was another thing to think about the possibility of his rotting corpse roaming the woods in search of something living to eat. The thought that you’d never see him again, dead or alive. That you’d just push through life — however much longer that would be for you — without him, even though he promised you’d never have to go through something like that. 

The thought of your baby never knowing who their father was, and their father never knowing who they were, either. 

You could go an entire lifetime without ever seeing Daryl again, and the idea of it nearly killed you when he was still around. It hurt a hundred times worse now that it was practically a reality. 

The night passed without word from or the arrival of Aaron and Eric. It was common for them to be gone a while at a time — this particular trip lasting almost a week — but you hated sleeping in the house by yourself now. You were so used to waking up to Eric clattering dishes in the kitchen that waking up midday when they were gone only proved how fatigued you seemed to feel nowadays. 

Waking up to a knock on the door wasn’t unusual as of late, but it was certainly unpleasant. You were, however, grateful for the fact that when you were given a room at Aaron and Eric’s, it was on the first floor. 

Rolling out of bed got harder and harder with each passing week, but you managed it anyway. The knocking persisted, and you sighed as you made your way into the living room, shouting out, “I’m coming!”

The knocking ceased, and you pulled on the fabric of your shirt before answering the door, only to find Jessie. “Oh, hey,”

“Hi, hon,” she smiled, and you felt bad for being upset at her moments before. “Pete sent me over, said you were supposed to see him this morning?” 

“Oh, shit, Jessie I’m so sorry,” you said, brushing some stray hair from your face. “I overslept, normally Aaron—” 

Jessie smiled warmly, reaching out and putting a gentle hand on your arm. “I understand, Y/n, no need to worry. Just get dressed and head over to the infirmary. It’s not like Pete’s in any real rush.” 

“Alright,” you nodded, bidding Jessie goodbye and closing the door as she headed down the porch steps. 

Padding your way through the home, you went back to your room, pulling on some fresh clothes before freshening up in the bathroom. Routines like these were simple, but they kept you sane. You’d had something a little closer to it at the prison, but it was nowhere near as nice as it was in Alexandria. 

After eating a small breakfast, you were out of the house and on your way to the infirmary. The streets were quiet, as always, and the sun was anything but forgiving. People smiled and waved, and you did the same, even if you didn’t know half of the people in this place. Even after being here for two months, it was hard to remember such trivial things about so many people. Plus, putting names to faces was never one of your strong suits. 

Stepping into the infirmary, you were grateful for the burst of air conditioning that fell over your body. Smiling, you greeted Denise and Pete, the former of the two sitting on one of the beds as she pored over the book in her lap. 

“Alright, let’s take a look at you. Sound good?” Pete smiled, and you nodded back. 

While you hauled yourself onto the bed, Pete readied the ultrasound equipment. Pulling back the loose shirt you wore, your eyes glued themselves to the obvious, albeit still small, bump you were sporting. 

“Hey, I’m about four months along now, right?” You asked, eyes darting up to Pete, who confirmed with a nod. “That means you can see the baby’s gender, doesn’t it? I remember hearing that somewhere,” 

Pete chuckled, powering on the machine and taking the gel from its holster. “Most of the time, yes. If you want me to look around for it, I can do that. After I make sure everything’s okay.” 

“I really wanna know,” you said, wincing at the cold gel making contact with your skin. “It’d mean a lot. Then I can go full nesting mode. And so can Aaron and Eric, really.” 

The ultrasound went off without a hitch. According to Pete, your margins were clear, and everything looked healthy with the baby. It was always a relief to hear. There was little room for error with these things now that you had scarcely little supplies to work with. Finding the ultrasound machine early on in the apocalypse was a miracle in itself. 

“Okay…” Pete hummed, the wand moving and pressing over your skin. “The kid’s giving me a hard time with this one. And…” he pressed a few buttons, eyes focused on the screen before him. You watched his features intensely, as though his expression would give the answer away before he could say it. Pete’s eyes broke from the screen as he smiled, lifting the wand. “You’re having a little girl. Congratulations.” 

Your heart swelled, a wide smile overtaking your features as Pete handed you a towel. “A girl,” you whispered, eyes locked onto your belly. 

Before you were able to stop yourself, you were once more reminded of the likelihood that you’d never be able to share this with Daryl. Tears welled along your waterline as you sat up, swiping the scratchy cloth across your belly. Whether Pete noticed or not, he made no indications. You were thankful for it, and for him leaving the room to put the ultrasound equipment away. 

When he came back inside, he pulled Denise from her books and into the kitchen to talk, but you paid no mind to them. They were talking too low for you to listen in, anyway, and you were too busy trying to quell your emotions on the makeshift examination table to want to eavesdrop. 

By the time you were ready to leave, Olivia entered the infirmary, eyes scanning the room before landing on your frame. 

“Y/n, they’re on their way back,” she smiled, and you nodded gratefully. 

“They’re okay?”

The woman nodded. “Eric’s a bit banged up, hurt his leg I think, but otherwise they’re fine. And they brought a group. They should be getting here soon.” 

Exhaling a relieved breath, you slid from the bed, bidding goodbye to Denise and Pete as you followed Olivia onto the street. You walked side by side in silence, mulling over what she’d said. 

“You said they brought a group?” You asked, following Olivia up the steps to the house that held all of your inventory. “How many?”

Olivia huffed, brows cinching. “Deanna said it was a big one. That they had a lot of weapons, been on the road a while.” 

Your eyes widened. “A while as in the entire time, or?”

“Not sure,” Olivia shook her head. “All I know is I gotta get the weapons cart to the gate, if you wanna help?” 

“Sure. Should probably be there to get Eric to the infirmary, anyway,” you decided. 

And, sure enough, Aaron helping a limping, sweating Eric through the gate was the first — and for now, only — glimpses of the new group you would get. Aaron smiled apologetically as he spotted you, tucked out of view from the newcomers. 

“What the hell happened to you?” You said, looking pointedly at Eric, who grimaced as you took his arm from Aaron. 

“Roamers,” he sighed. “It’s broken, I think.” 

“You think?” You asked, eyeing the bruising flesh. “I can tell it’s broken. Come on, let’s get you to Pete.” 

Aaron thanked you as you wrapped an arm around Eric’s waist, helping him up the road and back into the infirmary. 

As Pete worked to wrap Eric’s ankle, you couldn’t help but ask questions about the trip. 

“It was a disaster,” Eric groaned. “There were roamers everywhere. Plus, this group, they’re headstrong. Been out there a while.” 

“How many of them are there?” You asked. “Olivia didn’t tell me.” 

“Fifteen,” Eric hissed, squirming as Pete positioned his ankle properly. 

Your eyes widened, throat going dry. “Jesus,” you huffed. “That many of them and they’re still going?”

“With a baby,” 

“Oh my God,” you gasped. Your mind flashed with images of baby Judith, heart clenching. The fall of the prison meant that you never found out exactly who made it out alive, and you never dared to venture the thought of whether or not she did. “They must be some lucky sons of bitches.” 

Eric laughed. “Not only are they lucky, but they’re tough. And really close. I think, once you get used to them, you’ll like them. They remind me of you when we found you.” 

“So, scrappy, hungry, and tired?” 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Eric laughed, and you couldn’t help but do the same. 

“If you need me, I’m four houses down.” Aaron pointed, Rick and Carl following his line of sight. “If I’m not there, Eric or Y/n probably will be.” 

Carl’s eyes snapped back to the brunet, a mixture of confusion and skepticism floating within them. “Y/n?”

Aaron’s brows furrowed at the boy. “Yeah. She’s a friend of ours, came here a few months back. Why?”

“We, uh…” Rick stepped in, a hand scratching at his beard. “We used to know someone named Y/n. that’s all.”

“Oh,” Aaron nodded, stepping away and heading back home, where you and Eric were sitting at the table, sandwiches in hand as you giggled about something he wasn’t aware of. 

Upon his entrance into the kitchen, you stood excitedly and hugged the man. “Glad you’re back okay,” you said, heading back to your chair. “I heard the group you brought was tough.”

“Yeah, they are.” Aaron chuckled, still mulling over the puzzle pieces in his head. “You said you were with a big group before, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

Aaron huffed, glancing at his shoes. “I brought up your name to one of the new members — just a name, nothing else — he said they used to know someone with the same name.” 

Your heart stuttered in your chest, limbs freezing as you were bringing the sandwich to your mouth. Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to put the food back down, looking up at Aaron with shining eyes. “This man, what’d you say his name was?”

“Rick. Rick Grimes.” 

If your heart had been fluttering before, it was banging like a drum in your chest now. Your stomach fluttered, your hand coming to rest on the swell of your belly, hoping to quell the anxiousness. 

“Where are they?” You asked, and Aaron’s mouth only remained agape. “Aaron, where are they?”

“Down the street,” he finally said, voice cracking. “The house on the curb, the one you said you liked.” 

Within moments, your food and friends were abandoned as you practically ran from the home, shooting down the porch steps and down the street. You were thankful that no one was out and about right now, or you were sure they’d think you looked crazy. You didn’t even register a person in your path until you’d already bumped into them. 

“Oh! Y/n, are you alright?” Jessie asked, her hands on your shoulders as her eyes searched your wild ones. 

“‘M fine, Jessie.” You muttered. “I’ve gotta go.”

You gave the woman no time to respond before you were wriggling out of her grip and hurrying down the street. Up more steps, you were greeted by the charming yellow door of the home you’d wished you lived in, knuckles rapping frantically and unyielding on the wood. 

The door finally, after what felt like decades, creaked open. Your heart stopped in your chest as you took in the sight of your husband’s best friend, clean shaven and hair dripping from a recent shower. 

Rick’s eyes flooded with tears as they met your own. In seconds, you were pulling him into your arms, grateful that you weren’t the only survivor of the Governor’s wrath. 

You sobbed into his shoulder, gripping tightly to the clean white shirt he wore. “Rick,” you croaked, “is he—” 

“He’s fine,” Rick whispered, heart breaking when your sobs worsened out of pure relief. “He’s just fine.” 

When you finally found the strength to let go, Rick led you inside. “We thought you were dead,”

“There were times I wished I was,” you said, taking a seat at the edge of the couch. “I was by myself for just over a month. Found some train tracks, lost ‘em, then stuck to interstates, mostly. Got lost in the woods, found a small town, and from there, Aaron and Eric found me. I’ve been here for two months.” 

Rick huffed a laugh, disbelief filling the sound. “Sounds like you had one hell of a trek.”

“I had a car, for a bit.” You shrugged. “Walkers ruined that part. I crashed it into a tree. Stuck to walking after that.” 

“When did you…” Rick glanced down at your swelling belly, forcing a laugh from you. 

Shrugging, you smoothed your hand over your belly. “Four-ish months ago. Didn’t find out until I got here. Been terrified ever since, really. Not knowing if Daryl was out there, if I’d see him again.” 

“You’ll see him soon,” Rick assured you. “He’s talking to Deanna now.”

“And the others?” You asked. “Beth? Judith?”

“Judith is just fine,” Rick said, eyes leaving yours as he sighed. “Beth got caught out in Atlanta. A woman in a hospital killed her.”

Your stomach churned at Rick’s words, guilt crushing your lungs and bile rising in your throat. “Oh, my God,” you whispered, pressing your fingers to your mouth to try and stop yourself from throwing up. 

Rick nodded, resting a hand on your knee. He watched you stand, your arm resting over your belly, beginning to pace the floor before him. 

“I have to… I need to go see the others. Daryl.” And without another word, you were leaving Rick behind in an unfamiliar home, nearly running down the familiar path to where Deanna and her husband lived. 

The group milled about in the small courtyard in front of Deanna’s house, hidden behind the brick walls that fenced it in. Everyone was either sitting or leaning against something, sticking to a tight group, and completely blocking your path to the inside of the home. 

With your mind so set on seeing Daryl, on simply getting close to him again, you failed to register Carol saying your name. Once again, you were pulled from your thoughts only when someone was right in front of you. 

This time, Carol was pulling you into her arms, her grip on your body tight. You hugged her back, despite the sweat and grime that covered her. Soon enough, Glenn, Maggie, Michonne, and Sasha had joined her. You were surrounded by your family, all overwhelmed at your presence, but happy nonetheless. 

When you finally requested to be let go, they obliged, and you finally spotted Judith in the arms of someone you didn’t know. Relief flooded you, seeing the baby healthy and happy as she could be. 

“What happened to you?”

“We thought you were dead!”

“Are you okay?”

“Guys, I’m fine, I promise.” You chuckled through tears. “I’ve been here almost the whole time, and I’m perfectly healthy. The doctor said so this morning.” 

You smiled as Carol’s eyes drifted from your face to your belly, shock overcoming her features, before her smile matched yours. She said nothing, but you were sure everyone else was either figuring it out or partially aware, just based on the interaction alone. 

A loud scoff echoed from the porch door, followed by low, gravelly muttering. Your heart stopped at the familiar voice, before thrumming in your heart like a rapid drumbeat. There, walking with careless ease, picking at his thumbs, was your husband, covered head to toe in layers of dirt and grime. You choked a sob as the group seemed to part around you. 

“Daryl,” you croaked, just loud enough for him to hear it. 

Daryl paused at the top of the steps, his eyes locked onto yours through the hair he’d let grow too long. In a flash, he was down the stairs entirely, rushing to pull you into his arms. You met him in the middle, colliding with his body and bringing you both to the ground. With one hand cupping the back of your head and the other splayed between your shoulder blades, Daryl cradled you close to him, rocking you as you clutched to the leather vest on his back tighter, sobbing in his embrace. 

“I thought ya were dead,” he whispered, fingers digging into your back. “I thought I lost ya,”

A choked sound escaped you as you shook your head. “Never,” you promised. “You could never lose me.” 

“Yer necklace,” Daryl croaked, tucking his face into the side of your head. “I found it, on the tracks in Georgia. Thought ya were gone…” 

“It fell.” You said, words hushed and shaking, as though they were a desperate plea. “Walkers were coming for me, too many for me to take on myself. It snapped off in the fight, I couldn’t go back for it.” 

By the time you felt okay enough to stand on your own, everyone had departed from the courtyard, likely into Deanna’s home. With a vice grip on his arms, Daryl helped you stand. His eyes raked over your face, tear-stricken and flushed with emotion. No matter the state you were in, Daryl could never see you as anything other than utterly beautiful. 

“You’re okay?” You asked, hands gently brushing the hair from his dirt-caked face. “You’re not hurt?” 

Daryl shook his head, leaning into your delicate touch. Hands smoothed over cloth, over skin, dedicating the feeling of your body beneath his touch to memory. He watched your eyes flutter closed as he did so, relishing in the slight pressure of his palms against your skin. They slid down your hips, your waist, and Daryl’s brow furrowed. He’d committed your body to memory long ago — every curve, every bump, every scar. Slowly, and with a hand that was less steady than it had been a moment ago, Daryl’s fingers drifted delicately over your front, eliciting a small gasp when he found what he’d suspected. 

The sound forced your eyes to open, meeting the bright blue of his own, widened in shock. Immediately, your stomach churned and you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, a habit you’d been unable to shake since high school. 

“Daryl?” Your voice shook. 

“Yer…” he breathed, eyes darting down to where the backs of his fingers rested, the slight swell of your stomach confirming what he’d been about to ask. “When’d you… did you know?”

“No, no…” you whispered gently, shaking your head. “I had no clue when… I didn’t know until I got here. I suspected it on the road, but… no, I didn’t.” 

A shaking breath fell from his lips. “And yer okay? Yer both— both okay?”

“We’re just fine,” you smiled, resting your palm on his cheek. “I promise. Your girls are just fine.” 

Daryl’s breath caught in his throat, a new wave of pure emotion rolling through his body. It seized his muscles, freezing him in place as he struggled for breath and blinked away tears. Girls. He was going to be a dad. He was going to have a daughter. 

“Ya have no idea how much I love ya,” Daryl muttered, his head dipping low, forehead resting on your shoulder. 

“I think I have a clue or two,” you joked, voice as soft as you could make it.

Daryl scoffed, lifting his head and pressing his lips to yours. It was short, shorter than you would’ve liked, but it carried as much love as all the other kisses you’d shared and stolen with the archer over the years. Still, he was here, and he was safe, and so were you. Nothing else mattered except that. 

The horrifying reality you’d thought yourself to be in was nothing but that — a mere thought. For now, you and Daryl were safe. Together. As a family. 

And you knew that, as he slipped the necklace back onto your skin, this time on a leather rope tied tight, there was nothing either of you wouldn’t do to stay that way. 

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[sunsetcupid]

BET ON ME ; F1 GRID.

synopsis: When you are dating an F1 driver, it is only natural that your relationship is filled with silly bets, and results as chaotic as the pair of you.

trigger warnings: Use of feminine pronouns from the reader’s perspective; Descriptions of romantic acts and behaviors; Suggestive remarks

a message from the author: As requested, I have added Max Verstappen to this series! If any of you would like to add a driver or request a certain scenario, don’t hesitate to message me in my inbox!

ISACK HADJAR

He’s competitive; you knew that from the very beginning – which made him the perfect mark. A coy smile, a timid “Do you really think you could?”, and he’s hooked.

For a moment, you think you might actually lose the bet. Whatever stupid, fanciful thing it is, Isack excels at it. It could be something as simple as a hula hoop competition, or God forbid who wins the next Mario Kart game. He’s staying even with you. Dare you even say, doing better than you. 

But his good fortune fails, and Isack loses the bet dramatically. And you burst out laughing. Because now! Now he has to wear the ridiculous inflatable plastic cow costume you bought one Halloween and never wore. It’s too small on him and he looks like an absolute idiot, stomping around everywhere, but you think you’ve never been more in love.

OSCAR PIASTRI

As much as Oscar adores a good wager, he’s hesitant. He doesn’t want to be conned into doing something reputation-destroying, but Oscar’s curiosity is what kills him. He shakes your hand, accepting the deal: whoever solves a Rubix’s Cube fastest wins. And the loser has to wear –

“A wizard’s robe…to the paddock?” You nod vigorously, and he sighs, surrendering any last shred of dignity he might have had. “Fine. Might as well; what do I have to lose?”

Apparently, everything. You’ve been secretly practicing your Rubix’s Cube skills, and when he loses the bet, he accuses you (correctly) of doing so. But anyways, despite your “cheating”, he puts it on, and it turns out to be the most hilarious thing you’ve ever witnessed in your life. You force him to make a TikTok with you, and that video goes viral – much to Oscar’s dismay. (Lando never stops teasing him afterwards.)

LANCE STROLL

The bet is 100% meaningless – something about what time it would start raining. Lance was like that: he had so much faith in the weather app that he sometimes ignored the warning signs emanating from the sky. He was effortlessly suave and cocky, and something in you loved knocking him down a peg.

Just as you predicted, it starts pouring ten minutes earlier than the app stated. Lance reacts with a nonchalant, unbothered sigh, responding in a casual tone as if this is normal, everyday life with you. “Guess I have to dress up as a zombie. Are you happy now?”

And you definitely are, when you finish coating on thick green paint on his face and applying the theatrical black-eye makeup. You inch backwards, admiring your handiwork – as well as the smug expression on Lance’s dorkily handsome face. “Not going to lie, you make a pretty sexy zombie.”

LANDO NORRIS

He’s outraged when you claim that he couldn’t win the bet – something childish such as, “Who can make the most backwards-jump hoops?” Your coordination skills are middling at best, but it’s so fun to poke at Lando’s ego and see how he puffs up. 

You go first, Lando citing some old-fashioned saying how women should take the lead as his excuse, and you land five dunks. Not a bad result, until Lando goes. One, two, three – almost four, but that last one misses the rim by a slim margin. 

“Oh, come on, babe. This was rigged! Let me do it again, I swear I can do better!” All defenses that leave Lando’s mouth when he realizes the outcome of the match, but he relents soon after. 

You dress him up as a vampire, giving him plastic fangs and an all-black ensemble. And he plays the part perfectly, acting somber and playfully melodramatic. 

CHARLES LECLERC

He tries to steer your attention away from making the bet, trying to get you distracted with something else, such as watching a movie or getting boba tea at your favorite shop. Nevertheless, you persist, and he gives up.

“So, the game is to see who can fit the most grapes in their mouth at one time? That sounds dangerous, mon ange – I don’t want you to choke.” But you take him to the table, where he sits down, the grapes carton open in front of him. He tentatively places one grape in his mouth. Shortly, his cheeks are bulging with a count of twenty-two grapes.

He dances around the room, victorious…Until you show him the video you recorded two hours earlier, where you were able to fit twenty-five grapes in your mouth. “That is impossible! No way!”

Unlike the others, though, Charles lets you dress him up in the werewolf costume, not fighting you off. In fact, you suspect that it might just be his next Halloween attire for next year.

DANIEL RICCIARDO

He’s in the minute you open your mouth, setting the scene for the most dramatic event of the year. The wager is how long you can keep a balloon in the air, and Daniel thinks he’s got it in the bag. He’s arrogant, claiming, “I’m going to beat the pants off of you!”

The timer starts, and he’s off to a good start. There are a few moments where you really panic, believing that you might truly lose the bet, but you try to keep a level head. A minute passes, then two, three, four. You’re at a loss for words, watching Danny keep bopping the balloon over and over like an expert.

And then you see it fall on the ground. Danny freezes, his mouth opening the slightest bit, as if he cannot believe his eyes. “Nooooo!” He wails. “I can’t believe this happened!”

You have to wrestle him into the chicken costume, but it’s worth the effort and energy. “I guess I’ve evolved. Look out, world. Here comes Daniel Eggciardo!”

MAX VERSTAPPEN

He waves you off, citing sim time as a necessary and valuable use of his time. “I can’t be playing around, liefje, I have a championship to win.” But after you keep wheedling, he concedes, because he’s a man who wants to keep his chaotic girlfriend satisfied.

The game is to see who can ice a cookie better blindfolded. You got the supplies from your mother, who is a baker, and Max scoffs. “I can’t believe she’d betray me like this.” He puts the blindfold on, nearly sending the cookie flying across the counter, but he successfully ices the dessert.

It’s your turn, but you’ve got your plan laid out and ready to be utilized. It’s fool-proof. And when you whisk the blindfold off, you know you’ve succeeded. Max rolls his eyes; nonetheless, he allows you to give him the ninja costume you bought from a cheap Spirit Halloween store. 

When he wears it? You make sure to snap several photos, keeping it safe and sound for future blackmail uses. “I can’t believe I did this. I must love you very, very much, schatje.”

Credits: Dividers — @fae-and-wolf

[papayaem]

The Paddock Baby

Dad!Oscar Piastri x Sick!Daughter!reader

Summary: In which Oscar Piastrias daughter is unwell in the paddock but Oscar still has to attend to media duties but it's okay because all she wants is her daddy

Warnings: Mentions of stomach bug, fever, clingy, fluff, use of the names 'darling' and 'sweetie'

Oscar's heart was racing—not because of the usual tension of qualifying, or the anticipation of race day—but because of the little bundle of energy in his arms, the one that wasn’t so energetic today.

Three-year-old you, his child, were clinging to him like a koala on a tree. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, and your tiny little hands were gripping the collar of his shirt as if it were the only thing holding you to this world.

Oscar couldn’t help but chuckle softly as he glanced down at you, noting how you looked pale and slightly flushed from whatever bug had decided to strike you in the middle of a race weekend. You were still adorable in your tiny Mclaren-themed onesie which Zak had bought and insisted you wear at least once this weekend, your golden curls slightly damp from a nap he’d tried to coax you into. But now, the fever had set in, and all you wanted was your dad.

"Hey, little champ," he murmured softly, adjusting your position in his arms as he walked through the crowded paddock. “Feeling better?”

You sniffled into his neck, not answering, only curling in tighter. He could feel the heat from your forehead press against his skin, making his heart ache a little more.

"I know, I know," he said, trying to reassure you, though his own nerves were starting to creep up on him. The interviews were next, and there was no way he could skip them. It was one of the busiest weekends of the season, and he had to be at his best for his team and his sponsors.

He smiled as a couple of photographers waved at him, but when they saw the little one in his arms, their expressions softened. It was well-known that Oscar was a family man, but seeing him carrying his child in the paddock, his typically composed demeanor now a bit more fragile with a sick little one in his arms, was a different sight.

"Sorry, mate, she’s a bit under the weather today," Oscar said to one of the photographers who gave him an understanding look. He felt an unspoken wave of support and respect as they backed off, giving him some space.

As Oscar made his way toward the interview area, he could hear the voice of his team’s PR manager, Sarah, calling to him from behind. "Oscar, we're on in five minutes. Is she alright? Should we reschedule?"

He shook his head, trying to mask his concern with a smile. "No, no, we’re good. I’ll manage."

You let out a soft whimper, and Oscar felt his heart tug. "It's okay, darling. Daddy's got you." He whispered it over and over like a mantra, feeling like he was walking a fine line between being the Formula 1 driver everyone expected him to be and the dad he knew he was.

When they reached the media area, Oscar had to pause for a moment, adjusting your position in his arms so you weren’t pressing too hard against his chest. You were so small—he could easily hold you in one arm, but with how sick you were, you weren’t just heavy in weight, but emotionally heavy too.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself. "Let’s get this over with.”

As he sat down for the interview, you rested your head against his shoulder, the soft whimpers still escaping your mouth as you tried to fight the drowsiness the fever brought on.

The first couple of questions were normal enough. The reporters asked about the weekend, the car, his thoughts on qualifying, but they kept glancing at you. It was clear the baby in his arms was taking more attention than the typical line of questioning.

"Looks like you’ve got some company today, Oscar," one of the reporters remarked, chuckling lightly. "Your daughter doesn’t look too well."

Oscar gave a half-smile, nodding. "Yeah, she’s not feeling great. Poor thing’s got a stomach bug. But she’s a trooper."

He adjusted you slightly as you let out a tiny whine, causing a few of the reporters to give each other concerned looks. One of them, a woman with a kind smile, spoke up. “Do you want to take a break? We can reschedule, Oscar. You don’t have to do this right now.”

Oscar paused, his eyes darting between the interviewer and his daughter, who had now settled into the crook of his arm.

He could feel his own worries surfacing. He loved racing, but you—his little one—came first. And this moment wasn’t just about him; it was about showing that balance between his career and his life as a dad.

"No," he said softly but firmly, "We’re almost done here, and I promised my team I’d be here. Besides, she seems to like being close to Daddy right now. I think we’ll be okay."

Another reporter asked a question, but Oscar was no longer entirely focused. His eyes were on you—your little face pressed against him, still hot with fever, but now calm in his embrace. His heart ached, but it also swelled with love. You were his world. You were the only constant in his life, even when racing seemed to take over everything.

He answered the next couple of questions with a professionalism that had taken years to perfect, but internally, his mind was a whirl of concern for you.

The cameras flashed, and one of the photographers caught a candid shot of Oscar gazing down at you, looking both tender and tired. It was a raw, unpolished moment. The kind of shot that would go viral.

As soon as the interview wrapped up, he stood and immediately took a deep breath of relief. Sarah, his PR manager, was waiting nearby. "You did great, Oscar. But seriously, let’s get her checked out. You can’t work with her like this."

Oscar nodded, already starting to walk toward the medical area. You were still in his arms, though now your eyes were closed, and your little breaths were more shallow, as if sleep was trying to claim you.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” he whispered. “Daddy’s got you. Just hang in there a little longer.”

After a short consultation with the paddock doctor, they confirmed it was just a mild stomach bug, and thankfully, there was nothing more serious to worry about. They gave Oscar some fluids for you and suggested he keep you hydrated.

By the time they left the medical area, Oscar felt a sense of relief wash over him. You were still drowsy, but at least you were no longer too hot to the touch. He cradled you against him as he walked back to the team’s garage.

"I think someone’s ready for a nap," Oscar murmured, brushing a lock of hair from your face. You shifted slightly in his arms, now clinging to him in your sleep, but the tension had left your little body.

Oscar’s phone buzzed with messages from his manager and sponsors, but for the first time all day, he felt the weight of it all slide off his shoulders. As he walked through the paddock, he realized something. His world wasn’t just here in the garage, or on the track, or under the spotlight—it was also right here, in his arms.

His daughter.

His little champion.

The team would have to wait for a bit. He had the most important thing in the world to focus on right now.

Please to not copy or Translate without permission x

[narrycherries]

ivy: how’s one to know..

Harry is just an ass and she’s just a stranger.

masterlist // ivy series

word count: 8.6k

warnings/tags: enemies to lovers, harry x fem oc, angst

[before you start: i edited this bc i ended up giving her name back to her, it’s no longer (y/n) but of course feel free to read it however you want and change the descriptors to whatever you prefer!]

The holiday season had wrapped up a handful of days ago and things were slowly starting to go back to normal. The sparkling strings of lights decorating neighborhoods and businesses all around the city were being taken down and shoved back in their storage boxes until the last month of the year circled around again. The weather was staying consistent, though. The gloomy overcast skies and chilly wind that whipped through the streets were enough to keep people bundled up and wishing for spring to arrive.

Most people she knew enjoyed the holidays a lot more than she did. Sure, she loved to see the colorful lights lining roofs and windows of boutiques and restaurants along the main strip. There was something so juvenile, so innocent about the giddy feeling that would fill her stomach as she saw a pile of fake presents and a decorated tree in a shop window. Somewhere deep down inside of her heart, she still had that spark that a child would have.

When she was growing up, she sought happiness during the holidays by admiring other people’s outdoor decorations or gazing in awe at the displays put up in her schools. She didn’t have what most people had that she went to school with, but she tried to be grateful, even as a young chlid, and appreciate what surrounded her.

A strong sadness was building in her chest as she slid the ceramic Santa Claus into his box to pack him away with the other Christmas decorations. She thought about the many years she questioned if Santa was real. There were so many nights when she’d squeeze her eyes shut and whisper out loud, her knees on the floor as she put her elbows into the mattress. There was so much hope in her. She believed that if she wished and prayed and dreamed enough, Santa would leave a present or two on the coffee table next to her dad’s stained coffee mug. There wasn’t a tree most of the years of her childhood, but her dad give gift her things (there was no magical Santa though). There were no twinkling lights outside of her window, hanging down from the roof with a clumsy droop. There were no ornaments to place on the branches of a fake tree, lined with a dusty skirt that would be covered with presents. There were no fresh baked cookies and steaming hot chocolate topped with marshmallows. The television never displayed joyful Christmas movies and specials. The radio on the kitchen counter never once sang a tune of a wintery song about snow and ice. No, none of that. It was just her dad, her brother, and herself for a while.

“Did you keep the box for this guy?” Emma’s curious voice snapped her from her trance.

She cleared her throat and looked up from her spot on the living room rug. Her ‘new’ roommate was holding a ceramic snowman who’s decorated style matched the Santa she just put away. She reached into the plastic storage container and grabbed the box, passing it up to Emma.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks, Ivy.” She smiled back, noticing that there was a glimmer of disappoint on her face, but she didn’t mention it to her. “You didn’t have to put everything away so fast. I would’ve been fine with it for a few more weeks.”

Emma had just moved in before Christmas. Her things were half way unpacked throughout the small house they now shared.

“I didn’t want it to crowd you. Besides, Christmas is over.” Ivy’s tone was partially rough as she began to pack away the miniature houses placed across the console table that the television hung above.

“I’m so excited to actually be here, like, full time. Niall’s a bit upset.. but I told him he’d survive.” She said with a laugh as she started to collect the small figurines that went with the village.

“I’m excited, too. I’m glad you’re actually up for decorating the space and not just.. letting me do it all. My last roommate was not particularly outgoing.” Ivy snickered at the thought, knowing she wouldn’t be missing that person at all. The girl was nice and all, but she was quite boring.

“Oh, totally! I’ve already got some stuff I want to show you in my room. Maybe we could put it out here or something.”

“I’m fine with anything as long as it’s cute.” She shot her friend a grin.

Emma wasn’t a new friend by any means. They met early on while they were both at university. Emma was actually her first partner for a project in one of their biology classes. They met on the third day of class and became friends very quickly. Their chemistry went far beyond the confines of the science lab. Emma was joyful and adventurous and offered Ivy that motivating spark to actually go out and have fun. Not that Ivy couldn’t match Emma’s energy once her veins were filled with alcohol, she just didn’t go out as much.

“Speaking of Niall, I haven’t seen him a while. How’s he doing?”

A proud smile crept to Emma’s lips. “He’s been good. But he’s been super busy with the store.. almost never get to spend time during the actual day with him.”

“But it’s going well, the store, I mean? Like he’s having success?”

Emma nodded. “It’s been great. I told him it would do good around here, especially with the college students. And besides, people are always looking for music lessons. I’m glad he took my advice and decided to offer those through the business.”

Niall was an excellent musician, or so Ivy has been told. She hadn’t actually seen him play anything in person, only through recordings and videos Emma had shown her. She knew Niall was talented, though. He played the guitar and the bass, both of which seemed entirely too complicated in Ivy’s mind. When they started dating last year, Niall was in the midst of finalizing a business plan and opening his music store. Emma told her all about it, including her fears and anxiety about the situation - but only because she was afraid Niall would get so caught up in the store that he would abandon their relationship. Niall ended up not doing that, obviously, and was able to balance everything in his life. He and Emma would be celebrating their one year anniversary on Valentine’s Day - which Ivy thought was particularly sweet and romantic.

“I’m glad everything’s working out.”

The store opened back in the summer, and Ivy had only gone by once to see the place. It was in a part of town she didn’t frequent very often, so the opportunity to casually stroll in was rare. It wasn’t like it was Emma’s store. While she did know Niall well enough to refer to him as a friend, she wasn’t close with him. She was supportive, of course, but not overly involved.

“He’s coming by later to help me put together the dresser. Well.. he’s going to do it for me, not help me.” She snickered as she joined Ivy on the floor to start gently laying the mini figurines in a small cardboard box they knew as home.

“I can make dinner if you’d like. Niall likes that pasta I make, right?”

“Yeah! He actually asked me about that a few weeks ago. He said I have to get your recipe.” She grinned back, rolling her eyes at the thought of her boyfriend’s obsession with food.

“He’s only had it like twice.. but it’s flattering to know I’m such a good chef.” Ivy laughed under her breath. “I’ll give you the recipe.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent on putting away the last of the decorations and moving them into the hallway closet. The box fit perfectly in the bottom of the closet. Emma disappeared into her room to continue unboxing her belongings. Ivy was mostly occupied with dusting the wood furniture and wiping down the kitchen. She liked a neat, tidy home and she was very glad to know that Emma did as well. She checked the cabinets to make sure she had the ingredients required for the pasta she’ll be making later on.

Every now and then, she’d hear a crash of something hitting the floor come from the hallway, presumably from Emma’s room. She would just giggle to herself as Emma’s dramatic cries of curses and sighs would fill the small home. Despite being friends for a handful of years, they had never lived in the same space before. Even while at university when it was mandatory for them to live on campus, they lived in different dorm buildings. Emma was in a sorority and definitely more comfortable with herself than Ivy was. She kept to her small dorm with her roommate, whom she didn’t have anything in common with but she was kind to her. If she were being honest, she thought Emma would try to move in with Niall once her old lease had expired. But, Niall was comfortable where he was in his apartment and he already had a roommate. As much as Emma wanted to live with him, it was just too soon anyway. They tossed around the idea, but Ivy mentioned to her that perhaps she needed to wait, just in case. Niall wasn’t upset with Emma’s decision to move elsewhere, as long as she was in the city close to him. Ivy was also informed that Niall’s roommate wasn’t too keen on letting someone else share their space. She had never met him before, didn’t even know his name, but she couldn’t blame them. She wouldn’t want her house to be permanently crowded either. Niall let Emma stay over there a lot, though, but spending the night for the weekend or on a random weekday when it was too late to drive back home was different than staying full time. And of course, Niall was allowed over whenever he wanted and she made that clear to Emma before she signed the lease. As long as he respected their home and didn’t leave a mess behind, he was welcomed.

A gentle sigh slipped past her thick lips as she trailed back to the living room. The open concept of the front of the home meant the living room was attached to the kitchen with no barrier other than the island. She sat down on the end of the couch, the damp kitchen towel she used to wipe down the furniture sat on the side table. She picked it up, along with the framed photo that was next to the pretty gold lamp. The gold of the frame didn’t quite match the lamp, but it was still beautiful to her. The ornate metal that decorated the frame was cold as she carefully rubbed the pads of her fingers over it. She stared at the photograph locked behind the glass, the speed of her heart beating increased only slightly.

The image was of her and her mother when she was around three years old. It was Halloween, she was dressed in a pink dress that was modeled after Princess Aurora, and her hair was curled and a little makeup playfully swept over her features. Her mother was dressed in a Cinderella themed costume, her matching golden blonde hair curled, too, and pinned up. It wasn’t the last holiday they spent together, but it was one of the only ones Ivy remembered. She doubted herself at times about the memory - she was only three and a half, did she actually remember it or was she imagining it? Despite always doubting herself, she knew too well that the memory was burned into her brain. She can remember the smell of the burning iron as her mom curled her hair. She remembers getting tickled by the fluffy makeup brush as a bit was applied to her face just to add to the illusion. She remembers the taste of the mini chocolate bar her mom unwrapped for her in the car in between neighborhoods - the night was full of trick or treating and giggles and squeals. She even remembered the way her mom’s hand carefully adjusted her curls when they got caught in the zip of Ivy’s costume. It was a memory she held dear to her heart, one she prayed she’d never lose. Ivy had always tried her hardest to find things to fill in the void of not having her mother around. But no matter how determined she was, nothing ever seemed to be enough. She found joy in little things, like collecting whatnots and trinkets that reminded her of the ones that littered her house when her mom was alive. She enjoyed searching for squirrels and birds in the park, collecting odd looking rocks during her walks, listening to her favorite songs on repeat, and a plethora of other things. But nothing could really fill the space in her heart.. It was quite a big space, after all.

That evening, after the sun nestled below the horizon and stars littered the dark winter sky, Emma invited Niall over for dinner. It was third day of actually staying here, since she opted to spend two weeks with Niall for Christmas between her parent’s place and his. Ivy was working on preparing the ingridents for the pasta when Niall knocked and was let in with a grinning Emma planting a kiss to his mouth. He laughed and brushed her off, not a big fan of showing affection in front of other people, even though he knew Ivy wasn’t watching.

“Hey, long time no see!” Niall said with a smile as he followed Emma into the kitchen.

Ivy’s eyes glanced over her shoulder. “Hi, Niall. It’s been a while, yeah?”

“I think you guys haven’t seen each other since the day we moved my crap in.” Emma said with a slight unsure tone.

“Your crap that still isn’t unpacked.” Niall sighed as he leaned against the counter, his arms crossing on his chest.

Ivy chuckled to herself as Emma began to give him excuses for why her things weren’t put away and in their new spots yet. The list included things like being busy with work, having errands to run, and of course ‘spending all my time with you’ that made Niall smack his lips and give her a sarcastic ‘okay, sure’.

They kept up their banter for a bit while (Y/n) rinsed her hands at the sink. She had finished everything she needed to do before actually cooking the food. When she turned towards them, Niall was peering his eyes into the pot of boiling water, frowning as he saw it was empty.

“She’s making the pasta you said you like.” Emma said as she grabbed his forearm to tug him away from the oven.

“Oh, really? That stuff was so good.” Niall’s eyes shot to Ivy’s. “I want a whole pot of it for my birthday, please and thanks.”

She shook her head in disbelief as a laugh rolled out of her mouth. “Isn’t your birthday in September?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, just don’t want ya to forget.”

“C’mon, let's start with the dresser, Niall. Let Ivy cook.” Emma said after checking the time on her phone. “We’ll clean up the kitchen after dinner, okay? Don’t worry about it!”

“Alright, that’s fine. I’ll let you know when it's done.”

And just like that, she was alone in the kitchen again. It didn’t bother her to be alone, she had been for most of her life, especially her late teenage and adult years. Finding something to occupy her bored mind was not a new task for her to learn. She opted for sitting at the small dining table after setting the timer on the oven in case she forgot to check the time.

Ivy pulled her phone from the pocket of her sweatpants and started to maneuver through the notifications that had come through since she last checked. One was a message from a random company that was offering a sale this coming weekend, there were two texts from Niall - the first asking if he needed to bring anything, the second saying Emma told him not to and to just ignore the text - the rest were random notifications from different apps.

Her attention went to her photo app as she scrolled to a few days ago, just a day or so after the New Year began. She went for a walk in the park close by one day during lunch when she had nothing else to do. She snapped a few photos of little random things, like a wild flower that had somehow managed to survive the low temperature, a bird that was perched on top of the black metal fence that lined the park, and a snapshot of the sky with the clouds parting in such a way that made it look like heaven. After having lost so much in life, she learned and forced herself to appreciate the little things that were around. Details of daily life, like the fall of a leaf to the ground or the chirp of a bird in a tree, were almost therapeutic for her.

Dinner didn’t take too long to cook, but the dresser was seeming to take much longer than Emma had expected it to. When Ivy knocked on the bedroom door and stuck her head in, she grinned as she saw Niall sitting on the floor with his head thrown back and Emma pacing the room with her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Her once neatly fixed dark hair was messily tied in a bun on the back of her head. The instruction booklet for the dresser was laid out in between Niall’s legs, along with a torn bag of hardwear.

“Food’s ready.” She said with a singsong voice that made Niall pop his head up.

“Finally.” He quickly rose to his feet and grabbed Emma’s wrist, tugging her behind him as they followed Ivy down the hall and towards the kitchen.

“Eat as much as you want, I made plenty.” She said as she let them make a bowl first.

“Don’t have to tell him twice.” Emma’s mouth shaped to a smile as Niall practically pushed her aside to be first.

“Guests eat first, right?” He joked as he gave them both a quick glance, a smirk on his face as he grabbed the serving utensil.

Once the three of them had fixed what they wanted and claimed a spot at the table, Ivy offered to grab everyone something to drink. Emma and herself chose a glass of ice water while Niall requested a Coke. Emma had just brought home a box this morning after her quick run to the grocery store. The food appeared to be a big hit as Niall scarfed it down, spitting out compliments and satisfied hums that made the girls giggle and roll their eyes jokingly at him.

“Em told me the store is doing great.”

Niall nodded as he sipped his drink. “Yeah, it’s been good, actually. I’m glad.”

“I’m glad you do the lessons. I told her that people are coming in pretty much all day long.” Emma said.

“Yeah, if it’s not someone who’s into music already or just curiously out shopping.. The sign about the lessons really brings people in. And even if they don’t go through with it, they end up looking around and finding something.” Niall told them with a pleased smile, he was relieved his business was staying crowded and people actually enjoyed coming to the store.

“Did you end up finding someone to teach the guitar lessons? I know Emma said something about you were looking for someone else, since you got so busy with your bookings.”

“Yeah, my roommate actually. He’s decent at guitar and he’s just working with the beginners. I’m sticking to the people who sorta know how to play around that just wanna get better.”

Ivy nodded as she took another bite. “That’s good.”

The cooking had made the kitchen a bit warmer than it was before, so she pushed her sleeves up to her elbows. The exposure of the small tattoo on the inside of Ivy’s elbow caught Emma’s eye.

“Oh!” She chirped suddenly, making Niall flinch. “I forgot to tell you, Ivy, I’m getting a tattoo in a few weeks. Already got my appointment.”

“Oh, really? Where at this time?” Ivy asked with genuine curiosity.

“On my foot. Just a cute little flower. Niall says it's going to hurt.”

Ivy squinted her eyes and pursed her lips. “You don’t have any, do you?”

Niall chuckled. “No, but I’ve been told the foot is terrible.”

“I’m not a baby, Niall. It’s not my first one. Besides, Zayn said it would be fine since I’m used to the feeling.”

“Zayn is lying to you to spare your feelings and get your money. He is my friend, I think I'd know when he lies.” Niall was only teasing her, but it brought a flush to Emma’s cheeks.

“Shut up.” She mumbled through a pout.

Ivy was amused by their interaction, but she chose to move on with the conversation so Emma wouldn’t get too sensitive. She wasn’t over emotional or anything, but sometimes she would get embarrassed if Niall playfully taunted her in front of other people.

“Zayn.. is that the guy I met that time at the bar?” Ivy couldn’t remember the person’s name, but she was sort of sure that it was the same person they’re referring to.

Niall nodded to her. “Yeah. The one with all the tattoos.. I would say the one with the black hair but right now it’s platinum blonde.” The lift of Niall’s brows made her think that maybe he didn’t approve of the look, but he had no choice but to accept it.

“I thought that was the same guy. I’m pretty sure he told me he owned a shop.”

“He’s the best around.” Emma said with a laugh. “Plus.. he gives me a discount.”

“You’re welcome for that.” Niall puckered his lips and leaned her direction, demanding a kiss that he knew he wouldn’t get.

“Hush.” She pushed her fingers to his mouth and gently shoved his head back.

He laughed at her reaction. “Just saying, Em. He’s my friend.. like I said before.”

Emma ignored him and turned her eyes to Ivy. “Anyway, Niall can’t come with me.. so I was going to see if you wanted to go.”

“I can see if I can.. just let me know the date and time.”

“Alright. I will. Niall, don’t be a pig.” She groaned as she saw he had slipped from the table and was at the stove, piling his bowl full again.

“Let him eat it. That way we won’t have to worry about leftovers.”

Emma shook her head. “He’d eat the actual house if you’d let him.”

—•—

Ivy was puckering her lips in the mirror of the car visor as she applied her lip balm. It was chilly outside and the weather wasn’t being kind to her skin at all. She huffed as she saw the patch of dry skin right in the middle of her forehead. She had just applied her moisturizer before they loaded in the car to drive to the tattoo shop. Emma was driving, and every now and then she’d glance Ivy’s way and notice she was still staring in the mirror.

“What’s the matter?” She finally asked as Ivy slid the cover over the mirror and flipped the visor up, her back hitting the seat as she felt defeated.

“My skin is horrible right now.” She rolled her eyes to herself, upset that it was bothering her this much. It was just a bit of dry skin and chapped lips, she shouldn’t be so affected by it.. but she was. “Even my lips are dying.”

Emma smiled. “I’m sure lots of people are struggling right now. I’ve got a dry spot on my cheek. It’s been there for a few days. Just the weather.”

“But it's annoying. Y’know my hormones are whacky sometimes.. feel like as soon as I get it under control, I break out or have something like this happen.”

“When we get home, we can look up some different products. Maybe we can find something better for seasonal dryness. My cream isn’t working either.”

Ivy shrugged and took out her phone to mindlessly look through one of her social media apps. “Yeah, we can do that.”

Even though the shop wasn’t too far from where they lived, Emma didn’t want to walk in the cold and she didn’t want to have to cover the tattoo with thick, tight shoes afterwards. So, Ivy agreed to drive back after they left, and after they grabbed some food. The shop was right around the corner, and it caught Ivy’s attention as they turned onto the street. It was just off the main road of the downtown area. The street was lined with different restaurants, stores, thrifting spots, boutiques, and a few law firm offices and an emergency clinic that stayed open during the weekend. She was familiar with the area, and had actually looked towards the tattoo shop’s sign plenty of times. They pulled into a spot and Emma took in a deep breath before pulling the keys out.

“Are you nervous?” Ivy said with an amused grin plastered over her lips as she opened the car door.

“What if Niall’s right? What if it hurts real bad?”

“You’ll be fine. You got one on your ribs and your spine. You can take it.”

Emma was still nervous as she followed Ivy to the door. She grabbed the handle and pulled the door open, allowing Emma to slip into the building first. It was warm in the small lobby of the tattoo shop. She was unfamiliar with the specific shop, but not the reality of one. It looked like the others she had been to and the place she got her tattoos done at. The walls were dark grey and decorated with interesting pieces of artwork and posters. There were rock band posters, most of which she recognized, on the wall behind the dark wood desk that acted as a check in counter. Nobody was at the counter, though. There was a small sleek, black leather couch pressed against the side wall, above it hung a large canvas with what appeared to be an original artwork painted on to it. She saw the signature in the lower left corner and smiled as she read over the name she had heard Niall use a few weeks ago during dinner. So this Zayn character was more than just a tattoo artist? She was intrigued by the brush work on the canvas, the beauty of the image was breathtaking. The muted colors stood out oddly bold against the stark white and midnight black areas. It was nothing like she had ever seen before. Although she didn’t partake in any form of art herself, she was an admirer. She enjoyed frequenting art galleries and museums and contributing to artists as much as she could. She once got a commissioned painting of a bouquet of flowers from an older woman in the area who was a somewhat known artist. The piece lives on the wall near the hall closet.

“Zayn?” Emma called out suddenly as she grew impatient with standing in the middle of the lobby.

Ivy sighed to herself as Emma disappeared through a door. It lead to the main tattoo room, with three different stations placed in it. The back room was Zayn’s private room that his clients were able to be secluded in. Emma knocked on that closed door and waited patiently. A few moments later, Zayn opened the door with a smile, happy to see her.

“Hi, Em.” He said, his accent thick as it rang through the small building.

Ivy heard them chatting, so she decided to peek through the door, a nervous smile on her face. Zayn’s eyes caught hers as he towered over Emma. He offered a friendly wave and gestured for her to join them. She nervously stepped over the threshold and swallowed gently.

“Zayn, do you remember Ivy? You guys met a while back.” Emma said with a gesture of her hand as Ivy approached them.

Immediately, she recognized his features - from his dark eyes to his nearly fully inked arms. His tattooed sleeves wrapped over his shoulders, around his neck, crept over each wrist and wiggled around his fingers. He was covered, to say the least. She could only presume the rest of him looked like that. Colorful tattoos mixed with jet black ones littered his skin. And she noticed, of course, that his hair was blond now like Niall had mentioned.

“I think so, yeah. You’re the chick Niall said could outdrink me, right?” Zayn asked with a laugh.

“I don’t drink that much.. but yeah, that’s me.”

Emma gave her a nudge of her elbow. “She can out drink anyone when she actually lets loose.”

Her eyes rolled as a smile toyed on her lips, still slick from the lip balm. “Yeah yeah.”

“Let me get my chair cleaned off and you ladies can come back here.” Zayn said just as he grabbed the knob to his private room.

They heard something hit the floor and then a shuffle of shoes moving against the tile. Emma furrowed her brows and gave Zayn a curious look.

“Someone in there?”

“Yeah, I just finished a piece.”

He opened the door and went inside, shutting it behind him again. Ivy turned towards Emma and gave her a smile, unsure of what to do next. Emma grabbed her hand and nodded towards the open lobby door.

“We can wait in here.”

They returned to the lobby, where Ivy was easily distracted by the art on the walls again. There was a print of a skull near the door. It had flowers pouring over the crown of it, which then melted to puddles as they hit the imaginary ground. She thought it was interesting and quite cool. From what she could tell about Zayn’s vibe, it fit it well. The music playing from the speakers in the ceiling was loud enough to be heard but not too invasive. She could tell it was a curated playlist going, because the song that just begun seemed to be sung by the same person as the one before.

“Zayn just texted me.. he said we can come back.”

“I thought someone was-“ Ivy stopped speaking the second a body appeared in the doorway. “Oh.”

“Hey, Harry.” Emma said with a friendly tone as she stood up, motioning for Ivy to follow her.

“Hey, Emma.” The stranger replied with a quick lift of one corner of his mouth.

Ivy was slightly confused because it obviously appeared that the two knew each other. She had never heard Emma refer to anyone by the name of Harry, at least not that she could recall. She licked her lips and let her eyes fall down his tall, broad frame.

“What did you get?” Emma asked with her usual curious voice.

Ivy was listening, but she wasn’t paying that much attention. She couldn’t help but be taken aback by the appearance of the person in front of them. He was tall, much taller than Niall but probably close to Zayn’s height. He looked like a sky scraper standing in front of Emma and herself, both of which were shorter than average. His long, dark hair shaped into curls that were messily laying on his shoulders. He suddenly swept his hand through his roots the second she realized he had such long hair. The motion caused the lights above them to ricochet off the rings covering his fingers.

“This.” He said as he extended his right arm to them, well mainly to Emma.

There was a freshly inked snake curling around his forearm, each scale placed perfectly on his tanned skin. There were remenents of blood speckled across his skin, and a deep redness that hazed over the entire tattoo.

“Wow! That’s so good.” Emma beamed at the delicate work.

“Yeah, took two sessions. Zayn got a bit tired last time.” He smirked gently at the girl he knew, completely ignoring the one he didn’t.

“Well, it was cool seeing you! Are you headed home?”

He shook his head. “Gonna sit here for a while. I’ve got to be at the store in an hour to help Niall.”

She checked the time. “Yeah, he said he was the only one closing tonight.”

“Emma?” Zayn called from the back room, his head looking around the doorframe searching for her.

“Coming!” She hollered back, taking one last look at Harry’s freshly inked arm. “It was good seeing you. If you leave before I get out of here, I’ll see you later.”

Ivy didn’t even realize she was tracing her eyes over his body. His arms were like tree trunks, muscles taut under his skin and veins popping out, rolling around as he moved. His legs were tightly wrapped in a pair of dark jeans, she could tell through the fabric that they were toned as well. It wasn’t until he suddenly walked past her, not even sparing her a glance, that she realized she had been standing frozen.

Emma started towards the back room, Ivy in tow as she felt an embarrassed blush cover her cheeks. She didn’t know this Harry guy, but she hoped she wasn’t staring too hard at him. It definitely wasnt polite to just stare at a stranger, especially when she was blanking out. What if she was making a face at him? Something nasty, or something rude looking? She was unsure, but chose to ignore it. He didn’t seem bothered by anything as he took a spot on the couch.

Zayn’s office was just as she expected it to be. It was a deep shade of green, the walls coated in framed prints and a few smaller canvases of what she figured was his work. There was a small accent chair placed in the corner for guests. She sat down and started darting her eyes around the room. The type of work that Zayn had pinned to a board on the back wall caught her eye. He seemed to be good at everything, but most of it was bold color work or extremely detailed realism, sort of like the snake she saw on Harry’s arm moments ago. She wondered if Zayn had given himself any of his own tattoos or if he went to someone else. Surely, not every place on his body was accessible by his own hands, but maybe some of them were done by him. She felt like an amateur compared to him. She had a few tattoos placed on her body, but nothing quite as big or detailed as what she saw on the board or on Zayn’s skin.

“Ivy is your new house mate, right?” Zayn asked Emma as she got comfortable on the chair.

“Yeah. I moved in before Christmas.”

“But.. you’ve known each other for a while, right? I can’t exactly remember.”

Emma nodded. “Yeah, since we were in college together.”

“Zayn.. do you mind if I look through this?” Ivy asked politely as she picked up the small binder off the console table next to the chair. A few figurines of characters she recognized, an hour glass with black sand, and a plant lived on the table as well.

“Of course not, that’s why it’s there.” He gave her a chuckle, but kept his response nice.

She opened the book and started to slowly flick through the pages. She saw his signature on the bottom of the designs. They were all so perfect. Some were executed with such detail and precision that she could've sworn they were fake, others were more loose drawn in a free handed style or just more whimsical in nature. She saw a sketch of a few bees on one of the pages. They were in black and grey, mostly realistic with subtle, soft shading and delicate lines. The drawing was pretty and neat. She glanced to the corner, searching for his signature, but she didn’t find it. Instead, in the corner opposite of where Zayn favored to sign his name was a small H. She hummed to herself, curious to know why Zayn had someone else’s drawing in his book. She quickly shook the thought out and reminded herself that there three other stations in the front. They were not abandoned by any means, she could tell people worked at them based on the different things displayed and the personal trinkets and objects adnoring the areas. Maybe this was one of his college’s work or maybe it was random.

For the most part, the book was filled with things Zayn did. Some of them were his own creations while others were common tattoo designs just drawn by his own hand instead of being pulled from the internet. She liked the way he had a bunch of his own things offered in styles that were more popular. He appeared to be a well versed artist with the talent to create just about anything.

As Zayn prepped Emma’s skin for her tattoo, he was talking to her about Niall’s store. He asked how it was going and if she had heard any horror stories yet of Niall messing up payroll or forgetting to stock an item. She only laughed and said she was surprised he was staying so calm and organized. Everything about the store was going more than according to plan, as at least as much as Ivy could tell from what she’s heard. She was still so happy for Niall. His hobby had turned into a passion and a business and he was able to share it with others, it was like a dream come true she bet.

“Alright, are y’ready?” Zayn said with a deep breath of his own as Emma grew more and more nervous in the chair.

“I think so.”

“You’ll do fine, Em.” Ivy encouraged from the corner, her eyes now focused on her friend.

“Just take some deep breaths. Tell me if it’s too much.” Zayn told her as he pulled the stencil paper off her foot. The flower wasn’t that big, but there were lots of tiny details that Zayn knew would probably hurt her more than anything else she’s gotten. “Just a tattoo.”

“If I cry, you can’t tell Niall. I told him I could handle this.” Emma mumbled out with a frown as she stared at her foot.

Zayn smiled and leaned back, the gun still buzzing in his hand. “Before I start, is it in the spot you want?”

“What do you think? Is it good?” She asked him, twisting her foot to a different pose.

“It’s not my foot, love.”

She groaned and looked over towards Ivy. “Can you check?”

Ivy laughed a little but nodded as she stood up. Just as she was about to step towards them, Emma called for someone else to take a peek at the design.

“Harry? Are you still in there?” Her voice echoed through the room, she hoped that it spilled into the lobby so he could hear her. After a few seconds, she grunted and pulled her phone out to shoot him a text. “I’m so nervous.”

“It looks fine to me.. but it’s your decision.” Zayn told her with a gentle sigh.

Ivy looked down at the placement of the tattoo, her arms behind her back with her hands locked. “Yeah, it’s cute.”

She gave Emma a hopeful smile before turning around. The door opened just as she moved her body, the stranger that wasn’t a stranger to anyone but her, walked in the room, chuckling as he saw Emma fanning her face, the heat swelling her skin with sweat and her eyes with tears - she was nervous.

“You always do this.” Zayn couldn’t resist laughing as Harry walked to them.

Ivy was back in her seat now, her eyes fixed on her phone as she waited for Emma to decide her fate. She could hear snickers coming from Zayn and Harry as they talked about the tattoo and Emma’s apparent hesitation that always came out when she was in Zayn’s chair.

“It’s fine, Emma.” Harry said, giving her a smile before looking to Zayn. “Make sure it hurts.”

“Harry, shut up!” Emma groaned and tried to kick at him. He laughed and took a step back. “You guys are bullies.”

“You’ll be alright, Em. It’s not like it's your first.” Zayn reminded her.

She shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest. “Whatever. Go ahead, then. Thanks, Harry.”

“Welcome.” He said lightly before disappearing out of the door again.

Ivy wondered why he didn’t stay in the room with them. Was he not interesting in hearing the painful grunts Emma would sure be letting out soon or watching Zayn draw his design perfected for Emma into her skin? Maybe he was tired of being near the tattoo gun since he spent however long getting his own. She pushed the thought aside entirely the moment she heard Emma groan, curses falling form her lips but not directly towards anyone.

Zayn leaned over her foot, his fingers pulling her skin tight as he worked the needle into it. It didn’t look like it was much fun, and Ivy became grateful that she had no intention of ever inking anything onto her foot.

—•—

There was a freshness in the air as she looked around Niall’s music store. It smelt like freshly picked lemons, probably because he had just sprayed down the counter before she came in following behind Emma. Niall was in one of his usual band tees and a pair of jeans as he sat on a stool with a guitar resting on his thigh. He was talking with a customer, comparing the similarities of two different guitar brands. Emma found herself busy with the items on the checkout counter - dropping loose pens back into their cup and adjusting the pile of papers Niall had pushed to the side.

Ivy stayed curious as she looked around the store. It was very easy to get caught up in the different items, especially since she had little to no idea what some of the accessories were for. Niall provided more than just items for guitars. She didn’t try to decipher every thing on the shelves, just simply moved her eyes across the packages, curiosity settling in her instead of blurting out questions to Niall. The girls came by to bring him some lunch before they did some grocery shopping for the week. Niall was appreciative, but he was unable to entertainment right away.

Emma smiled as the customer approached the counter, the one Niall had been chatting with. She stepped aside and let Niall take over the register. He had another employee here, but he was in the back room looking for a specific thing they needed to restock on one of the shelves. Ivy waited near by as Niall scanned the guitar music book the customer wanted to get and told him that he’d see him when he returned for the guitar - the customer hadn’t made his decision just yet.

When it was just the three of them at the counter, a few customers were lingering around the store just browsing, Niall gave them both a warm smile before wrapping his arms around Emma for a quick hug.

“Thanks for lunch. I’ll eat it when Josh gets off his break.” He said with a sigh, folding his arms and leaning them on the counter.

“The store is so nice, Niall.” Ivy complimented as she glanced around.

“Thanks.”

Emma walked from behind the counter to where Ivy was standing. She was about to ask her something about their plans for the day when her eyes fell on the few pieces of paper taped to the front edge of the counter. One was the refund policy, one was about the instrument lessons, and the other was new since the last time she was here.

“Oh, a flyer? That’s unusual.” Emma suddenly said as she pressed her finger against the pink dyed paper. “For the show?”

“The show?’’ Ivy asked with a drop of her brows as she read over the words printed in bold black letters.

“Yeah, Niall’s band. They play at a bar across town every couple of weeks.” Emma told her.

Ivy remembered as soon as she heard it. Emma had told her before, long ago when she first started dating Niall, that he was in a cover band. It wasn’t anything serious, not trying to search for record deals or gain stardom, it was just him and his friends having a good time. They got decent money for it, including tips from audiences, and it allowed them to play the instruments each member enjoyed. She wasn’t sure who was in the band as Emma never got to that detail before.

“Oh, right.” She nodded as the memory returned to her brain. “That’s cool.”

“Can’t believe Emma’s never brought you to a show.” Niall said with a somewhat surprised expression.

“I invited her a few times but she’s usually busy with work stuff.” Emma defended herself, even though there was no issue with it.

Ivy smiled at her and shrugged. “I remember you asking a couple times.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to attend if you’d like.” Niall offered as he pushed himself off the counter the moment the bell jingled above the entrance door.

He went to greet the customer, someone he actually was used to seeing come in the store, leaving the girls alone again.

“Yeah, it would be fun if you came! You could finally meet Alyssa. She’s usually just home with her and Zayn’s kid.. she doesn’t go out much anymore, but she loves the shows.” Emma exclaimed with a sparkle in her eye.

“I dunno.. when is it?” She asked, glancing at the flyer.

“Next Saturday night. It would be cool, Ivy! We haven’t went out since Halloween.”

The stress building up at work during the holidays definitely set her back from enjoying a lot of things, including several invitations from Emma to join her and Niall at a bar or go out for dinner with just the two of them. It truly felt like forever since she got to have fun with her friend. She thought about it for a moment, but only lifted her shoulder at the idea. The mention of meeting Zayn’s fiancé was intriguing since she had heard so much about her from Emma, but she doubted that would be enough to pull her out for the night.

“Maybe.. depends on how the week goes.”

Emma gave her a partial smile. “Okay. I really hope you can go with me.”

“Yeah, you should definitely come, Ivy.” Niall said as he appeared next to them, the customer gone to look for the item they asked him about.

Once again, she let out a small sigh and faked a smile for them. “I said I’ll see how the week goes, but no promises.”

He gave her a fake, dramatic frown. “C’mon! Live a little!”

“I live a lot.. at work.”

Emma grabbed her elbow and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll convince you before the week ends.”

“M’sure you will, Em.”

After spending a few more minutes talking to Niall, and then waiting in the car as he and Emma disappeared into his office to say a private goodbye, Ivy was ready to get the grocery shopping over with. The store they frequented was near by, so the drive was short and easy. It wasn’t close to their shared house, but the prices were better than anywhere else. Emma offered to take her car, so that left Ivy in the passenger seat with her eyes glued to whatever passed by the window.

“Are you okay, Ivy?” Emma asked as they strolled through the fruit section in search for the items on their list.

She gulped gently, distracting herself by collecting a few apples for the cart. “M’fine, just tired.”

Emma watched as she walked towards the basket of lemons and grabbed two, she’d need them for a receipe she was going to try later in the week. Ivy was normally not this quiet. She enjoyed the task of grabbing their groceries and checking things off their combined list while Emma pushed the cart and double checked everything. Something about doing such a mundane thing made her feel content and comfortable, even if they decided randomly to try a new store they’d never been in. But today was different, Emma was growing concerned with her unusually quiet friend.

“If you’re irritated with me and Niall pushing you about the show.. I’m sorry. You don’t have to go.” Emma said with a soft frown as Ivy returned to the cart with a handful of bananas.

She sat them down and lifted her hesitant gaze to meet her closest friend’s. “I’m fine, Emma. Just tired.”

She shook her head gently. “No, you’re too quiet. What’s wrong?”

“You and Niall didn’t bother me, I swear. The bar thing is.. whatever. I’ll think about it, I promise. It’s just.. one of those days.”

Emma wasn’t believing it all the way. Sure, maybe Ivy was being truthful about the role her and Niall played in her newfound mood, or didn’t play - but something else was up. She licked her lips and decided to stay quiet as Ivy busied herself with grabbing the rest of the fruits before moving onto the fresh vegetables.

Although she didn’t want to press it any further, Emma couldn’t stop thinking about what could’ve happened at the music shop or on the way to the grocery store. Her worry was growing quickly and it wasn’t very long before she was asking another question.

“Ivy, please tell me. Are you alright?”

She received a sigh as a response, a couple of tomatoes and a bag of baby carrots joined the cart. “Emma, please.. I’m fine.”

“Something is wrong with you. I don’t want to see you so down.”

Ivy walked towards the next section of the store, knowing that Emma would follow her with the cart no matter if they were talking or not. She held her breath as she thought about what was bothering her. She was too caught up with her racing mind to realize she was actually expressing her emotions on the outside. Emma noticed everything, so clearly she wasn't doing well at hiding it. There was no real issue, really, nothing that anyone caused by saying or doing anything. A lump slid down her throat, Emma was her friend - there was no need to keep anything from her.

Just as they turned down the aisle where the bread was, she stopped in her tracks and turned towards the cart, her hand reaching out to stop it. Emma froze, a lift of her brows offering confidence like a good friend should.

“The guy that walked through the door right before we left.. at Niall’s store..” She started with a strong voice, but it slowly faded to almost a whisper.

Emma nodded, encouraging her to continue. She looked down to the floor as the moment replayed in her memory. It wasn’t an unusual thing for her to experience, in fact it was more common than not. One little thing, one random glance from a passerby, one glimpse of someone with a similar shade of hair as her own, one note from a list of songs she knew were special..

“He reminded me of my brother. I.. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Her response made Emma’s stomach turn to knots. She knew that the conversation was over then, and there wasn’t anything else she could try that would break Ivy. The forbidden topic had been brought up, and quickly dropped back to the vault she kept it locked away in. Emma didn’t mention it again..

[a/n: this is a series! It’s a lot longer per part than my other stuff so I hope you enjoy! This is just the intro so it will be more interesting and exciting as it goes on! reblog, like, do all that lovely stuff!!] ** I did change this from y/n to an actual character but feel free to read her name as whatever you’d like

taglist: (notified for all // if you want to join a taglist for this series, lmk in a comment or message and I’ll start one)

@walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @victoriasigaard @ariiscringe @harlowsgirl @lomllover @haniaaa04 @sideboobrry11 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @fangirl509east @fruity-harry @sassamanda77 @lizsogolden

[traroronoa]

walk away now

law x f!pirate captain, kid x f!pirate captain

sfw

summary: Law and Kid aren’t the most chivalrous pirates, but their first mates insisted them to let you borrow their fluffy coats. The reaction they got was unexpected.

“Y’know, it’s very windy outside.”

Law looked up at Bepo and responded without care. “So?” He bit his lip as he applied pressure to a wound on his arm. Then, he side eyed the mink, who gestured at you with his chin. You were standing next to Luffy in deep conversation, you two swords swaying when you moved your hips.

In fact, Bepo was right because you were not dressed for windy weather—you wore a cotton bishop-sleeved shirt and tucked it into your dark jeans. The coat you normally wore was shredded and you insisted on getting a new one at the next destination.

“I don’t think she’s dressed for the weather.” Bepo added with mild concern.

“She’s not cold.” Law replied flatly. “She would’ve said so.” He then brought his attention back to the wound.

Unsatisfied with his answer, Bepo decided to take manners in his own paws.

He looked at you and innocently sang, “oh, friend!”

You turned, arched an eyebrow and walked toward them.

“Bepo what the—” Law snapped.

“Yes?” You asked, uninterested in the conversation about to unfold. Law immediately straightened as you crossed your arms over your chest and rested your weight on one foot.

“Cold?” Law grumbled, motioning between you and him, ignoring the blood from his wound, he added, “you can borrow my—”

“No.” You response was direct. Simple. Straight into the point.

Then you turned and walked back to Luffy, your footsteps crunching on the grass. And, for some reason, you rejecting Law made him want you more.

“I know you’re shit at it, but you should do something nice for her.” Killer said, elbowing Kid’s ribs.

“Now why the fuck would I do that?” Kid asked.

“Because it’s nice.”

“When the hell did I ever want to be nice?” He spat.

Both men looked at you, perched on a rock twirling a dagger you kept hidden under the sole of your boots. A light breeze came and stirred your hair and sleeves, but you didn’t notice. Or seemed to care.

You sighed, bored. A dangerous type of boredom.

Your first mate, Shoto, wandered off with Bepo while Luffy was bribed with meat to go to his ship for a couple hours. Law was busy talking to Zoro about his poor sense of direction, leaving you alone.

“Well? Go!” Killer insisted, pushing Kid towards you. “It’s windy and she’s wearing that dumb top that definitely doesn’t look warm.”

“Fuck, fine! I’ll go.”

You turned when you heard Kid stomp towards you.

“What.” Your tone was flat and face remained unimpressed as you mindlessly balanced the hilt of your dagger on your wrist.

Kid rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. “Your shirt—”

“—looks fabulous on me.” You smirked.

Kid rolled his eyes and huffed.

“Look. I don’t like your damn attitude.” He started.

“Then walk away.”

“But if you’re chilly or whatever you can wear my coat.”

“Thank you, Eustass,” you blinked, slipping the dagger back in its hiding spot, “but I’d rather not smell like failure and sweat.”

Killer snorted as Kid turned red. “Whatever. This is what I get for being nice?”

“You being nice,” you said, slowly rising to your feet and stepped closer, “is leaving me alone to my blades or you can find Shoto for me.”

Kid paused, eyes lingering on you more than expected.

“Now. Walk away.” You added sternly, leaving no room to negotiate.

And he did, but not without making a fist and thinking of reasons how he could wipe that smirk off your damn face.

[ixloom819]

Snap Back to Reality (P4)

Here's the next part of the Yan!Sylus AU. Enjoy!

Sylus was a busy man, being the head of an operation such as Onychinus. There were endless meetings to attend and paperwork to do. He would spend hours clicking on his computer, eyes only occasionally glazed with boredom as they scanned pixelated words.

But now, his office wasn’t empty anymore.

When you first appeared in this world, Sylus gave you a harmless administrative job for Onychinus, so you could make yourself useful outside of your knowledge. While complaining about work was a fundamental human aspect, you did truly appreciate having something to do with your day. It helped give you some structure in the day and kept the calmer days from being boring.

Now, the two of you worked together in the same space, filling it with each other’s presence. You would talk occasionally, but there was no need for conversation. Existing in the same room felt like enough to soothe your souls.

Mid-afternoon, you stood from your chair and stretched. “I’m going to go get a snack from the kitchen,” you announced. “Do you want anything?”

Sylus glanced up at you and smiled. “I’m alright. Thank you, my love.”

It was ridiculous how easy it was for this man to make butterflies flutter in your stomach. Giving him a smile, you crossed the room and stepped out the door.

You had a second where you heard a panicked cry… Luke? “CRAP, WAIT-!”

A blinding pain struck your head, and blackness immediately engulfed you.

…

The first thing you saw was white. White with blurry lines.

You groaned and tried to sit up. Your body aches all over, but you only remember something hitting you in the head. Was it one of the twins’ pranks?

You caught someone out of the corner of your eye. Was that… a doctor?

You’re finally awake, he said. You’ve been in a coma for quite a while now. We were a bit worried.

You leaned back, stunned silent. A… coma…?

…Of course, that made sense. Being put into a fictional world? Somehow romancing a character meant for someone else? It had been one of your first theories when you ended up in that world.

And yet… it had lasted so long. Felt so real. Was it really all just a coma dream?

…Was it all fake?

…

You don’t remember leaving the hospital. But here you were, back in your ordinary life.

Familiar faces - coworkers, friends, family - welcomed you back. Told you how glad they were that you were okay and how worried they were.

You met them with smiles that didn’t quite reach your eyes, assurances that you were fine, and appreciation for their concern.

Life shifted back to how it was before the accident. Back to normal.

But it didn’t feel normal. Not when you had adopted a new normal, even if it was just in your head.

You found yourself squinting as you passed a window. It was too bright outside. You were used to seeing black clouds and a blood-red moon. Even when you first arrived, it was beautiful in its unnatural climate. You kept wishing for the weather to turn overcast.

There was busy noise around you, but it wasn’t the same as it was there. At the Onychinus base, it was either peaceful quiet or a huge racket from whatever mischief the twins were getting into. The noise here was a constant buzzing that grated on your nerves.

And the people…

It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with them. They were still the people you knew, people you cared about. But note they seemed… dull. Restrained. Compared to the unbridled chaos of Sylus, Luke, Kieran, and even Mephisto, they were all just… flat.

…

You don’t remember going home, yet here you were. You were curled up on your bed, looking at your phone. Looking at the Love and Deepspace app.

Do you dare open it?

You have to, you told yourself. If you were going to get over your coma-dream-world, you had to start going back to normal. And that meant playing Love and Deepspace and remembering that it was just a game.

You click on the icon. You went to Destiny Cafe.

There he was. Large stature, silver-white hair, and scarlet eyes, Sylus smirked at you in all his glory.

Except… it wasn’t the same. You internally marveled at your mind’s capacity to give Sylus features that couldn’t exist in his finite, pixelated form. The way his eyes wrinkled at the corners when he smiled. The line by his mouth that the twins swore up and down was a dimple.

He spoke. “Welcome back, kitten.”

You flinched. Without realizing it, you had exited the app and shut off your phone.

Kitten…

You remembered the one time Sylus had called you kitten in that world. You had reacted similarly. You had flinched away a bit and immediately said, “Don’t call me that.”

Sylus was surprised both by your protest and the speed with which you had done so. “And why’s that?” he’d asked teasingly yet genuinely.

You’d felt silly admitting it, but you answered, “…That’s your nickname for her. MC, Miss Hunter, your sorceress. That’s her name. Not mine.”

I’m not her is what you hadn’t said but meant.

Sylus didn’t soften or scorn you, nothing to show acknowledgement. But you hadn’t heard him call you kitten after that moment.

It was ridiculous, you told yourself. Kitten was just the voice line used. It was your name on the screen. The game didn’t have the capability to say each player’s individual name.

Yet, it was a reminder that he wasn’t talking to you anymore. He was talking to the protagonist, the one he was supposed to love.

You didn’t mean anything to Sylus anymore.

…

You don’t remember going to the store. You’ve been having trouble remembering going places. Maybe you should go back to the doctor, get some tests done.

Right now, you were in an aisle, trying to remember what you were there to get. You scanned the shelves of foodstuffs, wondering what it was you needed.

Someone called for your attention. You turned to look at them.

It was a guy, one you didn’t recognize. He wasn’t bad looking, but he didn’t catch your interest either.

He told you that you looked beautiful. A bit surprised to get a random compliment, you thanked him.

Then he asked if he could get your number, saying he’d like to take you out sometime.

You froze. What was happening? Was a random guy really asking you on a date literally out of nowhere? It didn’t feel real…

A face flashed through your mind. Silver-white hair. Red eyes.

Don’t be ridiculous, you scolded yourself. Sylus wasn’t real. It wasn’t like you’d be cheating on him.

Here was a nice guy asking you out. Maybe this is what you need. Probably not as a long-term relationship, but something to help bring you back to reality.

He wasn’t Sylus. It wasn’t fair to compare this guy to a fictional character; standards made to be unmet.

Yet the heart was hardly logical. And you couldn’t ignore the pit in your stomach as you considered it.

So you thanked him, informed him you weren’t interested in dating at the moment, and then left the aisle.

…

You don’t remember coming into a waiting room. The walls were all white. This must be the doctor’s office, right?

That must be why you’re here. These lapses in memory and purpose couldn’t be good for you. You needed to make sure nothing was wrong, that you were alright.

You passively scanned around the room. It was filled with chairs and side tables, and magazines were lying on the tables. There were other people in the room, presumably waiting their turn.

Finding nothing catching your attention and not interested enough to pick up a magazine, you sat back in your chair and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

How much time had passed? You looked at the clock on the wall. It looked a bit past… 

7:20? AM or PM, it was a weird time to meet with a doctor - either too early or too late.

Wait…

You looked around the room again, focusing on the people. There were people there, you were sure of that, yet…

You couldn’t make out any definitive information. You couldn’t tell how old anyone was, what their hair color was, what they looked like.

Was this…?

You grabbed a magazine. One last test. You opened it to a random page and tried to read it.

You couldn’t make out any words. You tried, but they came out as lines of black, squiggles in your vision with no meaning.

You were dreaming.

Your head started hurting.

That’s why things were so weird. That’s why you didn’t remember going places, because you just shifted to the next scene. That’s why you kept glancing over people, because they didn’t have semblance unless you actually knew them.

That’s why you felt disconnected from the world.

Because it wasn’t real.

Your head was pounding.

How did dreaming work? Weren’t you supposed to wake up soon when you figured out you were dreaming?

Wake up.

It hurts.

Wake up.

It hurts so much.

Wake up…

…

You felt the shift. Where you had felt awake and upright, now your body felt heavy with sleep, especially around your eyes. The headache persisted.

You forced yourself to open your eyes, blinking the blurriness away.

You recognize your surroundings. You were in the Onychinus medical wing.

You felt an enormous sense of relief. You were back…

The next thing you notice is the person by your side. It was Sylus. He was scrolling through his phone - probably some business-related stuff. His brows were furrowed in a way that indicated something was bothering him.

You marvelled at seeing him in his true glory. So many little details about him… how could your mind have come up with them? Your heart swelled at the sight of him.

You pushed yourself up, his name on your lips. “Sy-”

A splitting pain shot through your head, and you stopped in your tracks, hissing as you clutched your head. “Ow…!”

Large, steady hands grabbed you and settled you back down on the bed. You opened your eyes to see Sylus with his complete attention on you. He looked worried at the pain you were displaying, but you also saw relief, tangible in comparison to how you had seen him a moment before.

“Careful, darling,” he murmured. “You’ve got quite the concussion.”

“Yeah, figured it was something like that,” you said, trying to joke around the pain. “What happened?”

Sylus’ expression soured just a bit. “It would seem,” his voice was a bit chipped, “that the twins had forgotten that I’m not the only occupant in my office anymore.”

“Ah,” you said with comprehension. “A prank meant for you?”

“A prank meant for someone more durable,” Sylus agreed. “Trust me, they’re dealing with the consequences.”

You knew he wouldn’t hurt them. But you still winced inside at the idea of what Sylus would consider a suitable punishment for them.

You took a moment to steel yourself. Then you pushed yourself up again. Your head screamed in protest, but you didn’t stop until you had embraced Sylus, holding him in your arms.

You relished in being able to feel him. His body, his scent, his heat, his heartbeat. You didn’t realize how much he soothed you until you lost him.

You could tell you had taken him by surprise by the way he stiffened a bit. But he was quick to reciprocate, wrapping his arms around your shoulders while moving you closer to him to make you more comfortable.

“What’s this about, love?” Sylus asked in his teasing yet curious tone.

“I just… missed you,” you said softly.

“Did you go somewhere?” Again, said as a joke, but meant as a real question.

You had a moment’s doubt on whether to tell him. But you didn’t want to hide things from him either. “I dreamed that… well, this was all a dream. That I survived the accident and woke up.”

You felt the sliver of tension creep into his body. “Is that so?”

If you hadn’t felt the tenseness and learned his different tones, you’d think Sylus was merely conversational.

“Was it a good dream?” His tone was casual, but you could tell the hidden question behind it. Did you prefer being back in your world? Were you happier there?

And you knew your answer.

“It was nice to see everyone again,” you responded, because you wouldn’t lie to him. You moved back, wincing a bit, so you could meet his gaze. “But I missed it here.

“I missed you.”

It looked like your response brought back a year of life in Sylus. Any tension melted away, and he pulled you into another hug. “I’m glad,” he said softly. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that…”

You smiled. “Sylus, you don’t have to worry,” you replied, rubbing his back soothingly.

“My home is with you.”

Hey everyone! I didn't say this in the last post so as to not spoil the twist, but I'm finished with the main story of this AU. I'm planning on doing a few more short stories like this, and I may take requests, but that's about it. Thank you so much for all the support and encouragement. I wouldn't have gone this far without you :)

[covenha]

Synopsis: seonghwa harnesses the power of manifestation to get himself a girlfriend. Pairings: Simp!seonghwa x fem! reader Genre: crack, fluff, just seonghwa being a silly goofy guy Warnings: witchcraft technically? astrology is also mentioned WC: 1577 a/n: another self-indulgent fic is done! wrote this after i finished an exam so read at your own risk. i might right more bonus blurbs for this but who knows. this is a piece of fiction so it does not reflect who the characters are irl. please read the warnings carefully! and as always, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated 🫶

Simp!hwa had been content with silently pining over you. That is until one day he asked for a sign from the universe if he should confess. He was walking down the streets of his neighborhood while on his way to school with a little skip in his step, excited to see you. He was nearing Mrs. Nesbit’s house, an old lady with a splotchy memory but a kind heart. He stops to wave at her as she sways back and forth on the rocking chair on her porch. Then, as if she read his mind she goes, “Hurry up or you’ll miss it!”

Was this it? Was this the universe finally telling him to shoot his shot with you and confess his profound love for you? 

Well, the answer was no. Mrs. Nesbit was referring to the bus two blocks away ready to leave Seonghwa’s delusional ass behind. But it’s fine. He didn’t really care. All he really cared about was figuring out how to get you to fall in love with him so that you guys grow old together and live out your best lives with your two cats and moss ball babies. 

Now, Seonghwa knew that he had to approach this from a proactive standpoint. Sure, you and him have been friends since both of your awkward emo teen phases but he really wanted to cement in his chances with you. So he turned to the one place he knew he could get somewhat decent love advice from; Reddit. And with the wise words of Wefishyfishy98 he knew what he had to do. If he really wanted this he needed to use the power of manifestation. 

Simp!hwa wore your hair tie on his hand with pride. He read somewhere on twitter that girls liked to “mark their territory” with things like this and he grew weak at the knees thinking about you staking your claim on him. (Of course, in a completely normal and non-a/b/o kind of way.) I mean isn’t this such a boyfriend thing to do? He was clearly using the power of manifestation or whatever that fish guy said on Reddit. 

And this is why, when summer grew closer and the weather grew warmer, Seonghwa absolutely did not want to return it to you. 

“Hwa, C’mon it’s hot and I don’t want my hair sticking to my neck.” 

“Look, I can get you a new set of hair ties! Here, look at these cute ones I found on Etsy.” He tried to distract you with some cute kuromi hair ties he just found. Jongho is just silently observing the interaction between the both of you. 

You found it weird that he refused to give it to you even after you pestered him to but you decided to just give up and tough it out. And those ties on Etsy were kinda cute. 

“Fine. I guess the weather isn’t so bad today. What are you even doing on Etsy anyway?” you try to take a peak at whatever Seonghwa is looking up on his phone to which he quickly turns it off and puts it screen down on the table. 

“Nothing!” You seem a little taken aback by this. “Just… looking for plants for my… aquarium.”

“You mean your aquarium filled with moss balls… a plant. You want to get plants for your plants?” you blink at him. 

“Technically they’re algae.” Jongho butts in. 

“Right…. Well, at least you’re passionate about your moss balls?” you trail off. 

Seonghwa breathes a sigh of relief as Jongho nods on to you changing the topic to something about your mother’s extensive cacti collection. He opens up his phone again and clicks the order on his Etsy cart. 

“I hope this works.” He thinks to himself. 

That same night, Seonghwa started wracking his brain trying to think of something else that he could do that was “boyfriend coded”. And after much deliberation while staring at the ceiling, it finally hits him. She should be my lock screen! I mean nothing screams boyfriend like a cute candid picture as my lock screen. 

So, with this in mind, he scrounges through his gallery looking for a good photo of you to put as his lock screen. Then he spots the perfect candid of you in his living room sitting on the floor with lego pieces scattered all around the floor trying to assemble his lego death star with him. You aren’t looking at the camera, instead you look completely locked in on building the superweapon of the Empire with him. He stares at the image with a warm feeling spreading throughout his body. Without even realizing it he’s smiling like an idiot at his screen and he buries his head on his pillow and screams into it while kicking his feet on his mattress. 

That night he dreams of a distant future with you. One where he can call you his. Oh, and of course you can’t forget your two cats Lily and Bongo, and his ever growing collection of marimo balls.  

A week and a half later, he’s checking his phone every few minutes and then looking at the front door waiting to see if the delivery truck has arrived. Today was your birthday and the gift that he had bought you was running dangerously late. Which is why when he hears a truck nearing the property he all but zooms off the living room couch and to the front door. He accepts the package from the delivery man and quickly unboxes it. 

“It’s perfect.” he thought, smiling to himself as he delicately put it in a bag.

Later that day, as he walks you home just in time for you to have dinner with your family he surprises you with the gift. 

“Wha- Hwa? I thought we weren’t doing gifts this year?” you say as you accept the small paper bag from him. 

“Well, I saw this and I just couldn’t not get it for you.” he just smiles at you shyly as you look at him, surprised at the gesture. 

“Now, I have to get you a gift worth two birthdays next year.” you joke. 

“You’re the best gift life has to offer.” he thinks. But he shakes his head, a dumb smile on his face. “Open it.” he motions to the gift. 

You open and find a couple kuromi hair ties, just as promised. But also, a jewelry box with a bracelet inside. It had a dainty gold chain and a baby pink stone in the middle. 

“Hwa, I love it.” you smile at him. “It’s so pretty.” you inspect the bracelet. 

“Here, let me put it on you.” he gets the bracelet from the box and clamps it around your wrist. He smiles at the sight of you wearing the bracelet. 

He unfortunately had to leave because it was getting dark and he had to feed his cat at home. But, he swears he feels something in the air that night. 

“Please work.” He mumbles to himself. 

In hindsight, what Seonghwa felt that fateful night was probably just pollen, because the very next day Seonghwa finds Jongho coming down with a bad case of allergy sniffles. The cafeteria is filled with the sounds of chattering from hungry sleep-deprived college students and Jongho’s sneezes. 

“So, did you finally give her that rose quartz bracelet you bought from that Etsy witch?” Seonghwa’s cheeks burn at his words. 

“Yea. It was a good time too. Venus was in mercury gatorade or something.” he mumbles while picking at the skin on his thumb. 

“Ahem.” You startle both boys with your presence. You raise your eyebrows at both of them and decide to end their misery of staring at you with their mouths open in shock. “What’s this about an Etsy witch?” 

“I do not recall saying Etsy witch.” Jongho mumbles quickly then packs up his things, muttering some excuse about buying a gatorade from the vending machine. Seonghwa just sits there, mouth agape, trying to stutter out some excuse but nothing coherent falls from his mouth. 

“Hwa, you know you didn’t have to summon the forces of magic and astrology to make me fall in love with you right? I kinda already am.” You blush as you admit your feelings for your best friend. 

Simp!hwa’s brain malfunctions hearing this. Heart pounding, mind racing. Did she just... Did she just say that? She likes me? Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh! I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve been waiting for this moment for what feels like forever. What now?! I didn’t actually think I would get this far. Shit what happens next. Do I shake her hand? No, that would be weird. Just say something, Seonghwa! Say something!

“Will you be my manifested girlfriend?” he asks in a dazed voice. This makes you giggle before you shake your head then decide to kiss him on the nose. “It’s about time.” 

Seonghwa wastes no time in going in for a kiss. It felt like fireworks were going off in the background (it was just Jongho having a massive sneezing fit). The moment was perfect. It was magical. You guys stare into each other’s eyes and it felt like all was right with the world. As the both of you pull away from the kiss, Jongho sits down at the table with a purple gatorade. 

“You know it's actually mercury retrograde, right?” 

[juicykvnture]

MANEATER

Wally West x fem!reader

Wally West x his (completely and 100% normal) vampire!gf ☆ headcannons/drable

tags: fem!reader in mind but it’s not THAT specific, mentions of blood (not graphic), fluff

a/n: yk what hell yeah

Wally West who didn't even notice that he was down bad horrendous for a vampire at first.

He didn't feel your aura of impending doom - or how you only ever left your apartment at night. He just deemed your crimson eyes a unique shade of brown, too distracted by how pretty they looked under your lashes.

Wally West who only put two and two together when he caught you curled up on the couch with a blood bag in hand, your fangs piercing through the plastic like it's a capri-sun.

He was shocked at first, rightly so! Until he thought back to your less than normal tendencies; the weird talismans you wear, the way he often wakes up with you just standing there at the foot of his bed - staring, the way your sharp nails dig into his arms, the way you bite his lip a little too hard when you kiss him.

He stares at you nothing less than bamboozled, his mouth agape as his head tilts to the side before blinking rapidly,

"Huh?? I thought you were just freaky?"

Wally West who gets a little bit jealous when you have the audacity to get your fix from a blood bag. Like, how could you when you have all of him right there?

He's like sulking from the doorway, staring at you,

"Oh, I see. Am I just a common whore, then? Just another concubine of yours?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" You glance up from the tv, your tongue darting out for a moment to catch a stray trickle of blood down your chin.

"Nothing! You have fun with your sub-par blood bag, I'm going out for a run!"

Wally West who can't even sit through any sort of vampire movie without him turning to you every two seconds with questions like -

"Wait, do they really do that?" - "Is that lore accurate?" - "You wouldn't do that to me, yeah? Promise?" (He's not entirely sure if he'd be all that offended, though)

When you don't answer that last one he plays it off with a nervous laugh, scratching the side of his neck (as if you can't hear his heart absolutely slamming)

Wally West who just insists on helping you do your makeup, even though you're fully capable of doing it yourself for years.

He claims it's cause you can't see your own reflection in most mirrors, insisting he shows you his handiwork on his phone, (old mirrors have silver, modern phones don’t) sneaking a photo every single time until he's at the point he's got a whole folder of them saved.

It's just an excuse to have you closer, so he can stare at your face for a couple minutes longer in the mornings.

Wally West who randomly pokes at your fangs whenever he feels like it, acting like he’s surprised when you retaliate by giving his fingers a bite. It’s like he’s almost dissatisfied with the fact he doesn't have cool teeth for whatever reason.

Your glare snaps him out of it sometimes, resulting in a stupid grin stretching across his face,

"What? You wouldn't tear up the light of your life!"

Wally West who is now determined to become an expert on bloodsuckers like you (bless him), asking you the most cliche shit he can think of, especially when he's all dizzy after you drain him a little.

"Do you sleep in a coffin?" He pipes up, staring up at the ceiling he's asking you about the weather or what you want for breakfast.

"No, Wally. I don't."

"You sure? Cause I can get one."

Similarly,

"You know, I have like zero problem hanging the bed upside down on the ceiling if it makes you sleep better,"

"Wally, it's fine. I can sleep like a normal person." You stare at him, wiping his blood from the corner of your lips.

"You sure? I have a drill and some rope, somewhere."

Wally West who's gotten used to you sleepily gnawing at his neck or wrist sometimes - to the point that he's actually kinda sad when you fall asleep, not pulling your face away from him unless he absolutely has to get up and do something. It's weird, but he just likes being close to you, even as a walking blood bag.

Wally West who swears on his life that he's 100% fine and not lightheaded when you forget yourself and go a little too far, shaking his head weakly when you start to ramble apologetically, already halfway to the kitchen for bandaids and iron supplements.

"No, no.. come back. It's fine." He insists.

You're not convinced, staring at his head slumped against your shoulder, carefully tilting his head up to make sure his eyes are still open.

"M'sorry."

His only response is to try shake his head, his lips curling into a dazed smile despite the fact his head is spinning.

"No, it's totallyyy fine.. you could like stab me and l'd be like it's okay. cause you're my hot girlfriend."

You're just starting at him now, he's definitely fucked up cause of blood loss.

You're shifting around on the bed, tucking a stack of pillows under his head with a soft frown, his fingers loosely tugging at your wrist so you don't pull away.

You know that any sort of lecture from you would land on deaf ears.

He truly insists that he can walk (well, run) off any and all kind of injury or affliction. He doesn't really seem to be able to comprehend the fact that losing a gallon of blood isn't the same as any run of the mill kind of scratch.

"M'fine, m'the fuckin' flash, know? My hearts like wayyyy better than a regular guys."

"Is it?" You sigh, gently stroking your fingers through his messy read hair.

"Duh? it's yours."

a/n: see! I promise I’m capable of joy and whimsy sometimes..

[octaneink]

Food Market Dates

Will Lenney x Fem!Reader

Summary : A totally cute, innocent date at the market where they try out new foods Warnings: Implied sexual themes towards the end and a discussion about pineapple being on pizza Notes: I am sorry gang idk what happened to me when I was writing this. It was like I was possessed, mostly for that part at the end.

The train rattled along the tracks, the dreary UK weather outside the window a mix of grey skies and the occasional drizzle. Will sat next to you, his long legs stretched out into the aisle, his hand resting comfortably in yours. His thumb traced lazy circles over your knuckles, a small, absentminded gesture that made your stomach flutter. He was scrolling through his phone with his free hand, the faint sound of whatever video he was watching barely audible over the hum of the train.

You, on the other hand, were engrossed in a book—paperback you’d picked up at the station earlier. It was one of those novels you loved, the kind that end up with a dog-eared cover and pages that smelt faintly of coffee. You were halfway through a particularly juicy scene when Will suddenly squeezed your hand, pulling your attention away from the page.

"You know what I’m most excited about today?" he asked, his voice breaking the quiet hum of the train.

You looked up, marking your page with a finger. "What? Finally admitting that I have impeccable taste in food?"

He snorted, shaking his head. "Impeccable taste? That’s a stretch. Remember the time you tried to convince me that pineapple belongs on pizza?"

"Because it does!"

"Because you’re wrong," he shot back, grinning.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. "Fine. So what are you most excited about, then?"

He leaned back in his seat, his hand still warm in yours. "The food, obviously. But also… just this. You, me, no plans, no stress. Just a normal, chill day. No arguments about pizza toppings, no you stealing the last bite of dessert—"

"Hey, that was one time!"

"—and no me having to remind you that pineapple is a crime against pizza," he finished, his grin widening.

You nudged him with your shoulder, laughing softly. "Well, for the record, I’m excited too. Even if you do have terrible opinions about food."

"Oi, my opinions are flawless," he said, though the twinkle in his eyes suggested he knew exactly how flawed they were.

You shook your head, leaning into him slightly. The train swayed gently, and you let your eyes drift back to the window, watching the grey landscape blur past. Will’s hand tightened around yours, a silent reassurance that pulled your attention back to him.

"So," he said, his tone light and teasing, "what’s the first thing we’re getting at the market? And don’t say something weird like… I don’t know, candied eels."

You laughed, the sound soft and warm in the quiet carriage. "I was thinking skewers. Or maybe that tea place we saw last time. You know, the one with the really colourful drinks?"

"Ah, the one you made me try even though I said I didn’t like boba?"

"You loved it!"

"I tolerated it," he corrected, though the smile on his face betrayed him.

"Sure you did," you said, rolling your eyes. "And I’m sure you’ll tolerate it again today."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and you felt his thumb brush over your knuckles again. "Fine. But only because you’re cute when you’re smug."

You shook your head, laughing softly, and let your gaze drift back to the window, the train rattled on, the rhythm of the tracks steady and comforting.

The market was a riot of colours and sounds—stalls draped in vibrant fabrics, the sharp hiss of oil hitting a hot griddle, and vendors’ voices rising above the hum of the crowd. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spices, sweet sauces, and the occasional waft of fresh herbs. Will walked beside you, his hand brushing yours every so often, his touch light but deliberate, as if he couldn’t quite resist the pull to be closer. The two of you wandered through the bustling aisles, the smell of freshly steamed dough and savoury fillings drawing you toward a stall selling bao buns.

You stopped in front of the stall, the golden, fluffy buns piled high on the griddle, their tops glistening under the soft glow of the stall’s lights. You pointed at the pork-filled ones, turning to Will with a grin. "Can we get these?"

He nodded, already pulling out his wallet. "Anything for you," he said, handing over the cash to the vendor with a quick smile. His voice was soft, almost tender, and it sent a little shiver down your spine. Turning to you, he added, “But don’t let it go to your head.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way his lips quirked into a smile made it hard to stay annoyed. There was something about the way he looked at you—like you were the only person in the entire market—that made your heart skip a beat.

The vendor handed you a paper tray with two fluffy bao, the steam rising in delicate curls. Will leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours as he studied the buns. "Alright, let’s see if these are as good as they look," you said, picking one up and blowing on it gently before taking the first bite.

The rich, savoury filling hit your tongue, the flavours of tender pork, sweet hoisin, and a hint of ginger mingling perfectly. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, a small, contented hum escaping you. When you opened your eyes, Will was watching you, his gaze soft and intent, as if he were memorising the way your face lit up.

"That good, huh?" He asked, his voice low and warm, like the first sip of tea on a cold morning.

You nodded, carefully breaking off a piece of the bao, making sure to get a bit of the tender pork, the sweet hoisin, and a hint of ginger in one perfect bite. Holding it out to him, you grinned. "Your turn."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your fingers as he took a bite. His eyes widened as he chewed, a look of genuine surprise crossing his face. "Alright, that’s incredible. Another one."

You laughed, breaking off another piece and holding it out to him. He took it from your fingers, his lips grazing your skin again, and this time, you felt the warmth of his breath against your hand. The simple act felt strangely intimate, and you couldn’t help the way your pulse quickened.

The two of you went back and forth, sharing the bao bun between you—breaking off pieces, you feeding Will, and laughing as you tried to avoid getting sauce on your hands. The warmth of the buns contrasted with the crisp autumn air, but it was nothing compared to the warmth spreading through your chest every time Will’s fingers brushed yours or his eyes met yours with that soft, knowing look.

By the time the bao was almost gone, you held up the last bite, raising an eyebrow at Will. "Final piece. Who gets it?"

He grinned, his eyes locking onto yours as he leaned in. His lips grazed your fingers again, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary as he took the bite. "Cheers, love," he said, his voice low and teasing, the endearment slipping out so naturally it made your breath catch.

Your fingers froze midair, the warmth of his lips lingering on your skin. You quickly looked away, pretending to fuss with the napkin, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. Will caught your reaction—the way your eyes flickered, the slight smile you tried to hide, the way your fingers lingered in the air for a second too long. He didn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a knowing smirk.

Before you could recover, he leaned in again, this time pressing a quick, soft peck to your lips. You blinked, startled, but before you could say anything, he pulled back slightly, his tongue darting out to lick his own lower lip. "Sorry," he said, his voice teasing, "you had a bit of sauce there."

You stared at him, your face burning. "There was no sauce," you protested, licking your lips.

He shrugged, his smirk widening as he followed your lips. "Could’ve sworn there was. Ah well, there's none now. You're welcome, by the way."

You shook your head, laughing softly to cover your fluster. Will glanced around the stall, taking in the steam rising from the griddle and the vibrant colours of the surrounding market. "Alright," he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. "What’s next?"

You and Will wandered through the aisles, the vibrant colours of the stalls and the chatter of vendors creating a lively backdrop. You had just left the bao stand, the taste of the fluffy buns still lingering on your tongue. Will walked beside you, his arm brushing against yours as you navigated the busy aisles. His hand occasionally grazed yours, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that felt deliberate, like he was testing the waters, seeing how close he could get without fully taking your hand. Each touch sent a little spark through you, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

"So," he said, glancing down at you with a grin, "what’s next? You’re the food expert here."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I’m not an expert. I just like eating."

"Same thing," he replied, his tone teasing. "You’ve got that… vibe. Like you know what’s good."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your smile. "Alright, Mr. Compliments. Let’s see…"

You scanned the stalls as you walked, the two of you weaving through the crowd. The market was a maze of options—sizzling skewers, steaming dumplings, colourful desserts, and more. Will kept pace beside you, his hands in his pockets, but sometimes, he’d bump your shoulder or let his fingers brush against yours, sending little jolts of warmth through you. It was like he couldn’t help himself, and honestly, neither could you.

"Remember that time we tried to make bao buns at home?" he asked suddenly, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "Don’t remind me. That was a disaster."

"Disaster?" he repeated, laughing. "Mate, we set off the smoke alarm. Twice."

"Yeah, because someone thought it was a good idea to crank the oven up to max," you shot back, grinning.

"Hey, I was following your instructions!"

"You were not!"

The two of you laughed, the memory of flour-covered counters and charred buns still fresh in your minds. Will nudged you with his elbow, his grin widening. "We should try it again sometime. Third time’s the charm, yeah?"

"Only if you promise not to touch the oven," you said, raising an eyebrow.

"Deal," he replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. His fingers brushed against yours as he lowered them, and you felt the warmth of his touch linger even after he pulled away. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the noise of the market seemed to fade into the background. There was something in his gaze—something soft and unguarded—that made your heart skip a beat.

As you continued walking, the smell of grilled meat caught your attention. You glanced toward a stall selling skewers—yakitori, grilled prawns, and lamb kebabs. The skewers were glistening with a sticky glaze, the aroma irresistible.

"Skewers?" you asked, nodding toward the stall.

Will followed your gaze, his eyes lighting up. "Skewers it is."

You approached the stall, the vendor busy flipping skewers on a hot grill. Will leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours as he studied the options. "Can we try one of each?" you asked, turning to Will.

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Greedy today, aren’t we?" He teased, but he was already pulling out his wallet and handing over the cash. His fingers brushed against yours as he handed you the tray, and you felt a little shiver run down your spine.

The vendor handed you a paper tray with the skewers, the smell of charred meat and sweet marinade making your mouth water. Will watched as you picked up the lamb skewer, taking the first bite.

The rich, slightly gamey flavour of the lamb skewer hit your tongue, and you wrinkled your nose, clearly not a fan. You glanced at Will, who was already watching you with that amused glint in his eyes, like he’d been waiting for your reaction.

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughed. "Not your thing, huh?"

You shook your head, handing the skewer to him. "Here, you can have it."

He took it without hesitation, biting into it as he kept his gaze on your face. "What’s wrong with it?" he asked, mouth full, his voice muffled but still teasing.

You shrugged, already reaching for the yakitori. "Just not my thing. Too… gamey."

Will chuckled, still chewing. "You’re just using me as a human bin, aren’t you?"

You grinned, taking a bite of the yakitori. The tender chicken, glazed with a sweet soy sauce, was perfect—juicy, flavourful, and exactly what you’d been craving. "Pretty much," you said, your mouth half-full. "But hey, you don’t seem to mind."

He finished the lamb skewer in a few quick bites, licking a bit of sauce from his thumb in a way that was unfairly distracting. "I don’t," he said, his tone light but his eyes lingering on you a beat too long. "But don’t think I won’t remember this next time you’re eyeing my fries."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Noted."

He reached for the grilled prawn next, holding it out to you. "Your turn."

You took a bite, the smoky flavour of the prawn hitting your tongue. It wasn’t bad—grilled to perfection with a hint of chilli and garlic—but it wasn’t your favourite either. You gently pushed the skewer back toward him. "Here, you can have this one too," you said, laughing.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression playful. "Are you sure? These look banging."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I’m sure," you said, though a small part of you wondered if he’d noticed how your pulse quickened when his fingers brushed yours. You took another bite of the yakitori, the savoury flavour grounding you. "I’m sticking with this."

He shrugged, taking a bite of the prawn. His eyes lit up as he chewed. "Alright, you’re missing out. This is delicious."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I’ll take your word for it."

Will reached for the yakitori, taking a small bite. His eyes widened as he chewed, a look of genuine surprise crossing his face. "Okay, you’re right," he said, his voice warm and a little teasing. "This is superb."

You grinned, holding out the skewer to him. "I know, right? Want more?"

He shook his head, pushing it back toward you with a soft smile. "Nah, that one’s yours. I’ve got the prawns."

You smiled, taking another bite of the yakitori as Will glanced around the skewer stall, taking in the sizzling grill and the vibrant display of meats. His eyes lingered on the vendor flipping skewers with practiced ease, the flames from the grill casting a warm glow on his face. For a moment, you just watched him—the way his lips curved into a small smile, the way his shoulders relaxed as he leaned casually against the stall. He looked… happy. Content. And it made your chest feel impossibly warm.

"Right," he said, turning back to you with a grin. "What’s next? Drinks?"

You nodded, finishing the last bite of yakitori and tossing the skewer into a nearby bin. "Drinks sound perfect. But only if you’re paying."

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and you felt his hand brush against yours again as he stepped closer. "You’re relentless, you know that?"

"Yep," you said, grinning up at him. "And you love it."

He didn’t deny it, just shook his head with that same soft smile as he reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. "C’mon, then," he said, tugging you gently toward the next stall. "Let’s find something sweet to wash all this down."

As you wandered further into the market, you spotted a stand selling bubble tea. Visual samples of colourful drinks were lined up in tall plastic cups, the boba pearls glistening like little jewels at the bottom. You pulled Will over, studying the menu, your fingers still loosely intertwined with his. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, a small, absentminded gesture that made your stomach flutter.

After a moment, you pointed at the Thai iced tea and the classic milk tea with boba.

Will raised an eyebrow, his smirk playful. "Two drinks? Greedy, aren’t we?"

You smirked back, already reaching for your wallet, but he beat you to it, pulling out his own with a wink. "My treat," he said, handing over the cash before you could protest.

The vendor handed you the drinks, and you immediately took a sip of the Thai iced tea. It was sweet and creamy, the perfect balance of flavours. The rich, spiced tea blended perfectly with the condensed milk, and you couldn’t help but hum in approval, your eyes meeting his, Will was watching you his expression soft and amused.

"That good, huh?" he asked, his voice low and warm.

You nodded, holding out the drink to him. "Your turn."

He took a sip, his eyes widening as the flavours hit his tongue. "Wow," he said, his tone genuinely surprised. "That’s… incredible. Not too sweet."

You laughed, taking the drink back. "Told you."

Next, he reached for the milk tea, taking a cautious sip. The chewy boba pearls rolled into his mouth as he chewed, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Okay, this is amazing too. How do you always know what’s good?"

You grinned, taking a sip of the milk tea yourself. The chewy boba was a pleasant surprise, and you couldn’t help but smile. "It’s a gift," you said, your tone teasing.

Will noticed your reaction, holding out his hand for the milk tea. "Let me try that again."

You handed it to him, and he took another sip, his eyes lighting up as he savoured it. "Yeah, no, this is definitely a winner. You’ve got impeccable taste."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I know."

Then he reached for the Thai iced tea again, taking a longer sip this time. His face lit up even more, a look of pure delight crossing his features. "Okay, wait, this one might be even better. How is that possible?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Of course you like the one I wanted. Typical."

Will grinned, holding the Thai iced tea out of your reach. "Finders keepers."

"Oi!" you protested, trying to grab it back.

He held it high above his head, laughing as you jumped to reach it. "You’re such a child," you said, though you couldn’t stop smiling.

Will finally relented, handing the drink back to you with a smirk. "Alright, alright. You can have it. But only because you’re cute when you pout."

You rolled your eyes, taking the Thai iced tea and taking another sip. Will glanced around the drink stall, taking in the colourful display of drinks, but his hand never left yours. His fingers laced through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world, and you couldn’t help but notice how warm and solid his grip felt.

"Right," he said, turning back to you with a grin. "What’s next? Dessert?"

You nodded, "Dessert sounds perfect."

He laughed, the sound rich and warm, and you felt it vibrate through your chest. "You’re relentless, you know that?"

"Yep," you said, grinning up at him. "And you love it."

He didn’t deny it, just shook his head with that same soft smile as he tugged you gently toward the next stall. The market lights flickered on as the sun began to set, casting a warm, golden glow over everything. The air was cooler now, but you barely noticed, too focused on the warmth of his hand in yours and the way his shoulder brushed against yours as you walked.

The dessert stall was a colourful explosion of sweets—mochi, taiyaki, and towering soft serve cones in flavours like matcha, black sesame, and hojicha. You pointed at the matcha soft serve, the vibrant green ice cream swirling into a perfect peak, its colour so vivid it almost glowed under the soft lights of the stall. The earthy aroma of matcha wafted toward you, mingling with the sweet scent of condensed milk. "Can we get one of those?" you asked, turning to Will with a hopeful smile.

Will glanced at the cone, then back at you, his expression softening as he took in the way your eyes lit up. He didn’t say anything at first, just reached for his wallet, his fingers brushing against yours as he pulled it out. You couldn’t help but notice the way his lips curved into a small, private smile.

"If it makes you smile like that, of course," he said, his voice low and warm, like the first sip of tea on a cold morning. He handed over the cash to the vendor, his movements unhurried, as if he were savouring the moment as much as you were.

You and Will moved away from the stall, weaving through the bustling crowd until you found a quieter spot near the edge of the market. It wasn’t much—just a small alcove between two stalls, sheltered from the main flow of foot traffic—but it felt like your own little haven.

Will leaned casually against the wall, his shoulder brushing yours as you stood side by side. The hum of the market was still there, but it felt distant now, like background noise to the quiet moment you were sharing. You held the cone between you, the coolness of the ice cream a sharp contrast to the warmth of his body so close to yours.

"Alright, let’s see if this lives up to the hype," you said, leaning in and gently wrapping your lips around the creamy peak, sucking lightly to pull a bite of the cold, velvety ice cream into your mouth. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, the soft serve like a whisper of spring—earthy, sweet, and impossibly smooth. The bitterness of the matcha balanced perfectly with the creamy sweetness, and you couldn’t help but let out a small, contented hum.

When you opened your eyes, you caught Will staring at you, his gaze lingering on your lips for a second too long. There was something in his expression—something soft and unguarded—that made your stomach flip.

"Your turn," you said, holding the cone out to him, pretending not to notice the faint flush creeping up your neck.

He blinked, snapping out of whatever thought had momentarily distracted him, and took the cone from you. But instead of taking a bite, he held it carefully in one hand, his eyes never leaving yours. The soft serve was starting to melt slightly, a tiny drip sliding down the side of the cone, but Will didn’t seem to care.

Before you could say anything, he stepped closer, his free hand sliding around your waist to pull you in. "I think I’d rather taste it this way," he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

And then he kissed you.

His lips were warm and insistent, capturing yours in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. You could feel the cool sweetness of the matcha still lingering on your lips, and Will seemed determined to savour every bit of it. His hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling gently in your hair as he tilted your head just slightly, deepening the kiss.

At first, his tongue brushed against yours tentatively, a slow, teasing exploration that sent shivers down your spine. But then, as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, the kiss grew more insistent, more passionate. His tongue swept against yours, warm and searching, as if he were trying to memorise the taste of you mixed with the earthy sweetness of the matcha. You melted into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, the fabric of his jumper soft under your fingertips. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, quickening just like yours.

The world around you seemed to fade away—the low chatter of the market, the sizzle of food on grills, the faint hum of music from a nearby stall. All that mattered was the way his lips moved against yours, the way his breath mingled with yours, the way his body pressed close, solid and reassuring.

When he finally pulled back, it was only slightly, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath. His blue eyes were dark, his pupils wide and blown with want, his gaze heavy with something that made your stomach flip. It wasn’t just unspoken—it was hunger, pure and undeniable. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered at that moment, sent a shiver down your spine.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice rough and a little unsteady, as if he were struggling to keep himself in check. "Definitely starting to see the appeal."

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, where a faint trace of matcha still lingered, and you could feel the slight tremor in his hand. It was as if he were holding himself back, but just barely. The air between you felt charged, electric, and you could see the conflict in his eyes—the way he wanted to kiss you again, to pull you closer, to lose himself in you completely.

"Will," you started, your voice soft, but he shook his head, a small, almost rueful smile tugging at his lips.

"Don’t," he said, his voice low. "If you say my name like that, I’m not going to be able to stop."

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as you stared up at him. There was no mistaking the desire in his eyes, the way his gaze dropped to your lips again, like he was already imagining kissing you a second time. He wanted you—wanted you in a way that was almost overwhelming, and it was written all over his face.

But instead of giving in, he stepped back slightly, his hand sliding from your waist. He glanced down at the cone, as if grounding himself, and let out a soft laugh. "Guess I got a little distracted," he said, his tone lighter now, though his eyes still burnt with that same intensity.

"Just a little," you said, teasing, though your voice was a little breathless. You couldn’t help but notice the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers flexed around the cone, like he was fighting the urge to reach for you again. Before he could say anything, you reached out and gently took the cone from his hand, your fingers brushing against his in the process. The contact sent a little spark through you, and you saw his eyes darken as he watched you.

"Careful," you said, your tone light but your gaze holding his. "You’re going to drop it if you keep getting distracted."

He let out a soft laugh, though it sounded a little strained, and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, well, you’re not exactly helping," he said. His eyes dropped to your lips again, and you could see the way he was struggling to keep himself in check.

You took a small bite of the ice cream, the cool sweetness a sharp contrast to the heat building between you. Will watched you, his gaze intense, and you couldn’t help but tease him a little. "Want a taste?" you asked, holding the cone out to him, your tone innocent but your eyes playful.

He shook his head, a small, almost rueful smile tugging at his lips. "I already had my taste," he said, his voice dropping lower. "And it’s going to be a problem if I have another."

Your face flushed, but you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips. Will stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours as he reached for the cone. "But since you’re offering…" he said, his tone teasing as he took a small peice, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something in the way he looked at you, something raw and unguarded, that made your pulse quicken and your cheeks burn.

He handed the cone back to you with a smirk, his arm still wrapped around your waist, pulling you just a little closer. "Next time, though," he said, his tone playful but his eyes soft with something deeper, "I’m picking the flavour."

"Deal," you said, leaning into him, the warmth of his body a comforting contrast to the cool evening air. You took another bite of the ice cream, the earthy sweetness of the matcha mingling with the lingering taste of him on your lips. The market buzzed around you, but it felt distant, like the two of you were in your own little world.

Will’s thumb brushed lightly over your hip, his touch sending a shiver through you even through the layers of your clothes. "You know," he said, his voice low and warm, "I think this might be the best date we’ve ever had."

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his voice. "Yeah," you agreed softly. "It’s pretty perfect."

He chuckled, the sound rich and full, and you felt it vibrate through your chest. "Glad you think so," he said, his tone light but his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. "Because I’m not done yet."

"Oh?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, though your voice was a little breathless.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Nope. Not even close."

Your face flushed, but you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. "You’re horrible." you said, though the way your heart raced betrayed how much his words affected you.

Will grinned, pulling you closer as you continued walking through the market. The lights twinkled above, casting a warm glow over the stalls, and the scent of spices and sweets filled the air. His hand never left yours, his fingers laced through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

As you strolled, the sounds of the market fading into the background, you couldn’t help but think that moments like this—simple, sweet, and shared with him—were your favourite kind. Will’s hand in yours, his laughter in your ears, and the promise of more ahead made everything feel just a little bit magical.

😮‍💨 damn. I got carried away with this one… Was that kiss realistic? I've never kissed anyone that wasn't a peck, so I just guessed at what it would be like. Was that okay? Do people have any pointers for writing reasonable make out sessions? 🤭But anyways… I hope people enjoy!

[ofourlee]

megumi x reader

you and megumi were like "🤞" you were constantly together. at the school canteen, on the school roof, or wherever. any group projects that need pairs? you and megumi. you two are virtually inseparable.

they say "puppy love," but you had no idea what you were to megumi. he doesn't know what he is to you either. in short, you're simply two ignorant high school students, worried that if one of you confess, the friendship will become uncomfortable. you couldn't risk anything, right?

while you're busy delivering hints to megumi, he's being oblivious and indifferent. (as if he isn't also head over heels for you.) ugh. is he too stupid to understand? or is he simply choosing not to see? you didn't know.

megumi enjoyed taunting you. he always got under your skin. but who are you to complain if you've fallen for him? he was always so chatty when he was with you; it was like a never-ending conversation between the two of you.

you two were polar opposites. you enjoy romantic comedies, romantic animes, romantic literature, anything romantic, and kittens. he enjoys action movies, informational books, sports, and dogs. but hey, opposites attract, right?

as you two walked home together, as usual. the rain began to fall hard.

he glances up at the sky, a little groan escaping his lips as he notices the black clouds accumulating above.

"crap…it started raining suddenly, didn't it?" he mutters, his tone tinged with frustration and resignation as he looks around for cover.

as you both seek cover, he notices children playing in the rain.

he looks out at the children playing in the rain, a tiny grimace on his face.

"those kids are going to catch a cold, playing around in this weather," he mutters, shaking his head in distaste. despite his initial displeasure at being caught in the rain, he can't help but feel a tinge of youthful jealousy as he watches the youngsters play and giggle freely in the rain.

"aw, but they look so cute. i used to play in the rain when i was little." you burst out.

"you played in the rain? seriously?" he says, his tone alternately mocking skepticism and dismay. he finds it difficult to envision you, who is normally so collected and put together, playing in the rain like a carefree child.

"yeah! you don't?"

he shakes his head, a little sneer coming from his lips.

"no, definitely not. I've never played in the rain," he says, his tone scornful and condescending. he can't fathom himself willingly getting wet and muddy, let alone enjoying it.

"gumi, that's kinda sad." you mutter.

he recognizes the real disappointment on your face and feels guilty about his harsh reaction.

"what? It's not that sad. i mean, it's just rain. why would anyone want to play in it?" he attempts to explain, his tone defensive as he dismisses his lack of childhood rain memories.

"why do you always have to be a moodkiller?" you asked him.

as he hears your charge, he sighs, his tone tinged with irritation and resignation. it is not the first time he has been labeled a'mood killer' by someone.

"i'm not trying to ruin the mood or anything; i just don't see the point in getting all wet and muddy," he says, with a tinge of defensiveness in his tone.

"you know what? whatever. you can stay here."

he raises an eyebrow at your remark, expressing surprise and unhappiness with your tone.

"what, really? you're going to go play with the kids or something?" he says, his tone alternating between amusement and irritation. he can't tell if you're sincere or simply attempting to get under his skin.

as you lay your bag down, you say, "the rain is extra heavy, and that's a rare occasion, so I'm not passing up the opportunity. stay here if you still refuse."

he observes as you drop your bag on the floor and get ready to walk out in the rain again. he is filled with irritation and resignation, and your insistence makes him roll his eyes.

"fine, go have your fun in the rain if you're so damn eager," he says, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall.

"oh, i will!" you protested.

he watches with surprise and subtle adoration as you move away from the gazebo's protection and gladly allow the rain to soak through your clothes.

he can't understand how someone could find delight in something as simple as getting drenched in rain, yet he can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy for your carefree and unconcerned nature.

"woooow!! this is so fun!" you shouted.

"are you sure you don't want to join me, gumi?" you try to persuade him again.

he pauses for a while, conflicted between his customary snarky and distant demeanor and a slight flutter of curiosity that he can't seem to ignore. he sees you twirling around in the rain, your laughter filling the air, and something in his chest tightens.

with a slight huff of resignation, he murmurs beneath his breath, "oh, what the hell…"

he rises up and walks out into the rain to join you.

"yay!" you screamed again.

he attempts to keep his normal cool and controlled exterior, but he can't help but feel a slight pleasure when the cool raindrops touch his skin. he looks across at you, his normal poker mask breaking slightly when he sees your delighted grin.

"you know, you're crazy," he mutters, a sneer forming at the corners of his lips.

"see? it's not so bad, right?" you try to comfort him.

he can't help but acknowledge that there's something wonderfully liberating about standing in the rain and letting the water wash over him, washing away his worries for a time.

"i suppose it's not as bad as i thought," he confesses, letting out a tiny sigh of despair. "but I'm definitely getting a cold now, thanks to you."

as you stand in the rain, you can't help but notice his wet face. his nose, long lashes, and plump lips.

he sees your stare, and his cheeks warm slightly as he thinks how he must appear right now, with his hair and clothes soaked from the rain and water droplets sticking to his eyelashes and skin.

"what…what are you looking at?" he says, his tone guarded and embarrassed.

"do i look like I'm looking at your hands?" you ask simply.

he flushes even more, startled and perplexed by your remark.

"what? no, that's not what I meant. i just… " he fumbles over his words, his typical calm sliding as he attempts to come up with a solution.

"you're so cute, megs."

the rain continues to pour hard, chilling the air and reminding him of the gravity of the situation.

"we're… we're going to catch a cold, you know. drenched like this, in the rain." he adds, earning him a mournful expression from you.

he softens as you make a disappointed look, his concern for your well-being taking precedence over his previous sentiments.

"hey, don't look so sad," he says, his tone a blend of sympathetic reassurance and kind reprimand.

"i'm just saying, you don't want to get sick, do you? i can't have you sneezing and coughing all over the place."

"but," you begin. "but i still haven't tried kissing you under the rain yet…"

there were a few seconds of stillness. seconds turn into minutes. he was speechless, and so were you.

you didn't realize what was going through your mind after saying that. you don't seem to hear yourself at all. but you can't let this opportunity pass, right?

he waits for a bit while a concept forms in his thoughts. he looks at you, his eyes skimming your wet form once again, the contours of your body plainly apparent beneath the clinging fabric of your shirt. his heart flutters again as he struggles with his own need and discipline.

a few moments later, he finally speaks up. "so, you really want to… you know, kiss in the rain?" he inquires, his voice low and little huskier than normal.

your eyes brightened. "yeah! it's like experiencing rom-coms in real life."

he gives a little, delighted giggle at your excitement.

"only you would think something like this is like a scene from a rom-com. you really do live in your own world sometimes, don't you?"

despite his remarks, he admits that the prospect of kissing you in the rain is strangely appealing. a chill goes down his spine as he imagines the feelings and emotions that would accompany it.

"yes, it is!" you protest.

he rolls his eyes again, but his lips show a trace of a grin.

"i should have known. you probably watched a dozen rom-coms recently and now you're craving some romantic experience you can reenact."

he can't help but notice how your clothing clings to your body, and the sight causes his thoughts to blank for a few seconds. he swallows hard, his eyes reflexively tracing your figure's contours and lines, which are clearly delineated by the moist cloth. he swears beneath his breath, and his cheeks flame up again.

"i… um, yeah, I know you love rom-coms and all. you love any kind of cheesy, romantic stuff like that."

he attempts to remain composed, but his gaze is drawn to your physique, the moist shirt giving little room for imagination. his thoughts are a jumble of yearning, restraint, and a hint of humor at your penchant for romantic clichés.

"so, uhh, you really want to do this, huh? kiss in the rain. like a scene straight out of a rom-com."

"yes, i want to."

he lets out a sigh, a combination of despair and exhilaration running through his veins. in this moment, he can't seem to refuse your demands; your passion is too contagious for him to ignore.

"fine, fine… you win. we'll kiss in the rain. just like some cliche romantic scene you've watched in a dozen movies."

you were overjoyed right then.

the rain continues to pour steadily, creating a continual background noise that adds to the intensity of the scene. he takes a step closer to you, narrowing the distance between your bodies. his gaze settles on your face, then gently moves down to your lips, which are slightly parted in anticipation.

"are you sure you really want to do this? right here, in the rain? it's kind of cliché, don't you think?"

ugh. he wouldn't stop talking.

"just shut up and kiss me already."

with that, he draws you in closer, his hands softly resting on your hips, the moist fabric of your shirt on his fingertips.

his breaths are short and ragged, and his heart races in his chest. he leans closer, his stare fixed on your lips, a mix of eagerness and something more whirling through his dark eyes.

"you're really something else, you know that? demanding to be kissed in the rain like it's some romantic movie moment. but I guess it sort of is, isn't it? In a—"

you've decided you've had enough. you held his face and kissed him yourself.

he's taken aback by your unexpected gesture, but he soon relaxes into the kiss, his eyelashes fluttering close as he responds to your lips. his hands tighten around your hips, drawing you closer to him, and his tongue reaches for yours, the taste of rain mingling with the kiss. his head is filled with sensations, the sound of rain merging with the hammering of his heart and the feel of your body on his.

he deepened the kiss, his tongue entwined with yours, the flavor of you feeding his mounting hunger. his body is pressed close against yours, the moist fabric of your shirt on his chest, and the heat of your skin through the thin cloth causes his thoughts to wander.

he pulls away for a minute to gather his breath before returning your look, his eyes darkened with desire and a hint of astonishment at your entrance.

you giggle to yourself. dammit! you finally touched those lips for the first time.

he gives out a breathless chuckle at your reaction, his hands remaining firmly on your hips, bringing you close to him.

"that good, huh? you couldn't wait to kiss me so bad." he adds, his voice somewhat cocky as he attempts to control his rapid heart rate. the rain continues to pour around them, and the world appears to have faded away, leaving only the two of them in this moment of closeness and desire.

"that was your fault for always talking."

he huffs in faux indignation of your words, yet there's a smirk on his lips.

"my fault? how is it my fault that you can't wait for me to finish talking before pouncing on me and kissing me?" there he goes again.

he pecks your lips one more time before pulling away, catching you off guard. what are we, megumi? you think to yourself

as his gaze moves over your face, he notices your features and how the rain has rendered your hair somewhat unkempt and your clothing cling to your body.

suddenly, your attention was drawn to the dog, who was also in the rain and playing by himself. you petted him.

he looks at you with a mix of astonishment and enjoyment as you quickly switch your focus to the dog, a faint giggle escaping his lips.

"of course, you'd notice the dog before anything else, even after that kiss."

[butchrgoth]

metalhead Erik Campbell x goth fem reader!

summary : Erik and reader are getting ready for a underground concert and Erik watches reader do her makeup and asks her to do corpse paint on him,,,

warnings : nothing! small kisses and touching,,,

(enjoy - ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ)

It was about 7 pm. slightly windy outside but pretty normal weather.. It was steamy in the small bathroom from the shower running warm water. a small penis drawn in the steam on the mirror. Erik. Erik just finished blow drying his hair, his eyes turning to gaze at his girlfriend who was powdering down her stark white base of foundation.

Erik slipped his black very much washed jeans on and put his hands on her waist, giving her a squeeze before leaning his chin on her shoulder, "You look like a dork." he says, "Glad I'm dating a fuckass ghost." You just glared and pushed him off of you. "Shut up.. its a trust the process kinda thing, you know something you don't know how to do." You barked back.

Erik just clutched his chest and gave an offended look, "Excuse me? my messy hair takes A LOT of time to get right... so fuck off."

You just gave him a look before picking up your eyeshadow brush and started to drag the black from your palette across your eyelid. Erik just stared like a kicked puppy being neglected.

You finished your makeup and looked at him, "You done pouting now...?" Erik sighed dramatically and crossed his arms, "I guess..."

This guy was a brat. You just wanted to smack him. But that's abuse... Don't abuse your Erik's .

You raise your eyebrow noticing how Erik was looking away trying to be nonchalant, batting his eyelashes. "Ookay.. you look like you want something. What." Erik grinned as you finally noticed, "Pretty please make me pretty? Not like you though. You're kinda hard to look at..." He said with a shit eating grin.

And that earned him a smack. Erik was now heartbroken. Well not really. He deserved it.

But soon enough you gave him a small kiss as you apologized. "I'm sorry. Please stop saying you'll call the police for "abuse" now.."

Erik sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine."

You grabbed a headband and pushed it through Eriks hair, please never go bald Erik... he's kinda scary...

Erik just watched as you lathered his face with white foundation, hitting his face with a beauty blender. "Violent...." You just rolled your eyes, "I can just not do this..?" Erik scoffed and shut up again.

You blended everything and grabbed your eyeliner to start the rough sketch outline... Pretty basic corpse paint design. She grabs her black face paint just to make things go by faster and so she doesn't have to literally dry her eyeliner out....

You hum to some fuckass song stuck in your head and give Erik a little kiss. "Happy?" you asked as you dug your brush into the black paint, the cold texture touching his skin, Tracing the sharp design filling it in.

Erik sticks his tongue out and licks the leftover lipgloss you transferred off his lips. "Very sweetheart." You just roll your eyes and finish taking a small brush and making sure the tips are sharp. you grab your black lipstick and trail it across his lips slightly, making pointy edges. Erik was slipping his bracelets on at the same time. multitasking king.

Erik took the headband off and shook his head, fixing his hair. He looked in the mirror. He can't lie. he fucking loved it.. You smiled proudly, "You look hot... Like it?" Erik nodded and pulled you into him. "So much. I look very sick and my girl looks very hot.." Erik kissed you deeply, his tongue asking for entrance. You pulled away, "Nuhuh. not so fast. We have somewhere to be dork." Erik sighs and dramatically pulled his black tanktop on, grabbing his leather jacket. "Whatever... neglect at its finest...."

You just rolled your eyes and grabbed your jacket, pulling it over your outfit. "Yup.. you sleep in a box outside... I know.."

Erik grabbed your hand, your rings clinking against the ones on his own fingers. "Love you." You smiled and kissed his cheek, leaving a small black print of lipstick.

"Love you too." You grinned.

"I still call abuse..."

"shut up." You snarked as the two of you left the apartment.

(A/N: guess who! me! I rlly hope this lives up. uhm. Request page is gonna be pinned to my profile. so if you want me to write anything pls do check that out! I hope you enjoyed....)

[spiderb00]

WHITE XMAS, FAM OUT W FRUITCAKE

Jeong Yoonchae X Reader (platonic)  Sophia Laforteza x reader 

“Snow covered all the parts of the place, prebenting Yoonchae from returning home for Christmas. With that in mind, you decided to make sure the youngest girl had an unforgettable Christmas.” 

Genre – fluff    Warnings – none  fruitcake masterlist

fam out masterlist

Now playing – White xmas, by Sabrina Carpenter 

Yoonchae was crying, sobbing in the back seat of the car, the younger girl's head on top of Sophia's legs, as your girlfriend tried to calm her down. You were heartbroken, driving back to the Kats' house, listening to the murmurs of Sophia who tried to calm Yoonchae down.   

The sky darkened and the Christmas lights seemed to get stronger at night, you and Sophia had driven a few minutes to drop off the younger girl at the airport, Yoonchae was excited to visit her parents, taking advantage of the Christmas and New Year holidays to spend some nice time with her family. However, when you arrived at the airport, you were told that the flight from Yoonchae had been canceled ‘cause of the weather, destroying the plans and the heart of little maknae.   

You can see Yoonchae's lip quiver as soon as she heard the news from the airport employee, and it wasn't long before the Korean buried her head in Sophia's shoulder and started crying.   

"Yn, can we please not go to the Kats' house?" Yoonchae asked, lifting her head slightly from Sophia's lap to look at you in the car's rearview mirror.  

"Of course Yoonchip, whatever you want." You said, giving an understanding smile to the younger girl, who just laid her head on your girlfriend's thighs, sniffling and muttering a "Thank you".  

Looking in the rearview mirror again, you have Sophia's vision, the Filipina offers a sad smile to you, who just winks and waves, giving her the confidence that everything will be fine. 

Upon arriving home, Yoonchae goes upstairs to the bedroom, which was designed especially for her, leaving you and Sophia standing in the living room, not knowing what to do to improve the situation. You and the Filipina knew that Yoonchae wanted to see her family more than anything, and now that she couldn't spend the holidays with them, she probably wouldn't have the mood for anything else.   

"Poor girl, she was so anxious to go visit her family." Sophia said, going towards the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of wine, handing it to you then.  

"I know, I feel bad for her. She'll probably be upset until Christmas is over." You say as you open the wine bottle and pour the liquid into the glasses that Sophia took. 

"She really wanted to see her family, baby. It's normal for her to be frustrated." Sophia said, taking a sip of the wine and rubbing her temples.   

"It's not fair that she doesn't have a good Christmas, I want to make it special to her. I mean, I don't want to let her be sad on a date like Christmas." You say, standing behind Sophia, and massaging the woman's shoulders.   

"That's really nice of you, baby. But how would we do that?" Sophia asks, grabbing your hands and turning to face you.   

"I don't know yet, but we'll find our way." You say, making the Filipina smile and kiss your lips calmly.  

"Then let's start planning!" 

You were home alone, it was only two days before Christmas, and you were freaking out. As a chef, you've had many challenges in the kitchen, but none of them compare to learning each of the Kats' favorite dish in less than a week. You obviously already knew how to make Sophia and Yoonchae's favorite dish, but learning how to make typical foods from other countries is always a huge challenge, each dish has a unique peculiarity, and as much as all that enchanted you, it also scared you.  

"I just dropped Yoonchae off at the Kats' house, we have the whole house to ourselves..." Sophia's speech died as soon as she saw you in the kitchen, apron over your blue sweatshirt and hands dirty with food.   

"Wow, you really know how to cheer me up." Sophia continued. 

"Ha ha ha, very funny, Laforteza, but I'm working on something serious here." You say, before turning your gaze to the timer that marked the time of the food in the oven.  

"Wow! Refusing me? This must be serious." Sophia said, while laughing lightly and wrapped her arms around your waist, giving a kiss on your shoulder blade.   

"I'm testing the dishes for Christmas, I decided to make a dish based on the culture of each of the Kats." You say, stirring into another pan.

Hearing this, Sophia let go of her arms from your waist. Missing your girlfriend's warmth, you turned to face the Filipina, seeing the woman's face with a look you couldn't decipher. 

"My love, that's such a beautiful attitude." Sophia said, grabbing the sides of your face and pulling you into a quick kiss.   

"I thought and thought it was cool that all of you felt at home, even if for a simple dish." You say with a shrug.  

 "That's pretty cool, Yn. Come on, I'll help you, you can boss me around, chef!" The Filipina says, saluting while making a funny face.  

"All right, you can put on your apron and wash your hands first." You said, making Sophia do exactly what you said without hesitation.  

"It's hot here, you can cook only in an apron if you want, that would help my field of vision 100%." You said, with a provocative tone.  

"Don't abuse it." Sophia says, turning her head towards you and narrowing her eyes at you.  

"Sorry." Turning around immediately, you think it's best to keep quiet before you have to go back to doing everything yourself.   

Christmas was only one day away, the Kats would soon arrive for dinner, and stay for the sleepover, and on Christmas morning they would open the presents. You had planned everything with Sophia's help, everything was perfect, the decoration of the house was very beautiful, the table was full of food and the house seemed so cozy that you could remember the Christmases you spent with your mother and father when you were a child.  

"Alright, how am I?" Sophia asked.  

The Filipina wore black pants and a Christmas sweater matching yours. Sophia had the brilliant idea of buying matching sweaters for the couples, since the Kats were going to bring their girlfriends for dinner. 

"You look great, baby." You said, running your arms around the waist of the lower woman and pulling her in for a kiss.  

Hearing the doorbell ring, you and Sophia walked away with smiles on their faces, taking quick steps toward the door. When you opened it, you saw Yoonchae in front, a small smile on the Korean's face. Taking a step forward, she hugged you, tightly.  

"Will I get a sweater like yours?" The younger girl asked, raising her head to see you nodding positively, before passing you and going to talk to Sophia, who was behind you. Your gaze followed the younger girl, turning to the door again only when you heard a laugh. 

"What are you wearing, bro?" Manon's girlfriend asked, laughing at you, making Manon roll her eyes.  

"Don't mind her Yn, you and Sophia are super cute." Manon said, hugging you.  

"I'm glad you think that. It was Sophia's idea to buy sweaters for all the couples, so that we could match." You said, raising your eyebrows and looking in the direction of Manon's girlfriend, who had now stopped laughing. "You can take yours with Sophia." You said, giving a sarcastic smile.  

Manon entered the house to greet Sophia and talk about the sweaters, while her girlfriend walked past you, staring at you and raising her middle finger, making you laugh at the girl's childish behavior.  

"Couple sweaters? That's so cool!" Megan said, hugging you quickly before pulling her girlfriend by the wrist into the house.  

"Thank you for inviting us Yn!" It was the only thing the girl had time to say before being dragged by the redhead. 

Laughing lightly at the couple's dynamic, you turned forward again, coming face to face with Daniela and her girlfriend.   

"Cool sweater, Rudolph!" Daniela's girlfriend says, pointing to the reindeer's nose embroidered on the warm fabric. "How much do you get paid to use this?"  

"What, just ‘cause you work saving lives, do you think you don't need to use that?" You answer, messed up with the girl.

"No, I don't need to."   

"But you will!" Daniela says, approaching you and her girlfriend at the right time. "You're cute, Yn." The Latina says, before clinging to her girlfriend's arm.   

"Come on puppy, let's put you in a Christmas sweater." Daniela says, making fun of her girlfriend's face.   

You tried your best to contain your laughter, making Daniela's girlfriend look at you ugly, before giving you the middle finger behind Daniela's back, with this one is two.  

Laughing lightly, you welcomed the last couple.  

"Matching sweaters, huh?!" Lara's girlfriend said, the Indian girl's grip her girlfriend's arm.   

"Sophia's idea, you know I do everything to see you happy." You said, rolling up the sleeves of your sweater and leaving your tattoos on display.  

"You know it's not a bad idea! Matching clothes would definitely let people know we're together." Lara spoke for the first time, you nodding and agreeing with the "genius idea" of the red-haired girl. 

"That would certainly get the message across." You say, pouring more gasoline on the fire.  

"Please don't encourage her." Lara's girlfriend says, making you laugh as she watches them pass you, definitely hearing Lara say something about shopping.   

Denying it with your head, you finally closed the door. This would be a long Christmas. 

It was time to show your work of art to everyone, the food was all on the table and you finally invited everyone to the dining room.   

"Okay, I may have exaggerated, but I thought it would be cool." You say, watching the Kats' reaction to the food on the dinner table.   

The girls quickly recognized the dishes that were on the table, the smell took over the place and the girls began to be very moved by the tribute. All of them were away from home this Christmas, and seeing all that made them feel warm.  

"All right, so here we have a RÖSTI, named after Manon. Sinigang in honor of my future wife. Arroz con pollo in honor of Dani. We also have Butter Chicken for Lara, Poke for Megan and finally Kimchi and Kimbap for Yoonchae." 

When you finally finished explaining, the girls' jaws dropped, you had done all that for them, and that was extremely cute.   

"Yn, that's the cutest thing in the world!" Daniela is the first to speak.  

Without having a chance to answer, you felt a body bumping into yours, looking at a Yoonchae glued to you, you hugged the younger girl tight, smiling at her.   

"Thank you, Yn. I love you!" Yoonchae said, hugging you tighter and making you melt into the hug. The girls looked at you two fondly, happy to have a second family.  

"I love you too, child." You said, hugging Yoonchae tighter.  

"Don't cry, Yn. Nobody wants to see that." Manon's girlfriend said, moaning as she was slapped by her girlfriend.   

SURPRISE!!! Yes, I joined fruitcake with fam out, now I really don't know when I'll have another chapter of Fam out for you guys.

But Fruitcake is officially closed, I had a lot of fun writing this.

oh, before I forget, my special thanks to 6'3 anon, who gave me the idea of reader cooking the foods to honor each of the Kats

xoxo, spider.