#and maybe that's why it made me sad that it was so unimpressive to dad

[narcissusneverknewme]

It's kinda funny but it makes me weirdly sad that my Dad doesn't care that I got my A.A.

I don't really care; I too, am not impressed at all, and I only got it as a side effect of getting my B.A. It arrived unexpectedly and without ceremony, so it didn't feel like much of anything... But it still made me sad when he just dismissed it immediately and moved on 😂

[blue-aconite]

the offside rule || j.h.s

Summary: Jake learns that his girl is crazy about football, but not the kind he expected.

Warnings: jake being a sweetheart, no use of y/n

Word Count: 1.5k

Pairings: Jake Seresin x f!reader

Authors Note: This is inspired by @roosterforme's Sundays Are for the Boys and @teacupsandtopgun's Jake and Flick universe. This is also very self-indulgent and somewhat based on parts of my life.

“What are you doing?” Jake emerged from the bathroom, only to find his girlfriend on the couch, watching what looked like soccer. 

“I’m watching football, what does it look like?” She didn’t take her eyes off the screen as she reached for the beer bottle on the coffee table. 

Jake didn’t know how to respond. He knew what soccer was, he wasn’t an idiot but he never knew that his girl enjoyed the sport. 

“Soccer, baby. It’s called soccer.” 

Jake knew it was the wrong thing to say as she turned around, an unimpressed look on her face. 

“I’m going to forgive you this time. But in the future, for your information, it’s called football. Not your ridiculous term soccer.” She was all business, a sharp edge to her tone that Jake hadn’t really experienced in their relationship so far. 

There was a sparkle in her eyes that told him she wasn’t as serious as her tone suggested though. Jake flopped down on the couch next to her, plucking the beer out of her hands. “Is this MLS?” 

She snorted, rolling her eyes as she looked him up and down. “MLS is a shit league. It only got interesting since Messi signed for Inter Miami and it’s still shit. You know, we call it the retirement league because it’s where all the greats come to wind down and just kick around.” 

“Hey!” Jake protested. “Doesn’t it have a somewhat good reputation?”

She shook her head. “Baby, I love you but you’ve been greatly deceived.” She patted his cheek, opening another beer, seeing as he had stolen hers. 

Jake grumbled, sinking lower into the couch. Granted, his soccer knowledge was limited but he thought that MLS at least was a popular league. 

“What’s this then?” He pointed to the screen where the game was playing. 

His girl clapped excitedly, tossing the cap onto the table. “This is the greatest league in the world. I give you the Premier League.” She dramatically spread her arms, as if showing him something of great importance. 

In a way, Jake guessed that she was. He had no idea she was this passionate about this but he found it endearing that she did. 

“I recognise that, it’s England, yeah?” Jake was 80% certain he was right but he could also be wrong. Like he said, his knowledge of soccer was limited. 

“Yes! PL is played in England and it’s hands down the most popular and watched league. But there’s obviously others as well.” 

He was a bit intrigued and Jake also wanted to know more about something that made his girl this excited. “Others?” 

“Oh, you’ve got La Liga for example, and Ligue 1. And then there’s Serie A and Bundesliga. My dad used to watch a lot of Eredivisie too. He was a lifelong fan of Ajax.” She quieted down a bit at the end, a sad smile on her face as she remembered her dad. 

Jake pressed a kiss to her shoulder, hand finding hers. He gave a supportive squeeze. He understood now why this was so important to her. 

“Did you guys watch a lot together?” He asked as the game seemingly was paused, the players leaving the field. 

“Yeah. He took me to my first game when I was 4. I barely remember it but I remember the feeling. And he coached my team for as long as I played.” 

That surprised Jake. “You used to play?” It wasn’t something that had come up but he guessed it was somewhat of a sore subject. 

“From the age of five til I was fifteen, maybe sixteen,” she paused. “Uh, I quit playing when he got sick. He wanted me to continue but it just wasn’t the same. It was our thing and then all of a sudden he wasn’t there and..” 

Jake pulled her into his arms, lips pressed to her forehead. “Baby, why haven’t you told me about this before? I would have loved to know more about football if I knew it meant this much to you.” 

She smiled when he called it football and Jake counted it as a small victory. “I honestly don’t know. You’re more of an American football fan and I just figured you didn’t care about this.” 

“I would have cared if you told me. Hell, I know you don’t really care about the Cowboys but you still hang out with me when they play. And wear the jersey.” 

She laughed then, leaning back from his embrace but kept their hands intertwined. “I wear the jersey because I know it gets you all hot and bothered.”

“Well, that’s definitely a perk. You do look very good in blue.” Jake kissed her then, hands sneaking under her shirt to trace her skin. 

She was blushing when they pulled apart and Jake grinned, proud to be the one to make her that way. 

“So is Ajax your team?” He asked, playing with the hem of her shirt. 

“No. As much as I respect and enjoy Dutch football, the Premier League always called to me more. And then I fell in love with Manchester United.” 

Jake’s eyebrows shot up, teasingly pinching her sides. “Fell in love, huh? That means I got competition?” 

She rolled her eyes, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you for the Red Devils.” 

“Good. Is this them then?” He gestured towards the screen, where the game had resumed. 

“No, they play Aston Villa tomorrow. This is Newcastle vs Arsenal.” 

Jake watched as the team in black and white kicked the ball back and forth. “Okay, you’re going to have to explain this to me. I know nothing.” 

She launched into the game, explaining what was happening as well as informing him about the rules and terms. Jake tried his best to keep up but figured he was going to have to do some independent studying to catch up. 

If this was important to his girl, it was important to him. He watched as she kept on talking, gesturing back and forth with her hands, eyes alight with excitement. 

“But there must be leagues outside of Europe, yeah?” He asked after learning that the ones she had rambled off earlier were all based in European countries. 

“For sure, but those are the most popular ones. And considering how much of an impact the Champions League, Europa League and Conference League have, it’s difficult for leagues outside of Europe to compete.” 

Jake’s mind was reeling, trying to piece all the information together. “Wait, Europa League and Champions League? Conference? Where’s that?” 

“All of those are played by teams in Europe. You qualify for UCL when you win your league in your country, and the second tier goes on to play in the UEL and third tier in UECL.” At Jake’s confused expression, she smiled apologetically. 

“Sorry, this is way overboard. How about we keep that for another day and we just keep to the basics for now?” 

Jake breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes please.”

She handed him another beer, smiling softly. 

“So, do I get a Manchester United jersey? It’s only fair, I got you a Cowboys one.” Jake asked. 

He was comfortably leaning back against the armrest of the couch. Initially he had tried to get her to snuggle with him but quickly found out that she wasn’t going to sit still while watching the game. 

“Babe, you’ll get a jersey when you deserve one. Maybe earlier if you can explain the offside rule to me.”  

He was screwed then. “Never mind. I’ll wait.” 

“It’s really not that difficult. A player would be seen as offside if their entire body is in front of the last defender of the opposing team, on the opposing team's half.” 

Jake tried to imagine what it would look like but his mind came up blank. “You’re just speaking gibberish, that doesn’t make sense.”

She smiled softly, a gleam in her eye. “Don’t worry, I’ll make you a football fan. Just you wait.”

“I can’t wait. I’m also very excited to see you watch your team play.” 

The game was now over and she climbed into his lap, hands finding the back of his head. “Oh, you’re in for a wild ride.” 

Making the most of their position, Jake grabbed a hold of her thighs as he stood up, ignoring her squeal as he headed towards the bedroom. “How about I give you a ride right now?” 

Two months later, when Jake officially got the offside rule right, a package was waiting for him on the kitchen table when he got home. 

His heart swelled as he pulled out a bright red Manchester United jersey, embroidered with his callsign on the back. There was a note inside the box as well and Jake laughed as he read what his girlfriend had written. 

Now you’re a real football fan. Glory glory Man United! 

Ps. Come find me ;) 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.” He called, jersey in hand as he stalked the house. 

Her laughter echoed through the house. “Come claim your prize, cowboy.”

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[graciegoeskrazy]

The birthday party

(Matty Healy + teen!daughter!r)

warnings: angst (we’re back!), shitty dad Matty for a min, uncle George yay, yelling, just sad, reader is turning 13

a/n: what other title did you think I would choose bffr

You had been talking about it for months. There was no way he could forget. Right? He’s your dad. The only parent you’ve ever had. It’s always been just the two of you, side by side through everything. He knows you better than anyone else in the world. So why was this nagging doubt creeping into your mind this morning?

He always made it a big deal. A special breakfast, a couple of thoughtful presents to kick off the day—but this time, there was nothing. No sounds of sizzling bacon, no smell of pancakes. Just silence. You searched every corner of the house—his bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen, even the backyard and guest room—but he was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t until you glanced outside that you noticed his car was missing. A knot tightened in your stomach as you reached for your phone and sent him a text, hoping for an explanation that would ease the growing sense of disappointment.

y/n | where r u???

dad | studio. y?

At first, you convinced yourself he was playing one of his usual tricks. It was exactly the kind of thing your dad would do. Let you sweat a little, only to jump out from somewhere unexpected with a goofy grin and a surprise waiting behind his back. You smiled at the thought, almost hearing his laughter in your head. That had to be it. It was all part of some elaborate birthday prank.

You didn’t reply to his text at first. The message sat unread on your phone, the screen dimming after a few seconds, like it wasn’t important. You brushed it off, continued getting ready, telling yourself this was just part of the game. The anticipation kept you going—maybe he’d burst through the door any minute with balloons and confetti, trying to catch you off guard. You could already picture his laugh, the way he’d raise his eyebrows like, ‘Gotcha!’

But with each passing minute, doubt began to creep in. You found yourself staring at the phone longer than you'd like to admit, uncertain how to respond. A part of you wanted to play along, to convince yourself it was all just a joke. But there was another, quieter part of you—a part that you didn’t want to acknowledge—that began to whisper the truth you were trying to ignore.

There was no prank, no surprise waiting for you. The sinking feeling in your stomach told you what you didn’t want to admit. He forgot your birthday. And no matter how much you tried to pretend otherwise, that truth weighed heavier with each moment of silence.

…

School had always been your escape, a place where you could drown out everything else by burying yourself in classwork and conversation. Today was no different. You told yourself if you kept busy enough, the hurt gnawing at you would fade into the background. It almost worked, until your friends surprised you at lunch.

They gathered around with smiles, handing you a cupcake, complete with a crooked candle, and a small gift they’d all chipped in on. You forced a smile, doing your best to swallow the lump in your throat. You weren’t about to ruin the moment for them. But your best friend wasn’t fooled for a second.

“So… you gonna tell me what’s really going on?” she asked, snapping you out of your daze.

You looked up quickly, startled. “What? What do you mean?” you replied, plastering on a grin. But it was thin, stretched too tight, and you knew she could see right through it.

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You walked into school looking like you just got hit by a car. You’ve been staring at your phone every five seconds, and I can tell you’re about two seconds away from crying. So, what’s up?”

The act fell apart. You swallowed hard and stared down at the half-eaten cupcake, your voice barely above a whisper. “He forgot my birthday.”

She tilted her head, confused for a moment. “Who did?”

You met her eyes, feeling a wave of shame and frustration crash over you. “My dad. He… he forgot my birthday.”

Her face fell. The disbelief in her eyes was instant, but not entirely surprising. “What?! No way,” she blurted, shaking her head.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, the desire to move on from the topic growing stronger by the second. “It’s fine. It’s not that big of a deal—”

“It’s a huge deal, Y/n! He’s your dad!” She almost shouted, her voice filled with a mix of outrage and disbelief.

You mumbled, but the bitterness in your voice was unmistakable. “Yeah, well… he hasn’t really been acting like one lately.”

Her face softened instantly, guilt flashing in her eyes for snapping at you. She leaned in, her tone gentler now. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck, trying to figure out the words. “I dunno, maybe he’s just busy or dealing with his own stuff. It’s not a big deal—”

“But?” she pushed, refusing to let you brush it aside.

You hesitated before continuing. “It’s like he’s… here, but he’s not here, you know? He’s around, but we don’t talk anymore. We don’t even see each other, really. It’s like he’s some random roommate I found online. I only see him when we happen to cross paths, maybe at dinner or when I’m heading out, but even then, it’s like I’m invisible. He doesn’t even acknowledge me.”

Your friend’s face fell, and she reached out, resting her hand on yours. “That’s not right, love. You know that, don’t you?” Her voice was quiet but firm. “Maybe you should talk to him. Tell him how you’re feeling.”

You sighed heavily, feeling the weight of her suggestion. “Yeah, maybe,” you muttered, but deep down, you wondered if he’d even listen.

…

Adam found Matty slouched in a corner, next to the coffee machine and a spread of half-eaten snacks, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. The exhaustion was evident in the dark circles under his eyes. Honestly, all he wanted to do was be home, sitting on the couch with you, watching some mindless TV, shutting the world out for a few hours. But there was still work to be done. The faster he finished this album and sent it off, the sooner he could finally focus on what mattered most—you.

“I’m surprised you’re even here,” Adam said, breaking the silence as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

Matty didn’t bother looking up from his phone. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Adam gave him a sideways glance. “I just figured you’d be with Y/n.”

Matty frowned. “Why?”

Adam shifted, uneasy, and took a sip of coffee. “Well, you know... thirteen is kind of a big deal.”

Thirteen. The number didn’t seem to register for Matty right away. Adam watched as the realization crept over Matty’s face like a slow, chilling wave.

“What do you—” Matty’s voice faltered, and then he froze. He stared blankly at Adam, piecing it together. The sinking dread filled the room. Adam could tell from the way Matty’s expression darkened that he had forgotten.

“Don’t tell me...” Adam muttered, but it was too late.

Matty bolted upright, shoving his phone into his pocket and grabbing his bag without a word. The room seemed to spin around him as he stormed out, not bothering to explain himself to the others. He needed to get to you. Now. 

As he sped through the streets, his mind raced. How could he have forgotten? You, his world, his everything. The one person who had completely shifted the course of his life thirteen years ago, making him into something more than just himself. He had thought about stopping somewhere—buying a cake, maybe some balloons—but the clock was ticking, and every second felt like another failure. He couldn’t waste any more time.

Guilt tightened in his chest with every mile he drove. You deserved more than a last-minute apology and a quick fix. You deserved his time, his presence, his love—especially on a day that should have been about you.

But now he was on his way, and he didn’t know how to make it up to you. He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

………. 

You were curled up on the couch, sinking deeper into the cushions, letting the sweetness of the cupcakes numb the ache inside. Your friend had baked them for you—her attempt to make the day a little less unbearable—and you didn’t care about the calories or the mess you were making as frosting smeared across your fingers. It was a brief distraction from the disappointment gnawing at your chest.

Then you heard it—the keys jingling in the lock, the door creaking open. Your heart tightened. Without a second thought, you reached for the remote and turned off the TV.

“Y/n!” Your dad’s voice echoed down the hallway as he rushed in, breathless, his footsteps quick, desperate. He froze when he spotted you on the couch, eyes widening as if the sight of you caught him off guard.

“I’m sorry,” he started, his voice cracking, “I’m so s—”

He stopped mid-sentence as you stood, the movement sharp and deliberate. You clenched your jaw, refusing to meet his gaze as you gathered the crumpled cupcake wrappers and empty water bottles scattered around you. The silence between you thickened, heavy with everything unsaid.

You walked to the trash bin, each step deliberate, your frustration palpable in the way your shoulders tensed. His eyes followed you, pleading, but you refused to acknowledge him.

“Where are you going?” His voice cracked, barely holding back the desperation.

“To bed,” you answered, your tone cold, distant. Still, you wouldn’t look at him.

He glanced at his phone, confusion flickering across his face. “It’s only 7:30?” he questioned, as if the time mattered in the slightest.

“I don’t care.” Your voice was soft, almost too soft, like a balloon deflating after holding in too much air. “I just need to be away from you.”

Matty took a step closer, his hands trembling as he reached out, though he stopped short of touching you. “C’mon, baby. Please don’t do this,” he pleaded, his voice rough with guilt. “Talk to me. Let me fix this. I can make it right.”

The crack in your heart finally shattered. “I don’t care anymore.” The words tumbled out, jagged and raw, each syllable heavy with the weight of years of pent-up frustration. “I’ve let the stupid shit you’ve done slide my entire life! And I’m just… I’m so tired. I’m tired of you disappointing me over and over.”

He looked at you, his face crumpling as if he didn’t know what to say, as if he hadn’t realized just how deep the hurt ran. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely holding together. “I’m so sorry.”

You let out a bitter laugh, one that held no humor. “I know you are. You’re always sorry, but I’m tired of hearing it. I don’t care anymore.” Words hitting a little harsher.

He took another step toward you, his voice shaking. “Please, Y/n. Just give me a chance to fix this. Let me make it right, I’ll do anything.”

“No.” You shook your head, your resolve hardening. “You can’t fix this. You can’t even remember my fucking birthday birthday.”

His mouth opened, but no words came. The silence stretched, painful, until finally, something inside him snapped. His face twisted, frustration bubbling to the surface. “I wouldn’t have to try to remember if you weren’t here!” The words flew out, sharp and ugly, hanging in the air like a slap. His eyes widened, regret flashing through them the moment they left his lips. “I didn’t mean that,” he stammered, panic setting in. “Y/n, I—”

But it was too late. The truth of his confession hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of you. For a moment, you stood there, frozen, feeling the sting of his words sink in. Then, without another word, you turned on your heel and stomped up the stairs, each step heavier than the last.

“Y/n!” he called after you, his voice breaking with desperation. “Please, Y/n, wait! Don’t go!”

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You slammed your bedroom door with a force that rattled the house, and for a brief moment, the entire world went silent. Downstairs, Matty stood frozen in the middle of the room, his head hanging low, his body sagging under the weight of his mistake.

…

Matty wasn't sure what to do next. He paced the living room for a while, his steps quick and restless, before collapsing onto the couch. The same spot where you had sat for hours, fighting tears and the crushing weight of disappointment. He stared at the scattered crumbs and empty cupcake wrappers left behind, his chest tightening as he imagined you curled up there, waiting for him, hoping for something he failed to give.

The knock at the door broke through his spiraling thoughts.

He rose sluggishly, his movements heavy with dread. It was late—too late for a neighbor or a delivery. As he opened the door, the cold air rushed in, carrying with it the sight of George standing on the porch. His coat was large, the collar flipped up to shield him from the wind, and his hands were stuffed deep into his pockets.

“Hey,” George greeted, his voice low and careful, though his sharp eyes betrayed his concern.

Matty blinked in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

George’s expression hardened. “Bubs called. She didn’t tell you?”

Before Matty could answer, he heard the hurried sound of footsteps behind him. You swept past him without so much as a glance, your shoulders stiff, your chin lifted in quiet defiance.

“Hi, George,” you murmured, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. Your voice was clipped, your movements rushed, as if staying in the house a moment longer would suffocate you. “I’ll be in the car.”

Matty turned to watch as you walked away, your silhouette disappearing into the darkness. The slam of the car door reverberated through the silence.

“Shit,” he muttered, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

George stepped inside, his boots thudding against the wooden floor. He shrugged off his coat but didn’t bother to hang it, instead crossing his arms and pinning Matty with a pointed look. “What happened, mate? She wouldn’t tell me anything, just that I needed to pick her up.”

Matty hesitated, his eyes darting toward the empty couch before finally meeting George’s gaze. “I said something…I said something really bad.”

George’s brows shot up. “Go on.”

Matty’s voice cracked as he admitted, “I forgot her birthday.”

“I’m sorry—what?” George’s tone was sharp, his disbelief cutting through the room like a knife.

Matty winced. “I left this morning and went to the studio with Adam. My mind was on recording, and I—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” George interrupted, his voice low and dangerous. “That’s not an excuse to forget your only child’s thirteenth birthday.”

“I know!” Matty snapped, his frustration with himself boiling over. “I know, okay? I screwed up. But I talked to her, and I tried to—”

“Oh, this should be good,” George interjected with a bitter laugh. “Let me guess. You made it worse.”

Matty let out a defeated sigh. “She was crying. I told her I could fix it, that I’d do anything to make it right, and she told me I couldn’t even remember her birthday. And that’s when…”

George raised a brow, his patience clearly thinning. “When what?”

Matty swallowed hard, his throat dry. “That’s when I said, ‘Well, I wouldn’t have to remember if you weren’t here.’”

The silence that followed was deafening. George stared at him, his jaw tightening, his eyes blazing with anger and disbelief. “You are a fucking idiot,” he said finally, his voice calm but dripping with contempt. “You know that?”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” George shot back. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t have let her walk out of here feeling like that.”

Matty’s shoulders sagged. “What do I do?”

“You want a step-by-step guide on how to not be a shitty dad?” George’s sarcasm was biting, but when Matty didn’t respond, he softened, his tone shifting to something more serious. “Here’s what’s going to happen. She’s coming home with me. She’s going to cry into my arms, like she always does when I’m cleaning up after your screw-ups. Meanwhile, you’re going to sit here, think long and hard about what you said, and figure out how to make this right.”

Matty nodded weakly. “Okay.”

George stepped back toward the door but paused, turning to face Matty one last time. “And Matty? If you ever, ever make her feel like that again, I won’t just clean up your mess—I’ll make damn sure you know what it feels like to be left behind.”

……..

The car ride to George’s house was quiet, the only sounds coming from the soft hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle you tried to suppress. George didn’t push you to talk. He knew better than to force words out of you when you were like this. Instead, he kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on the gear shift, his presence steady and grounding.

When you arrived, George parked in the driveway and turned off the car, glancing over at you. “You hungry?” he asked softly, his voice breaking the silence.

You shook your head, staring out the window. The weight of the day pressed against your chest, and food was the last thing on your mind.

“Okay,” he said, not pushing the issue. “Come on, then.”

Inside, the warmth of the house enveloped you, a stark contrast to the cold night outside. George flicked on a lamp in the living room, casting a soft glow across the room filled with mismatched furniture and framed photos. It felt safe here, like a refuge from everything waiting outside.

You dropped onto the couch, pulling your knees to your chest. George disappeared into the kitchen for a moment and returned with two mugs of hot chocolate. He set one on the coffee table in front of you and settled into the armchair across from you, cradling his own mug between his hands.

“Want to tell me what happened?” he asked, his tone gentle but firm.

You hesitated, biting your lip as your gaze dropped to the mug in front of you. The steam rose in lazy swirls, and you watched it as though it held the answers you couldn’t find.

“It’s not just the birthday thing,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

George nodded, not interrupting.

“It’s everything,” you continued, your words spilling out faster now. “It’s like… I don’t even know if he really wants me here. Half the time, he’s so busy with his own life, and I feel like I’m just in the way. Like I’m some obligation he didn’t ask for.”

George set his mug down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Listen to me, kid,” he said, his voice steady. “Matty is a lot of things—most of them a pain in the ass—but he loves you. He’s just… not great at showing it sometimes.”

You scoffed, wiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie. “He told me he wouldn’t have to remember my birthday if I wasn’t here.”

George winced, his jaw tightening. “Yeah, that was a shitty thing to say. No excuses for that.”

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with hurt. “Do you think he means it?”

“No,” George said without hesitation. “I know he doesn’t. Matty’s an idiot, but he’s not heartless. He’s just scared, and when he’s scared, he says things he doesn’t mean. He’s trying, in his own messy way, but that doesn’t mean you have to forgive him right now.”

You nodded slowly, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak.

George moved to sit beside you on the couch, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You’re allowed to be mad, Y/n. You’re allowed to feel hurt. But you’re not allowed to think, even for one second, that you don’t belong here, because you do. You belong with him, and he knows it, even if he’s too dumb to show it the right way.”

You leaned into him, the warmth of his embrace and the steadiness of his presence easing some of the tension in your chest. “Thanks, George,” you murmured.

“Anytime, kiddo.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

 ………

The next morning arrived sooner than you had wanted it to. You were curled up on George’s couch, a blanket draped over your legs and a mug of lukewarm hot chocolate in your hands. The sitcom on the TV had long since faded into background noise, your focus lost somewhere between the fraying edges of the blanket and the storm of emotions churning in your chest.

George walked into the room, pausing just inside the doorway. His expression was cautious, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. You could tell something was up before he even opened his mouth.

“Your father is here,” he said, his voice soft but laced with something that sounded like reluctant hope.

You didn’t look up. “Is he now?”

George shifted his weight, pulling one hand free to scratch the back of his neck. “He wants to talk to you.”

“That’s a first.”

He sighed, moving to sit on the arm of the couch. “Maybe it’ll be good for—”

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop fixing his mistakes.” Your voice was sharper now, laced with frustration and an undercurrent of exhaustion. “This is what always happens. Dad makes a mistake, I end up crying, and you or one of the guys come in and fix his problem for him.”

“It’s not a problem. You are not a problem.” George’s voice was steady but firm, like he was trying to will you into believing it.

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you were thinking,” he countered. “Am I wrong?”

You looked away, the lump in your throat making it impossible to respond.

“Whatever,” you muttered eventually, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.

“Fine,” George said with a sigh, standing. “I’m sending him in.”

“Georgeeee,” you whined, your voice cracking slightly. But he was already walking away, his footsteps retreating down the hall.

A few moments later, your father appeared in the doorway, looking uncertain and uncharacteristically nervous. His hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled, and his hands were stuffed into his jacket pockets like he didn’t trust himself to let them hang freely.

“Hi, baby girl,” he said softly, his voice tentative. “I came to talk.”

You didn’t look at him. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Can you listen at least?” he asked, stepping into the room.

“Whatever,” you replied, your tone flat and dismissive.

Matty hesitated for a beat before sitting down on the edge of the coffee table, facing you. His knees brushed against the edge of the couch, but you didn’t pull away.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he began, his voice thick with regret.

“Then why did you say it?” You finally looked at him, your eyes sharp and accusing.

“I was…angry,” he admitted, his shoulders sagging. “I was trying to defend myself, and I made things worse. Like I always do.”

“Hm.”

Matty ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath. “I made you a cake…” he said after a moment, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “George told me to do it. To repent for my sins.”

You rolled your eyes, the corner of your mouth twitching in the ghost of a smile. “So he’s fixing your problems for you again?”

“It’s not a problem—you’re not a problem—” he said quickly, his voice rising slightly in desperation.

“You sure made it sound like I was last night,” you shot back, your voice trembling with hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“You’re just sorry for admitting it,” you said, your gaze boring into his.

“Admitting what?”

“That I was a mistake. That you didn’t want me.”

Matty’s eyes widened, and he shook his head vehemently. “You are not a mistake, my love,” he said, his voice breaking. “You are my whole world.”

“Then how could you forget my birthday?”

His face crumpled, and he looked down at his hands. “I don’t want to give an excuse,” he said after a long pause. “One, because I don’t think you’ll believe me, and two, because it’s not good enough. I can, however, beg for forgiveness for the rest of my life, and tell you how sorry I am.”

You stared at him, your chest tight and your throat burning with unshed tears. He looked so small, sitting there with his head bowed and his shoulders hunched.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s okay,” Matty said, looking up at you. His eyes were red-rimmed, his expression raw and vulnerable. “Take all the time you need. Just… let me try to be better. Let me prove to you that I can be better.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy and filled with things neither of you knew how to say. Finally, you nodded, a small, hesitant movement that felt like a crack in the wall you’d built around yourself.

Matty’s shoulders sagged with relief, and he managed a small, tentative smile. “Thank you, baby girl,” he said softly.

You didn’t respond, but when he reached out to gently squeeze your hand, you didn’t pull away.

“I got you something.” He whispered. He reached into the large jacket pocket, pulling out a small box, unmistakingly a jewelry box.

You perked up a little, adjusting yourself to sit up. He spoke softly, “I was gonna wait till Christmas for you to get this but, seems like a good time now.”

You let out a quiet scoff, “You planned Christmas already presents but not a birthday one?” He just jokingly hung his head in defeat which made you smile.

Taking the box, you slowly took the lid off, showcasing a silver necklace. It had your initial hanging from the chain, right next to a little charm with an ‘M’ on it, matching the one with your letter. Right above each of those was two small gems which you recognized as your respective birthstones.

You nodded and smiled softly, looking up to meet his gaze. “Thank you.”

He pulled you into a side hug, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Happy Birthday, love.”

[ficyorick]

[BE] deleted scenes clean-up :) - ch5

with chapter 6 published, heres a scene i was holding onto from chapter 5 (the one with the kessler reveal). originally, butcher was going to disclose a bit more about his traumatic childhood, prompting homelander to be a rude cunt to him. i removed that scene bc i felt like it was a). too self-aware for both of them b). i didnt want homelander to be TOO feisty from the get-go, i wanted to work up to it. i still like this scene tho, like homelander WOULD just ask someone 'why did ur parents even have you 🤨'. i'm sad we also lost some butcher reflecting on his abusive childhood (and how it might echo what he's doing to HL now) but i do think the chapter is better without this. the scene was cut before the final edits so pls excuse grammar/clunkiness

___________________________

“My da was a proper fuckin’ asshole...” He informed Homelander. The former Supe glanced at him, probably surprised at the topic. Billy rarely spoke about himself, after all, Homelander was the star of this show. But maybe the hangover was making him nostalgic for the good ol’ times. “He’d beat the shit out of me mum and my younger brother.” Butcher conveniently left himself out of that sentence. 

He watched for a reaction. Homelander just slightly reclined and propped his head up with his fist, trying to appear like he wasn’t listening. As if Butcher didn’t know he was dying for anything that wasn’t related to his own suffering. 

“So when I tell you that Soldier Boy would’ve fucked ya up… More than you already are…” Billy raised his palm and swooped it through the air in a cutting motion, slapping his own knee. “You better believe it.” 

“Ugh.” Homelander just made an annoyed noise. “I’m not taking advice from a man who zip-tied me. Or a human raised by other humans. It’s not the fucking same.” 

“How’s it different?” Butcher raised a brow. 

“It just is.” Homelander shrugged. And then, suddenly emboldened, he scoffed at him again: “Why’d your parents have you?” 

Butcher snorted. Another testament to how funny Homelander was. 

“Oi, you rude fuckin’ twat. You can’t just ask people that.” 

“I’m serious.”

”People don’t always… plan for things.” Billy always just assumed he was a happy little accident. Because he could never imagine his mom and his dad sitting down to plan a family, picking out a house and the nearest school, already crossing off days till he was born. Or maybe the worse scenario was that it was exactly how it happened. And then just a few years after he was born, he made everything go to shit. 

“What’s that like?” Homelander interrupted his musings, an insistent question next to him. 

“What’s what like?” He muttered. 

“Having no reason behind your existence.” 

“Fuck me, you’re a rude cunt today.” Billy all but whistled.

”I’m serious. What’s it like to just be born with no committee over your head?” Homelander was now staring at him with a very unimpressed look in his eyes, his head still propped up. Like he just got challenged to a fight he could win without breaking a sweat. “Nobody had to sign off on an executive decision to make you to keep stakeholders happy. What’s that like?” 

Billy just watched him. And looked away. Maybe discussing the finer points of parenthood and child upbringing with a lab rat didn’t make as much sense as he thought it did.

[belsasim]

Back at the villa, Rayne followed Kit to beach.

Rayne (holding a football in his hands): "Hey, so, eh... You joined the football team, right? Wanna... Practice a bit?" Kit (shrugging, trying to look uninterested like any self respecting teenager): "Yeah, sure." Rayne (smiling brightly at Kit's acceptance): "Great! Here? You know, I was on the soccer team at uni." (tossing up the ball and making it spin on top of his finger and mostly being successful at it) "But I can handle a football too, look." Kit (giving him an unimpressed look): "Wow... dad..."

Kit motioned his father to toss him the ball and then effortlessly made it spin on top of his own finger. "Everyone on the team can do that, you know..." Rayne clapped and smiled at his son's control of the football. He tried to ignore the nervous pangs in his stomach, spending time alone with his son shouldn't be awkward and he desperately tried to think of something to talk about. But he blanked out and after a short, awkward silence, he cleared his throat and said: "Ok, well, let's practice, right?"

Father and son spend some time throwing the ball in silence.

Rayne (getting more and more nervous because of the silence): "Sooo... Are you getting used to high school? Has a girl caught your eye already?" (quickly adding) "Or a boy, that's cool too of course." Kit (annoyed): "Nope, but that's none of your business. (squeezing the football between his hands) "I'm not asking about your girls, am I?" Rayne (regretting his choice of conversation subject): "I... No..." (shaking his head) "I'm sorry. Forget I asked." Kit (feeling a sudden rush of anger as he thought about the tabloid pictures of his father): "If I date a girl, I won't hurt her, ever."

Rayne smiled at his son's unexperienced, naive conviction, wishing Kit would indeed never have to experience the pain of heartbreak or causing it. But Kit took his father's silent smile as a mockery. "You don't believe me, right? You think I'm like you?" Before Rayne realised it, Kit threw the ball at him with a lot more force than before. Unprepared, Rayne watched the football approach fast and the next moment, he took it full in the face. The ball hit him with such a force that it made Rayne spin around, blurring his vision for a few moments. Hunched over, it took him a while to recover from the collision.

As good it had felt to throw the ball hard, like throwing away his frustration, as bad Kit now felt looking at his father barely keeping his balance and clearly being hurt by a football in his face. He had just wanted to make him unable to catch the ball, not injure him. "Dad? You ok? I..."

Rayne laughed sheepishly. "It's fine, it's fine. I'm fine, I'm fine. I... uh... I gotta lie down a bit maybe. Sorry, we'll practice more later, ok?" Grabbing the side of his head with one hand, he raised the thumb of his other hand.

Kit dropped his gaze to the sand. He felt horrible. All those times he had thought of punching his father in the face for leaving them... Now that he had done that indirectly and partially unintentionally, he only felt sad and guilty. It was even worse than losing his fight with Hermes. "Dad, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." But waving his hand dismissively, Rayne interrupted him. "Accidents happen, right? I'm ok... Wow, you've got some powerful throwing there, Kit. Good stuff!"

Then he turned around. "Later!" Kit now unable to see his face, Rayne's smile quickly made way for a sad expression. His heart sank. This could've gone better, so much butter.

Kit stood there, frozen, for a long time. He looked at the football, unable to collect his thoughts or to understand what he was feeling.

Was he angry? Was he sad? Did he hate his father? Did he love his father? Why was this so confusing?

[heejayy]

Eren Y. || Why we should have a baby…

Warning • mentions sex? Unexpected pregnancy,

Genres • crack, lil angst, fluff

Pairing • Eren Yeager x black fem! reader

Wc: 732

“Ok boom here’s why we should have a baby” you exclaimed turning on your tv to show the PowerPoint you made. You extended your pointer pointing to the title screen with a wide grin on your lips.

“What is this y/n?” Eren asked looking unimpressed. For the past two weeks, you’ve had a severe case of baby fever. Everywhere you go know you can’t help but see a baby and then you proceed to bug Eren to put one in you.

“Since begging you won’t work I’ll show you the pros and cons of having a baby. And we’ll see which one outways the other” you smiled clicking the next button on the computer so he could see it on the TV.

“We’ll start with the pros” you smiled “as you know I’ve always said I wanted a kid and maybe even more than one. I love kids- well sometimes but they can be really great. Also, they’re adorable! With their chubby cheeks and cute little feet and noses and eeekk,” you squealed at the thought of having one of your own.

“Ahem” Eren coughed trying to bring your attention back to him. “This isn’t very convincing sweetie” you sighed clicking the next slide which had ‘Money’ typed in bold green letters.

“Ok now I’m listening” he smirked sitting up from his man-spreading position, you just rolled your eyes. “Money is a big issue when having children but! We both come from pretty well-rounded family’s who would die to have a new baby to spoil, I mean the last baby my family had was me and I’m pushing 30!”

“Babe you’re 24” Eren deadpanned as he corrected you, “same thing” you shrugged waving him off.

“Anyways back to the point, they would spoil them rotten! And give us” you said pointing between you and him “everything we need to take care of them plus more, even your mom said she’s ready for us to have children.”

“Y/n my mom wanted you to have my baby the day she met you” you snorted. “She loved you before you spoke two words to her” he chuckled reminiscing on the time he brought you to meet his parents.

“Ok ok, next slide” you said pressing the next button which was tilted ‘A loving family ’ with a heart next to it. “As you know my mom and dad got divorced when I was young, I stayed with my mom but she was never around much due to work and when she was she was just pestering me about how much of a failure I am compared to her or my siblings” Eren’a face fell, he was well aware you didn’t have a good relationship with your mom which made him quite sad.

“My dad, on the other hand, he is great and I love him but he left and made a new family- what I’m trying to say is…maybe the only reason I want a baby is to build something I never had which was a loving close family. I want to make our baby feel the love I wish I received. I want to love them gently not neglect them and say it’s tough love.” Eren got up from the couch and walked over to you.

“Awe baby come here” he brought you in for a tight hug and kissed your head. He rocked you back and forth letting you cry silently in his arms.

“Are you trying to guilt trip me into giving you a baby?” He asked jokingly. You chuckled pulling away wiping your tears.

“No I would never do that!” you sniffled “I know I’ve been annoying the last few days I just didn’t know how to tell you I was ready to take the next step in our relationship.” He nodded wiping your cheeks.

“Alright let’s compromise” he took your hand guiding you to the couch “let’s say in the next 6 months if you still wanna have a baby we will, it’ll be an anniversary gift” he joked making you to laugh again.

“Alright deal” You said shaking his hand. You sat in his lap as he held you kissing your cheek and forehead repeatedly.

“Oh and by the way…I’m pregnant” you blurted out as you got up running to the bedroom.

“What- HUH?!”

AOT Masterlist

©heejayy 2022 — any reposts or translations of my works are strictly prohibited unless granted permission.

[dreamerstreamer]

Friendly Figure

Pairing: Fundy x gn!reader (can be read as both romantic & platonic!)

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] While Fundy may have had more than his fair share of poor fatherly figures, he’s more than grateful to have you.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: this was requested by an anon who wanted a story surrounding fundy’s life story within the smp! this ended up being a fun combination of a character study with an actual story, and i loved it. i hope you enjoy, as well!

You waved your arm eagerly as you sank your teeth into another bite of delicious pumpkin pie. “Bye, Niki!” you called out between muffled chews. “Thanks for the pie!”

A few yards away, you saw her wave back, raising a hand to cup her mouth as she yelled back. “You’re welcome! I’ll see you two tomorrow!”

You sent her one last wide grin before turning on your heel, twirling your fork in your hands as you set off down the path once more. Niki really did make the best pie.

You hummed as you watched the sun dip below the horizon, the sky painted with fading streaks of salmon and lavender. Beside you, Fundy grumbled, his ears flicking atop his head in annoyance as he eyed the plate in your hands. “Why did you get an extra slice and I didn’t?”

You raised a brow at him, shooting him an unimpressed look. “Because you didn’t ask, nimrod.” Pointing your fork at him, you scoffed. “If you did, I bet Niki would have handed one over, no questions asked.”

He wrinkled his nose, at you a scowl stretching across his face. “‘Nimrod’?” he parroted. “You’ve been hanging out too much with Karl.”

You stabbed your fork into the pie in your hands, watching as the crust crumbled delectably onto your plate. “What can I say? He’s nice!”

Fundy looked appalled. “And I’m not?”

You stared at him, blinking for a moment, then shrugged, a teasing glint dancing across your eyes. “Eh. You’re alright, I guess.”

He glowered, raising his arms as you took a cautionary step back. “Why, you little—”

“Fundy!”

You and Fundy both stopped dead in your tracks, your fork dropping onto your plate with a clatter. Your eyes met, and a mutual look of discomfort passed between your gazes.

You would recognize that voice anywhere.

Slowly, the two of you turned, your gazes landing on a familiar worn yellow sweater, the cloth fraying at the edges after years of wear. In front of you, you could only stare as Ghostbur jogged up to Fundy, his dark, near-translucent eyes glimmering with hope.

Fundy coughed, trying and failing to hide the discomfort growing on his face as he offered a small wave. “Uh, hi, Ghostbur.”

Ghostbur’s pale lips curled into a frown, his brows furrowing. “Why the long face?” He leaned over, gently elbowing Fundy’s side, missing the way his son stiffened at his touch. “Aren’t you excited to see me?”

Fundy lurched back, clutching at where he had been touched. “Not really.”

Ghostbur let out a small whine, his shoulders drooping. “Aw, come on. Why don’t we have some father-son bonding time together?” He sent him a goofy grin, his eyes twinkling with nostalgia. “You know, just like the old days.”

You heart ached at the pain that flickered across Fundy’s face, his ears pressing flat against his head. There were no father-son bonding times when Wilbur was alive—at least not the kind that ended with actual bonding.

Fundy shuffled back a bit, and you instinctively took a step closer to his side. “No thanks,” he muttered softly, averting his eyes to the ground. “I’d rather not.”

Ghostbur’s smile faltered, and something sad flashed through his gaze. “Ah, um, w-well, maybe we could catch up?” A tinge of desperation seeped into his tone, and he lifted a shaky hand toward him. “I haven’t seen you in a whi—“

Fundy raised a hand, and Ghostbur fell silent. “I’m good, thanks.” He offered him a smile, but it was strained and didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I actually think I’m gonna get going now. Bye.”

Before Ghostbur could even think to respond, he dropped his hand, whipping around and striding away. You blinked, your head still reeling with everything that had happened as you watched Fundy walk off. Tightening your grip on your plate, you took a step forward to follow after him when a quiet voice stopped you.

“[Y/N],” Ghostbur said, his voice coming out small.

You stiffened, then turned, swallowing as you sent him a wary glance over your shoulder. “Yes, Ghostbur?”

The moment his name left your lips, you froze, your jaw going slack. The light had left his eyes, and he only stared down at the ground with a vacant gaze, his hands limp at his sides.

You’d never seen Ghostbur look so... sad. So miserable. He looked defeated—broken. Then again, maybe he was.

Did Fundy really affect him so much?

“Please,” he said softly, so quietly that you could have mistaken it for a breeze. “Please tell me.”

He raised his head, and a pang of sorrow ran through your heart as he took a weary step toward you, his hand gripping at the fabric over his heart. “Where did I go wrong? What did I do to make him hate me so much?”

You blinked at him, pondering, then glanced down at the half-eaten slice of pie on your plate. A frown skittered across your face. You didn’t have much of an appetite, anymore. Sucking in a deep breath, you looked back at him.

“Ghostbur,” you said, “just like how there are some things we cannot change, there are some wounds we cannot mend, no matter how much we try. Your relationship with Fundy is one of them.”

He frowned, a sour gleam flashing in his ghostly eyes. “That’s not fair. I don’t want him to hate my like this forever.”

Something bitter rippled through you, and you snapped, “What you did to him wasn’t fair either, Ghostbur, but there’s no fixing that now.”

He flinched at your sudden shift in tone, and you almost wanted to apologize. Almost. Swallowing, he dropped his gaze to the ground, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “Was I really so cruel?”

You stared at him for a few long moments. Then, you opened your mouth, and what came out was tasted like ice on your tongue.

“Yes. You were.”

Before you could feel even a grain of pity for him, you flipped around on your heel, striding off in the direction Fundy had left. How dare he be so upset that his son hated him when he was the one who made it so. You had seen it all, had seen every despicable choice he made as he chose to neglect his son, as he chose to abandon your best friend.

You couldn’t pity him—you would not allow yourself to.

Taking a shaky breath, you squeezed your fork a little tighter as you made your way down the walkway in search of Fundy. You already knew where he was—of course you knew. What kind of best friend would you be if you didn’t?

The sun had long set by now, and above you the stars twinkled like tiny, flickering candles. You trudged along the dark path, accompanied only by the moon’s soft light before you suddenly veered off the trail. Pushing past the low-hanging branches of the forest, you finally stepped up onto the cliffside, spotting Fundy sitting with his back leaning against yours and his favourite tree back from when you were little.

With a small twitch of your lips, you walked up to him, watching as his ears flicked in your direction. You could never surprise him, as much as you may try, so you simply settled into the space next to him, setting your pie down next to you. He was staring out over the forest below, his legs dangling freely off the edge. You tilted your head at him, then spoke.

“Hey, bud,” you said softly, your eyes scanning the somber look on his face. “You doing alright?”

His gaze flit to yours, then back over the cliff once more. “Sort of. Ish. I guess.”

You sent him an unconvinced look, and he paused, then let a loose sigh escape his lips. “No, not really.”

Leaning back, you offered him a weary smile. “Yeah, I figured. That chat with Ghostbur didn’t go over so well.”

Slowly, he pulled back his legs, curling them up to his chest and resting his head atop his knees. “I know he means well, but it just makes me feel sick, the way he talks to me. It’s not his fault, I know, but I...” He swallowed. “I—“

“It’s okay,” you murmured, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. “You don’t have to explain. I get it.”

He sent you a thankful grin, then his smile fell. Scooting back a bit further, he looked up at the stars, his expression thoughtful. “You know,” he said suddenly, “my experiences with dads has been kind of awful.”

You blinked at him, stunned, then blurted, “You just realized?”

He laughed, his ivory grin glinting in the moonlight. “No, but I think talking to Ghostbur today really got me thinking about it more.” His tail flicked behind him. “Growing up, I always felt like I just had to please Wilbur—like I had to be the best for him.” An almost hopeful look overtook his features. “After all, I was his little champion, right?”

He bit the inside of his cheek. “But he never paid any attention to me. He was always focused on fighting wars and becoming president and—“ He sucked in a deep breath. “—and then he died.”

He furrowed his brows, and you could practically hear his train of thought speeding forward. “Looking back, I can hardly remember a single good thing he did for me. I mean, he wasn’t so bad when I was a baby and stuff, but when I needed him most, he was just...” He paused. “...gone.”

Suddenly, he whipped his head up and turned to look at you. “And then don’t even get me started with Eret. You know, I trusted him.” He held up a hand, gesturing wildly as his tail stood up straight. “He was actually nice to me, [Y/N]. He listened to me and gave me good advice, just like a real dad would. Then the papers came and... and... nothing.”

He stopped, his voice dropping to a tiny whisper. “Again.”

For a moment, he was silent. Then, he let out a long, bitter laugh.

“Oh,” he said, his tone growing wistful, “nothing’s changed, has it?” He ran a hand through his messy hair, his eyes growing glossy in the moonlight, “I’m all alone, just like before.”

Just like that, your heart snapped into two, and you opened your mouth. “That’s not true, Fundy.”

The look he sent you was full of nothing but pure anguish. “It is, isn’t it? I’m just the forgotten son—“ He held up two fingers. “—twice over, now. No one wants me, no one at a—“

Before he could finish, he was cut off by you barreling straight into him, knocking him flat onto his back. Your arms caged him in as you panted over him, your eyes vividly scanning his as he stared at you in shock.

“Fundy,” you breathed, desperation soaking your words, “listen to me. You’ve changed. You’re stronger now, more resilient, and I see that.”

Slowly, you snaked a hand up to rest against his face, your palm pressed against this cheek. “I want you, Fundy. I’m here with you—I always have been, and I always will be.”

Your gaze hardened as it bore into his, steadfast and true. “And as long as I’m by your side, you will never be alone.”

He blinked up at you, his lips parted in awe. Then, ever so slowly, a smile, small but sincere, spread across his face. “Thank you, [Y/N],” he whispered.

Crawling back, you reached a hand out toward him, your smile widening as he grasped it in his. “Anytime, buddy.”

With a grunt, you pulled him forward until he was sitting upright once more. “You know what?” he said abruptly as you let go of his hand.

You cocked your head at him, your eyebrows knitting together. “Hm?”

Fundy flashed you a bright grin, lopsided and goofy in all the right ways. “Who needs a father figure when I have you?”

Your eyes widened as you sputtered, “W-What?”

His gaze suddenly grew serious. “You’re all I need. You’re like...” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “...my friendly figure.”

A few seconds passed in silence as you blinked at him. Then, you burst into laughter, not missing the way his tail bristled at the sound. “Fundy,” you wheezed, “that’s a horrible name.”

He shot you an irritable look. “Well, do you have a better one?”

Your laughter slowly came to a halt, and your eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yes,” you said. “A best friend.”

He looked at you for a moment, then smiled back. “I like that one better.”

Suddenly, you turned, reaching out to your side. “You know what’s even better than that, though?”

His ears twitched. “What?”

When you turned, you held a familiar plate in your hands, a giggle threatening to bubble out of your throat as you took in his shocked expression. “Some pie.” You shoved a fork in his face—a new one. “Here, we can finish it together.”

He sent you a quizzical look, disbelief clouding his features. “Since when did you have a second fork?”

Without missing a beat, you stabbed the new fork into the soft, flaky dessert and held it up to his lips. “No questions. Only pie.”

He blinked at you for another moment, then grinned, opening his mouth wide for you to shovel some pie in.

You really were all he needed.

[more-stuff-of-pi]

I’ll Fight For You

a/n: lmao i swear i’m fine, just needed good ol’ kiri to assist me in a v self-indulgent fic. also, sorry for taking forever to write something yoinks

notes: did i read through this after i wrote it? nope. we’re fucking rolling with the audacity of not even a single ounce of beta-ing. requests are open :) find my masterlist here

pairing: kirishima eijirou x fem!reader | genre: angst (w/happy ending) / hurt/comfort | warnings: abusive mother (mental/verbal), a father who doesn’t intervene | word count: 2,018

Your boyfriend was practically vibrating with nerves as he adjusted his hair in the mirror. It was artfully piled on top of his head, his dark roots making a sharp contrast against the vibrant red.

“Ei,” you smiled, “you’re gonna be fine.”

He worried his sharp teeth against his bottom lip, frowning all the while. “But what if they--?”

“They’re going to love you, Ei. Probably even more than they love me,” you joke, coming up behind Eijirou’s monstrously large form. Hero work had been both kind and harsh on him but he made it look effortlessly good. You gently slid your arms around his waist as you angled yourself so that you could still eye his reflection.

“I’m just… worried, is all.”

You cock your eyebrow. “About what, Ei?”

He incredulously meets your gaze through the mirror. “What do you mean, about what?!”

It dawns on you a little bit. “Oh, well, she’s not going to be mean to you, Ei. She knows how to play nice when it counts. And you, good sir, count.”

“That’s not as reassuring as it is worrying, you know.”

“My mother is just a little intense, babe, it’s nothing I’m not used to. Like I said, she knows how to tone it down in front of others. I’m sure tonight will be fine. I probably just exaggerate everytime I whine about her, so she’s probably not even half as bad as I make her sound,” you shrug, leaning more into Eijirou’s side.

“Baby,” he sighs, twisting a little to look directly at you, no mirror this time. His eyes are sad yet firm as if wishing you to understand that there’s no need to defend yourself with him.

You squeeze him tighter before letting go and walking to the door. “C’mon, we’ll be late if we don’t leave now.”

❁

You always forget that you don’t really ever exaggerate your mother’s behavior towards you until you’re around her again. Everything as far as introducing your boyfriend to your parents has been going incredibly smoothly. Your dad enthusiastically engaged Eijirou in hero stories, talking about Red Riot’s  most recent media appearance where he was dressed in pajamas and carrying tubs of various ice creams you both had wanted to try when he dropped everything to prevent a construction beam from falling on clueless bystanders. Only one tub of ice cream had survived and luck had it that it was your least favorite flavor combination. Your mother praised Eijirou for his success and his coupling good looks at which she winked, making your boyfriend flush both at the phrase and the uncomfortable comments your mother directed at him. You winced at that, having forgotten to prepare him for the habitual talent your mother had of sexualizing anything, especially if it would ‘embarrass’ her child.

Your mother had made off handed comments throughout the whole night that you seemed to be the only one to pick up on. Your dad might have noticed a few but, as usual, he only looked at you apologetically, never interrupting his wife to stand up for you.

As much as you loved both of your parents and as much as they had their good moments, this fucking sucked.

“--not that she’s any good with that quirk of hers, of course,” your mother snickered as she brought the glass to her lips. You had become a good actor over the years in order to avoid your mother’s bullying over your ‘sensitiveness’, but something about her dismissing your hard work always immediately dismantled whatever mask you had thrown on. To cover what you know must be a crestfallen look, you give a laugh, something that could be called half-hearted at best. Your eyes remained trained on your food. “Oh come on, Y/n, that was funny.”

You chuckled again, hoping to force some genuineness into it. “Yeah--”

“No, it wasn’t,” Eijirou immediately cuts you off, voice straining with anger. You felt your face drain of blood as you noticed how tightly he was gripping his chopsticks. He was fuming. You don’t think you’d ever seen him angry before. The thought scared you. “That was just mean.”

Your mother quirked an unimpressed, subtly pissed brow at your boyfriend. “Don’t be sensitive, Eijirou. House rules: if it’s mean but funny, it’s okay.”

“As long as you get a laugh from it, it’s okay to abuse your child?” He spits at her like venom.

Your mother sets her glass down, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

“You heard--”

You slap a hand over Eijirou’s bicep, squeezing so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up bruising. “It’s fine! Nothing I’m used to! I grew up on the ‘if it’s mean but funny’ rule, so it’s fine.”

The look he gave you was of incredulous anger. “No, it is not--!”

“Please, Ei. Please, just--,” you averted your eyes, ashamed of your own familiar defeat. “Just sit.”

Shamefully, you slide back into your seat, nervously smoothing out a napkin back onto your lap. Eijirou still stood beside you, staring daggers at your mother who effortlessly returned it. His fists were balled, the veins in his hands flexing with the effort of restraining himself. His jaw snapped shut with an audible clamp as he resolved himself to sitting back down.

Your dad clears his throat, more so than necessary as if the harder he did it, the better he could dissipate the tension. “Done, everyone?” No one answers him. He takes that as the go ahead to begin clearing dishes, desperately jumping at the opportunity to escape your mother’s impending tantrum. You loved your dad very much but, god, he was nothing if not a coward, always leaving you to fight your own battles. You don’t think you’ve ever won.

Your mother returns her cold attention to you, the ice starting to thicken and your mother’s hollow kindness starting to retreat along with her patience. “What are you even doing to help train your quirk, sweetie?”

Taken aback, you met her gaze. “W-what do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t ever see you doing anything at all to help. You do realize that training takes work, right? What does it take? It takes--,” your mother trailed off, flourishing both hands to motion for you to finish the sentence.

“Effort--”

“Effort!” She clapped with your word. “It takes effort! And I only want the best for you, sweetheart, which is why I’m just asking what you’re doing. From where I stand, it doesn’t look like you’re doing anything at all to help improve yourself! As your mother, your concerned mother, I’m just looking out for you, sweetheart.”

Your mind is reeling at her words. You so badly want to defend yourself, assert all of the effort that you have painstakingly put in-- but you are reminded of the precise way your mother is able to leech any ounce of power or confidence from you. You would think that was her quirk if you didn’t know any better. “Mom, I am putting effort in, I train almost everyday--”

“Do you really?” Her voice drips with venomous shock. “It certainly doesn’t look like you do,” she gestures vaguely at you, eyeing your body with a vulture’s gaze. “Maybe you should consider morning and night. Oh! And a diet change, too. You know, since the popular heroes have a specific look to them and I just want to make sure that you can fit that. Since it’s your dream to be a popular hero. Like I said, you have to be willing to put in the effort. Oh, sweetie, don’t look at me like that. You know the difficult position I’m in! Trying to encourage you and help you achieve your dreams while not seeming too enthusiastic. You’re putting that stress on me, sweetie, I’m only trying to help.”

It really was incredible how quickly your mother could erase any confidence you had. Normally, you would stand beaming, more than happy to assert yourself and stand up for yourself and others. All it took was a couple words from your mother, and you turned into a dog with its head down and its tail between its legs, fearful of its master.

Your gut sank and hatred swirled throughout your body for both yourself and her as you once again let her have power over you. “You’re right. Sorry, Mom--”

“Do you know where your daughter ranks as a hero?”

Stunned, you both glanced at Eijirou, having almost completely forgotten that he was there. Throughout her tirade, you had felt a tragically familiar loneliness, used to having to defend yourself when no one, not even your other family members, would. Used to always submitting and used to the shame that always accompanied your forced silence.

“What?” She spat.

“I asked if you knew your daughter’s ranking. I just was wondering, is all. It would make sense if you weren’t aware that she ranks in the top 30 since you were asking about the effort she puts in. I would think that that accomplishment -- at such a young age, too, might I add -- was evidence enough of the countless hours, blood, sweat, and tears that she has poured into this. The effort she’s painstakingly put in. You’re right that being a hero is her dream, and she’s a damn good one, too. Saved my life more than once with ‘that quirk of hers’,” he sneered bitterly. “And, on top of that, she’s so beautiful through and through that sometimes it’s all I can do to stare at her in awe. Your thinly veiled shaming of her appearance is never the result of a mother’s so-called difficult situation, only the result of your own insecurities.”

Eijirou suddenly stands, having finally had more than enough for one night. “The only gratitude I will ever have towards you is for bringing this wonderful woman into this world. I hope one day you’ll actually realize how amazing your daughter is and how proud of her you ought to be. Because I am. I am so incredibly proud of her and her accomplishments and the results of her efforts.”

“And who’s to say that I’m not proud of her, Eijirou?”

He scoffs. Eijirou, the kindest, most patient man you know, scoffs in your mother’s face. “Haven’t you ever heard that actions speak louder than words?”

Your mother gapes up at him, opening and closing her mouth like a fish. In that moment, she resembles a fish and you couldn’t be more pleased with that comparison.

“He’s right, mom.” You rise to join him. “I know you love me. I have no choice but to believe it because I think it would destroy me if I didn’t. But maybe someday I won’t constantly have to defend myself to you and you’ll accept the things I say without dismissing them. You always say you admire me most for my assertiveness but you shut me down anytime I use it to stand up for myself against you. And that makes you nothing but a hypocrite.” You stare her down, reveling in the confidence Eijirou gives you in this thing against your mother. For the first time, you are not alone as you fight this battle. For the first time, you have help. And for the first time, you feel like you’ve won. “Now if you’ll excuse us.”

You take Eijirou’s hand and lead him out of the house, leaving your parents to stare after you in shock. As soon as you make it out, cold air hits you like a slap in the face that harshly wakes you from a daze.

“Holy shit, Ei, did I just stand up to my mom?”

He laughs and squeezes your hand. “It was pretty manly, too.” You laugh breathlessly, still in disbelief as you push your other fist against his arm. “And you know,” he continues, “that I’m the best judge of that.”

“That must mean a lot,” you grin, swinging your linked hands between you as you walk further from your parents’ home, feeling the fullness of a good meal and a battle won.

taglist: @samwrights, @mayaoliviee, @luluwiie​, @gigglyparker​ (i thought i would tag you since you commented on the draft that i posted of this, hope you don’t mind <3)

[edith-moonshadow]

Thank you so much to the wonderful @neonponders for tagging me 💜💜💜

I’m as usual working on a few wips at once but I picked this one which doesn’t have a name yet I’m just calling it Conman Billy at the monent. I watched the four collaboarations between Umberto Lenzi and the American actress Carroll Baker, they made four giallos together and it inspired me to write this. 

So it will contain a slightly darker Billy but it’s basically that Billy and his girlfriend are two con artists who target wealthy lonely people and seduce them out of their money (using a little blackmail when things don’t work out). Steve comes from a wealthy family and has recently just inherited $30 million from his grandfather but he’s estranged from his dad and staying in his mom’s family villa in Italy so a perfect mark. I’m going to include a little more than just the last line as it wouldn’t make much sense on it’s own 💁🏼‍♀️💁🏼‍♀️💁🏼‍♀️

Within an hour Steve was lying with his head in Eve’s lap a soft smile playing upon his lips as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“Eve told me that you’re travelling?”

“Yeah just seeing Europe before I head back to the states.”

“How long are you going to be in Italy?”

Billy shrugged as Eve tugged slightly on Steve’s hair and Billy couldn’t help noticing how he squirmed against her.

“I already told you.”

“You did?”

“Yes.”

She leaned down and captured his lips in a lingering kiss. They had both become very comfortable seeing each other with other people. He had always felt that it strengthened their relationship as there was no jealousy between them. As he watched Steve kiss her softly for the first time he could feel a knot forming in his stomach but he wasn’t jealous of him but of her. He took a large gulp of his drink and looked away. A few moments later he heard Steve murmuring to Eve.

“We have company.”

“Billy? He doesn’t mind. Do you Billy?”

He looked over to see Eve giving him a very pointed look while Steve had his eyes averted with a soft flush on his face. He smiled as softly as he could through the strange anger he could feel in his head.

“No why would I mind?”

Steve moved away from Eve and back towards the table.

“Would anyone like a drink? Or maybe you’re both hungry I could get Sofia to prepare some food.”

Eve smiled at him.

“That would be wonderful.”

Steve turned and disappeared into the house and Eve moved closer to him. She dropped her voice to a whisper.  

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything.”

She gave him an unimpressed look.

“I know what jealousy looks like.”

He scoffed at her.

“Don’t give me that. I thought we were passed all this.”

“I’m not jealous.”

She sighed then moved away when they heard Steve’s footsteps behind them. 

“She said it’ll be ready in about twenty minutes.”

The atmosphere was a little tense as Eve was angry at him so Billy motioned towards the orange grove.

“How long’s that been here?”

Steve shrugged.

“For as long as I can remember, there’s a picture of my grandparents in it in the 40s.”

“That long?”

“It’s probably been here as long as the house. My grandfather loved fresh orange juice. One of my earliest memories is picking them with him in the morning.”

Steve’s voice broke slightly at the end but he shook himself then turned towards them with a smile.

“How about a swim before lunch?”

Eve smiled at him.

“Sure.”

“Billy?”

He shook his head.

“I’ll just stay here.”

Steve turned towards him with sad eyes and a soft pout forming on his lips and that twist returned tenfold to his stomach. Eve walked over beside Steve and smiled at Billy. She wanted him to know that everything was ok and they needed to keep working on Steve. With a put upon sigh, he stood quickly and grabbing Eve around the waist he threw her in the pool. She rose to the surface spluttering indignantly. She mock glared at him and he sighed internally that she wouldn’t think about a few minutes ago. 

He jumped when he felt Steve’s cool hands wrap around his waist as he tried to pull Billy towards the pool. Billy resisted then quickly spun around so that Steve was pressed up against him before he pulled them both into the pool. Steve clung tightly to him for a moment before they hit the water and Billy wanted the moment to stretch out a little longer. Once they resurfaced Eve started to splash them and Billy had to go back to being the third wheel for a while.

[bokettochild]

Hmmm if you need ideas I always love cultural difference shenanigans so maybe Twilight and Hyrule or Warriors and Hyrule having jarringly different cultures?

I didn't really touch on cultures much, since I'm still learning a lot about the games in general, but here's three boys discussing the educational systems of their respective provinces!

(Asks are open still, if anyone wants a story, feel free to request it! I will try my best! (Crossovers aren't off the table, but I can't promise I'll write them))

From Ordon to Catalia

“So, you’re telling me,” Warriors states disbelievingly. “That you, the Hero of Hyrule, couldn’t even speak Hylian until mere months before you saved the kingdom?”

The traveler nods, a faint flush dusting over his browned cheeks at Warriors’ question.

Twilight shakes his head, a smile on his face. “Who’da thunk it? Chin up traveler, I didn’t even live in Hyrule when I saved it.”

“What?” Warriors turns to him, royal blue flickering with disbelief as he stares from one country hero to the other. “Seriously? Both of you?”

“Well,” Hyrule tugs at one of his curls, eyes glistening with mischief as he speaks. “I mean, Legend saved like, four other countries, and he wasn’t from any of them.”

“But the first country he saved was Hyrule.” Warriors asserts. “And at least he was sent to the other places or something, unlike you two.” The captain stares from one to the other. “Traveling through the kingdom and just happening to run into the Royal Nursemaid?” He turns to Twilight, disbelief still written clear on his face. “And chasing monsters, if I recall correctly. What the heck, guys?”

He can’t help but take a bit of pity on Warriors, the captain has only ever been outside of his Hyrule’s main areas when time traveling, and the poor man clearly has little to no familiarity with the provinces and kingdoms beyond his own home, save for whatever rich and stuffy nobles talk about when royalty from the other kingdoms comes to visit. But even so, Wars lacks the faintest clue of the world outside of Hyrule’s borders, and that's just a little bit sad.

He leans back on the bed that he and Hyrule are sharing, it’s been a few weeks since they were last at an inn and he fully intends on enjoying the plush beds while they can, even if it is a bit too soft for his own comfort. “We could tell you more about them, if you like?”

At his side, Hyrule nods, smile bright if not a bit wistful. “I’m always willing to share about my home.”

Warriors hesitates, caught between disbelief and curiosity.

“I don’t think even Legend has been to Catalia.” Hyrule muses, but Twilight sees the sparkle in Hyrule’s eyes, he’s tempting the captain in a way the both of them know is sure to work.

“That so?” Warriors muses. “Well, I suppose so. Although,” He turns a cynical eye to Twilight. “I’m not sure how much I actually want to know about farm life.”

“Your loss, city boy.” He scoffs in response, a wolfish smile pulling at his features.

It’s nice, he thinks as he leans back further, letting Hyrule pull his thoughts together and Warriors shake off the surprise of their previous words, to just sit and talk with his brothers. Time and Legend have roomed with Wild so he doesn’t have to worry about the Cub making trouble without him there to watch him, and for the first time in a long tie he can just sit down and talk with his other brothers. He doesn’t know why Time let Four assign rooms like this, but he isn’t complaining if the others aren’t.

“Well, what would you like to hear about?”

Warriors frowns, staring at Hyrule for a moment as the Traveler flushes darker under his curls. Maybe the healer wasn’t as ready to talk as he first thought. “How about, your family, what sort of people are they?”

Hyrule stares at the captain disbelievingly for a moment. “You’ve met my mom, remember? And I don’t really remember much of my dad, he went missing when I was a kid.”

“Oh,” Warriors flushes, a strained smile taking over his features. “Right.”

Hyrule giggles softly. “I’m not mad, Cap, just surprised that you forgot. Although to be fair, not many people probably think about it since I look like a Hylian.”

“Yeah, about that, how does that work?”

“Hylian father, I look more like him in this form. We may be from Catalia, but he was there entirely because he was fleeing the destruction of Hyrule. He met my mom in the Aver Forests, where she’d been wandering for the last few years. Great fairies can leave their pools if they so choose, but they do so rarely. Unfortunately, mom had too because of the increase of monsters in Hyrule.”

“What is the Aver Forest?”

“The biggest, lushest forest in all of Catalia!” Hyrule spread his arms wide as if to indicate how big it truly was. “I’m pretty sure it’s just the other side of the lost woods in my time, since it’s so close to the border. It nothing like Hyrule, but it is, was, home.”

“So, did yer ma follow you to Hyrule?”

“Not exactly.” The traveler replies with a small frown. “She came after Hyrule was made safer again. I can’t exactly leave the country freely anymore, so she came to see me. It’s a good thing too, since getting potions is far more difficult than just bathing in her pool.”

“Are potions really that expensive in your time?” Warriors asks, concern flecking his gentle gaze.

“It’s not about the price,” Hyrule frowns. “It’s more that most people don’t know how to brew them, and finding a person who can is difficult.”

“Ah, supply and demand.”

“Pardon, what?” The traveler looks up to the captain in confusion.

“Supply and demand, you know,” Wars states like it’s common knowledge. “When lots of people want something but only a few people can provide it? It’s the reason shops can get away with charging so much for things.”

Both country heroes stare at him.

“Have neither of you ever heard of it?” The captain blinks at them, leaning forwards on his bed. “How is that possible?”

“Not all provinces have a school, Wars.” He replies, chuckling softly at the surprise on Warriors’ face. “For farming communities we focus on animals and plants, don’t need no fancy education to plow a field.”

Hyrule stares between the two of them. “Alright, this might be a Hylian word I haven’t learned yet, but what is a scewl?”

“A what?” Warriors echoes, turning to face the traveler.

“A scewl?”

“A school?” Twilight translates, brow furrowed until the Hero of Hyrule nods in confirmation, after which he relaxes again. “It's a place people go to learn to read and write, and to count and do equations.”

“And here I thought there weren’t any in Ordon?” Warriors teases lightly.

“Get off it, Cap’. We don’t have schools, but we do have books, I know how to read and if I can learn more than I will.”

“Ah, self-taught?”

“Mostly.” He shrugs. “Hylian’s real different from Ordon-Standard, even if they’re essentially the same.”

“That makes no sense.” The captain deadpans, staring at him blankly.

“I mean, even though they have a lot in common, the way people speak and pronounce things, the vernacular and what not, is quite different that Hyrule proper.”

Hyrule blinks at the two of them owlishly. “What are equations?”

A glance is shared between them. “Math.” Warriors answers. “You know, adding, subtraction, multiplication and division?”

The traveler raises a brow, but he's shrinking in on himself in the way he does when he gets nervous. “What are those? Multipulycation and division?”

Warriors stares cautiously at the traveler, gaze gentle but concerned. “Hyrule, do you not know how to do math?”

“Do you know how to count?” Twilight tries instead.

“Of course!”

“Can you combine numbers?”

“That’s counting, but with bigger numbers.”

“Can you subtract it again?”

“Yes.” Hyrule answers slowly.

“Can you multiply?”

The traveler stares at Warriors nervously. “I just told you I don’t know what that is.”

The captain, bless his heart, looks genuinely hurt. “Good grief, what sort of mentor is Legend? Not making sure you know basic multiplication?”

And Hyrule flushes, but his brows furrow as he pushes himself straight, always defensive of his mentor. “He didn’t know, and he’s a great mentor! He’s been showing me how to grow trees!”

“Legend knows forestry?” The captain starts.

“He has an orchard.” Twilight reminds him, light laughter bubbling in his chest at the understanding that crosses Warriors’ face at the words.

“Right.” The captain turns to Hyrule. “How about this, Legend can teach whatever it is he teaches you, but when he’s done with that for the day, you come find me? Math is a wonderful thing, even if it is a tad complex, and it'd be a shame to let you go without knowing it.”

Betrayal makes itself known as Twilight pulls away from the two. “You like math?”

Horror blooms on Warriors’ delicate features. “You don’t?”

“Arithmetic is the bane of my existence and if I didn’t need to know how to count rupees, I would willingly forget it.” Twilight spits out.

“It’s wonderful!” Warriors defends. “Everything makes sense and has a logical explanation! You can count on it having an answer every time.”

One dark brow raises as midnight blue stare back at the captain, unimpressed. “Except when it doesn’t. Except when you have to graph equations but you can’t because they don’t have answers. Except when there’s two missing numbers and nothing fits in together, except when the numbers decide to become letters and you have to spit up the alphabet along with your equations.”

“How much math do you know?” Warriors raises a brow.

“Too much.” He isn’t even ashamed of the shudder that makes his pelt tickle against his cheeks. “Wild is a literal genius at it, and I can’t even number how many time he's decided to use it to explain some hare-brained scheme. Trajectory and angles and-” He shivers again. “No thank you. It’s like he ate a math textbook and just keeps spitting it back up, every time he wants to do something dumb.”

The captain whistles lowly, royal blue eyes sparkling. “You mean he has theories and reasoning behind all that? Dang!”

The glare shot the captain’s way is nothing short of threatening. “Do not encourage him, or so help me, Wars. I can hardly contain him some days as is, he doesn’t need someone else egging him on.”

“Oh, trust me,” Gloved hands raise in a non-threatening motion. “I just want to pic his brain, maybe he can help me tutor the traveler here.”

And Twilight almost asks him not too, almost begs that the captain not, before realization hits. “You know, that is actually a good idea.” He smirks. “I’m surprised.”

The deadpan look he receives is well worth it. “You wound me.”

“Were your skin not so delicate, I wouldn’t.” He returns, smile stretching wider. “But that aside, if Wild is busy tutoring Hyrule, he won’t be off blowing things up, and if Hyrule gets a better education out of it that's even better.”

“I’ll ask him about it.” Hyrule answers, eyes lighting up in a way that looks innocent, but considering the kid is Legend’s descendant there’s a very good chance that it isn’t fully. “Maybe he can teach me some tricks while he’s at it.”

“No!” The voices ring at once, but it’s already too late, Hyrule is tapping his chin and muttering low under his breath as a wide smile stretches over his face.

“What have you started.” Twilight whispers, horrified.

“I’m sorry.” Warriors returns, just as grim. “I won’t tell Legend if you don’t.”

[leejungchans]

Hi! I noticed your requests were open and I was hoping you could write a minho x female!reader angst with a happy ending? Maybe a break up au where they get back together years later? Sorry if it’s too specific

— recommence.

word count: 6.3k

pairing: lee minho (skz) x gender neutral reader

warning(s): food mentions, swearing, break-ups, sadness that comes with said break-ups (it’s a happy ending though dw!! 🥲)

genre: angst, fluff, non-idol au, exes-to-lovers au

notes: i came across this poem on pinterest while writing this, and i wanted to share it since i feel like it fits this fic pretty well 💕 “do you remember / where we first met? / do you wonder / if we’d make it to the end? / would we still / be our first choice? / i guess this is when / we make our stand / and choose / each other again” — the summer happy

summary: fate must’ve hated you when it brought you and minho apart in a devastating break-up. but fate also works in mysterious ways, and he finds his way back into your life a few years later.

a/n: don’t worry, this isn’t too specific at all!! i hope this is close to what you had in mind and i’m so sorry for the wait!! also i just realised i wrote for a gender neutral reader instead of a female reader like you requested but i hope it’s still okay!!! ugh i completely missed that part i’m so sorry 😭😭this took a bit longer to draft and write than i thought but it was really fun to write 💕 hehe gotta throw in some angst for Flavour 😼thank you for the request and i hope you’re having a good day!! (´ ω `♡)

When you met Lee Minho for the first time, you became very wary of what the universe had planned for you by making your paths cross.

The two of you met in high school through Felix, who had recently joined the school’s dance team and after a few months, wanted you to meet his friends on the team because were apparently “really cool” and “you’ll definitely like them, Y/N, trust me!”.

It took one meeting for you to realise that those claims only applied to Hwang Hyunjin, who was a total sweetheart and shared his muffin with you even though at the time the two of you had only known each other for fifteen minutes.

Felix complained about how unfair it was that Hyunjin managed to buy your affection with food in the blink of an eye, but your love language is sharing food with your friends and devouring it together, so sue you.

On the other hand, Lee Minho can go eat a shoe or something because you detested him immediately after he made a snarky comment about the book you brought with you. To be fair, he’s right and that book absolutely sucked, which is precisely why you decided to give it a go because nothing beats good entertainment like a bland, cringey plot where the characters go through little to no development.

Your pride, however, was too big for you to explain that you were reading it ironically. Because what if you actually liked that dumb book? He had no right sticking his nose into your business where it didn’t belong, and that’s what you said to Felix as soon as the two of you left the dance studio to meet up with Chan and Seungmin.

“Aw, he was just joking,” Felix explains with a sheepish grin. “I was slightly intimidated by him too when we first met, but then I quickly realised it was just his way of showing affection and interest in people.”

“Affection and interest?” you repeat in disbelief. “That’s some way of showing it.”

“Well, he’s a cat dad, so...maybe he took a few pages out of his cats’ books. Haha, get it? Book? Because you were just talking about books with him?”

You level your best friend an unimpressed state. “You want a Comedian of the Year award, or something?”

Felix laughs as he slings an arm over your shoulder. “You’ll see. Minho’s really cool once you start talking to him more, and you’ll warm up to him in no time!”

Yeah, that didn’t happen. At least, not for a while. Even since you had the pleasure of meeting Lee Minho, it seemed as though he made his life’s goal annoying you indefinitely.

He’d come up from behind you to ruffle your hair, completely messing it up, as you were busy grabbing stuff from your locker; when you were studying in the library he’d plop down into the seat opposite yours and pester you until he was sure you were distracted; when you visited Felix at practice he’d chase you around to pull you into a hug knowing he was sweaty from all the dancing. The list can go on and on.

He’d start random fights with you whenever he occasionally joined you and Felix for lunch—what type of chocolate is superior (milk chocolate gets way too much crap); whether a shark or a bear would win in a fight; whether the straw has one hole or two—literally anything and everything. But perhaps the most aggravating aspect of it was that he always had a comeback, and it seemed like you’d never win an argument with him, which your pride simply would not allow.

Every friend of yours remarked that the two of you bickered like an old married couple which would earn them a punch on the arm. But maybe fate was indeed listening, because whether you liked to admit it or not (you didn’t), you found yourself secretly looking forward to those little moments you shared with Minho, even if they consisted of sarcastic comments ninety-nine percent of the time.

“Where’s you-know-who?” Is the first thing you ask Seungmin when you walk up to him. After his first class (which you knew he had with Minho), he’d wait for you outside your classroom so you could walk to History together.

“He called in sick today,” your friend says before giving you a pointed look. “Why? And since when did you care about Minho?” he adds suspiciously.

“I don’t,” you say with an air of (false) nonchalance, hoping it was enough to fool Seungmin. “Just wondering if he was going to bother me yet again in Maths.”

“Sure...” Seungmin says sarcastically, dragging out the syllable, because of-fucking-course he’d see through you. He’s far too observant for his (or your) own good.

“I don’t like what your tone is insinuating.”

Seungmin smiles deviously. “And I don’t like how you keep lying to yourself when you obviously like him more than you let on.”

“Eat a sock, Kim Seungmin.”

Deep down, however, you can’t help but feel disappointed over how you’d have to get through two periods of Maths alone without Minho flipping through the book to find the most stupid-looking illustrations, tapping on your shoulder from next to you before pointing at them and saying, “that’s you”.

Neither of you ever paid attention in Maths, but it was okay because Minho would always help you with anything you didn’t understand (which was pretty much everything) after class.

Eventually, like every classic enemies-to-lovers trope, you realised (much to your horror, but also not really) that you weren’t bickering with Minho because you genuinely disliked him, but because you wanted an excuse to keep him in your life. And you had a small hunch that he felt the same way.

That hunch was confirmed when he marched towards you one day in the library and like he usually would, claiming the seat across from you.

“Good afternoon to you too,” you say casually as you turn a page, despite your heartbeat already starting to pick up its pace when you feel his stare on your face. “How are things?”

“Go out with me?”

You look up from your book and note the serious expression on his face, completely void of any sign that he was joking around.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Like true Minho fashion, he took you to a cat café for your first date, claiming the whole time that however cute the cats there were, they could never compare to his—and him as well.

(You had no objections. He is pretty cute.)

You think that perhaps nothing is ever meant to be.

Fate, if such a thing existed (at least, you choose to believe it does), can be cruel. Two people—or more, you don’t judge—can be so compatible and so right for each other that it wouldn’t make sense for them to be apart. Yet there’s no guarantee that they are immune to separation, sometimes...things just happen.

It’s unfortunate how you met the right person at the wrong time.

Ever since that first date with Minho (which was met by a chorus of I told you so’s from your friends) your relationship had been going strong. That is, until the subject of your future plans came up.

Even before you started dating, Minho had been talking about wanting to go to this university across the country that specialised in business and economics. When you were just friends, you supported his decision wholeheartedly, knowing that if anyone deserved that opportunity, it was Minho. You still do, but it was just that...now what?

This question plagued your mind after every date as graduation drew closer and closer. Would you have to break up? Have your relationship be long-distance? Ditch all your plans at your dream university which was just a twenty-minute bus ride away from your apartment building?

The night before graduation at the convenience store where you’d have your weekly instant ramen run, you finally brought it up, and the two of you agreed (quite begrudgingly, knowing the pain that you’d both be in after) that such a conversation was inevitable.

You both decided to try maintaining the relationship, not wanting to lose the other so soon. The day he left for university was perhaps one of the saddest days you’ve ever had. You did all you could to hold back your tears, and you like to think that you did a pretty good job at it until it really was time for him to go through the departure gates.

“Don’t cry, silly,” Minho coos, his hand gently smoothing down your hair as he speaks. Chan, Felix and Seungmin are standing a few feet away after exchanging final goodbyes with Minho, likely to give the two of you some privacy. “I’ll be back for winter break before you know it.”

You blink rapidly in an effort to rid the tears. “I’m not crying,” you lie through your teeth. “I just...I don’t know how I’m gonna adjust to not seeing you for months from seeing you almost every day...”

“I’ll call, text and FaceTime you so much that you’ll probably sick of me,” Minho jokes. He’s trying to lighten the mood and cheer you up, but his words only make you even more upset.

You frown, tears pushing past your eyes to roll down your cheeks in rivulets. “Please don’t say that when you’re flying across the country in less than two hours,” you choke out.

Minho visibly panics, a stark contrast from his usual calm and collected demeanour. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says immediately, warm hands hastily swiping away your tears. When you look up, you find that his eyes are glossy too. “In all seriousness, I’ll never get tired of you. I’ll call as much as I can, okay? We’ll be okay.”

You don’t know that, is what you want to say. But you’ll probably break down if you actually do, so you keep your mouth shut and nod glumly instead.

Time didn’t stop for you when it was finally time for Minho to go through the security gates, and you were forced to watch his silhouette shrink as he walked away, each step creating a deeper pit in your stomach.

You managed to muster up a smile (that likely looked more like a grimace than anything else) and wave when he turned back to find you among the bustling crowds in the terminal before disappearing around the corner. You didn’t think it was possible to be this heartbroken, but your heart truly felt like as though someone had reached into your chest and crushed it wholly.

(Felix held you in the backseat of Chan’s car as you sobbed in his arms the entire ride home. You were too busy bawling your eyes out to notice the sympathetic looks Chan and Seungmin gave you through the rear-view mirror from the driver and passenger seats.)

It still hurts to think of what happened in the months after Minho’s departure. You fought for this relationship and the both of you were desperate to make it work. For the first few months or so, you stayed true to your word and spoke to each other every day, and you couldn’t be happier when Minho came back for winter break. That is, until the looming reminder that he would have to leave you again, this time for even longer, dug its roots into the (what you thought was a) solid foundation that was your trust in this relationship and started prying it apart.

It was tough when Minho went back after winter break. There was just so much in the way—busy schedules; your own obligations; less time spent talking to the other which then led to even shorter texts and phone calls...You knew this would happen eventually, so you really shouldn’t have been that surprised, but there was a huge part of you that wished it didn’t.

An even bigger part of you (if that was even possible) didn’t want to be the one to put an end to a relationship that brought so much joy and love into your life.

Like they always say, all good things must come to an end.

���Do you think...we should break up?” Minho asks suddenly during one of your (now slightly awkward) phone calls. He sounds unsure, like he’s scared of what your response will be.

Your heart plummets when you finish processing his words. Sure, you’ve thought about it since it began feeling like the two of you were staying in this relationship simply for the sake of it, but hearing him say it, to speak it into existence so that it was no longer a thought you can keep to yourself, but a decision the two of you must make together...it hurts. It fucking hurts.

It feels like the end. Like you’re both too tired to keep fighting for each other.

“Do we have to?” you ask hoarsely when you find it in you to finally respond.

Minho’s end falls silent for a few moments, and you hear some shuffling before he speaks again. “It’s just...I don’t know. Are we even—are we even happy in this relationship anymore?”

“I tried so hard to be,” you whisper. Your chest feels tight, like someone’s pressing all the air out of you.

“Me too,” comes the equally regretful response. “I think we both did our best...but maybe it just w—”

“—Wasn’t enough?”

You can practically hear your heartbeat.

“Yeah...I guess sometimes there are just things that...we can’t control, you know?”

“So...w-what? This is how it ends?” You almost don’t recognise your own voice because it just sounds so, so broken. You don’t want him to hear you cry, but tears uncontrollably escape the corner of your eyes, trailing down your temples before disappearing into your pillow and leaving behind two growing dampened spots on either side of your head.

Minho’s voice comes back a little stuffy, like he’s holding himself back from crying too. “I don’t want it to...” he says, and it pains you to admit that you’re already doubting his sincerity in that sentence. Is this hurting him as much as it’s hurting you, or is he just saying this to make you feel that you still mean something to him even when you don’t? “But I don’t want us to part on bad terms, I don’t want an explosive fight to break out because then we might not even get to stay friends. You know?”

You tried to understand. And looking back at that conversation, he did have a point. At least if you ended things amicably, you could still be friends and spare yourselves and your mutual friends the awkwardness when he would come back during breaks. But at the time, you were so heartbroken that his words went in one ear and out the other, the only thing on your mind was what he said to you at the airport all those months ago.

“In all seriousness, I’ll never get tired of you. I’ll call as much as I can, okay? We’ll be okay.”

Maybe promises were made to be broken.

“I don’t want this to end just yet...I’m, I’m still in love with you,” you admit before fully breaking down in sobs.

“As am I, but I don’t want things to get any uglier than they are now,” Minho pleads, sounding equally as hurt. His words don’t bring you any reassurance or comfort, and instead you feel a flash of anger because how dare he say that? How dare he claim he still loves you when he was the one who wanted to let go? If given the chance, would he even want to keep fighting for this?

You dread knowing the answer. So you don’t voice out any of those thoughts.

“Can we still stay friends after this?” Minho asks quietly. “I know it sounds selfish, but...I still want you in my life...”

You don’t want to think. Your head is pounding from both the conversation and from crying so much, feeling like it could split open any moment.

“Yeah, sure,” you say, too tired and numb to form a more eloquent response. “Just need some time...I think.”

“Yeah,” he echoes awkwardly. “Well...take care, okay? I’ll see you around...”

The way he says the last part so hesitantly crushes you. It sounds so foreign, like he’s already putting distance between the two of you. It hits you that this really is it, that after you both hang up, you will no longer be what you used to. It’s an unsettling feeling that makes your chest constrict even more until it feels like you can’t breathe.

“You too.” There’s so much you want to say, but at the same time the words don’t leave you because you don’t know where to even start. So you hang up just like that, hand falling limply to your side and your phone carelessly tossed somewhere next to you on the bed.

The tears are drying on your cheek and your eyelids feel heavy and swollen from all the crying. Your head is aching more than it has ever been because you no longer have a conversation with your boyf—ex-boyfriend—to distract you from the pain. The physical one, at least.

You don’t know how and when sleep finds you. All you know is that before your drift into unconsciousness, all you can think of is whether Minho is feeling the same pain as you are or if he feels nothing but pure relief at the end of this chapter.

(Chan, Felix and Seungmin come over the next night with pizza, ice cream, and a mountain of sugary snacks to pig out on, occasionally pausing your movie marathon to wrap you in hugs as you cry.)

You never called Minho after that night, he didn’t seem any more eager to keep in touch either, and so the two of you drifted apart just like that. Like beautiful strangers, perhaps.

“I’m over him,” is what you announce to your three best friends at an impromptu hang-out at Felix’s a few months after the break-up. You just beat all three of them at Mario Kart (what a legend!), and perhaps the triumph coursing through your veins has led you to make this confident declaration.

‘The Aussie bros’ (as you liked to call Chan and Felix—ironically they also chose Mario and Luigi as their players, talk about friendship goals) exchange worried glances as Seungmin speaks.

“That’s great!” he says, eyes crinkling into gentle crescents as he pats your knee encouragingly. “Maybe you can reach out to him when you’re ready, but I’m happy that you can acknowledge that you’re doing better! Right, guys?”

Felix nods enthusiastically. “Totally! This all must’ve been really hard on you, and we’re happy that you’re both moving on amicably and just...living your best lives!”

You smile, but it falls slightly when you notice Chan’s tightly-knit brows as he stares down at his controller, seemingly lost in thought. “Chan?” you ask softly. “Is everything okay?”

The oldest boy snaps out of his daze. “Oh, yeah! I’m fine! Just spaced out, you know? So, uh...who wants to pick the next course?”

Now it’s your turn to frown as you note his eagerness to change the subject. “Chan, if this is about Minho, you can tell me. I promise I’m okay with it.” The firmness in your tone indicates that there’s no keeping this from you, not if it also concerns you.

Chan sighs and turns to you with an apologetic look. “The thing is...Minho texted us a few days ago saying that his flight back here is tonight, so—you know the new carnival by the boardwalk near the beach?”

“Yeah?” Where is this going?

“Well, he wants to check it out, and...” he looks to the two younger boys for confirmation, and they nod, silently urging him to continue. “And he said you should come if you’re up for it...just to catch up and stuff...”

“Oh,” is all you say. It feels like you’ve been doused in a bucket of ice water because you’re frozen on the spot, not expecting Minho to suggest such a thing and that (if you’re going) you’d be seeing him so soon, especially when you haven’t really spoken to him since you broke up.

Your pride is probably too big for your own good, and you’re determined to prove to your friends that you are an adult! And you’re going to deal with this like one and not freak out!

“Uh, yeah! Sure! Why not? We’re all friends, right? Just five happy buddies hanging out at the carnival!”

Seungmin once told you that you tend to ramble a lot when you’re nervous. You can definitely see it now. A point for Kim Seungmin and none for you.

Felix’s gaze is sympathetic when he speaks. “Y/N, it’s okay if you don’t want to. We don’t want to pressure you into meeting him again if that’s not what you’re comfortable with at the moment.” Chan and Seungmin quietly voice their agreement.

“No, no. It’s fine, guys. I promise! It’ll be fine and we’ll all have a great time,” you assure them by trying to sound as convincing as possible. But it’s an unspoken fact that if anything, you’re really just trying to convince yourself.

“Well, if you’re sure, then okay!” Felix chirps brightly to lighten the mood. “He’s meeting us there so we can pick you up on the way! Now, I think it’s my turn to pick the course...let’s do Rainbow Road!”

Seungmin groans at his choice. “You just want to see me place last again, don’t you?”

“No, I want to see Chan place last again.”

“Hey!”

So the game resumes, and for an hour you’ve completely forgotten about the conversation because of all the screaming and shouting and “God-fucking-dammit, Felix! Stop blue-shelling me!”

When Chan drove you and Seungmin home that night, you told yourself again and again that you’ve gotten over Minho. Completely. Most certainly. Undoubtedly. Yep, totally over him! Look at you go!

But that all changed as soon as you got into bed, and your head won’t stop replaying the conversation that took place earlier.

Were you truly ready to see your ex (who you may or may not are still in love with) again? What if he told you all that he’s seeing someone new? Would you be able to take the news well, at least in front of your friends, and hold back any form of negative emotions until you’re back in the safety of your apartment?

In the middle of the night, a dream so tangible, so vivid and so real jolted you awake from your slumber. You reached up to touch your cheeks to find them wet with tears. The ache in your chest felt familiar, bringing you back to that night when your heart was shattered by the boy you love.

And it’s then when you decided that despite everything you’ve been telling your friends and yourself, that no, you’re not ready at all. Because if you can’t even handle seeing him in a dream, how can you expect yourself to react differently seeing him in person?

(At three in the morning, your shaky fingers texted the group chat you shared with your three friends that you weren’t going to make it tomorrow because you weren’t feeling well, before tossing your phone aside and rolling over to let sleep overtake you once again. They would definitely be able to tell it was a lie, but they’d understand.)

You think that fate is like your 5-year-old cousin who you occasionally babysit—they both don’t fucking listen. But at least little Wooyoung can be adorable sometimes. Fate? Yeah, not so much.

Whoever is controlling this stimulation that people like to call “life” is probably looking down at you gleefully with a bucket of popcorn, eagerly waiting for everything to unfold.

Just as you thought you had gotten over Lee Minho from barely having any form of contact with him, he still somehow finds his way back into your life.

It’s a few years later, you graduated from university and are working at a regular firm, just living a regular life as a regular person. You haven’t seen Minho in years, rejecting your friends every time they invite you to hang out with them when you know he’s going to be there too. You think you’re going to go the rest of your life avoiding anything that has to do with him.

Chan says this isn’t really a healthy coping mechanism, but you’re doing fine. Occasionally. When you’re not thinking about him. But as long as you don’t see Minho, you’ll be okay. Right? That’s what you kept telling yourself, and for the most part it seems to be working fine.

Until your manager walks into the office with someone who looks far too familiar right beside her and listening along as your manager blabbers on about God-knows-what.

Immediately, you drop to the ground and crawl under the desk before Minho can see you because what the fuck is he doing at your workplace?

Your coworkers and friends, Ryujin and Seonghwa, who sit across from you, peer down with curious and slightly alarmed expressions.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” the latter asks worriedly. “Why are you down there?”

“I...dropped a pen?”

Ryujin looks over her shoulder before quickly turning back to you. “Well, you better pick that pen up now, because Park is headed right this way with the new guy!” she whisper-yells.

With no other choice, you heave a heavy sigh and get up from your spot on the floor, adjusting your work attire and feigning oblivion to your approaching manager and ex-boyfriend by pretending to type something on your computer.

“Guys,” Park addresses the three of you, and as soon as you look up from your “work”, you can see the surprise that flashes across Minho’s face before he reverts his expression to a neutral one. “This is Minho, he just transferred here. I expect you all to do your best in making him feel welcome here.” Her usual piercing stare seems to target you specifically, but that’s likely just from your nervousness and shock towards the whole situation.

Honestly, your mind is still reeling. You can’t imagine the chaos that will ensue when you tell Chan, Felix and Seungmin about this. Or did they already know but didn’t tell you so you wouldn’t freak out?

You and your coworkers nod, and Park turns to march in the opposite direction, muttering something about showing Minho the rest of the office and gesturing with her head for him to follow. You don’t spare them another glance, but out of the corner of your eye you see Minho look back at you.

“Y/N, do you know the new guy?” Ryujin asks once they’re out of earshot.

“I was gonna ask that too,” Seonghwa pipes up, having paused his typing to give this conversation his full attention. “He looked like he recognised you.”

There are too many things going on at this moment. You don’t know what it is you’re feeling—shock from seeing him again after so long? Regret for not doing better to keep in touch with him after your break-up? Sadness because someone you were so close to, who might as well be a complete stranger now, is in your life again when you tried so hard to erase all traces of him from it?

Probably all of the above.

“It’s a long story,” you admit finally.

“Ooh, I do love stories,” Ryujin says cheekily, leaning across the table eagerly for your elaboration.

You flick her forehead lightly. “Maybe another time,” you say, “let’s just get back to work before Park notices that we’re gossiping and separates us.”

“What is this, high school?” Seonghwa grumbles, turning back to his computer begrudgingly, but you all wouldn’t put it past your strict manager to do something like that.

It’s half an hour until your lunch break when you’re in the break room making yourself another cup of coffee, silently rejoicing over getting to eat soon (and maybe telling Ryujin and Seonghwa about how you know Minho), as well as the fact that Minho’s seat seems to be far away from yours, at least enough that you haven’t seen him around your side of the office for the past few hours.

But of course, fate has other plans for you.

“Hey.”

You still at sound of his voice. It’s exactly the same as it was back then, you note. It’s like nothing has changed. Except it’s the complete opposite.

You force the most natural smile you can muster on your face as you turn to him. He’s still so pretty, if not even more so, with his sparkly feline-like eyes and sleek dark hair styled impeccably with gel. “Oh, hi, Minho.”

He tucks his hand into his pant pockets casually, but his tone betrays the awkward tension between you. “It’s been a while...”

“Yeah, it has...” Four years, to be exact.

“Are you doing okay?” Are you?

“Um...yeah, just the usual, you know? What about you? You said you transferred here?”

He nods, eyes trained on your fingers tapping the buttons on the coffee machine before it whirs and begins filling your mug with espresso. “Yep. Was working at the branch near my university, but they asked me if I wanted to move back here, and I thought I might as well...Closer to home and all that...”

“Right.”

“So, um...do you want to get lunch together later? To catch up and stuff.”

This is giving you déjà vu because you know you’ve had this conversation with Chan, Felix and Seungmin all those years ago about that stupid carnival. Funny how you still remember.

“I...I’m...”

“Please?” Minho pleads. “You don’t have to if you really don’t want to, but I...I don’t know...I want to talk to you, hear about how you’ve been these last few years, all that...”

You don’t miss Ryujin and Seonghwa not-so-subtly watching the two of you from their seats, which have an excellent view of where you’re currently standing in the break room.

“Uh, okay.” You’re not sure what compels you to say this. In fact, you really feel like kicking yourself because just a few hours ago you were crouched under your fucking desk to avoid Lee Minho, and now you’re agreeing to have lunch with him.

You don’t know what you’re doing. But perhaps that small part of you, the part that’s sick of all this dodging and avoiding, has finally took charge for once.

You’re not sure if you like it or hate it.

Over a meal of ramen, Minho updates you on everything that’s been going on in his life. Apparently, he’s adopted another cat, and he tells you about how it had to move across the country with him. He also talks about the friends he made in university and at the other branch he worked at, and how they’re planning to visit him here soon.

In return, you find yourself slowly opening up about more details of your life. Minus the part that you think you’re still in love with him, obviously. If anything, you force those feelings down with every bite of food, knowing that the both of you have grown exponentially since your break-up and that you were most likely in love with the past version of Minho, not the one sitting in front of you currently. It wouldn’t be fair to jump into a romantic relationship with him again so soon.

As the two of you walk back to your office building, he shyly asks if you can start over as friends. You agree, realising how much you missed him as someone you could talk about anything to, and the smile he gives you after that fills your chest with more warmth than you liked to admit.

Months after Minho reentered into your life, the two of you have gotten much closer. Not as close as when you were dating, but you’ve also definitely moved past the point of acquaintances or casual friends.

He’s over at your place one Friday night to watch The Great British Bake Off with you while stuffing yourselves with Chinese food. You had asked him about his cats, and he assured you that his roommate, Changbin, looks after them when he’s away.

He showed you a photo of his friend, and while he’s not quite your type (and because you still have feelings for a certain someone who should not be named in this household), you have to admit Changbin’s pretty cute with his squishy cheeks, pouty lips and tattooed arms.

You’re not much of a baker, but you can definitely relate to the mid-life crises the contestants are having because you’re exactly the same when you have deadlines to meet and somehow still have it in you to procrastinate.

The two of you are sitting pretty close to each other on your couch, though there is still a considerable amount of distance between your bodies. But Minho’s arm, which is casually draped over the couch cushion behind you and hence dangerously close to touching your shoulders, isn’t helping at all.

You hate (but do you really?) how your heart still races whenever he’s near you despite after all these years, but you don’t dare do anything about it because Minho is probably just trying to mend your friendship with no interest in a romantic relationship.

One of the contestant lets out a sound of aggravation because their soufflé just sank, and all you can think of as the camera gets a close-up of the deflated dessert is, big mood.

Many, many episodes later, you don’t know what you’re doing anymore (but let’s be real, when do you ever?). All you know is that you’re on the verge of being lulled to sleep from the long day of work, and when you crane your head to see if Minho feels as drowsy as you are, you find him already staring. Your heart stops beating for a second as your eyes meet.

“Uh...is there something on my face?”

Minho wants to say “only beauty” but ultimately decides against it. “No, I just want to look at you.”

Despite the heat that crawls up your neck, you manage to reply with, “Pack it up, Edward Cullen.”

He chuckles as he leans back against the couch. “I guess I’m trying to commit everything about you to memory?”

“We’ve been hanging out for months now?”

“Compared to four years of losing all contact, these past few months are practically nothing.”

“Practically nothing?” You bring your hand up to clutch at your heart. “I’m hurt, Minho. Do I mean nothing to you?”

His smile drops as though you just said something incredibly offensive. “No,” he says seriously. “In fact, it’s the complete opposite. You mean more to me than you think.”

You blink at him owlishly. What the fuck? “Uh...are you okay? Are you feverish? Did I hear you right?”

Minho sighs. “Yes, no, and yes. You heard me just fine. I’m saying that I still love you, and not just in the friend way. I’m sorry for hurting you so deeply by breaking up with you. Don’t think for a moment that I wanted to do it.

“At the time, I thought it was the best decision for us because we were barely communicating, and I didn’t want to end things only when they got ugly. Maybe I didn’t show it much on the outside, but I promise you that I was devastated and regretted ever bringing up the subject of breaking up. All of this is to say...I miss you...so fucking much. And I never stopped loving you.”

You don’t even realise that you’ve been crying until you feel the droplets sliding off your chin and landing into your shirt. You thought that you’d only hear these words from him in your wildest dreams, because surely he’d moved on from your past relationship and wanted to leave it behind.

But Lee Minho is here, in your living room, with The Great British Bake Off playing distantly in the background and takeout left forgotten on your coffee table, confessing to you that he is still in love with you, like how you never stopped loving him.

This is all so much. So much so that you bring your knees up to your chin and curl up into a ball, burying your head in your arms as you cry silently. You don’t keep track of how long has passed (ten minutes? Half an hour? One hour?) before Minho speaks again, this time sounding much more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard him, save for the night of the break-up.

“I know this is a lot to process, and you don’t have to give me an answer immediately, but...can we try again? For real this time.”

You don’t have to wait to give him a response. Even though you’re still crying, one of your hands feels around the smooth leather of the couch to find Minho’s before interlacing your fingers together.

He gives you the space you need as your quiet sobs gradually come to a stop, his thumb brushing gently against the back of your hand as a constant reminder that he’s still there, and he doesn’t plan on leaving for as long as you let him stay in your life.

That night, the two of you start over. It’s almost like reaching for a story you never finished writing, turning over a new page to start fresh.

To hopefully create something even more beautiful.

For once, maybe fate actually listened to your heart.

a/n: and she’s finally here!! i hope this was somewhat worth the wait and again, i’m so sorry for taking so long to finish this 🥺 i didn’t expect to write this much but then more ideas kept coming and i didn’t want anything in their relationship to happen too abruptly,,,please do let me know what you think, thank you so much for reading and i hope you’re having a good day!! 💕

please do consider leaving feedback whether it’s a reblog, a reply or an ask, it would mean the absolute world to me as feedback really motivates and supports creators 🥺 remember you can always chat with me through my asks and i’m here for you!! 💕

[machinegunbun]

Is there gonna be a third part for Deserved It🥺

Deserve You+#

Word count:1.7k

A/N: Everyone say thank youu anon for reminding me lmaoo. This was supposed to be posted tomorrow but I got excited soo

“Pete, please just let me explain.” You whimpered, your voice and spirit growing weak. It felt hopeless, like maybe you really had lost him for good.

Your fist knocked lightly against the wood of the hotel room door, the sound reverberating down the silent hallway.  Anxiety filled you, this wasn’t your first time knocking. You had been here for fifteen minutes and were completely unsuccessful so far.

You were pleasantly surprised when you heard fumbling from inside, not expecting them to answer. When the door swung open you were met with the sight of Colson towering over you, an unimpressed glare being shot your way

“He can’t hear you, he’s in the shower. Now stop, you’re pissing me off.”

“Please.”

“What do you want?” The question was more of a statement, letting you talk only to get you to leave.

“Is he okay?” You ask, sniffling.

“What the fuck do you think?” 

“Please, I just wanna make it better.“ You plead

“Then go the fuck home.” He replies, shutting the door halfway before opening it again “And stop fucking knocking.” He adds, shutting the door in your face. Sighing, your back slides down the door, admitting defeat.

As you sat in the all too quiet hallway you found yourself wondering if maybe it meant more than you would like to admit. Maybe Colson was right, would you have kissed Shawn if he had never walked in? Would you have even ever told Pete if you did? Would you even regret it?

Tears began to well up in your eyes at the thought. Who were you kidding? Of course you’d regret it, who cares what everyone else thinks? You knew better than anyone that leaving Pete for Shawn would be the downgrade of a lifetime, and the fact that people based the opposite assumption purely over their own ideals of beauty was fucked up. Pete treated you better than Shawn ever did, he made you feel more than Shawn ever could. He made you a better person, you couldn’t believe your judgement had lapsed that badly, even for so much as a second.

Your head knocked against the door twice, trying to bang the anxious thoughts directly from their source, before the door swung open, the tall blonde giving you a single disapproving look when he spotted you on the floor.

“Is it the pizza?” You could hear Pete ask from inside. Right, you hadn’t gotten the chance to eat dinner

“Nah, it’s just Rook. I’ll be right back, you got the door for me?”

“Yeah, I got it.” Pete replied, his voice hoarse. You could only imagine he’d been crying.

You glanced up at Colson from your place on the floor, embarrassed.

“Just let me talk to him.”

“No.”

“He's not a baby, he doesn't need you to protect him.” You mumble

“No, but he cares about you.  A lot. A-fucking-lot a lot, and I know if I let him out here and he sees you crying he’ll run right back into your arms.” 

“I just wanna see him. I hurt him and it's killing me to know I can't hold him and make him feel better. I just wanna hold him.” You say, your voice cracking.

“Why don’t you just leave him alone and call Shawn instead so he can cheat on you again and you can go on another fucking bender and pretend like theres something interesting about your life.”

“Fuck you.” You retort, although you know his anger is the only reason for his words

“Fuck you too, (Y/N). Who took care of you after you went on your little fucking bender? Pete. Who helped you through the breakup? Pete. Who was with you when you felt like the whole world hated you even though you did nothing wrong? Pete. Who was there for you, romantic or not, whenever you needed him? Pete.If you really want to apologize you need to wipe those fucking tears, take a breath, clean yourself up, and fucking apologize without guilting him into saying its okay.”

“Okay, Okay. I’m not Casie.”

“Damn right you’re not, cause my daughter would’ve never pulled this dumb shit in the first place. And get off the fucking floor, you look pathetic.” He scolds, watching as you stand up, still almost a foot shorter than him. Colson turns around, pushing the door open as it was only half shut. You peer inside, trying to catch sight of Pete, but seeing only a piece of the hallway.

You remained on the floor, not daring to knock once again out of fear Colson might call security on you.

Your head ticked up curiously when you heard someone walking down the hallway, looking up to see Rook making his way towards you. Glancing down at you, he knocked, waiting for a moment before Colson was walking out of the door. Colson looked down at you as well, mild disgust gracing his features before he was walking down the hallway alongside Rook, the two boys disappearing into the elevator.

Pete walked out five minutes later, hoping you hadn’t given up and left. His eyes lit up when he saw you, first reaction being to fix the pout that was stamped on your face.

“Oooh, you got in trouble.” Pete teases, shutting the door behind himself and taking a seat next to you on the carpeted floor, not entirely caring that it was dirty as long as you were right down there with him.

“You heard?”

“It’s a hotel door, not a soundproof barrier.” He jokes, looking at you “Yeah, I heard everything. Listen, he shouldn’t have said any of that to you. He was angry, that’s all.”

“Don’t defend me.” You reply, looking over to meet his eyes. Pete purses his lips, his eyes filling with tears

“I’m always gonna defend you.” He says, his eyes leaving yours as he does, landing on the floor instead. The tone of his words are less reassuring and more disappointed. You thought for a moment he would cry, but he didn’t. His hand never even so much as came up to wipe his tears. Another brief silence fell over you, one more and you think you’d rip your hair out. You were unsure if you should wrap your arms around him the way you wanted to, the last thing you wanted to do was manipulate him into telling you what you did wasn’t a problem.

“I get it.” Pete says, breaking the silence.

“What?” You ask, your voice surprising even you in the midst of such stillness,  feeling foreign and unlike your own

“I get if you want to be with him,” Your eyes meet once again as he says this “I won’t hate you.” He assures, his lips pushing together in a sad, half smile. You stared at him, examining his features and what you had done to him, but in Pete’s mind you were weighing out your options, and everytime Shawn came out on top. He was so caught up in his own mind he almost didn’t catch it when you began shaking your head.

“Oh thank god, cause he’s back at our place right now and we fucked on our bed-” Pete’s head tilted down in disappointment, focusing on his tattooed fingers. You laughed, punching his arm lightly “No, I want you dummy. Why else would I be humiliating myself by crying in a la quinta hallway. What's up with that, by the way? Colson doesn’t have the money to put you up somewhere better? You just got your heart broken.” Pete cracked a smile, his gaze shifting up to the door.

“I know the breakup was hard for you, and everything after it too. I guess I can understand just wanting something before it felt like the world turned it’s back to you.”

“No. I don’t want that, I don’t want Shawn. Sappy love songs, extravagant vacations, waking up early to exercise, flirting publicly as fan service, the perfect family-”

“Okay, okay we get it. He has a dad.” He laughs  “Stop rubbing it in.”

“And actually nice hotels, seriously what the fuck is this.” You laughed, your heart swelling with love when you managed to make Pete smile “It’s just not who I am anymore. I’m late nights watching TV, laughing by the fridge when we get up at 3am to make snacks cause we have the munchies. I'm sitting in your backyard with you, your mom and your sister while we eat dinner and breathe the fresh air and look at the stars. I’m going on walks cause we’re depressed and need the sun to convince us we’re okay again. You changed me in the best ways, baby. I don’t want anything else.” You stared at the ceiling, vivid images flashing through your mind, thinking who you are now is so much more beautiful than who you were then.

You hadn’t even realized Pete was crying until he sniffled, your gaze drifting back over to him, the sight breaking your heart.

“Fucking lame.” He replies, both of his hands coming up to wipe his eyes, his sweatshirt pulled over his hands. You reach over, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into your grasp. Laying there in peaceful silence, you find yourself running your hands through his hair, inhaling his scent and letting his body warm your own. You felt yourself calm down for the first time tonight with him in your arms.

The moment was broken as someone exited their hotel room, glancing down at the two of you on the floor before making their way to the pool, towel flung over their shoulder. Pete and you shared a look of amusement as he walked away, stifling your laughter until he made it to the elevator.

“Come on, let's go inside.” He says, trying the doorknob. There’s a thump sound as it moves a bit and stops, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion before giving it another try. You tilted your head, looking at the doorknob and to Pete as a look of realization overtook his features.

“I forgot my key.” He sucks his teeth, shaking his head as you laugh from your place on the floor.

[coldflame96]

A Moment’s Peace

Summary: Hajime just wants to some peace and quiet so he can study for his entrance exam. His siblings are determined to make sure he doesn’t get it. 

Rating: T (only for Hajime’s teenage boy mouth)

Also on AO3 

Two in one day but I just wanted Hajime to suffer as the eldest sibling (solidarity!). It’s still Father’s Day so we also get some good dad Kyo. 

Hajime wondered if moving in with Kinu would give him more peace than he ever got here. He just wanted to study for his entrance exams. But god forbid he ever gets a moment's quiet. 

He heard the door open and pinched his nose in frustration. 

He turned around and saw Kyoko standing in his door, panting. "Hide me, Haji-nii!" 

He scoffed. "Why? And what have I told you about coming in here without knocking?" 

"You have to hide me!" Of course she was ignoring him. "Kazu-nii’s gonna find me!"

"What, are you playing hide and seek?" 

"Kyo-chan!" He heard their brother call from down the hall and the little girl squeaked in fear, jumping in his bed and burying herself under his covers. I just made that bed, dammit! 

He was about to kick her out before his door opened again and his brother stormed in, looking mad as hell and holding...a broken model airplane. The one he’d gotten for his birthday. The expensive one. That must be why she's hiding. It took a lot to piss Kazuya off.

"Nii-san, have you seen Kyoko?" He demanded. 

His eyes flicked over to his bed where their little sister somehow managed to blend in with his pillows. 

"No,” he lied. “Now quit bugging me. I'm trying to study." 

Kazuya huffed, muttering, "I can't believe her. When I find her she's dead." 

He closed the door behind him a little too loud and it was once he heard the retreating footsteps he rolled his eyes and called out, "You can come out now." 

He watched the small girl raise her head sheepishly, orange hair spilling over his blanket. 

"Haji-nii, can I stay in here?" 

"No." 

"Why?" She whined. 

"Because you're noisy and I'm trying to study." 

"But if I leave, Kazu-nii’s gonna kill me. He said so himself!" 

"Well, you shouldn't have broken his plane then. Stop being a baby and go apologize." 

She pouted. "I didn't do it on purpose." 

"Doesn't matter. You still broke it and it wasn't yours. Now go say you're sorry and stop bothering me." 

She surprisingly did actually leave, though reluctantly, and it was once the door was closed and he waited a minute or so that he breathed a sigh of relief. 

Maybe now he could-

The door slammed open again. “Haji-nii!” Kyoko cried. God dammit. 

He slammed the pencil down. “What now?” he gritted. 

“Kazu-nii hit me!” she sniffled. 

“Well, yeah, you broke his plane. I would’ve hit you too.”

Her eyes practically inflated with tears and he had to force himself to look away and not cave. “But I did what you said!”

“That’s not my problem! Why are you even coming to me anyway? Where are Mom and Dad?”

“Mommy’s at work and Daddy’s in the yard.”

“Go harass him then!” 

“Kyoko.” Speak of the man and he shall appear. His dad was standing in the doorway. “Why are you in here bothering your brother?” Kyoko immediately took her opportunity to run over and hug him. 

“Daddy, Kazu-nii’s being mean to me!” she whined. 

“Don’t fall for it, Dad!” Kazuya piped in from behind because of course he did. Why not just bring Mom here and have a whole party? It’s not like this exam was important or anything. “She broke my plane!”

“Kyoko, is that true?” he heard Dad ask. 

There was a pause and then a sheepish, “Yeah.” 

“You should apologize.”

“But I already did! And then he hit me!”

Why were they doing this in his room of all places? For fuck’s sake! 

“Seriously?” he heard his dad say in an unimpressed tone. “She’s half your size.”

“She broke my plane.”

“Then you come to me about it, you don’t hit your little sister. Now say you’re sorry.”

Seriously, why the hell were they still in here? His pencil snapped in his hand and he could feel the veins popping. 

“Sorry, Kyo-chan,” Kazuya muttered. 

“Good. Now you.” Hajime assumed he was talking to Kyoko now but he didn’t care because he just wanted them to leave. “You apologize too.”

“But I already did!” she whined. 

“You shouldn’t have gone in his room without-” he couldn’t fucking take this anymore. 

“Can you guys get out?!” he burst out, turning to them, who almost looked shocked that he was even here which just pissed him off even more. “Geez, I have an exam in like 3 days and I can’t get anything done with you people coming in here and bothering me every five seconds!”

His dad and brother atleast had the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry.” Dad steered both of his siblings, who were glaring daggers at each other, out. “C’mon, let’s let your brother work.”

He tsked and sat back down with a huff. 

Finally. 

Maybe Dad could atleast keep those two busy for a while. 

He stiffened when he felt a pair of arms wrap around him from behind. He turned slightly, the heat rushing to his face from the sudden affection and felt his dad rest his chin on the top of his head. How did I not hear him come back in? Dad’s face was unreadable but he almost looked...sad. 

“Dad?” he questioned softly. “Are you okay?” He knew he had a temper. Did he go too far?

Dad kissed the top of his head like he did all the time when he was a kid and he blushed. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” he heard in his ear, and then the arms let go and the room felt a little chillier. 

His dad smirked and ruffled his hair, and he batted the hands away in protest. “Don’t work too hard,” he said as he finally left the room

Hajime blinked in confusion when the door closed. That was weird. It wasn’t unusual for his dad to be affectionate or anything, but that particular instance felt...different, somehow.

He shook his head. Whatever. His family was weird. 

But, he thought as he smiled to himself, I’m really gonna miss them. 

[robininthelabyrinth]

sequel to Light on the Door (aka WWX adopted into the Nie sect)

1

“This is a terrible idea,” Wei Ying announced. “Absolutely awful. Doomed to end in disaster.”

“It really isn’t, Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang said, and – ouch.

If Nie Huaisang, self-professed total useless person, thought it was a good idea, that meant it was so absolutely necessary, so absolutely critical, that it couldn’t be done without. Wei Ying might only have known Nie Huaisang for a month or so, but he’d already figured out that Nie Huaisang didn’t like to do anything if he could help it.

“But I hate dogs,” he whined. “They’re scary. Why do I have to get used to them? I can just get da-ge to scare them away.”

“Da-ge is pretty scary,” Nie Huaisang allowed. “Definitely scarier than dogs. But what happens if he’s not around?”

Wei Ying shivered at the thought, his heart growing cold. “Da-ge has to be around,” he said, voice a little shrill. “He can’t – he’s not allowed to disappear the way my parents did –”

“Don’t worry!” Nie Huaisang said quickly. “He’s not allowed to!”

Wei Ying was distracted from his imminent panic attack by the sheer ridiculousness of the phrase. “What do you mean, not allowed to?”

“Well, I mean, it’s not like he’s a rogue cultivator, right? He’s sect leader. He has to stick around.” Nie Huaisang frowned. “I mean, unless he dies.”

“…he can’t die.”

“Why not? My dad did. He was murdered; that’s why da-ge had to take over. He could die any minute…”

By the time Nie Mingjue found them, they were both clinging to each other and sobbing.

“We haven’t even brought out the dogs yet,” he said, clearly baffled. “And – Huaisang, why are you crying? You like dogs!”

2

“Stop using your practice saber to poke at the puppy, Wei Ying,” Nie Mingjue said with a sigh.

“Give me one good reason,” Wei Ying said with a growl that might have been fierce if it was coming from anything other than a nine-year-old boy who was still working on regaining all the fat he’d lost to years of starvation.

At least he was holding his saber in the correct defensive position, which was more than Nie Huaisang had managed in – better not to think about it.

Still, it showed real talent, especially from a boy that’d probably been learning the sword before.

“It’ll create bad habits,” Nie Mingjue said, as patiently as he could. “You can’t point your real saber at anything you happen to dislike – once you draw steel, you need to be prepared for bloodshed. Are you willing to cut off the puppy’s head?”

Wei Ying faltered. For all that he hated dogs, Wei Ying was no murderer, and the little fluffball Nie Mingjue had brought home had lived up to its billing of being ridiculously friendly – even now, it was wagging its tail and trying to dodge the saber so that it could lick Wei Ying in greeting.

“Well?” Nie Mingjue said, crossing his arms. “I don’t pursue futile aims, Wei Ying. If you really don’t think you can adapt to the puppy, I’ll execute him now –”

“You can’t execute Xiao Bai! Huaisang-xiong would be beside himself!”

“He’d get over it.” Nie Mingjue paused. “…also, you named the dog little white? It’s black and brown. The only white it has is on its belly.”

“It’s supposed to be ironic,” Wei Ying said virtuously in the tone of someone who’d recently learned a new word. “Also, Huaisang-xiong said that this type of dog was supposed to be from a snowy mountain and I said it couldn’t be because it wouldn’t blend in with the snow and then he said –”

“Wei Ying. Does the puppy live?”

“Oh, fine,” Wei Ying said, and put his saber aside, allowing the dog to come prancing around him. Wei Ying’s face twitched with fear, his shoulders shaking, but the exposure was already doing wonders: he hadn’t run away screaming, and he was even allowing Xiao Bai to sniff his butt without complaint. “Hey, da-ge. Why do you always call it a puppy? He’s already the size of a full grown dog.”

Nie Mingjue looked down at the dog, whose head came up to Wei Ying’s hip. “Maybe for a lapdog. He’s a sheepdog from the mountains – they grow large.”

Wei Ying frowned. “As large as a husky? Those are huge.”

Nie Mingjue decided, for once, to err on the side of discretion and to just not say anything more.

3

“Meat, meat, meat,” Wei Ying sang. “All the meat, just for me –”

“Just you?” Nie Huaisang said. “That seems mean. How could you do that to Xiao Bai?”

“Xiao Bai can get his own meat,” Wei Ying said. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing! If I feed him meat, he’ll like me, and then he’ll never leave me alone!”

Nie Huaisang raised his eyebrows. “He already never leaves you alone if he can help it.”

Wei Ying scowled at him, as if that were supposed to be a secret.

“He whimpers every time you go inside without letting him in,” Nie Huaisang said, and sure enough, there was the guilty expression. “It’s so sad. Whine, whine, whine. Then he just lays across the entryway, his head heavy on his paws, a forlorn expression on his face –”

“As if you can tell what expression he has,” Wei Ying said scornfully. “Anyway, I don’t care!”

He still fed him some of his meat later on.

Nie Huaisang smirked behind his fan and pretended not to notice.

“Qinghe barbeque is the best,” Wei Ying said, even as he reached over to upend an entire bowl of chili sauce on top of his grilled meat. “There’s just so much of it.”

“You’ll like Yunmeng food,” Nie Huaisang said, waving over the innkeeper and gesturing for him to refill the sauce – he wanted some, too. Not as much as Wei Ying, but still… “It’s notoriously spicy, and your father’s from Yunmeng, anyway; I’m sure you inherited this from him. Qishan’s food is pretty hot, too.”

The pleased expression dropped off Wei Ying’s face at the mention of Qishan. “I don’t like them. Or their sect leader.”

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “The Wen sect is pretty awful, no one in Qinghe’ll disagree with you on that.” He frowned. “When did you see Sect Leader Wen, anyway?”

“Before I came to Qinghe,” Wei Ying said. “I was hiding in da-ge’s room any time he was out at the Discussion Conference, since I was terrified he was going to forget to bring me, and one time he was talking with Sect Leader Wen right outside his door. Da-ge didn’t – he hates him, but he’s also afraid of him.”

Wei Ying looked disturbed, and Nie Huaisang was pretty sure he knew why. “He killed our father,” he said, since he wasn’t sure anyone’d actually told Wei Ying about it yet. It wasn’t a forbidden subject, but no one liked to talk about it. “Everyone knows, but no one is willing to do anything about it. That’s why da-ge’s like that around him.”

Nie Huaisang was expecting many things, but Wei Ying’s reaction - relief - surprised him.

“What did you think was the reason?” he asked, because he might be useless but he’s not stupid.

“Sect Leader Wen reminds me of some of the men back in the city I was staying in,” Wei Ying said. “The ones that wanted to spend money, you know what I mean, and he was always looking at da-ge.”

Nie Huaisang blinked. “I have no idea what you mean,” he admitted frankly, and for some reason that made Wei Ying laugh.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, and generously only took half of the new bowl of chili sauce, sliding the rest of it over to Nie Huaisang. “Eat your meat.”

Xiao Bai barked.

“Great,” Nie Huaisang said. “Now you’ve taught him the word for ‘meat’. There’s no way that’s going to backfire on you.”

4

“- and this is my puppy, Xiao Bai,” Wei Ying said, twirling his hands with a flourish. “I hate dogs, but I’ve had to take care of Xiao Bai long enough that I think I’m over it when it comes to him. I mean, I still hate all the others, but Xiao Bai’s okay, I guess.”

His guest blinked at the dog, which was wagging its tail cheerfully. He seemed to be thinking of something, hands clasped behind his back and a serious expression on his face – Wei Ying had already figured out that he was the sort of person to think things over thoroughly before saying anything, and he was excitedly waiting to hear his thoughts.

“You’re not afraid of bears,” was what finally was said.

“Yeah, Xiao Bai is getting pretty big, isn’t he?” Wei Ying laughed, scratching the back of his head. “He really is more bear than dog.”

Xiao Bai could probably step on the dogs that he used to fight, Wei Ying thought, viciously pleased. There was something to be said for Nie Mingjue’s theory of fear, which could be summarized as you won’t be as scared if you find something even scarier to be on your side.

“If you want, you can pet him,” Wei Ying said encouragingly.

The guest – Wei Ying’s guest, in fact, the one that Nie Mingjue said he was responsible for taking care of, because apparently last time he’d come over Nie Huaisang had driven him to distraction and Nie MIngjue just wanted to spend some quiet time with his friend – looked a bit uncertain, but with a bit more urging eventually crouched down, rearranging his robes to minimize the amount of dirt.

He still held back, though, and looked almost wary.

“He really is very nice,” Wei Ying said. “Even for a big old scary dog. Nearly as nice as me!”

His guest gave him an unimpressed look.

Wei Ying put his hands together. “Give it a try,” he urged. “For me?”

His guest sighed, as if he was being so put-upon and just doing it to indulge Wei Ying’s ridiculousness, and put his hands in the middle of Xiao Bai’s furry belly.

After a moment, he smiled.

“Wow,” Wei Ying said, and meant it. “You’re really pretty when you smile, Lan Zhan. You should do it more often!”

5

“I can’t believe you named your saber Suibian,” Nie Huaisang cackled. “Da-ge’s going to give you the worst courtesy name he can think of just to pay you back for that.”

“He thought it was funny!”

“He thinks lots of terrible things are funny, he has the Nie sense of humor,” Nie Huaisang argued. “We all have it – even you, and you’re only an honorary Nie.”

“I have it in spades,” Wei Ying boasted, and rubbed his hand over Xiao Bai’s head: a trophy of his fears, confronted and finally overcome. Just like a proper Nie should. “No one’s ever going to doubt that I belong here.”

“Not after that prank you pulled during midwinter, no.”

Wei Ying laughed. “All I need is the courtesy name,” he said confidently. “I have a saber, I wear the colors, I even do my hair in the proper braids – now I just need to not to ever tell anyone my given name, and I’ll be a proper Nie.”

“That only applies to people born in the Nie clan main branch,” Nie Huaisang said, rolling his eyes. “Regular disciples don’t have to worry about that old superstition.”

“Maybe I want to worry about it.”

“Da-ge’s already told you that he plans to make you a direct disciple when the mourning period ends,” Nie Huaisang said, rolling his eyes. “A direct disciple. We’ll be like brothers, then.”

“And no one will ever call me by my given name.”

“No one? Not even Lan-er-gongzi?”

“…Lan Zhan’s an exception.”

Nie Huaisang snickered.

“Don’t worry,” he said, gently elbowing Wei Ying in the side. “You’ve lived in Qinghe for over a year. Who else could possibly have a better claim to you than us?”

Xiao Bai started barking, then, a warning cry, and both Nie Huaisang and Wei Ying looked down at him in confusion. They were in the middle of Qinghe – what type of danger could they be facing here?

“Boy,” an adult man’s voice interrupted their discussion, his tone urgent. A man in purple stopped in front of them – a visitor from the Jiang sect, Wei Ying thought, his mind immediately recalling some of Nie Huaisang’s lessons in etiquette; he was probably here for the yearly Discussion Conference. “Boy – are you Wei Ying? Son of Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren?”

Wei Ying blinked, surprised. “Yes,” he said. “Did you – did you know them?” That was the only thing he lacked, really, here in Qinghe: his parents had never come this far, and people could only tell him what they’d heard about them, their reputation and the rumors, and it wasn’t quite as much as he’d like.

The man in purple smiled.

“I knew them very well,” he said. “In fact, I’ve been looking for you for a long time now.”

“Looking for me? Why?”

“To bring you home,” the man said. “Why else?”

Xiao Bai howled mournfully.

[satuguro]

tenshi | pt. 2

IN WHICH: tsukishima can’t let go and your sadness turns into anger.

PAIRING: tsukishima kei x ukai!reader, kageyama tobio x ukai!reader

INSPIRED BY: freckles — kevin atwater, hikare are (moonlight) — burnout syndromes

WARNING: angst, cursing

A/N: sorry for taking so long to update! i’ve been having really bad writer’s block :,)

prologue, pt. 1, pt. 2

tsukishima wasn’t sure when it happened.

he always had a gut feeling that he had always felt that way when he looked at you. the feeling of caring so much for one person terrified him. he had never felt like that before— it was new and unexpected.

tsukishima didn’t like new and unexpected. he wasn’t like you, who practically craved the outside world that it was almost annoying.

he had spent countless nights trying to figure out when he realized he loved you.

was it when you gave him a box of dinosaur bandaids that you had stolen from your dad’s store? you given it to him with a smile and a short, “it reminded me of you.”

was it when you let him pick the movie for movie night, but instead of him picking jurassic park, you picked it? “you always pick jurassic park, and you always pick the first one because it’s your favorite,” you had stated with a nonchalant shrug.

or was it when you told him you were leaving? when you muttered out your mom’s plans and tsukishima’s blood ran cold because no, this wasn’t some sick joke. you were leaving and never coming back.

you had told him you were leaving, and all he did was walk away.

“i’ll walk home with the guys tonight!” you sent your dad a bright grin, one he only huffed at as he reluctantly handed the keys to kageyama.

“be safe,” he said sternly. his words would’ve almost come off as cold if you didn’t know your dad well. he was worried, that was all. as he made his way to the door, he paused, not looking over his shoulder as he said, “if you all don’t leave soon y/n won’t treat you to meat buns.” immediately, ukai shut the door behind him.

instantaneously, hinata bound over to you, his arms going up as he jumped around you over and over. you could never get used to the sudden height he gained “y/n teach me more about what you know you never got to—!”

hinata’s loud screaming was interrupted by a volleyball that hit his head.

kageyama, who was practically fuming as he stood behind the middle blocker, barked, “do you want meat buns or not? help us clean, dumbass!”

as the freak duo continued to bicker as they cleaned up, you nudged yachi softly as you watched on in amusement. “it’s good that they haven’t changed,” you commented, and she smiled widely.

“oh yeah, they’re still exactly as before. they just learned more, i guess,” yachi laughed. in front of you, yamaguchi tried to calm the two down, his freckled cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. tsukishima only loomed over them with an unimpressed look on his face. “same thing goes for yama. tsukishima, though...”

“i expected it,” you cut her off, words coming out more forced than you would’ve liked. without missing a beat, you smiled. you didn’t want to tell her that tsukishima was the last thing you wanted to hear about. “we should help out. knowing by dad, he’ll probably purposely close the store if we’re late.”

“they have the best meat buns, trust me!”

akiteru’s cheerful voice made kei let out a disgruntled grunt.

ever since he found out that his brother and his position as an oh-so-great ace, akiteru had ben doing everything to make it up for him. tsukishima’s frown deepened as he reluctantly walked into the store, his eyes set on his sneakers as he slowly followed his brother.

he lied. no amount of meat buns was going to change that fact.

“ukai! two of your best meat buns, please!” akiteru’s grin faltered for a moment as he turned back to kei, but that didn’t change his spirits as he turned to the cashier.

you sat behind the cash register, your fingers reaching up to your mouth and pulling out the red lollipop you were sucking on. it was obvious that you were kei’s age, yet you acted like you owned the shop (and maybe you did).

“my dad says i’m not allowed to get meat from the dish because it’s too hot and i’ll die,” you said pointedly, leaning forward in your plastic chair. you looked at kei with a curious tilt of your head, and kei only stared back.

your hair was pulled back with a thin headband, and he recognized the logo on your beige sweatshirt; a volleyball sweatshirt.

“i didn’t know you had a lil’ brother,” you said with a tilted grin, eyes switching between kei and akiteru. in response, akiteru ruffled kei’s hair, making the boy scowl and try to slap his hand away. you giggled in amusement. “he’s grumpy.”

kei gave you a nasty look. “am not.”

your beaming smile didn’t falter at the glare he gave you. you were perfectly unfazed by it, and to kei’s surprise, you only laughed more. “you’re funny.”

kei’s face bloomed a slight shade of red.

“s’bout time. i was about to close,” your dad sighed as he handed you the packs of meat buns.

you knew that was a lie. he always liked night shifts at the shop.

“even if you did close the shop, i’d feed them,” you hummed, looking behind you. your friends were outside, all standing in front of the glass door of the shop. yachi was laughing with hinata while kageyama sipped his milk peacefully. farther away from them was yamaguchi and tsukishima; the green haired boy was trying to speak to the other, but the blonde was too busy on his phone.

“whatever,” keishin managed a small smile as you turned back to him. “don’t stay out too late.”

“i won’t. thanks, dad.” you gave him a short side hug before you made tour way back outside, blind to the growing smile on your father’s face.

“oh my god, i love you!” hinata took the pack from you and began eating it almost immediately. you scrunched your nose as you saw part of the wrapper disappear in his mouth.

“hinata you ate like half of the paper—!” yachi yelled in panic, her hand smacking hinata’s back as she tried to get him to spit it out.

you turned to kageyama, handing him his meat bun with a close lipped smile. he squished his milk carton with one hand, his free one taking the meat bun from you. “... thank you,” he managed a smile, and you laughed.

it wasn’t as scary as his smile before you left. then again, you never really minded his smile.

you walked over to yamaguchi and tsukishima, both of whom were talking intently between themselves.

“you can’t keep this up— y/n!” yamaguchi’s freckled fave bloomed red as he forced a smile, his expression immediately changing. wordlessly, you handed the meat bun pack to him.

“what’re you guys talking about?” you found yourself asking, eyes daring to meet tsukishima’s for a second before meeting yamaguchi’s once again.

“none of your business, ukai,” tsukishima answered before yamaguchi could. you stiffened at the use of your last name; he never used it before.

“tsukki!” yamaguchi scolded, but you only smiled.

god, tsukishima hated it when you smiled. he hated how his glare, which was supposed to be nasty and full of hatred, would falter at the sight of it.

“it’s whatever,” you shrugged, playing off your feelings, “enjoy, you guys.”

┈┈ 𑁍༅ཾ༚ ┈┈

of course he was the last to leave.

you wanted to curse whatever god was in the skies that made him the last one to leave. the awkwardness hung in the air, and you could’ve easily just chosen to go inside the shop and he could’ve just gone home, but you were both frozen in your spots.

you two were sitting on the curb, making sure that there was a distance between you both. the only light was the flickering street lights and the dim lights of your shop behind you both.

you both could’ve just left. so why didn’t you?

“we haven’t—“

“shut up.”

your mouth shut and your gaze returned to your feet.

why wasn’t he leaving? why weren’t you leaving?

how could he still be so mean? this is kei, but still.

your confusion slowly turned to anger as your fists clenched harder and harder, before you snapped your head towards kei and finally let it out.

“what the hell is your problem?”

to your surprise (and anger), he only shook his head, letting out an incredulous laugh.

“really, ukai? you have no idea?” kei didn’t even look at you as he chuckled, his glasses nearly slipping off his face. “you’re as dumb as you look.”

“i’m not a fucking mind reader, kei,” you seethed in response, your eyes never once leaving his form. all the sadness that he once been caused by him turned into pure rage; his blunt words didn’t help. ���so tell me. what is your problem?”

“fuck off,” kei snapped, standing up from his seat and shoving his hands in his pockets. he began to walk away without another word.

“no, tell me.” you stood up after him, your tenacity getting the beat of you as you followed him. “kei—“

“i told you to stop calling me that!” kei turned to you, meeting your eyes for what fet like the first time in forever. he was angry, that much you knew. his brows were knitted together as he looked at you, and his eyes held nothing good behind them. yet, despite all of this, you stepped closer. “leave me alone, ukai.”

“i just—“

“what, you want it to be like old times? you want me to accept you with open arms and a big fucking smile?” kei took a stop closer to you. he saw the way your lip was quivering and how you hid it by pulling it between your teeth. his haze was stone cold, and no matter how much he wanted to say, “i’m sorry for being such an ass,” he did nothing. kei was driven by the hurt you caused him before you left and the pain he went through by keeping his own words to himself. you left.

“leave me alone, ukai. i mean it.”

the first time you argued with tsukishima kei was when you were in middle school.

you had accidentally stepped on his favorite dinosaur figurine when you were dropping off his notebook at his house. in an immature fit of rage, kei told you to get out while he desperately tried to fix it.

his brother gave him that figurine before he left for college. of course it meant a lot to him.

you had come back to next day with a dinosaur plushie that you had bought with all your chore money. you had messily embroidered a small moon on the stuffed t-rex’s chest, and you had shoved it to his chest when he opened the door.

you didn’t like accepting defeat, but this was an exception. “i’m sorry, please accept this as a token of my affection.”

kei remembered that he had responded with a judgmental raise of his brow, but you had cut him off before he could make fun of you.

“i spent all night making that damn moon. accept it or die, kei.”

he walked away again.

you only stood in place, your eyes watching his form leave as you clenched and unclenched your hands. you wanted to scream. you wanted to find a punching bag and punch the living daylights out of it, but all you did was watch him go.

“y/n?”

you tensed up at the voice, and you turned around towards the voice. tobio kageyama stood right behind you, his hand reaching down for the pack of pencils he seemingly forgot before he left. knowing him, that was probably all the pencils he had.

“you’re crying,” the setter said dumbly, standing up at full height as he looked at you with a concerned frown. what else was he supposed to say?

you managed a laugh as you aggressively wiped your tears away. god, you hated crying. “no shit, genius.”

kageyama stepped closer to you as you continued to wipe your eyes. you laughed tearfully once again.

“i don’t even know why i’m crying,” you felt more tears flow down your cheeks as you hurried to wipe them away again. once again, you laughed. “it just keeps coming.”

quietly, kageyama pulled you closer to him, his arms holding you close as you continued to softly cry. your words of, “the tears won’t stop. why isn’t it stopping?” were muffled as you cried into his sweatshirt.

┈┈ 𑁍༅ཾ༚ ┈┈

A/N: again, sorry for the late update! writer’s block sucks ass :(

TAGLIST: @grapesauze , @neijiwave , @whothefuckstolemykeds , @sugakuns , @lexysclubhouse , @bakibakini , @animeanxiety , @kodzu-ken , @ukhyeonn , @sana-li , @differentballooncollection , @thechaosoflonging , @scrappydaisies , @nnessworls , @emogril , @killuaking , @vinnieluv , @kageyamas-whore , @helloshoutohere

prologue, pt. 1, pt. 2

[harrytpotter]

RIGHT PLACE, WRONG TIME — Part V

Plot: Y/N finds herself trapped in a time in which she doesn’t belong only to learn that maybe that was her place all along.

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mild cursing.

A/N: First, sorry for the delay in posting this! I had some personal things going on and didn’t have the time to stop and write. Also, this chapter is a little shorter than usual because it’s mostly a filling-in one! Thanks everyone for your thoughts about this imagine so far, hope you guys enjoy this chapter! ;)

Once you arrived for transfiguration, the class had already started. As you entered the room, McGonagall glared severely at you. You mutter a quiet apology as you start walking to your usual sit next to Lily. However, before you could approach the redhead, a paper ball hits you in the head. Turning on your heels with a fulminant look on your face, you’re met by Amos’ amused smile. As you frown confused, he pointed to the seat next to him.

“Did you really have to hit me in the head with a paper ball?” You roll your eyes at him, whispering as you sat down.

“Well, I figured that it’s only fair that we spend more time together since we’ve been seeing each other,” he grinned playfully, mimicking double quotes with his fingers.

“You’re such a delight, Diggory,” you roll your eyes at him again, this time with a grin on your face.

You diverge your attention from him when your eyes land on Lily, who looked at you quite seriously. She didn’t say anything but you could hear her ‘what the hell?!’ loud and clear inside your head. Lily then motioned in James’ direction. Once you looked at him, you felt your stomach sink. He was staring at you and Amos with a sad expression, the hurt so clear in his eyes. You lower your head, awfully aware of the disappointed glances you were getting from all of your best friends, who rightfully stood by James’ side.

“Why don’t you just tell him the truth?” Amos says after studying your face for a while.

“Amos, please, we’ve been over this already,” you bury your face into your hands.

“Have we? Seriously, Y/N, I think you’re making a terrible mistake here. You fancy each other, besides it’s clearly bloody killing you to see him hurt like that,” he frowns worriedly.

“Why are you so worried about my wellbeing or James’ for that matter? It’s not like you and I have been friends forever,” you say a little harshly, trying to change the subject. “Sorry, I’m just... so bloody frustrated.”

“That’s okay, really. But to answer your question, I’m a sucker myself for a good love story,” he grins teasingly, lifting his brows and earning a laugh from you. “And as odd as it may sound, I do care about you, L/N. You’re just... extremely likable.”

“I’m sorry, are we disturbing the two of you?” McGonagall’s voice startled you and Amos. She had a brow lifted and her nostrils were dangerously inflated.

“Oh, please! You could never bother us, Minnie!” You joke as you realize all eyes were on you and Diggory, so you had to pretend everything was fine. “You do teach the best subject in the school’s curriculum after all.”

“Then I suggest you two quit chatting and start paying attention to my class,” she shoots back. Her lips were pressed in a thin line but you could swear you saw a shadow of a smile creep in there for a split second.

“I’m afraid Miss L/N won’t be paying much attention to your class today, Professor McGonagall,” Dumbledore’s voice waved from the doorstep. He had a serene and kind smile on his face. “Can I borrow her for a second?”

“Thank Godric!” You mutter to yourself, a sudden relief washing you. You were finally going to get back home, to your easy, romantically boring and happy life alongside with Harry, Ron and Hermione. Weren’t you?

McGonagall sighed heavily and shrugged before motioning for you to go. You quickly got your stuff together and followed the Headmaster to his office.

***

“So, can I go home already?” You ask barely waiting until you crossed the doors, your heart beating faster and full of hope.

“Not yet, I’m afraid,” Dumbledore offers you a sympathetic smile, sitting on his chair and pointing the one in front of him for you.

“But, sir, I’ve been here for weeks already,” you furrowed your brows in despair, occupying the offered seat.

“Time-turners are very temperamental and complex devices, Miss L/N. It can take some time before it gets fully functioning again; I told you that,” he interlaced his hands, lowering his head a little so he could look straight into your eyes.

“Pardon me, sir, I don’t want to sound rude, but... If you didn’t summon me here to bring me home, then why am I here at all?” You ask curiously.

Dumbledore just smiled at you whilst taking a few seconds to think. “I thought you could use the talking.”

You open your mouth but shut it immediately as you see him lifting a brow at you. You lower your eyes, thinking of what to say. You knew Dumbledore wanted to know why you had this rush to leave — given the dozen owls you sent him along the week — when you had a lot of close friends in this current timeline who you’d definitely miss and would definitely miss you as well. But how were you supposed to open up to him? How were you supposed to just open your mouth and say ‘yeah, you see, I fell in love with my best friend’s dad and ‘m actually besties with his mom as well, ha! Talk about double betrayal!”

“How is Mr. Potter? — James, I mean,” he asks bluntly, adding the latter after he noticed you were about to deflect the real question by mentioning Harry.

“He’s... alright, I guess,” you shrug, trying to look unimpressed.

“Is he? I don’t think that anyone who doesn’t have their best friend by their side can be classified as alright,” he smiled, his glare intense from behind his half-moon spectacles.

“Godric, you really do know everything that happens inside these walls, don’t ya?” You look at him in awe, genuinely impressed. “Sorry, sir, I mean no disrespect,” you add suddenly, earning an amused laugh from him.

“I like to keep myself up to date, yes. But in all seriousness Miss L/N, why do you think you’re here? Why do you think you came back to this specific time in history?”

“I... I wish I could know,” you whisper.

“What is the most powerful magic in the world?”

“Yours?!” You shrug, unsure if he meant what you thought.

Dumbledore laughs, grateful for your compliment. “Though I appreciate the compliment, the most powerful magic in the world is love, Y/N.”

You stare at him, sadness taking over your face as you were lost for words once again.

“Allow yourself to remember, Miss L/N,” Dumbledore smiled warmly at you.

***

Dumbledore’s words were floating on your mind as you walked aimlessly through the castle. He was known to be quite mysterious and it didn’t surprise you that he left you with an apparently senseless puzzle in hands instead of telling you exactly what you needed to do. Well, if he did, it wouldn’t be him. At first you had thought that you had to bring Lily and James together, due to the whole love-is-the-most-powerful-magic thing. But then he had told you to allow yourself to remember. Remember what, exactly?!

“Oh, fuck it!” You huffed in frustration, running both of your hands through your hair and sliding down the wall until you were sit on the floor. You shut your eyes and kept them that way in hope that once you opened them again, you’d wake up from this horrific nightmare.

You heard someone sitting beside you, but you still didn’t dare to open your eyes. It was probably Remus, Sirius or Lily, worried about you and ready to give you a lecture about the poor choices you had made in the last 24 hours. When the person slid their arm over your shoulder, you felt at ease. Your body could recognize his touch without flinching.

“You alright, love?” James asked you when you rested your head on his shoulder.

“No. Are you?” You finally opened your eyes and studied his face. His jaw was clenched and he was staring at the wall in front of him. No jokes, no warm smile. His eyes didn’t have the usual spark of eagerness. His nearly arrogant confident vibe was gone. He almost didn’t look like himself. You sighed heavily.

“Not really,” he rested his head on top of yours, reaching for your hand.

“I’m sorry. I really am,” you said sincerely, interlocking your fingers in his.

“I miss you. I just... i can’t lose you, okay? Not now, not ever,” he sighs.

“Me too. Not having you in my life every single day is the shittiest thing that could ever happen to me, Potter,” you hug him. James finally laughs and plants a kiss on top of your head.

“Same here, sweetheart. I don’t think I can be myself if I don’t have you around. You’re... part of who I am,” he smirks softly.

You rested your forehead in the crook of his neck, your thoughts fuzzy, wishing you could just kiss him right now and allow yourself to be truly happy for the first time in your life. But being the loyal friend you were, of course you suppressed this impetus you felt whenever he was around once again.

“Come on, let’s head back to the common room and let everyone breathe a sigh of relief that we’re on speaking terms again!” He joked after a while, getting on his feet and helping you to do the same.

As you made your way into the castle, James took your hand in his. You debated with yourself wether or not you should take it away, but it felt so right that you just shook the thought. Before he could say the password as you reached the Fat Lady portrait that guarded the entrance to the Gryffindor tower, you squeezed James’ hand. “Jamie...”

“Yeah?” He gave you a smile when he turned around to face you. The same smile that always turned your legs into melted jelly and caused your heart to beat like a drum.

“Promise me we’ll never loose each other again,” you say, hugging him and smashing your eyes shut.

“I couldn’t let you go if I tried,” he hugged you as tightly as he could. “You’re too bloody important to me.”

“Are we okay?”

“Always.”

The two of you just stood there in each other’s arms, enjoying the moment as much as you could before reality came smashing into your faces. And it didn’t take long to do so.

“Alright lovebirds, are you planning on moving any time soon or you’ll just stand there blocking the entrance forever?” A bored sixth year asked.

Blushing, both you and James let go of each other and muttered an apology, whilst the fellow Gryffindor rolled her eyes with an amused smirk.

“Just get together already, it’s getting quite embarrassing to see you painfully longing for each other year after year,” she shrugs before disappearing into the hole, leaving you and James with a dumbfounded look behind.

“Quite the crowd we have, huh love?” James asks with a laugh after seeing your pink-toned face.

“I think we just became more fascinating and eagerly awaited than the quidditch matches,” you frown playfully, bitting your lower lip whilst trying to shrug off the burning feeling in your cheeks.

James stared at you with a side smirk, his eyes lowering from yours until landing on your lips. The lips that he wanted to kiss every second of every day. The lips he wished belonged to him, but bitterly remembered it was now Diggory’s.

“What’s wrong?” You squeeze his shoulder as you noticed his smile fading and his face falling.

“Nothing, love. Let’s get inside,” he forces a smile before he too disappeared into the portrait hole. You stood there for a while, partially happy that you got your friendship with James mended, but also scared that it was only going to break your heart even more, and his own in the process.

“Are you coming in dear?” You hear the Fat Lady voice from beside you.

“Yeah! I’m just... sorry,” you shake your heard confusedly before crossing the frame yourself.

———————————————

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