#anyway hope you like it i have labored over this for a bit

[choerrypuffs]

red velvet hearts.

pairing: bad boy!donghyuck x baker!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

synopsis: you patch up a boy with a bloody nose and bruised knuckles, only to find out that he has quite the sweet tooth.

author’s note: why do i keep injuring hyuck in all my fics lmao??? anyways i tried to write his character a bit differently than i usually do to challenge myself so please let me know how you guys like it! also remember, ladies: this is fiction. you cannot fix him <3

warning(s): brief description of injuries, mentions of violence, maximum amounts of cringe and melodrama

playlist: all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine ― heart eyes by coin ― close to you by gracie abrams ― sidelines by phoebe bridgers ― the alchemy by taylor swift

RECIPE 1. TIRAMISU

“This is not what I meant when I said you need your back blown out.” 

“Not funny. I almost died,” you grumble as you wrap the back brace around your torso. You hate the immediate relief you feel from the support it provides, no longer able to tell yourself that it’s really not as bad as it seems―which only makes you angrier. 

“Throwing your back out while lifting a giant bag of flour and nearly getting crushed to death by said flour is genuinely the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Yeri, your best friend (derogatory), snorts as she shakes her head. “I wish you had cameras in the storage room because I want to see that shit so bad.”

“Thank you for the brace. You can get the hell out now.” You roll your eyes. 

“So, what are you going to do now? Aren’t you swamped with orders?” Yeri asks, ignoring you completely. 

You have no clue what you’re going to do now. It isn’t just orders you have to worry about fulfilling; it’s also the freshly baked pastries that you have to sell every morning. After a year of blood, sweat, and tears, the bakery that you built from the ground up is finally starting to gain some stable business. So, of course, you chose now of all times to try to lift a bag of flour over your shoulder like you were Dwayne The Rock Johnson. 

“I think I’ll have to hire some temporary help,” you answer begrudgingly. 

“You could sound less like someone is holding you at gunpoint,” Yeri snorts, “Come on. It had to happen sooner or later anyway.” 

“I was handling things just fine on my own.”

“Were you, though?” Yeri raises an eyebrow, gesturing to your current state. 

You fear you walked right into that one. “Shut up and help me make some posters.” 

The two of you eventually manage to whip up some haphazard “Help Wanted” posters, the letters written in glitter pen and Yeri’s clumsy bubble text. You tried your best to fill in the empty gaps on the construction paper by placing Pompompurin stickers that you normally give to customers’ kids all over it. The posters look like a nine-year-old girl’s school project gone wrong, but you hope it’s charming enough to catch some attention. 

By the time you and Yeri finish hanging up all the posters, the sun is already starting to set, and all you want to do is go home and put a heating pad on your back. After saying bye to Yeri, you start making your way back to the bakery to lock up. Once you arrive, you notice a figure dressed in black slumped over in front of the door. You can see their shoulders rise up and down as they take in labored breaths, leaning against the glass door for support. 

Every rational fiber in your being screams at you to not approach the stranger alone, but it’s not like you can just leave this person at the front of your place of business. Cautiously taking a step forward, you squat down to eye level with the stranger, wincing slightly from back pain. Through the sweaty and matted mess of his brown fringe, you can see that the stranger is a young man around your age. However, his face is absolutely battered: bloody (and almost certainly broken) nose, split lip, black eye swollen shut, and a jagged cut on his cheek. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t show it, keeping his head hung down.

Gingerly placing a hand on his arm, you give him a small shake. “Excuse me? Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?” 

His brows furrow, and he opens an eye (the only one he’s probably able to open) with a wince before lifting a finger and putting it against his lips. You notice that his knuckles are completely scraped raw. 

“Not so loud. I’m okay,” he answers. 

“You don’t look―” 

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles with a guttural growl that slowly drawls into a sputtering gurgle before dying out all together―leaving a long silence to hang between the two of you.

After another beat, he gives you a sheepish smile. “You got anything to eat?” 

You stare at him for a moment; his face is flushed, pink all the way down to his neck. 

And like a stupid horror movie character who opens the door to a room that clearly screams danger, you nod. 

.

.

.

Fortunately, he―Donghyuck, as he introduced himself―ends up not being a crazy ax murderer. 

Unfortunately, you find yourself awkwardly sitting in your closed bakery with a virtual stranger, fiddling with a first aid kit while watching him absolutely devour a piece of leftover tiramisu that you had in your fridge. If the situation wasn’t so insane, you might actually think it was pretty funny. For someone who looks the way he does, this current picture of Donghyuck absolutely doesn’t suit him―bruised chipmunk cheeks stuffed with ladyfingers and cocoa powder stuck on his split lip. 

When he’s finished, Donghyuck looks over at you with a mesmerized expression on his face, as if you just fed him ambrosia. There’s a softness to his face that you didn’t think could exist underneath all that grime and dried blood. 

“That was…delicious,” he breathes. 

“Thanks,” you snort, pushing a glass of water towards him. Unsurprisingly, he chugs it in the blink of an eye. “I still think you should get those injuries checked out, though.” 

“Nah, I’ll rub a little spit in them and it’ll be fine,” he shrugs. 

“Don’t be gross,” you sigh, scooting your chair closer to him as you set the first aid kit on the table. “Now, come here.” 

Donghyuck reluctantly dips his head, and you carefully cup his jaw for support, disinfecting and applying ointment on the cuts and scrapes on his face. You also clean up the dried blood near his nostrils and on his bottom lip, and he doesn’t flinch even when you accidentally brush tender areas like his broken nose or the gash on his mouth. Instead, he stays perfectly still, leaned back in the chair with his forearms resting on his thighs and fingers nonchalantly laced together. 

He keeps his gaze trained on something past your shoulder, and you also try your best to focus, but it’s hard to keep yourself from staring―especially when his demeanor has changed so much. He’s so calm and quiet in such a cold, ruthless manner, as if he’s physically steeling himself from pain―like he’s done this a million times before. Occasionally, you feel his eyes swipe across your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention, and it occurs to you how close the two of you are. Suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the heat of his skin against your palm and fingertips, and you rip your hand away from his jaw. 

Clearing your throat, you move onto his hands, dabbing his raw knuckles with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol before placing large band-aids on them. Despite your best efforts, it’s hard not to notice how slim his long fingers are or how surprisingly clean his nail beds are for someone who’s covered in blood. You keep your head completely bent, fighting the urge of looking up and possibly meeting his eyes. 

“There, all done,” you announce a little too loudly. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, “for the cake and for this. For helping me.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t do much,” you blurt, still avoiding eye contact as you clean up the table. However, you notice in your peripheral that his gaze follows your movements, almost hesitantly, before he asks: 

“So, you’re hiring?” 

You click the first-aid kit shut, blinking a few times before turning back to him. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

“I―yeah. How did you know that?” you ask, puzzled by such a random question. 

Donghyuck points at a poster that you didn’t even know you left here, sitting on the table right behind you. You realize that he was probably looking at it while you were patching him up. 

“That poster that says ‘help wanted.’ With the Pompompurin stickers. I’m actually in between jobs right now, so if you would have me―”

“You know Pompompurin?” you interrupt him. It’s not that important and should not stand out to you as much as it does. Yet, you can’t help but grin at the fact that someone like him knows about a tubby Golden Retriever character with a name that sounds like a mashup of the English language’s most adorable onomatopeias. 

Donghyuck trails off, stiffening as if you just found out his deepest, darkest secret. He opens his mouth slightly, trying to speak but unable to formulate a response―an excuse, rather. Instead, he just lets out an airy cough, putting a hand over his mouth and turning away from you in an attempt to obscure his face. Despite his best efforts, he can’t hide his glowing red ears and the way his earlier coldness melts away.

“I―yeah,” he responds, words slightly muffled by his hand. 

You struggle to maintain your composure as you gnaw on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. Fighting a smile in your voice, you finally say: 

“The pay won’t be that much, but you’ll get a bunch of free desserts at the end of the day. Are you okay with that?” 

It takes him a moment to process that you’re offering him the job, and you watch his eyes light up and a warm smile overtake his face. There’s still a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks, clashing with the purple bruising and swelling of his injuries. 

“I’d love nothing more.”

Suddenly, it occurs to you that Donghyuck somewhat reminds you of a tiramisu. 

He may look a bit rugged and grimey, bitter like coffee, but in actuality, underneath it all, he’s soft and fluffy (but not too sweet) like a mascarpone filling. 

RECIPE 2. BLUEBERRY PIE

“Are you out of your mind?”

You cringe away from your phone, hurriedly turning the volume down. “Damn, you don’t have to scream like that.” 

“You should be the one screaming,” Yeri hollers. “I better not come over one day and find your body stuffed in the freezer or something.”

“I thought you wanted me to hire someone!” 

“Not some random dude off the side of the street who was covered in injuries and doesn’t even have any baking experience,” Yeri hisses. 

“I don’t need him to bake. I just have him working the front counter and doing all the heavy lifting when I get my ingredient shipments,” you protest. “Did you think I would really just hand over all my orders to some random dude and go party it up in Cancún or something?” 

Yeri is silent for several seconds before asking, “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

“What?”

“So you did know what I meant when I said you needed your back blown out.” You can hear the smugness in her voice. 

“Yeri,” you say tiredly, “please be serious.”

“I am serious. You’re the one being unserious,” she retorts. “Yesterday, you acted like you would rather sacrifice your firstborn child before hiring a part-timer, and now look at you. Dickmatized.” 

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“So, when do I get to meet him―”

You quickly hit the button to end the call and shove your phone into your pocket, letting out an exasperated sigh. You definitely won’t be hearing the end of that for a while. Your face feels warm for some reason, and you decide that you need a coffee break. After you finish making it, you pour yourself and Donghyuck a cup. 

You peek your head out from the curtain that separates the kitchen and the front counter to see if Donghyuck is busy. He’s politely chatting with an elderly woman, and your eyes nearly pop out of your head when he takes out the entire tray of egg tarts in the glass display and wraps it up for her. The woman happily hands him a wad of bills and waves him goodbye. After putting the cash in the register, Donghyuck turns around and catches you in the middle of gawking. 

“Oh, Y/N. I was actually just about to head back there. We’re out of egg tarts for the display,” he says nonchalantly. 

“Uh, yeah, I can see that,” you whisper loudly, “Was that Mrs. Kim? Why the hell did she order a dozen egg tarts? That woman can barely finish a single cookie.” 

Donghyuck blinks, clearly confused, whispering back, “She asked for my recommendation, so I said egg tarts since no one had bought any yet, and she said she would take all of them.” 

You pause, things finally clicking. Grinning knowingly, you say, “You know, having you work the front is doing wonders for sales.” 

“I don’t understand.” He furrows his brows. 

You laugh, handing him his cup of coffee. “I’m talking about your face card, Donghyuck. You’re too handsome, so you’re flustering the customers.” 

“Are we not whispering anymore?” he asks awkwardly. “Besides, that’s not true. Look at the state of my face right now.” 

His injuries have faded significantly, but the bruising and cuts are still there. You want to tell him that superficial wounds can’t mask the warmth in his caramel-brown eyes, the fullness of his cheeks and the sharp jawline, and the air of mystery that enshrouds him and draws people in. 

But you don’t. 

“Well, for someone who’s only been working here for two weeks, you’re doing superb. Injuries or not.” 

And it’s true. You’ve always preferred to work alone because you’re the only one who understands how you want things done. You naturally assumed it would be a hassle and a waste of time to try to explain to someone else when you could just do it yourself, but Donghyuck never seems to need an explanation. In fact, he knows before even you. 

He gets to the bakery three hours before you, cleans and preps all the equipment you need for the day, unloads the ingredient shipments, and is already manning the front counter by the time you arrive like it was no big deal at all. He also seems to have a sixth sense of knowing when you’re about to do something you shouldn’t be, even though you downplayed your back injury. He’s somehow always there―moving all the stuff you keep on the top shelf to somewhere within your reach even though you insisted that the rickety wooden step stool you use is perfectly safe, cleaning up a glass beaker that you accidentally shattered, taking out the trash during his breaks, checking in on you when you skip lunch. He even turned down his first paycheck, saying it’s repayment for patching him up and feeding him. 

Donghyuck is so perfect that sometimes you wonder if you’re being set up, like maybe he’s secretly embezzling money from the cash register―which would be a more viable theory if he didn’t drive an Audi to work everyday. 

“Thanks for the compliment. And the coffee,” Donghyuck says, snapping you out of your thoughts. He gingerly takes a sip and makes a strangled noise, a mixture being choking and retching, before slapping a hand over his mouth. 

“Are you okay? Was it too hot?” you ask worriedly. 

“No, it’s just…really bitter,” he mumbles, words muffled in his hand. 

“Oh,” you blink, “Sorry. I drink black coffee, so I forgot to ask if you wanted creamer and sugar. Come on, there’s some in the back.” 

The two of you head to the kitchen, and you watch him dump an exorbitant amount of creamer and sugar in his coffee, the dark roast swirling into something more akin to milk tea.

“You know, there might be some chocolate milk in the fridge if you’d rather that,” you tease. 

His head shoots up, those doe eyes lighting up. “Really?” 

“No,” you trail off awkwardly, “Sorry, I'm just messing with you.” 

It’s a bit adorable that you can visibly see him being disappointed in there not being chocolate milk before growing embarrassed, looking down at his cup. He turns away from you, but you can see the flush on the back of his neck. 

“You really have a sweet tooth, huh?” you laugh. 

“Pretty lame, right?” 

“Why would that be lame? You’re talking to someone who owns a bakery, in case you forgot.” 

Donghyuck smiles at you, and it’s sugary sweet like buttercream frosting. He looks at you like you just said the most wonderful thing in the world; in fact, he always makes you feel like that, no matter what you say or do. “I guess you’re right.” 

“What’s your favorite dessert?” you blurt, needing a distraction urgently. 

He pauses briefly. “I don’t think I have one.”

That actually surprises you. “You don’t? Even though you love sweets so much?” 

He laughs, the sound harsh and rough, and it almost makes you flinch. “I’ve never really had an opportunity to have many until now.” 

There’s clearly weight behind his words, but you know you’re not in a position to ask any further. A selfish part of you wants to be important enough to him that you are in a position to know more, but you’re all too aware about him very purposefully keeping you at arm’s length. 

“Well, you have plenty of time to find out,” you quickly continue, pretending not to notice. “Actually, I’m going to a blueberry farm tomorrow because I’m thinking about adding blueberry pie to the menu. When I get back, I’ll bake one for you, and you can be the first to taste test it!” 

“You’re going by yourself?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. 

“Of course. Who else would I go with?” 

“Me. I’ll go with you,” he replies immediately. 

“But it’s, like, a forty-five-minute bus ride to the farm. Plus, coming with me to get ingredients isn’t part of your job description anyway,” you explain. 

“I can’t come with you on my own free time?” he asks, tilting his head. “Besides, I’m worried about you overexerting yourself with that back injury. A bumpy bus ride definitely isn’t going to help, so I’ll drive us there.” 

“You’re going to drive that fancy ass car to a farm? You do realize it’s going to be dirt roads, right?” You cross your arms. 

“I think I’ll live. Besides, what makes you think this is the only fancy ass car I own?” He gives you an amused smile. 

“You’re joking, right?” You stare at him. 

He hesitates for a moment. “Yes.” 

“That doesn’t sound―”

“What time are we leaving tomorrow morning?” 

“...Seven.”

.

.

.

Unsurprisingly, Donghyuck picks you up right on time, not a minute too early or late. As the universe would have it, it rained the night prior―meaning all the dirt roads are now rivers of mud. You wince every time you heard a splat of mud hit Donghyuck’s pristine white car, but he seems to pay no mind to it. The two of you arrive at the farm within twenty minutes (he found a shortcut), and because you came so early, you get the entire farm to yourselves. The staff arms both of you with a large wicker basket each before setting you loose onto the massive property. 

“Okay, make sure to pick the fat ones. The small ones are super tart, so avoid those,” you instruct Donghyuck. “We’re going to fill these baskets to the brim and get our money’s worth.” 

“You got it, Captain.” He salutes. 

You give him a determined nod and a thumbs up before turning to your respective side and beginning to pick the blueberries. The two of you work without much fanfare or conversation, and it’s a silence that lingers between you comfortably. It reassures you to hear the sound of the bushes rustling from Donghyuck working; his companionship alone relaxes you. 

Eventually, when the sun starts peeking through and the weather grows warmer, both of you decide to take a break. You find a spot in the shade before sitting down, pulling out snacks and bottles of water from a backpack Donghyuck brought along. 

“I have a surprise for you,” you tell him, trying to hide a smile. “Close your eyes.” 

He eyes you suspiciously but does so anyway. You fish out a handful of unripe blueberries wrapped in a handkerchief from your pocket and feed some to him. His reaction is nearly instant the moment he starts chewing them; you watch as his face puckers up from how sour they are and his entire body shrivels into itself, a shudder running through him. He’s polite enough to not spit them out, but you’re not polite enough to resist pointing and laughing at him. Throwing your head back, you laugh so hard that your stomach starts to hurt. 

“Oh my God, your face!” 

“Ugh,” Donghyuck groans, taking a big gulp of his water. “I should’ve known you had sinister intentions from the start.” 

“I didn’t think you’d react like that,” you finally manage to say after catching your breath. “You really can’t handle anything except for sweet stuff.” 

“Are you having fun bullying me?” He rolls his eyes. 

“So much fun,” you say in a sing-song voice. 

Donghyuck tries to continue feigning annoyance, but he can’t help the low chuckle that rumbles in his chest. His eyes always soften when he looks at you, and his gaze is intimate like a lover’s―gentle, tender, unwavering, and vulnerable. But his warmth is always fleeting, and he only allows you glimpses of it through the unmoving walls that he’s erected around himself. 

You wish he wouldn’t indulge you so, terrified you’ll try to cross the line he’s drawn between the two of you. 

“What are you thinking about?” Donghyuck asks, trying to read your expression

“About the delicious pie I’m about to make when we get back,” you smile. 

“I see,” he responds, though it’s clear he isn’t convinced. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“You better be. This is how I’m paying you back for driving me here,” you nod. 

“Instead of that, pay me back by telling me what your favorite dessert is,” he suddenly says. “I do still want the pie, though.” 

“That was random,” you snort. “Why do you want to know my favorite dessert?”

“Because you asked me, but you never told me yours.” 

You suppose he has a point, but you find it ironic that he wants to know more about you when he refuses to offer you even a modicum of information about himself. Despite this, you tell him anyway because you are obviously the fool here. 

“If you must know, it’s red velvet cake,” you sigh. 

“Why?” 

You don’t answer at first, carefully thinking about if you’re ready to be vulnerable in front of him―still a virtual stranger. A virtual stranger who loves sweets. A virtual stranger who is a bit of a messy eater. A virtual stranger who knows Pompompurin. A virtual stranger who worries about you even when he’s not on the clock. A virtual stranger who gently tells you to be careful whenever you try to do something dangerous, whispering, “I’ll do it instead.” A virtual stranger who allows his luxury car to be caked in mud for you. 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life,” you finally say. “I baked it for my mom’s birthday, and I think I ended up being more excited than her.” 

Donghyuck stays quiet, gauging your reaction. 

“I was in college, studying to be a doctor like everyone else in my family. So, like a dumb young person who thought that dreams were more important than money, I dropped out of college and went to culinary school. My parents told me I was ruining mine and their lives, disowned me, yada-yada―a bunch of depressing stuff, you know. Eventually, I graduated, took out a huge loan, and opened up my own bakery. Worked a bunch of part-time jobs until my business could stand on its own. Now here I am. Still in debt, though,” you laugh awkwardly. “But I’m not doing too shabby. I was able to hire you, so at least I have a little cash to spare.” 

He still doesn’t say anything, so you find yourself starting to ramble. You’re really not sure what possessed you to trauma dump on him like that. 

“You know, a lot of people talk shit about red velvet cake because they say the only thing that makes it special is the red food coloring,” you hurriedly explain, “but that’s not true. The cream cheese frosting is super important too. Also, I always say love is the most important ingredient of all. As a baker, you’re kind of baring your heart to the customer, and isn’t it kind of cute that red velvet cake is red like a heart? Okay, please say something now or else I think I’m going to projectile vomit.” 

Donghyuck reaches over and brushes a sweaty lock of hair out of your face. His fingers brush over your temple, which makes you sharply suck in a breath. You almost lean into his touch, but you catch yourself. His hand slightly lingers on the side of your neck, like he wants to bring your face closer, but he eventually pulls away. 

He searches your face, and you’re not sure what he’s looking for―if anything. Rather, perhaps he’s not searching. Perhaps he’s committing your features to his memory, as if the way you look right now is something he wants to remember forever. 

“You’ve worked hard, Y/N,” he says softly, voice slightly hoarse. “This is long overdue, but congratulations. You achieved your dream, and don’t let anyone ever discount that. Not even yourself.” 

You wonder how long you’ve waited to hear that. You’re not even sure you knew you needed to hear that. But when Donghyuck says it, it hits you just how long and hard you’ve worked all on your own without a single break. Throughout the years, you’ve really only ever heard, “I’m sorry that happened.” When was the last time someone congratulated you? When was the last time you congratulated yourself? 

You surge forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his shoulder. Donghyuck cradles you against him, one hand wound tightly around your waist while the other is tangled in your hair. You can feel his chest rise up and down as he holds you. He smells like lavender soap and a bit earthy from being outside, and the warmth of his skin against your cheek makes you want to close your eyes and fall asleep in his arms. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“No, thank you,” he murmurs into your hair. 

You’re not sure why he’s thanking you instead, but what you are sure of is that you’re crossing the line, taking a step towards him and wondering if he’ll meet you halfway. 

.

.

.

“Tada!” you announce cheerfully, setting down the freshly baked blueberry pie onto the table. 

Donghyuck claps excitedly. “Holy shit, it looks amazing.” 

“I’m still trying to figure out the right portions for the filling, so let me know if you think there’s too much or little,” you tell him as you hand him a slice. 

Without even answering you, he stabs his fork into the pie and almost eats the entire slice in one bite, seemingly unbothered by the steam still rising from it. 

“Be careful. You’re going to burn your tastebuds off. I’m not letting you eat it for shits and giggles, you know. This is for research purposes.” You cross your arms. 

“It’s perfect, Y/N. I’m serious,” Donghyuck says after swallowing. “The filling isn’t too sweet, and the crust is airy and light.” 

“Well, alright, Gordon Ramsay. I think we’re going to be adding a new menu item then,” you smile. “Think you can get Mrs. Kim to buy a dozen of these?”

“I don’t think she’ll need much convincing with how good these taste.” 

“You’re so easy,” you tease. “All I need to do is feed you. Anyways, I’m going to clean up here, but you should head home. It’s getting late, and you wake up way earlier than me.” 

“I’ll help,” he insists. 

“Go,” you order, pointing at the door. “I can handle it.” 

He looks conflicted but eventually relents when you threaten to physically kick him out. Before he leaves, he turns back to you and says, “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Why do you keep thanking me?” you laugh. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had this.”

“What? A blueberry pie?”

Donghyuck pauses, a slight wonder in his expression, as if he’s realizing his answer for the first time as well.

“Peace.” 

And you think maybe this is a step forward for him too. 

RECIPE 3. CREAM PUFF

It’s quite surreal how easily and naturally you and Donghyuck fall into a routine together. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, two weeks becomes two months. You’ve learned the little things about him, like how he always swipes some icing before you can fill up the piping bag or that he’s not a coffee drinker at all (more of a hot cocoa person) or that he purses his lips when a dessert he’s testing tastes off (no matter how hard he tries to hide it) or that he involuntarily sticks his arm out in front of you when he wants to stop you from doing something you shouldn’t. 

You also notice that he sometimes comes into work with injuries. They’re not nearly as bad as the first time you met him, but it’s hard to ignore a bruised cheek or bloodied knuckles. He always has a reason for them, whether it’s tripping down the stairs or accidentally falling down and scraping his hands on the concrete. You can tell by the way he laughs it off that he doesn’t plan on telling you the truth, so you laugh with him. The two of you, having taken only a step towards one another, find yourselves completely immobile now. 

He always does this: envelops you like a cloud but disappears the moment you reach out for him. 

You’re honestly not sure why he’s still here. Your injury has long healed, and he clearly doesn’t need the abysmal pay you’re giving him. He feels like he’ll slip away at any moment, fleeting like a warm spring breeze, and you suppose time flies by when you know it’s limited. Despite knowing that, you can’t help but desperately want him to stay. 

“I think it’s cute how hard he’s working,” Yeri randomly says one day as she eyes Donghyuck prepare orders in the front. He’s in the middle of a lunchtime rush, so he doesn’t even notice the two of you watching him like weirdos.

“Well, that’s what I’m paying him to do,” you reply, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh, I think the money is the least of his worries here,” she hums, taking a sip of her coffee. 

She has a point, but you’re pretty sure she’s implying something else as well. Just as you go to ask her what exactly she means, you hear a loud clatter. Flinching, you turn your attention back to Donghyuck and realize that he’s dropped a tray on the floor. However, the tray is the last thing on your mind when you see the expression on his face. It’s a mixture of horror, anger, and almost sadness―like he’s finally come face-to-face with whatever he’s been running from. It makes your blood run cold. 

Donghyuck is looking at a boy around his age; the boy has dark hair, a mole under his eye, and a grim expression. More importantly, he’s covered in injuries too. 

“Who is that?” Yeri whispers. “Why does Donghyuck look like he’s seen a ghost?” 

Maybe because he has, you want to tell her. 

Donghyuck grabs the boy's arm, squeezing so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and mumbles something to him. When he turns around and meets your eyes, he looks pained and fearful as if you witnessed something you shouldn’t have.

“Is it okay if I take my break early today?” he asks calmly, though the tremor in his voice gives him away. 

You nod hesitantly, unable to force yourself to speak. You watch him as he drags the boy out; when he passes you, you can tell how tightly his body is wound right now. His jaw is clenched, a muscle spasming as he tries to control himself, and every step he takes seems labored. He’s running on pure adrenaline right now, like he’s physically steeling himself. 

However, you don’t think he’s ever appeared so incredibly alone before. As you watch his back disappear further and further from your view, you’re unsure if he’ll ever return, and you never imagined how terrifying that would be. 

.

.

.

The cream puffs aren’t rising.

You’re crouched in front of the oven, watching the dough remain flat and lifeless. You should’ve known better than to attempt to make cream puffs on such a shitty day, especially when pastries like these are so sensitive to the environment and atmosphere. Even though you know you should probably just scrap them and try again, you wait for just a little longer, hoping that maybe if you wish hard enough that they’ll magically start to rise. 

But then again you suppose that no matter how hard you try, no matter how careful you are, no matter how perfect the batter is, no matter how much time you spend time piping them, no matter how much you want them to rise, they won’t. 

You decide that Donghyuck isn’t like a tiramisu at all; he’s sensitive and delicate and elusive and frustrating like a cream puff. 

“Y/N, they’re burning.” 

Losing your balance and nearly falling over, you gasp loudly. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even hear Donghyuck walk into the kitchen, nor did you smell the undeniable scent of something being burnt to a crisp. 

“Oh, fu―!” you curse, hurriedly opening the oven and casually suffocating both you and Donghyuck with a hot plume of air. Sputtering, you look around and grab a random rag from the sink before reaching for the cream puffs. 

“Wait, stop!” Donghyuck stops you with an outstretched arm, his hand pressed to your side. “Let me do it.” 

He gently takes the rag from your hand and removes the tray of charred cream puffs from the oven, dumping them into the trash before putting the tray in the sink and running some water on it―just how you like it. 

Letting out a relieved sigh, he turns back to you and asks, “Are you okay? It’s not like you to make a mistake like that. You didn’t get burned anywhere, did you?” 

When you don’t answer immediately, Donghyuck rushes forward and grabs your hands, carefully examining your fingers and arms. “Wait, are you hurt? Where? Tell me where you got burned. We have to cool it down with some lukewarm water. And don’t just say you’re fine. Burns are not a joke, Y/N―why are you looking at me like that?” 

His hands are calloused and rough, and you can still see scabs from where he tore his knuckles, yet he touches you like you’re the delicate one. He’s covered in fresh and old wounds, yet he looks so panicked at the thought of you having a scratch. 

“Shut up,” you whisper furiously, ripping your hands away from him. “From now on, don’t ask me another question. It’s my turn to ask you questions.” 

He blinks, a bit stunned by your reaction, but it’s clear he knows what you’re about to say. He goes to reach for you again but decides against it. “Okay.” 

“Who was that guy?” you demand. “Why are you always covered in injuries? Why did you lie to me? Who are you?” 

“He’s an old friend,” Donghyuck starts quietly. 

“Do you treat all your friends like that?” 

“When I don’t want to see them.” 

You wait for him to continue.

“Before I met you, he and I and a few of our other friends worked…odd jobs for cash,” he explains, and he looks like he’s choking on every word. “The jobs usually entailed us hurting people and also getting hurt. I did a lot of shit I wasn’t proud of. At the time, I didn’t really care. It was just nice to feel something, whether it was the adrenaline rush from doing the punching or the pain from being punched. I got a bunch of money, bought a bunch of expensive stuff, but none of it mattered. Eventually, I just felt nothing again. I didn’t even have the energy to loathe myself anymore. So, I took one last job, got the shit kicked out of me, and then I left. That’s when you found me―”

He inhales, and his eyes flicker towards you. He gazes at you so longingly, as if you were impossibly out of his reach, that you can’t help but involuntarily take a step towards him. 

But he steps back. 

“I thought that working here would make me feel like a human being again, but I didn’t realize how much I would―” He pauses again. “I thought working here would be a nice reset for me, but I naively thought that I could completely leave my past behind. My friends eventually found me, and I guess I care about those reckless assholes more than I thought because they managed to convince me to take on a few more jobs with them. That’s why I’ve been coming to work with injuries. But I’m done. I cut them off for good when they walked into this bakery. I don’t want…I don’t want our past to tarnish this place. I want to keep this place a beautiful, warm, and pure safe haven that you worked so hard for it to be. That’s why I lied to you, Y/N. I’m a coward to the bone, and I was envious of you. I was ashamed to admit it to you. You, who had the courage to chase after your dream. You, who had the kindness to help a good-for-nothing asshole like me. I only want you to have happy memories from now on, and I am not one of them.” 

“Are you going to leave?” you ask softly. 

“I probably should,” he answers shakily. 

“What’s stopping you?” 

“Just…one reason.” 

“When you say it like that, it makes it sound like the reason is me.” 

Donghyuck laughs bitterly, and his eyes drag across your face like every movement hurts him.

“You know it’s you. It’s always been you.” 

When you reach for his hand, he turns away like just the warmth from your body heat burns him. So instead, you take a step back. 

“I won’t ask you to stay, Donghyuck, I won’t chase you. I’m going to wait right here, and it’s up to you if you're going to meet me halfway.” 

RECIPE 4. RED VELVET CAKE

When your alarm clock goes off the next morning, you seriously consider just not showing up to work. It’s not like you can be fired for being a no-show when you’re your own boss, after all. 

And it’s not like you have any employees who will be expecting you. 

You’ll just apologize to Mrs. Kim and your other regulars later. You’re allowed to have a day where you just rot in bed and feel sorry for yourself. 

However, no matter how much you tell yourself that, you find yourself crawling out of bed and getting ready anyway. You can’t seem to brutally crush that small glimmer of hope that Donghyuck might still be there, no matter how hard you try. When you see yourself in the mirror, you recoil in horror. Your eyes are almost swollen shut from the amount of crying you did last night, and your face is sallow and lifeless. 

So much for putting on a brave face, you think wryly to yourself. You tried so hard to look tough, when in reality, you bawled your eyes out and even considered praying to God for Donghyuck to stay. It’s a humiliating and humbling reality check. 

“Stand up right now,” you sharply tell yourself in the mirror. “He’s just some guy. Get it together.” 

You do your best to clean up your appearance and make the trek over to the bakery. It takes another internal pep talk before you can make your way to the door. After you finally walk up, you see that the lights inside are off. Your stomach sinks, and your eyes start to burn. Even though you’re holding the handle, you can’t bring yourself to open the door. It’s an outcome that you expected, yet you wonder why it hurts so badly. 

“You liar,” you mumble to yourself, “You said you only wanted me to have happy memories.” 

Once you make your way inside, you numbly head towards the kitchen, trying to remember what exactly you have to do today. Oh right, now that he’s not here, you also have to make sure all the ingredients are prepped first. 

When you walk into the kitchen, you do a double-take. 

The whole place looks like it’s been completely ransacked: used pans and utensils piled up in the sink, two opened boxes of cake mix, containers of ingredients without lids on on the tables, random lumps of flour and egg shells strewn about― 

And right in front of the oven is Donghyuck, flour in his hair and frosting on his nose. He’s holding a cake stand with…you think it’s supposed to be a cake on it? The shape is mangled and haphazardly cut, but it has echoes of a heart. The frosting is a hot mess, as if a bird with diarrhea shat all over the cake. The batter is clearly underbaked and makes the cake look gooey in a bad way. 

“Um, I promise I’ll clean all of this up in a second, but I wanted to surprise you,” Donghyuck starts awkwardly. “It’s not perfect, but I tried making a red velvet cake for you.” 

You stare at him, still not sure how to react. 

“You once said that baking is like baring your heart to the customer and that love is the most important ingredient of all,” he laughs softly to himself. “I think love is the only ingredient I managed to get right, but I’m baring my heart to you now, Y/N. I’m sorry I hid everything and lied to you, but I’m in love with you. Hopelessly so. All my life, I’ve chased a feeling, not knowing what it was. But now I do. I don’t think I knew how to feel until I met you. I never once thought I would ever have a purpose in my life, but you make me want to be a normal, proper member of society. Your dream is my dream. I want to wake up at 5AM and sell egg tarts with you for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.” 

Donghyuck sets the cake down on a table in front of you, and you notice that his fingers are dyed red from the food coloring. It almost reminds you of when you first met him, except his injuries have been replaced with red food coloring, flour, and cream cheese frosting. 

“This cake is terrible,” you smile, “how did you butcher it that badly when you used cake mix?” 

You watch him blush all the way down to his neck, as he sheepishly looks away. “Don’t make fun of me. I really tried my best. I stayed up watching tutorials―” 

Leaning across the table, you cup his face with both hands and kiss him, brushing your thumbs across his cheekbones. He tastes like frosting, hot cocoa, and your prayers being answered. The way he kisses you back is bruising, dizzying and knocking any coherent thought out of your head, his hands finding your hips and anchoring you to him. He kisses you like you’re the sweetest and most wonderful thing he’s ever tasted.

When you finally pull away, it takes you a moment to regain feeling in your legs. Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, lips brushing against yours once again as the two of you try to catch your breath. 

“I think I’m going to have to fire you, though,” you whisper. “You know, with me being your boss and all. The power dynamic is too weird.” 

He hums, pausing for thought. “Then how about I become your business partner?” 

“What?”

Donghyuck reaches into his pocket and fishes out his wallet, pulling out a shiny and fancy-looking credit card. He hands it to you without much fanfare. 

“I have a lot of money, you know. So I’m going to invest in your business. Use it as you’d like,” he casually announces.

You stare at him, your jaw hanging wide open. He never tried to hide from you that he was rich, but he never told you that he was rich rich. 

“Well, damn! Why didn’t you show me this earlier? I would have forgiven you a lot sooner,” you tease, slapping him on the arm. “Are you sure you want to give this to me? I’m quite the gold-digger, you know.”

“When I told you to use it as you’d like, I meant me as well,” Donghyuck replies, shrugging.

“You’re insane.” You hope he can’t tell how much your face is burning up. 

“I guess I am,” he laughs, and you don’t think he’s ever looked so free. You want to tell him that you hope he only has happy memories from now on too. You want to tell him that you’ll rewrite all of his scars with sugary and fluffy desserts so that they won’t ever hurt again. 

And for the first time in your life, you feel it too.

Peace. 

EXTRA

“So, have you figured out what your favorite dessert is?” 

Donghyuck stirs slightly, groaning, as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. He slips his hand under your shirt (well, technically it’s his shirt) and rests it on your bare hip bone. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” 

“Because I’m curious.” 

“If I answer, will you let me rest?”

“Depends on how good your answer is.” 

“Blueberry pie. That’s my answer.” 

You smile against the crook of his neck. 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life.” 

[dduane]

I have been trying to write fic (well, smut) set in a world where certain things are slightly different to serve the fic's plot.

However, each time I try I have run into a problem: my head insists I need to justify the changes - I need to know comprehensive details about how the world works so I can ensure everything is consistent and not too f'd up.

So I get bogged down, and don't write a word. What do?

In your position, I’d sit down and write myself a bible.

This is how I did my prep for Barbie: Fairytopia.* And how I’ve done it for various works of fic presently on AO3… and how I’m doing it right now for the new Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rats of Sumatra III project. I was taught this art by my animation story editors at Hanna-Barbera, and it’s stood me in good stead. (Peter and I pulled down our first miniseries assignment from a company that told us “we gave great bible.” And that was true.) 😄

When I say “bible” I don’t necessarily mean something that thick! (Though some of mine have been pretty hefty, with one TV project’s bible running more than a hundred pages… because I knew I had skeptical and underinformed TV execs to convince about something historical.) For the kind of purpose we’re describing here, your prep bible could be quite short: maybe looking like a bullet-pointed “shopping list”, five or ten pages long. It can be just as long or short as it needs to be to cover all your salient points.

The idea is simply to put down, in concrete form, a list of the main “different things” you need to know and remember about your alternate universe when you’re working in it. This is where you do your justification work, in as much or as little detail as you need to convince yourself you’ve got the necessary bases covered. The virtual “stage manager” who sits at the back of the theater of the Writing Department in your mind, judging when things are right, will be your guide here, and will advise you as to when you’ve got enough and it’s time to stop. And once this stuff is down on the page, you’ll be a position to judge critically whether everything makes enough sense to work with, and slots together correctly.

This is also a bit like (for the prose part of a project) outlining, in that it’s incredibly freeing. Once you’ve got this background nailed down, you know you can safely turn your attention away from it and get down to the serious business: drama, and the character interactions that express it. (And inevitably as you’re doing the bible writing, you start getting ideas for how the substrate you’re laying down is going to affect the conflicts between and among the characters. The bible stage can be incredibly fruitful this way.)

It would be facile to describe the bibling process as “getting the easy part over with first”. Because sometimes it’s not easy! But it’s worth doing first, because having done this first relieves you of the ongoing anxiety caused by knowing you may have to keep inventing or rationalizing stuff on the fly. (Which can produce the kind of micro-blocks that a writer can generally really do without.) …Not that you’re not going to be inventing things on the fly anyway: that’s a normal part of the writing process. But the biggest and most obvious issues will have been handled already, and you’ll know they have; which is always a weight off one’s mind. And the fewer of those weights you have loading you down, when you’re in the midst of the labor of composition, the better.

Anyway, give it a shot and see how it works for you. And then you can, like the rest of us smut writers, get on to the really pressing business: making sure you haven’t lost track of where all the characters’ arms and legs (and things) are when you’re writing those hot steamy sex scenes. 😏

Hope this helps!

*ETA: My remit on this job did include creating a bible for them. But I write a rough-draft one for myself first, including various meta that I needed but they didn't.

[azzibueckers5]

chapter 1: i wanna know peace again (wanna sing a different song)

(ao3 link)

azzi realizes (with some gentle prodding) midway through her rookie wnba season that maybe she and paige were more than best friends and she just didn't know it. except they haven't really talked in more than a year. cue a mini crashout and some major life re-evaluation. and a lot of wine. (wc: ~5k)

chapter 1: in which azzi discovers the dangers of combining wine, well-meaning but invasive questions from friends, and the call feature on her iphone

AN: um hi hello! this is my first ever published fic so please be kind 🙏🏻i'll try and shorten the manifesto authors note i have in ao3, but basically this is just meant to be a silly little story! i don't think this is canon in any way i just really like angsty gays being stupid, so. this would theoretically be during azzi’s rookie season (so summer 2026) and operates under a reality in which p+a are very much not together and were never messing around, so make some mental edits to the pazzi timeline if you so please. i hope you enjoy this little labor of love ❤︎

it starts, as many things do, with dinner and one too many glasses of wine for azzi. she and a few teammates had decided to have a girls' night- a real girls' night, as aaliyah had called it, meaning dinner at a nice, secluded cocktail bar downtown during their few days off. they were grown ups now, or at least pretending to be, and what better way to celebrate getting through half of the season than by getting wine drunk and munching on slightly overpriced hors d'oeuvres. 

they’re mostly through their food at this point, which is to say, pleasantly tipsy, maybe even teetering on the edge of drunk, and azzi leans back into the booth with a contented sigh, lazily sipping on the remaining wine in her glass. 

kiki and georgia are discussing kiki’s new boyfriend, and azzi is only half paying attention, finding the buzz in her system making it difficult to really enjoy hearing the phrase “ i’m just so in love with him ” for the third time in the last five minutes. 

georgia is amused though, and azzi lets her handle it, up until georgia turns to her and asks, “what about you, fudd? got anything going on over there? any new suitors?” 

azzi rolls her eyes, sighing. “no ma’am. answer hasn’t changed since the last time you asked it.”

it should bother her, really, how little action she gets, how uninterested in casual dating she’s been. but she’s content, for the most part, with her friends and her family and the occasional one night stand. sometimes it feels like her friends are more invested in her dating life than she is.

“come onnnn, when’s the last time you dated someone,” kiki pipes up, and azzi thinks here we go again.  

“bro i don’t know. the whole dating and boys thing isn’t for me, okay,” she whines, and even though that’s the truth, dating has never been something azzi cared about, the words feel a little sour on her tongue. 

she glances at aaliyah, who’s looking at her curiously. 

“what?” she asks, at her imploring gaze. the wine is making her bolder, more inclined to be blunt about her disinterest in boys, and she thought aaliyah kind of understood that about her, anyways.

aaliyah opens her mouth, as if to say something, and then closes it, and azzi feels herself flush a little bit, though she doesn’t really know why. aaliyah is looking at her like she can’t quite figure something out, and it unnerves her. 

azzi squirms, and repeats “no really, what? now you have to tell me.” its followed by a chorus of agreement from the other two girls, and aaliyah sighs. 

“how many times have you been in love? we got kiki over here yappin’ about her second guy of the year and yet i’ve never heard you interested in a guy for more than a week.” she says it like she’s trying to clue azzi in on something, yet all she can focus on is the first part of the question. and she’s embarrassed . 

she flushes, and tries to ignore the anxiety that her biggest insecurity raises to the surface, steeling herself for her answer. her limited dating experience has never been embarrassing, because she’d always been a busy athlete and could brush it off as something she never had time for. but being 23 and never having been in love was secretly something that kept her up at night. 

the wine makes her bold, though, so she lifts her head and mumbles out a quick “i’ve never- i’ve never been in love.” 

the table is silent for a brief second, her words sinking in, but instead of shock or judgement gazing back at her, azzi is met with confusion and almost amusement . 

kiki is the first one to speak up. “well we know that's not true.” her tone is playful, as if azzi is kidding.

azzi stares at her blankly. “what d’you mean?” she laughs a little at their disbelieving looks, and then adds, “don’t rub it in. it's not exactly something i’m proud of.”

still, she’s met with unnerving eyes. finally, aaliyah blurts out “i mean. we know you and paige…” she trails off without finishing, but the damage is done.

“what the fuck are you guys on about?” she immediately says in response, half laughing, trying to lessen the tension. she ignores the way the unexpected mention of paige cuts at her heart. they haven’t spoken in, god, probably two or three months at this point, and the reminder twists something ugly in her chest as she waits for what promises to be a weird joke that falls flat. 

all three faces peering back at her seem entirely humorless though, and azzi starts to get the idea that she’s missing some sort of crucial piece of information. “i wasn’t in love with paige,” she gets out, ignoring the way her voice catches on the name.

aaliyah’s face softens. “we don’t have to talk about it of you don’t want to but… you don’t have to hide that from us, azzi.” 

she splutters in response. “you guys don’t actually think that-” but the look on their faces belays that, in fact, all three of them somehow think that azzi was in love with paige.

 “guys. come on. that was just some weird internet theory. paige and i were just best friends.” she’s defensive now, because what the fuck is going on. 

her pulse is buzzing under her skin, no longer from just the wine, and she suddenly feels like the restaurant around them is really quiet, and everyone is listening in on this conversation. the ac must not be working properly either, because she’s sweating, legs sticking to the leather of the seat below her. 

georgia, graciously, breaks the silence, but the relief is short lived when azzi hears the nonsense that comes out of her mouth. 

“azzi, come on, i wasn’t even with you guys at uconn and i know you were more than friends. you don’t gotta pretend in front of us.”

and then kiki is chiming in with “i mean everybody kinda knew it…” and azzi feels like god is playing some kind of twisted prank on her. 

she turns back to aaliyah, hoping she can defend azzi, except her face looks a little horrified. like she’s realizing that in fact azzi wasn’t aware that everyone thought they were more than friends. she looks for support anyways, knowing that aaliyah had seen them at uconn, had understood that they were just intensely codependent and not dating, for the love of god. 

“c’mon, tell them we were just friends,” she pleads to the older girl, expecting back up on at least this. 

“azzi…” she trails off, and azzi can only gape at all of them. “i mean, you guys were attached at the hip. you had sleepovers like 4 times a week…” she trails off, and azzi realizes three things in quick succession. 

one, aaliyah thought her and paige had been actually, truly dating, or hooking up, or something. two, this means that probably multiple other people on the team also thought they were something. and three, if kiki and georgia also thought that… somehow azzi had missed the memo that not only did random fans on the internet think they’d been in love, but that everyone had. she feels like she’s going to throw up. 

“you guys are wrong. we were just best friends,” she says, with as much conviction as she can muster, and it is the truth, even though her audience is making it feel like a lie. they had been just best friends, truly, except . 

except the one night azzi can’t remember , after the championship, when she’d woken up in paige’s hotel room with a blinding hangover and spotty memory. that in itself hadn’t been weird, but the mark on her collarbone had been new, and the way paige wouldn’t meet her eyes had been different, and, and. azzi shuts down the thoughts of that horrible morning and ensuing weeks.

she blinks back into the restaurant to look at her teammates, and she sees the dawning realization on their faces that she’s telling the truth, or most of it anyway, and they all look, well, a little shell-shocked.  

she asks for clarification, even though she knows the answer already, “i mean did everyone- did everyone think we were-” she can’t even finish the sentence, and doesn’t need to. She gets three nods immediately, and the playful mood that had existed at their table only minutes before has evaporated into the low lights above them. 

and they’re all wrong, they all have to be wrong, because azzi isn’t even really into girls, and hadn’t been in love with paige, because she would have known. surely she would have known, or at least someone would have mentioned it to her. this feels like a bad dream that she can’t wake up from, because now she can’t stop thinking about paige, and how much she misses her laugh, and the curl of their fingers together, and how they haven’t gone this long without speaking since, well, ever. 

she forcefully shuts down thoughts of the blonde, because she’d been so good at blocking out how much she missed her, and this conversation is just messing with her wine-addled mind. she had not been in love with paige. she just hadn’t been, couldn’t have been. 

“you guys are wrong,” she says, extremely convincingly. because it's true, obviously. and the looks she receives in response are disbelieving, but they seem to understand that this isn’t something azzi wants to get into right now. 

“okay. if you say so,” kiki replies gently, words laced with pity, and azzi hates everything.

she nods, trying to ignore the fact that she kind of feels like crying, and manages to get out an “i do” without her voice cracking. 

aaliyah gives her a long, searching look, before deciding to drop it. mercifully, she begins asking georgia about the date she went on a couple nights before, and the attention shifts. 

for the short rest of the dinner though, azzi is lost in a subtle, wine-induced panic. the girls leave her alone to her thoughts for the most part, seemingly understanding that she doesn’t have much to add, and she sighs in relief when the bill gets paid and the ubers begin to be called. 

outside, the muggy dc air hits her face and does nothing to cool the heat that's been simmering in her veins. as they disperse in front of the restaurant to go their separate ways, aaliyah hesitates for a second before climbing in the car that's awaiting her. “if you ever want to talk about it… you know i’m here right?”

azzi doesn’t have to ask what she means. she nods, and pastes on the most convincing smile she can muster. “i’m fine, really, lili. there's nothing to talk about.”

at her disbelieving look, azzi rolls her eyes. “really. i mean it.” she pauses, and then allows a meek “but i’ll let you know if i change my mind.” 

aaliyah hums, and reaches out to squeeze her hand, before finally climbing into her car. “if you say so, fudd. g’night. love you. i'll see you at practice.”

“'night. love you too,” she responds, and shuts the door gently, before looking up and searching for her own uber. 

the drive home is spent staring out the window trying not to cry. and it doesn’t make sense, she wasn’t in love with paige, but for some reason, out of all the times she’d ever been accused of dating paige, this one has rattled her the most. 

she’d always thought that the rumors had been kind of funny, in a ridiculous, distant way, and though they’d stopped joking about them as they’d gotten more intense in the later parts of their friendship, azzi had always thought that paige kind of thought they were amusing too. 

except, now that she really thinks about it, she’d stopped joking about the speculation because it used to make paige fidgety. and azzi had always thought it had just been because the rumors were so rampant, that it was awkward because they were so wrong, but now this stupid dinner and the stupid wine is making her not so sure. 

but no. she knows she wasn’t in love with paige. because. because she would have known. 

her mind feels like it's going at a million miles a minute, flashes of paige’s smile and the way her head would always come to rest on azzi’s shoulder, and how safe she’d always felt next to paige, and-

her impending anxiety attack is put on pause when the car gets to her building, and as she thanks the driver and heads up into the elevators, she tries to reassure herself that it's just the wine, and the surprise information that it hadn’t just been strangers thinking they were together, but friends, close friends , too. 

and it's already late, but when she is finally engulfed by the silence of her apartment, azzi does the only thing that she thinks will bring her any sense of clarity and drags her phone out of her purse.  

katie picks up on the second ring (she ignores the part of her that’s first instinct is still to call paige when anything is wrong because god fucking damn it ), and azzi feels moderately better at her mom’s familiar “hello” on the other side of the line.

“hi,” is the only thing she can come up with in response, and she mentally curses her vocal cords for breaking on the singular word. so much for not revealing to her mother that she’s upset. 

“azzi honey, are you okay?” comes the response, gentle with concern. and she is, she is okay except she kind of feels like the rug has been ripped out from under her, and she just needs her mom to tell her that everyone else is crazy. 

“i’m fine, i’m okay,” she releases, but that feels like a lie so she continues. “can i- can i ask you a question? and you can’t. you can’t laugh or think it's stupid or whatever.”

katie hums in confusion on the other side of the line, and azzi just needs to say it before she loses the confidence of the wine sliding through her system.

“did you ever- did you ever think i was in love with paige?”

from the strangled sound on the other side of the phone, it's clearly not what she expected azzi to ask. 

“azzi. sweetheart. did you- were you not?” and that. that gets her to finally shed the tears that have been brewing since dinner. 

her panicked “no!” sounds a lot less convincing than she intends it to be, and she doesn’t- she doesn’t understand what the fuck going on. 

katie’s voice is gentle when she continues, understanding the fragility of the moment (and azzi’s sanity ) and she states quietly, “i mean. i always thought the two of you were a little bit in love with each other. less so when you were younger, but. azzi . i mean, you guys lived out of eachothers pockets for years. i always kind of thought you guys were more than friends.” her words are soft, like she knows azzi can’t handle anything else, but they still pierce her heart like knives against a target.

and what the fuck ever. 

she’s really crying now, though she’s trying to keep it quiet and preserve the barest amount of pride she has left. it's just. everything everyone is saying isn’t making any sense because it's impossible to be in love with someone without knowing it. 

and yet, here azzi is, on the phone with her mother and maybe possibly coming to the realization that maybe she and paige weren’t exactly the most platonic of friends and it's at least a year too late. and then that last thought hits her square in the chest: the fact that she and paige haven’t been alone in the same room together in over a year, haven’t called in maybe longer, that it very well might be too late, and then her tears aren’t so silent anymore. 

she lets out a sob over the phone and her mom’s voice sounds worried when she says “oh, azzi. we thought you guys broke up last year. you never wanted to talk about what happened and we just assumed you were dating in secret and something happened. you’re telling me you weren’t- you never…”

she cuts her mom off with another “no!” and this really might be the worst thing that’s ever happened, because her mom thought they were dating. and then, because she needs to know for sure she asks again, voice thick with tears “so you think. you think that i was in love with paige?” 

there’s silence on the other side of the phone for a second, as katie processes how to respond. and then her mom must hate her or something because all she says in response is “honey, only you can answer that question. but i think that if you’re asking me, then you already know.” 

and, well, she’s right. and isn’t that just fucking awesome.

after hanging up on her mother and swearing up and down that she’ll call tomorrow when she’s more calm and coherent and not losing her fucking mind , azzi takes a long, still slightly tipsy shower. 

she thinks of paige six different times in the span of twenty minutes and contemplates slamming her head against the tile walls. 

it’s as if aaliyah had uncovered this part of azzi’s brain that had been locked away, unbeknownst to her, and now that it was released it was determined to wreak as much havoc as possible. 

she knows she won’t be able to sleep right away, the buzz of adrenaline, alcohol, and unexplored feelings too potent to let her rest, so she does probably the dumbest thing she can think of and grabs a bottle of wine and the blanket that paige bought her when she was 17 and plants herself on the couch. she figures she deserves the pinot something-or-other that someone had gifted her when she’d had her little housewarming party in the spring. 

and then she’s reminded of said party, and the last minute invite she’d sent to paige as a peace offering, as a plea for normalcy. the older girl had been in the area, azzi knows because drew had mentioned it to her brothers, and she hadn’t exactly expected paige to show up and be normal, relaxed and funny paige, azzi’s paige, but she also hadn’t expected the text saying she couldn’t come with a half hearted excuse. 

that had been the nail in the coffin for azzi, the sign that she should stop trying. because as much as the unanswered texts and awkward interactions after uconn visits and stilted hugs after team trips to watch the wings had hurt, the realisation that paige had decided not to be there for azzi on a night that was supposed to be a celebration of her accomplishments had made her understand how wide the gap between them had really grown. paige had never chosen not to be there for azzi. 

and now she’s beginning to understand that it had been heartbreak, in its truest form, that had settled into her bones that day, not merely disappointment. she’d cried in the bathroom at her own party, briefly, when she’d realized that paige wasn’t coming, and. 

and so many things about their relationship are starting to make sense. 

the way they’d told each other everything except anything to do with love interests or hookups because it was an unspoken rule between them that the other didn’t want to know. the way azzi had been completely comfortable with nudity in front of teammates except around paige, always turning around when the blonde was changing and vice versa. the way they didn’t gone more than a couple hours without communicating unless one of them was asleep for like. eight years. the way paige had slotted so seamlessly into her life that she’d felt like family, except the word sister had never seemed like an appropriate word for what they were to each other.

and then. and then azzi is suddenly angry. angry at herself for not figuring this out sooner. angry at her friends for never informing her that she was in love with her best friend. and most importantly, she was fucking furious at paige. because the more she thinks back at their relationship, and the good and the bad, the more she realizes that paige had to have known. she’s struck with the thought that paige had probably been in love with her too, but instead of comfort, all azzi can feel is the grief of losing her before they were ever even something more, and the fury at paige for letting them fall apart . 

because it had been paige that had stopped responding to text messages. paige who had subtly put a stop to any and all physical contact that azzi had tried to instigate. and it had been paige who had started and ended their dizzying, agonizing conversation about the championship night. 

azzi knows she’d fucked up by refusing to aknowledge the fact that they had definitely kissed, definitely more than kissed that night. except it had been hazy. she couldn’t remember the details of how they’d gotten from the after party in the hotel to paige's room. she couldn’t remember what they’d said or done or even what the time frame of that night had looked like. she only remembered blurry snapshots of paige’s mouth against hers, and the feeling of her hands tangling in the blonde’s hair, and the proof, stark against her chest, that paige's mouth had moved lower and meant it.

and then azzi hadn’t acknowledged it the next morning, because what on earth do you say when you’re pretty sure you made out with your best friend of eight years but you can’t actually remember. and paige had been in a horrible mood, and they’d fought, like they never did, about something entirely unrelated, and azzi had been blindsided, like she was missing something throughout the entire argument. 

and now. azzi is starting to understand that it hadn’t been that paige didn’t care when she’d put distance between them, flitting off to the league and leaving calls and texts unanswered, but that she’d cared too much. 

still, this doesn’t make azzi feel better, and she’s pissed. because how very dare paige fuck off without telling azzi that they’d been in love, and leave her to think that paige hadn’t needed her. 

she must be drunker than she thought she was, because suddenly her anger boils over and she’s doing probably the stupidest thing she possibly could, which is picking up her phone and dialing the number still pinned at the top of her contacts list. 

its late now, like beyond a reasonable time to be calling anyone, let alone your ex best friend who you don’t speak to anymore, but somewhere in azzi’s hazy mind she knows that paige is an hour behind and that she always picks up the phone for azzi. 

it rings four times, and each one causes her heartbeat to pick up even faster, and azzi doesn’t know what would be worse, paige answering or paige not. (she does know. it's not the former)

and then the line clicks midway through the fifth ring and paige says “azzi?” and azzi hears her voice for the first time in months, since they played each other in may and could barely look at eachother, and all the fight and anger that was simmering in her blood seems to disappear at how broken her name sounds coming from paige’s lips. 

she can only muster up a strangled “hi” into the phone, really eloquent, azzi, great job , and she realizes when she says it that she’s crying again because she sounds like she’s crying , and isn’t that just perfect. 

immediately, azzi can sense the shift in paige’s energy over the phone as her voice rings out in a worried “azzi? are you okay?” and azzi has forgotten entirely why she called in the first place or what to say.

“no, yeah, m’fine,” she answers, but she know she doesn’t sound convincing, and wow, okay, this pinot something-or-other must be like, at least 15% because azzi then blurts out a pitiful “m’just drunk and i miss you.”

paige exhales sharply into the phone, the ensuing silence deafening, and azzi feels humiliation curl in her gut, regretting everything between the day she was born and now that has led her to this moment. 

but then paige says, weakly, her voice slightly muffled over the distance, “i miss you too, az. so much.” 

she expects to feel relief at the words, the knowledge that paige misses her too, probably just as much, but it’s only a reminder to azzi of how badly they’ve fucked everything up. 

and then she suddenly remembers that they have an away game in dallas, in only a week or so, and she really needs to get a grip but instead she hears herself speaking again, before she can process the words. “when i’m in dallas next week, can we maybe-”

she’s cut off by a woman’s voice in the background, on the other end of the phone, asking, “paige? are you still staying over?” 

azzi feels like she’s been thrown off the side of a mountain. 

or rather she wishes she was thrown off the side of a mountain because that probably feels better than the absolute devastation currently coursing out from her heart and into her bloodstream and clogging her lungs. 

she makes a choked off sound in the back of her throat, just as paige stammers out an uneven “can you give me a second?” her voice sounds distant, because it's not meant for azzi, and for the second time in the span of a minute, azzi regrets being born at all. 

she hears movement through the phoneline, imagining paige moving through this unknown woman’s house, and fuck, why hadn’t she considered this? that paige had moved on? here azzi was, finally figuring out her shit, and calling paige in the middle of the night like some desperate ex-something and paige might have had a whole girlfriend. 

azzi feels bile rise in her throat. 

somehow, she musters up the courage to croak out “no paige, it's okay. you go. i’m sorry for calling so la-”

“no, no, azzi, it’s fine, it's never too late for you,” and. well. that might just be the fucking joke of the century.  

“no, really paige, it's okay. i need to sleep too.”

there’s resigned silence between them for a second, and azzi thinks paige is going to simply hang up, and then the older girl whispers “were you gonna ask to hang out? in- in dallas?”

azzi’s “yes” is embarrassingly quick to tumble from her lips. 

paige lets out a quiet laugh, and it's brief and small, and really probably more of an amused exhale through her nose than anything else, but she laughs, and azzi feels the twisted fluttering of hope bloom in her chest, despite herself.

“okay. text me tomorrow, then. if you really want to do something.” there's a challenge in paige’s words, like she doesn’t think azzi will, and that stings, a little, but she tries not to let it. 

“i will. i promise.” a pause, and then when the other girl says nothing, “g’night paige,” she whispers, and she means that promise. she knows she’s drunk, and she guesses there might have been a similar exchange all those horrible months ago, hence paige’s quiet mistrust, but she knows in her bones that she’ll remember this tomorrow, that she’ll want to see paige.

“goodnight, azzi. sweet dreams.” and then, the dial tone. 

in the silence of the room, masochistically, azzi realizes that that’s the first time they’ve hung up the phone without saying i love you since they were fifteen. the irony is not lost on her. 

she falls asleep that night curled up into a ball, cheeks wet and the blanket paige got her still tucked around her feet.

AN: ummm thank you for reading! and please tell me how you liked if you so please! i am a people pleaser to my core so it might make me write faster. there should only be one more part and i'm about halfway done writing it! i hope this inspires you freaks to post stuff on ao3 bc it is NEEDED. xoxoxoxo

update: chapter 2

[tender-rosiey]

to be honest, idk how you did it but you truly got me stoked over heian era husband! sukuna. i hate the man with most passion (bcs of what he did in the manga), but i couldn't help but giggling, crying, kicking my feet with butterflies in my stomach every time i read your husband!sukuna stories. your writings are *chef's kiss*, i read all of those more than twice already.

idk if you're currently open for request or not, but i want to ask, are you comfortable writing angst/hurt no comfort stuffs? bcs my mind keeps imagining what and how the husbands (gojo, geto, sukuna, nanami) react to their wife (y/n) got klled right in front of their eyes? perhaps bcs of their enemies or something, the enemies know you are their weakness (imagining sukuna, the king of curses, who's feared by most, or satoru who's known as the strongest — turns out have a weakness that he himself perhaps is not aware of is so mindblowing(?)) anyway, you don't have to write it if you're unable to, no worries and no pressure!!

"YOU— WHO I HAVE LOVED TILL LOVE BURNED"

— when you die in front of gojo, geto, nanami, and sukuna

a/n: hehe i am so glad that you like my heinaera!sukuna MWUAH 💕 we gotta ignore what he is doing in the manga 🧍‍♀️ also sorry in advance y’all, but I lowkey had a blast writing this; hope you like this anon <333

GOJO SATORU:

satoru stood outside the operations room, anxiously tapping his feet on the floor.

he clutches his hands tightly, and his eyes are trained on the door, fixated on your cursed energy that he can feel through the door.

you were going into labor, after long 9 months of waiting.

the two of you were going to finally meet your baby girl. the same girl that the two of you would talk to at night, whispering and giggling amongst yourselves.

he knew that the pregnancy was hard on you, and that’s part of the reason why he is relieved that this day has come.

the moments are long agonizing, and what kills him on the inside are your screams of pain as you try to push out your daughter.

he wanted, so desperately, to be with you in the room, but the doctor decided against it; they thought that it would be better to free the room as they worried that there might be a risk in the labor.

that worried him, but he had no choice but to abide by what they said. finally, the sun smiles upon him, and he hears the cry of his daughter.

he stands up, grin overtaking his face, and eagerly awaiting being let in.

he waits.

and he waits, but nothing happens, and he stops the first nurse that goes out the room, “what is happening? is my wife okay?”

the nurse splutters and nods, before dashing to another room. he doesn’t believe her for one second, and so, he tries looking into the room through the windows on the door.

he can’t see anything, but he can still feel your cursed energy. that’s the only thing that calms him down.

but, he can’t find it in him to sit back on the chair. he leans on the wall beside the door, and his nails dig into his knuckles, almost making them bleed.

he doesn’t snap out of it, until the doctor walks out, lowering his mask, “mister gojo—”

he walks past the doctor and heads inside.

“y/n!” he calls out, but he is met with the sight of the nurses covering your figure with a white cloth. his eyes widen, and he grips the wrist of one of them, “what are you doing? she is not dead.”

the nurse’s brows furrow, and her expression turns into of one of pity. he snaps his head towards you then at her, “she is not dead. I can feel it.”

he can still feel your cursed energy, so they must be wrong.

he looks down at you and cups your face gently. he moves your face to his direction, and he whispers, “pretty girl, you did so well, but you gotta wake up now.”

your face is limp in his hand, and his eyes grow frantic, “y/n?” he urges, “please say anything, yell or scold me even.”

he rubs his thumb across your cheek as he chuckles nervously, “love, I can feel your cursed energy. the prank you’re playing is a bit too much, no?”

“mister gojo,” one of the nurses calls out, “I think it’s from her.”

he looks up, and he sees your daughter in the nurse’s arms. she is wailing loudly, and—the nurse is right—she is emitting your cursed energy or remnants of it, he realizes now.

“mister gojo, you need to have skin-to-skin contact with your daughter,” she speaks softly, gently handing the little girl to him.

he takes her, wordlessly, and he mindlessly opens his chest to hug his daughter to it.

the nurses exit the room, and satoru is left to stare at you.

he sits on the bed, one arm holding your daughter and the other hand holding your face. he speaks up lowly with a small and quivering smile, “wifey, come on, wake up. our daughter is here.”

said girl lets out a small huff, and satoru finds himself biting his lip as he lays his forehead on your own.

“come on, y/n,” he begs, “she even looks exactly like you,” he pulls you closer, “you cant do this to me—please, not you too.”

GETO SUGURU:

the businessman sighs, “I won’t pay more than what I offered. geto. my words are final.”

“and who are you to be making orders? geto asks, resting his elbows on the desk, “I could kill you with the flick of a finger, so either you give me the two million yen—I know you can provide—monthly, or you can say goodbye to this life and empire you built.”

the man taps his palm and sighs, “I assume that we won’t be reaching the outcome I want?”

geto tilts his head with a smile, “come on, you still have the power of choice.”

the man stares at geto for a second before speaking up, “your wife is a lovely woman,” he grins, “too bad she has to depart so early.”

at the moment, for the first time since that incident, geto feels his heart drop to his stomach.

he jolts up, grabbing the man by the collar and slamming him into the nearest wall, “what nonsense are you spouting?”

geto’s grip on the man’s throat quickly tightens.

the man is barely able to choke out his reply, “y—your dear sweetheart has been poisoned, since she went to your ‘usual’ café spot, and my men were there,” he grins manically, “better go and try to get your goodbyes, while you’re at it.”

your husband throws him on the floor and releases his most brutal curses to eat him. the man’s screams are ignored, as geto hurriedly runs to the café.

his heart beats violently against his chest. how did his curses not notice anything? how could he let you be in danger?

he slams the door open and yells out, “y/n?! y/n, do you hear me?!”

the café is empty, and the only person present there is you. the others having long fled.

you look so pained, letting out labored breaths and furrowing your eyebrows in discomfort. he kneels beside you and gathers you in his arms. he rises to his feet, but halts when you let out a pained shriek.

“I am sorry, honey, I know, just hold on,” he comforts. you shake your head and bury your face into his chest. he tightens his embrace on you and quickly starts running out.

“suguru, it hurts—moving hurts,” you cry, and it makes him kiss the top of your head firmly while nodding, trying to comfort both himself and you.

he thanks the heavens that he arrives at the estate, and he gently places you on the bed. he looks back at manami, “call all the healers and doctors, now!”

he looks down at you, and he grips your hand with it and presses it to his lips. he murmurs softly, “you will be okay; don’t worry,” he clutches your shirt.

he repeatedly apologizes and brings you fully into his arms. he watches your breathing slow down, and he feels your skin get colder. your expression starts to relax little by little.

it sends geto into a frenzy. he snaps, “where are the doctors?! why is no here yet?!”

manami runs inside and pants, “a-all the doctors have been k-killed.”

geto stops feeling the tips of his fingers, and he looks down at you. he starts breathing frantically, “then get anyone! anyone who knows about poison!” he cups your face and shakes you lightly, “y/n, please open your eyes.”

“suguru,” you say weakly, and he instantly lowers his head, so he can hear you better. you whisper softly, “I love you.”

he nods repeatedly, “and I love you too, so you have to stay awake, so we can say it again, yeah? come on, y/n.”

he moves your hair away from your face, his hands shaky as he falters, “can you say it again? one more time.”

your body stills in his arms, and he shudders, “just o-one more, y/n…” he closes his eyes, burying his face in your chest. your arms are limp, and he is left hugging your body.

everybody stays silent, and they watch geto not leave or loosen his hold on you.

he looks up slowly at manami and speaks lowly, “round up everyone that had an affiliation to that scum; those filthy monkeys will pay for what they have done.”

NANAMI KENTO:

nanami heaves a sigh of relief when he spots yuuji, “are you okay?”

the young boy nods frantically, and nanami looks around him then at yuuji again, “is y/n not with you? have you seen her? anywhere?”

yuuji shakes his head, regretfully, but nanami takes a deep breath, “it’s fine; let’s search for her together, okay?” he assures.

yuuji smiles and nods, determined, “yes!”

nanami barely manages a reassured nod of his own, his mind focused on finding you. in fact, he starts running, eyes quickly scanning each street and corner for any sight of you.

he clenches his jaw, remembering what you said before taking this mission.

“kento, I have a really bad feeling about this.”

he dismissed your worries and pulled you close, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. he hummed softly, “I know, but we have to do it. if things go bad, then we have gojo present anyway.”

gojo is not present. shibuya is slowly turning into a city full of blood and corpses, both non-sorcerers’ and sorcerers’. he regrets not listening to you, but what else could’ve been done?

all he can do right now is find you and make sure you’re okay. that is his first and most important priority.

“nanamin, I found her!” yuuji screams excitedly, pointing at you who was busy thwarting off the myriad of curses charging at you. at the sight of you, nanami’s body relaxes, and he lets out a small smile.

you punch a curse back to a building, so you can finally turn to your husband.

“kento!” you grin and start running towards him. you throw yourself into his arms, and he—as always—catches you. he pulls you close and takes in your presence, burying his face into your hair.

he lets out a small breath.

“I am so glad you’re okay,” he says, but then he feels a strange wetness on his hand. he pulls away slowly and looks down at it. his eyes widen in alarm.

it’s covered in blood.

he looks up at you and mutters, “y/n, are you hurt? where are you hurt?”

“I—I don’t know,” you look up at him, “I can’t feel anything, k—kento; I don’t want to die,” you plead, and he quickly tears off a part of his suit to cover your wound and trying to stop the bleeding.

yuuji quickly goes to try and find shoko.

he hugs you closer, applying pressure to the wound, while pressing gentle kisses to your hair, “you…you won’t; don’t worry.”

you grip his shirt weakly and look up at your husband. you manage a small smile, “have I told you how handsome you are?”

he chuckles weakly, trying to stabilize his voice, “mhm, but I would like to hear you say it again tomorrow; can you do that?”

you nod slowly, “yeah…”

he stays silent for a second and grips you a bit tighter, “do you promise?”

your breathing starts slowing, “promise,” your body relaxes against his, and you feel his hand go to hold your own. he massages your ring finger and raises your hand to his lips.

you close your eyes with a smile, “I love you, ken.”

“I love you more,” he replies instantly. you stay still, and nanami embraces you with the entirety of his body, burying your face into his chest.

he clenches his jaw and whispers, “so much more.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

the king of curses dodges another attack with a full-blown smirk on his face. he swiftly turns and slashes the person till they drop into pieces. his chest heaves with excitement.

that is until he catches the smell of your blood.

he turns behind him, and he is greeted by a sight that he would usually take the time to relish in: a myriad of dead bodies, some piled on top of each other, and blood splattered and spilled everywhere.

he ignores of all that as his feet take him to where he senses your cursed energy.

he sees you standing in the middle of the bodies, and your stance is weak. you’re clutching your side, trying to stop the bleeding. he slowly walks towards to you and teases, “what happened? the queen got hurt?”

you let out a small chuckle, “shut up; it’s a minor injury, nothing worth noting.”

that is until the skin over your chest starts bubbling, and your heart explodes. the blood splashes all over him, and your body drops lifelessly to the floor.

sukuna’s eyes lock with your own blank ones, and he can’t process all the feelings he has.

his chest starts heaving particularly quickly, and his jaw clenches. he bends to his knees—something he never thought he would do—and raises your head towards his, searching for a glimpse of your cursed energy.

his eyes bore into your own as he speaks your name roughly.

“stop playing games, y/n!” he barked, shaking your head in his hand, but you grace him with no response.

“haha! I took out your dear wife; what will you do about it now, you monster?!”

sukuna eyes’ snap to where the voice came from.

he then decides that he will put that man through torture that is not even close to the amount of fury in his chest. sukuna is silent, as he gently lays your head down and walks towards the man.

the sorcerer’s smile starts crumbling, and he quickly falls on his back while trying to move away from sukuna.

“s-stay back, or I will kill you!” he attempts to threaten, but sukuna’s expression is blank. blank being a permanent furrowing of his eyebrows and his lips are pressed into a thin line.

the moment the sorcerer turns his back, trying to flee, sukuna cuts his feet.

sukuna doesn’t give him the chance to scream and wordlessly stomps on his back. little by little, he presses harder on the man under him.

he continues until he hears the cracking of bones and coughs full of blood. sukuna watches as the man tries to claw at his feet, in attempt to escape.

“I will make you suffer ten times over for what you have done.”

and it goes down in history as the biggest carnage sukuna has ever committed.

it didn’t stop at that man.

it extended to all the villages surrounding the vicinity. every sorcerer met a crueller death than the one before him. the single women were eaten, and the married ones were slaughtered.

no man was to enjoy what he was stripped of, and he would let the world remember your name along his through the passage of time, and he would make the temple he erected in your name stand tall forever.

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do not copy or plagiarize or I will rat you out to my bestie

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[magitekconveyor]

At long last! Who The Fuck Is Aulus mal Asina The Powerpoint Presentation: The Tumblr Post.

This was a long labor of love, combing over every piece of lore I could find in-game and in the Encyclopedia Eorzea. I initially made this because whenever I mentioned Aulus, I inevitably got met with "who?", so I thought I would have one place that contained all his lore and how it relates to MSQ as a whole.

For ease of access, here is the twitch link. It goes to a clip from 2018 Fanfest where they discuss Aulus. If you listen veeeeery carefully after he says "He's dead", you can hear a faint "Noooooooo!" in the audience. That...was me. I was actually there for that question and let me tell you I've never had so many heads whip around to stare at me all at once.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy and have learned something new about my favorite FFXIV character.

Edit: Coming back since this is gaining a bit of traction to add, if you like what you see here, please check out my friend's FFXIV fangame Indagator , where you can either romance or betray Aulus. It builds off of a lot of the info from above and masterfully expands on it. Mind the tags.

[taffywabbit]

every time dilbert gets mentioned in a conversation/post i think about how hilarious it is that scott adams turned out to be such a deranged alt-right fuckwit, considering the fact that his comics indisputably radicalized me against capitalism as a kid and probably did so earlier than anything else

like there IS some pretty iffy stuff in dilbert for sure (particularly a lot of casual misogyny and xenophobia), and it definitely increased over time as the author got more edgy and self-important. i don't think i read anything from later than like 2003 and it was already starting to get pretty unreadable by then - LONG before he started openly being a turbo-racist podcaster weirdo. but the earlier stuff (especially before there were a lot of established recurring characters or running gags) was largely just a satirical cartoon focused on how corporations are evil and exploitative, and how you'd have to be completely detached from reality to truly enjoy working for them, and how trying to climb the ladder of success is a futile pursuit within a capitalist society where the upper class needs to keep pulling that ladder up behind them to keep the rest of us in our place and maintain their own status. it was basically vent art by a guy stuck working in mind-numbing desk jobs, who barely knew how to draw but just wanted to get his thoughts out and reach other people who were frustrated in the same ways he was. it's really weird but also fascinating to compare that to how it (and adams himself) ended up in the long run

i don't think it was particularly funny most of the time, and when it did have actual jokes, they were often pretty mean-spirited and/or cynical. i don't remember more than one or two specific bits from the comic that actually ever made me laugh, and i read a LOT of them as a kid (my grandpa had a massive collection of newspaper comic compilation books at his house that he'd let me look through and borrow stuff from - this is also how i discovered garfield and calvin & hobbes). but i DO remember having it instilled in me from an early age that there was nothing really exciting or praiseworthy about grinding your life away for a company that profits off your skilled labor and gives you pennies in return - which is especially noteworthy considering i was also raised by mormons, who are famously all about that "nobility in suffering" and "work your way to heaven" type bullshit. i'm genuinely unsure how this happened

anyways i think scott adams would probably piss his pants and explode if he ever took a break from peddling his psychic penis hypnosis and killer burrito podcasts long enough to seriously think about any of this stuff. (and i hope he does. it would be funnier than anything he's ever written.)

[mt-oe]

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dears!

Thank you so much for understanding ;; I was honestly very scared because it felt like I was making excuses. Don't worry. I'm getting professional help currently and I'm trying my best. People like you deserve the best in life.

On another note, I love this idea so much ❤ I've always wanted to write something like this but often forget to or life just gets in the way. In a way, this kind of helped me push towards that agenda.

Hope you enjoy! Mwa mwa :*

note/s: not proofread, implied afab reader, she/her for mizu, fluff, menstruation

"Just a little bit more."

...you told yourself for the nth time this afternoon. What could have been a productive afternoon which could have been filled with adventures in the local markets ended up with you staying indoors while your wife looked for whatever she could buy with the little money you had.

It wasn't like you wanted to stay inside. You wanted to help her. You really do. However, the past few days, your back had been acting up badly. At first it started with a dull pain, a slight throbbing pain on your lower spine whenever you walked or stood up for too long. Then, the pain started turning into a constant ache. A type of pain that felt like your spine was creaking and was about to snap at any moment until you couldn't take it anymore.

Mizu never really understood your pain. Both of you had extremely irregular cycles, her's probably worse, but her goddamn pain tolerance was something to be envious of. And whenever her periods did hurt, she was never one to dwell on the pain. This woman was immovable.

You, however, were a different story.

Sometimes you'd lay on a bed of leaves, looking at the stars with your eyebrows knitted together, teeth gritted, and a fist punching your lower stomach lightly in a steady rhythm, wondering if you were some kind of disaster in your past life to deserve this pain.

Thankfully, your wife never really judged you for that.

At first, she was insistent that you kept pushing on your travel, that it was just a little bleeding. However, no matter how cold her exterior was, her heart couldn't take the sight of your pale lips and the sound of your stuttered labored breathing. It didn't take long for her to crumble and for you to burst into tears in her arms.

After some time, both of you sort of eased into it.

Well...mostly her.

Periods never really became easy for you.

This led you to your current situation now.

The two of you had just settled in a small, fancier inn last night. Usually, the two of you would find a cheaper place to save money, but the growing exhaustion on your face and the sluggishness of your movement began to concern Mizu; thus, both of you settled on the first inn you saw.

It was slightly more pricey than the ones you usually settled in, and that made you feel a bit guilty. Despite her insistence that it was okay, you promised you'd make it up to her by helping her look for cheaper food options in the market. However, this morning, you surprisingly woke up feeling like hell. Your nose slightly congested for some reason, your skin feeling a bit more sensitive, and worst of all, your back sending waves of pain with each movement. You didn't know what was going on. You were pretty sure you were doing a good job at keeping yourself healthy despite the conditions the two of you were in.

Each gust of wind against your skin felt like a dull blade attempting to run across the smooth expanse. The congestion of your nose was making the simple task of boiling water a chore. You couldn't go out like this and both of you knew it. Even if you did try to help, you'd end up risking getting sick anyway.

After several attempts on trying to convince your wife that you were okay, that you could go with her, she finally shut you down. Her tall figure towering over you for a moment before a soft audible exhale passed through her nose. Warmth covered your being as she slowly yet tenderly wrapped her arms around you, kissing the top of your head, leaving you with no words and the silent reassurance that it was fine.

A little while later, you soon grew bored of tidying up and undoing and redoing your hair, and decided you were going to wait for her to come back. With your hand alternating between massaging and lightly pounding your back, you got up and made your way past the silent hallway, footsteps echoing, and sat down on the genkan.

It was...an odd place to stay, yes, but it was better than the lonely confines of your room.

Sighing softly, you rested your head against the cypress beam, eyes staring at the door with a sense of unexplainable exhaustion. A slight churning sensation twisted in your gut as the minutes turned an hour, and the hour turned into hours.

You knew Mizu was strong, but what was taking her this long? Yeah sure, Mihonoseki wasn't exactly known for vegetables, but buying some shouldn't take you hours.

Was she okay? Did she run into trouble? She had always been a magnet for trouble. Did she get scammed? Did she run into some prettier woman who she wanted to wife up more than you? Nononono—

'Okay, let's stop overthinking,' you thought to yourself, taking a deep breath in. Besides, your back was an even bigger problem right now.

Straightening yourself up, you slowly exhaled, closing your eyes as you took another deep breath in an attempt to ease your ache. The pain wasn't actually dissipating, but you liked to think it did.

As the cycle of you taking a deep breath in and exhaling slowly continued, your body slowly started relaxing despite the miserable ache your spine was feeling. Taking another deep breath, your hand stopped massaging your back and fell on to the smooth varnished wood beneath you. The sound of the busy street or the footsteps of the guests in the inn seemed to fade in the background, your eyelids relaxing. Before you could even process it, sleep enveloped you like a blanket of comfort.

Some time after, the door slid open quietly, allowing the breeze to enter the warm constraints of the establishment. Mizu's figure entered before pausing at the sight of you curled up near the entryway. Her cold eyes softened, feet automatically carrying her towards her love with soundless steps.

A soft exhale passed her nose as she crouched down, setting the produce and herbs she had just bought down. Gently, her fingers made their way to your cheeks, caressing them as if you were made of porcelain. Her thumbs made their way to your eyelids, feeling the warmth under them. Then, your brows, gently gliding over them and making their way to your temples which she gave a soft press. A small, almost undetectable smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Mizu continued to admire your features a bit longer before deciding to stop. Taking a quick look around, she placed her purchases on your lap, moving your arms to hold them loosely, and hooked her arms under your knees and around your shoulders. She tightened her arms around you as she stood up, carrying you bridal style, adjusting to make sure you and the things she bought were secure as she brought you back into your room.

The soft plush of the futon greeted your skin as she set you down to do her own chores quietly. It was a comfortable silence. The type that she was only able to feel around you.

Soon, the sun had set but you were still deep asleep. It was starting to concern her, but you weren't showing any sign of a fever. Unable to think of a reason for your body's distress, she did the best course of action she could think of which was to rest.

A little while later, a soft groan rang through the air as you woke up. It was dark and you could barely see anything. However, one thing was apparent to you. You were no longer sitting on the genkan and the sun was no longer up. Blinking, you tried to make things out through the darkness and recognized your wife's figure.

Your eyes widened a fraction before softening. With a soft touch, your fingers combed through her hair in a steady pace. Usually, the feeling of her strands across the pads of your fingers would comfort you. However, this time, you couldn't explain it but it made you feel...guilty.

Has she been waiting for you all this time? Oh gosh, she probably carried you all the way here. "Love..." you whispered breathily before sighing. It was a small thing but a lump in your throat was forming. You felt so grateful and yet so guilty. So touched yet you wanted to sob just from imagining her carrying you.

However, the emotional rollercoaster you were in was abruptly cut off. Maybe the tea you had this afternoon was starting to terrorize you because goddamn you needed to go relieve yourself. 'Great fucking timing,' you huffed to yourself mentally. Shifting a bit, your face soured even further.

Why the fuck did your clothes feel sticky? Greaaaat. Now you were just plain annoyed.

Ignoring the ache in your back, you pushed the covers off and got up, making your way towards the outhouse. With each step, the more your discomfort grew. You couldn't really see it through the darkness but you could feel a patch of wetness on your behind and it was NOT helping your mood at all.

Leaves crunching reverberated through the air as you approached the outhouse, glaring at the squat toilet. The stench was catalyzing the growing disgust boiling in your system. At this point, all you wanted to do was piss and go back and crawl into Mizu's arms.

However, the moment you lowered yourself, an odd feeling of something jelly-like leaving you alarmed you. Your eyes widened as you froze and slowly looked down.

A clot.

Immediately, your eyebrows furrowed, panic starting to set in you. Grabbing the back of your kimono, half a gasp and half a groan disgustedly escaped you upon seeing the red taint your digits.

This seriously couldn't be happening right now.

You already felt so guilty, making your wife spend so much money on an inn and making her go out alone. Now, you had to be an even bigger burden.

Your breathing grew shakier with each breath. The guilt was starting to weigh down on you. Poor Mizu. Always having to deal with you. How could do this to her? Thoughts continued to flood your mind as tears started to line your eyes. You were feeling so many shitty things right now and you felt so fucking bad. Shit. The futon was probably stained too. You didn't even bring a cloth with you right now. Your clothes would be so fucking stained and smell so fucking bad and—

Fuck. You can't take this anymore.

Sobs softly left your lips as you stood up and glared at the ground. You couldn't even bring yourself to go back. Everything hurts. Your tummy, your back, and not to mention how sticky the drying blood was. You also felt so bad and so ashamed for making Mizu deal with your errands the whole day. Soft trembles racked your shoulders as the tears continued to drip down from your eyes.

Suddenly, you saw a pair of feet stop just in front of the wooden enclosure of the outhouse, prompting you to stop. You couldn't see the person's face and who knows what they intend to do. "It's occupied," you muttered, sniffling softly.

"I know," the sound of your wife's gruff voice could be heard. Her feet turned towards the entrance, about to walk towards it before she stopped, deciding against it. "Are you alright?"

"No," you immediately shot back, regretting it immediately. Your guilt dug deeper at how harsh you sounded but...you can't help it. You felt so damn frustrated.

A squeak reverberated through the air as Mizu leaned her weight against the wooden panel, a silent sign that she was waiting and listening. Your eyebrows furrowed while you looked at her feet, wondering how could she be so patient with you. Taking a deep breath, you opened your mouth to speak, "I'm...bleeding."

She didn't reply immediately, her eyes flickering between her two feet as she thought of how to respond. After a moment of silence, she finally replied, "I know. I saw it on the sheets."

"But that's not what I'm asking," she continued, pushing herself straight. "I'm asking if you're alright." Her tone was firm but soft. You could tell that she wasn't mad. It wasn't like a 'no' you barked out sufficed. You weren't okay, and she knew that, but she wanted to know how she could help.

The question that left her lips, the softness, everything invoked another sob from you, unable to handle how loving she was. "No," you repeated, voice quivering. "I don't know what to do. I bled onto my clothes and the futon too," you started to spill.

"As if that wasn't bad enough, I didn't bring a cloth and it stinks here and I feel so guilty for leaving you to look for supplies and...and now I'm being so unreasonably emotional," you began ranting.

Mizu's eyebrows furrowed at your sentiments. She remained silent once again before she audibly exhaled. "May I come in," she asked.

You nodded even when you knew she couldn't see you before sniffling out a small 'yes'. Grass crunched underneath her feet as she walked in. In her hands was a cloth. "What's that for?" you asked.

"Lift your kimono up. I'll help you," she said, already approaching you. Your sobs reduced into soft sniffling as you lifted your kimono up obediently. Immediately, she began tying a fundoshi on you, making sure it covered what was needed before she took off her coat and wrapped it around you, hiding the blood on your clothes. Each movement, each touch firm yet soft at the same time.

"Let's go inside," she breathed against your ear, hands on your shoulders and gently guiding you inside.

As soon as the two of you were back in the comfort of your room, she immediately helped you change into more comfortable clothing, tossing the bloodied ones in a pile along with the futon covers.

Now both of you sat on her futon, a hot cup of tea in your hands while you spilled your feelings out to her. Turns out the reason why Mizu took hours in the market was because she had already suspected your period before you even realized it and had decided to buy some medicinal herbs to ease your pain. Learning this, you began to wrack up in sobs again, making her eyebrows knit together ever so slightly.

Her rough, calloused hands swiped against your cheeks, feeling the heat radiating from them, wiping your tears off. Your eyes look up at her, head resting against her shoulder. "I'm sorry," you sniffled quietly. "I don't know why I'm feeling this much. I swear I'm not trying to—"

Suddenly, the feeling of her pulling you closer cut you off. Your body froze for a moment and slowly, you wrapped your arms around her. You could hear her soft, slow breathing against your ear, the rhythm calming your tears down slightly.

She continued to hold you close tenderly as the time passed by, nothing but comfortable silence between you. With a soft, content-sounding sigh, she pulled away, eyebrows relaxing at the sight of you looking at her with those glossy doe eyes before she pulled you in again. Despite not knowing what to say or what to do to comfort you, she still wanted you to feel reassured that she wasn't mad nor did she feel burdened.

The comfort of her being around yours helped ease the storm of emotions boiling in your heart. As you calmed down, you felt her strength push you down carefully, laying you down to rest and joining you. With the love she enveloped you in, your eyes started growing heavy until you finally fell asleep.

It didn't matter how bothersome your period was. Mizu was always glad to be with during this time. The same way you always are when she needed you, she'll be there with you when you need her. Always loving.

[burdenandacrop]

Hiii! Can I just say that I genuinely love your writing, I’ve read so many Schlatt writers (and no shade to them,I love them and their work too) but yours just always gets me, also you just seem like a really cool person in general too😭

Anyways I have a submission where reader and schlatt are having a baby and their in the labor room after she has just given birth and reader is just admiring their baby with schlatt, or the opposite where he’s admiring her and their baby, like just a really ‘sun and moon’ by mage tears inspired writing, really calm and sweet and precious moments between the two. Anyways I love you and you’re hope you doing well pretty!!😋😋

all i need.

♡ navigating new life is confusing but beautiful, but it's not a challenge when such sweetness is granted in the human form of him. now you have the fruition of your love, all bundled in cotton.

♡ established relationship, tooth rotting fluff, trying out a new writing style so bear with me, fem reader.

isn't it sweet?

the words fluttered your mind, an amalgamation of poetic words to try and perfectly detail this new found feeling. if you could only piece any string of letters to describe this light souring in your chest. only a heartbeat could be appropriate for this.

her heartbeat. your fingers brushing against the knitted blanket wrapped around her tiny body, attempting to count how many beats her little heart paced a minute. her sweet eyes closed as you gazed at her even tinier face, how could something so small arrange such a huge feeling within you?

the rustling of the near plastic sheet arose as schlatt nudged himself closer to you, you could hear how deep his breaths were. knowing the both of you couldn't have imagined it would feel this way, sure the two of you haven't spoken. it doesn't take words sometimes though, rather a moment. even a moment of silence.

silence can fill so much, especially when it's something like this. you ripped your eyes off of her and turned to him, letting out a huff of air that was a bit too loud for comfort. every sound felt like a ear piercing alarm, the only sound that was tolerable was her little sleeping babbles. you just wanted to drink in the peaceful silence, fearing it would slip right out of your fingers if you blinked.

can i cry right now?

the sentence kept beckoning in the back of his head, it was the only words that felt necessary. how could he be looking at something like this and not feel the need to just, cry. obviously not out of sadness, rather of the reality that he wasn't just a simple title anymore. he brought in life. actual life, with you.

his mind kept wandering on the possibilities, would she get his smile? would she get your cleverness? could she be everything he needed to complete the sore spot in his chest that left aching? he could only pray that he would hand the same gentle love that was left tattooed on his heart from her. even if she'd only been in this world for a few hours, this was the rest of anything ever.

his eyes wandered to the warm morning sunlight beaming onto the edge of the bed, trying not to crack to himself as he realized his daughter was going to be an early bird by popular theory. much different to himself, he looked back to her sleeping state. how the blanket over her cradled body heaved up and down, almost matching the beeps from the hospital's machinery. what a beautiful way to put it, she matched everything now.

he wasn't ever the type to be outwardly sensitive, but it was awfully hard to not be in this moment. he curled his bottom lip in his teeth, the gentle sting as he desperately tried to control his emotions. he wasn't the one who just gave birth, you were. yet somehow, in life's funniest ways, he was the one who had to keep reminding himself that this was real. it was just hard to take in, something that he helped create, could be this wonderful.

don't want to blink.

you couldn't, rather you simply fought not to. the small details of her skin were too remarkable to not gaze at for hours, a small grin creeping on your lips as you realized she had the tiniest birthmark shining on her cheek. it almost matched the little patch of red schlatt would get when he blushed on the side of his temples.

that was the beauty of detail, but it showed how much you loved him. how much you love and were going to grow love for her, as well. you pondered to yourself, the gentle white noise cutting through your ears from the quiet fan. if you could bottle this, you absolutely would. though the thought that this would disappear before you knew it, absolutely ached you.

she was going to grow, learn to smile, or worse ; gain schlatt's attitude. of course, only a playful joke. you could only dream she'd look up to him, look up to you. see you two as the pair you desperately longed for, be the reality that you made your fantasy. that, you could. which made it even all more worth it, your mind reeling at all the things you were able to provide for this sweet girl.

the thought alone was enough to bring your eyes to gentle tears, hoping a whimper from the emotion wouldn't sneak out of your lips. you could've blamed it on the pain medication that was slowly making it's way into your system, but you didn't want that. it would only conclude with you sleeping, you couldn't. you had this, her, him. her and him. all you would need, forever.

i'm not so afraid of it anymore.

he thought to himself, all the talks from his own father. every man he looked up to, all of their words hitting him at once. though, it didn't seem to matter in the moment. the look alone of her was enough to convince his rather bitter mind that he could in fact be something more. he was something more. right now.

he looked back to you, watching as the tears bubbled on your waterline. what a sight to see. he knew he called you beautiful, gorgeous, or whatever compliment he fished out of his brain; but right now he really couldn't come up with a word to best describe how genuinely unreal he found you. the puffiness in your skin from all the physical pressure of childbirth, or how your hair stuck up from all the static around you.

he knew you'd practically bark at him for daring to call you attractive or any synonym of that term right now, but he definitely had the words bubbling up in his chest. just aching to be spilled from his lips that were desperate to cut through the silence, just so you knew how precious he found this moment. even if it meant tearing into the white noise around and looking you into the eyes to just say 'you did a great thing.'

instead, his lips fumbled on his own words. he leaned into your shoulder with the lightest pressure he could give to you, still fearful that you would break like literal porcelain after preforming such a physical work out. "sweet." he whispered, unsure on why he only said the one word. why he whispered it, even. his own soft tone surprised him, he was capable of being so nurturing?

it is nothing short of sweet.

his sudden words caught you off guard, steering your eyes back to him. only being met with the same look you had on your face, perfectly printed all over his. you let the tear trickle down your cheek as you smile fondly at him, unable to even get your words together to reply, but his eyes just screamed, 'i know, i know.'

he sighed out, leaning his forehead to rest gently on the top of your head. being sure to flourish his lips against your head, only way he could properly communicate it. fluttering his eyes shut, knowing the waterworks were going to make their way if he didn't. "i don't think i've loved you more." his words lingered in the air, kissing your head once more, becoming more feverish by the next peck. "than in this moment." his words choked out more.

his eyes squeezed shut as he felt the warmth rush up to his head, they were definitely coming. you tenderly smiled and looked back down to her, seeing her eyes slowly open. her curious eyes looking right up at him, her little forehead crinkling as she desperately tried to figure out, what was that voice i just heard?

"baby, look." you softly cooed, making him lift his head off of you to eye down, being met with her eyes open and darting right at him. that was the final touch for him, seeing how beautiful her eyes looked as they curiously searched his face. his grin growing by the second as he bathed in the silence between the two of them. this was love, right here. this is how love was supposed to be.

eyes like mine, heart like yours.

it was almost like she had a ray of yellow around her face, a perfect ring of promise. her eyes being living proof that life goes on, time is worth waiting, but now time, was well, time. the second her brown eyes met with his own, he realized there wouldn't ever be enough time to bask in her presence. almost a cruel joke, not being able to nurture the moments long enough, cause when you find them ; you wouldn't ever be able to bottle them.

but he had it right now, right in front of his eyes. "hi sweetheart." he cooed out, reaching out a hand to the fold of her blanket. roaming his thumb along the soft knitted fabric, how warm she must've been under all the yarn. her eyes seemed to follow his every moment as he spoke, "i think she recognizes your voice." you whispered out, but her eyes remained fixed on him.

he softly nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat, shakily smiling as he gently patted the wrapped blanket before pulling his hand away slowly. "yeah." he choked out, wiping the tear from his cheek, and attempting to fix his breath. he couldn't be such a mess, especially with you. nor her. "i don't think i can ever thank you enough." he muttered out with a stifled sigh, resting his heavy head onto you. feeling the anchor being lifted off of him.

he didn't have to be strong, this statuette of agility. he was allowed to be clay, soft and warm moldable clay for this new life to form him into this new edge. maybe make his words softer, his eyes seek out kindness more, his fingertips only fix. this was all he could've hoped for, he just didn't know that all along this was he was hoping for ; not until it popped right in front of him.

tired but happy.

you watched the moment occur between the two of them, knowing this was the start of something you wouldn't have been able to even fathom in the past. this wasn't your past though, it was something to prove it has washed away. a silent omen that you did it, you overcame. now rewarded with something so gentle.

her eyes moved to yours, almost startling you. did she feel it? could she even feel what you were? that was the ethereal part of it all, somewhere deep in the atmosphere ; everything in this room knew. even the resting wood in the walls, how the sun shine began to dance on your shoulders, seeing the branches move with the wind. the shadows casting along her dear face.

everything had it's purpose, the doors were open. it was just up to you and him to keep them open, and that answer was quite clear. the simplest yes you could ever say, this was destiny. for once in your life, you thought it ; and genuinely believed it. just by the look in her eyes, you knew. life wasn't a boulder, it wasn't something to waste away focusing on the bitter side. you had these landscapes painted in front of your eyes this whole time, it just took the look in her eyes to help you color them in.

no more grey, no more blandness. your pallet of life was now only going to be consistent of yellow, pink, shades of orange. she was your sunset, he was your cushioned bay window to watch it grow on. maybe some days it'd be purple, or dark. maybe some days you'd even miss the colors change, but you knew you'd be there to watch it none the less, like clock work. how could you imagine something much more meaningful than what was bestowed right in the crook of your arm. real meaning, and it could only age well. the only sting was how long the colors would last, but the hourglass could wait. all you had was now, and that's all the two of you would ever want or need.

author's note : i throughly appreciate your patience with me, i hope you know i lauve you. also . . . how do we feel about the writing style for this ? i hope you love it, even if it's a month late. never forgot about it !! tee-freaking-hee-hee.

[ddejavvu]

mei you straight up rekindled my love for the outsiders with a single fic (the power u hold is immense girlie). domesticity for my poor greaser boys?! ahhh my brain was so fuzzy by the end of the fic. magnificent as always <3

so if you'd like requests i'm more than happy to oblige. darry was my first dilf crush (i mean he has several children in his care and i'd like to duck him. counted as a dilf in my 13 year old brain and counts as a dilf in my brain still lmao) so how about darry n reader mom and dadding all over the place; maybe they all go to the drive thru together, reader n darry are emergency contacts at the hospital and mischief is afoot, they get some time away from their several greaser children... or whatever scenario your beautiful brain cooks up. i hope this is a little inspiring and i send you tons of good vibes (and a big phat kiss. MWAH!!).

send me requests for the outsiders!

i'm so flattered <33 darry's been my fave for a loooong time i love that big beefy man omg <3

--

You'd think that six years old is the last age you'd ever have to worry about restaurant etiquette with, but apparently 18-year-olds can't handle themselves either.

"Two-Bit, you keep your feet to yourself under the table and stop kicking Ponyboy." You hiss, keeping your voice low so that none of the other patrons can hear you. There's not many times you'd ever try traipsing through a fancy restaurant with the entire gang, but Darry's managed to get himself promoted to worksite supervisor, which means less back-breaking labor and more cushy pay. It's a special occasion, and everyone's greased their hair as neatly as possible.

"He stole the piece of bread I wanted." Two-Bit insists, "He grabbed the biggest piece with the softest insides and he left me the heel!"

"We have two baskets," Darry passes the secondary bread basket over to Two, eyes glinting warningly, "Now listen to Y/N and quit kickin' my brother."

Ponyboy shares a grateful glance at Darry, but nothing more so as not to hurt his teenage ego. You're sure his shins are smarting, but he'd never admit it.

"That's the good stuff." Steve dips his hand into the basket as well, and together both boys clear it out, save for the heels. You watch Soda realize that he's been cheated, and before he can wrap his hand around the heel of the bread and chuck it across the table at Steve you catch his arm, staring dead into his eyes.

"Sodapop Patrick Curtis, if you throw food at this table, I'll give you a buzzcut."

His eyes widen, your threat proving effective. He runs a cautious hand over his styled hair as he sinks back into his seat, staring at his empty bread plate.

You sigh as you scoop your bread onto his plate, taking the heel for yourself and lamenting the loss of the soft innards.

"Y'all are too old for this shit." Dallas remarks, a look of distaste on his face, but no one points out that he's having a cigarette for an appetized instead of bread and butter.

"Pass me the menu, Steve?" Johnny asks, eyeing the large folded plastic tucked beneath Steve's plate. You see the moment he gets the idea, his eyes glinting mischievously as he goes to whip the menu out from beneath the plate without moving it.

"Don't- do not do that!" You break your own rules, landing a sharp kick against Steve's calf so that he stops in his tracks, "I swear you boys act like toddlers. Steve, pick up the plate and then hand Johnny the menu."

"Couldn't've made it anyways," Ponyboy mumbles, and any sympathy you'd had for the youngest teen vanishes when he challenges Steve.

"Oh yes I could'a," Steve argues, obeying your directions only to avoid another kick to the shin, "You don't know what you're talkin' about, kid, I could whip a tablecloth off a table without a fork movin' outta place."

"I've seen him do it," Soda nods, ever-loyal to his best friend, "Well- one glass broke, but it wasn't that bad."

"Wasn't my fault," Steve agrees, "It was the wind."

"Your table's in your basement, stupid," Dallas scoffs, "There ain't no wind in there."

"There's a window," Steve remarks hotly, perhaps pushing boundaries too much considering it's Dallas he's smarting off to, but Darry cuts in and effectively silences everyone.

"I'm gonna make every single one'uh you hoodlums walk home if you don't start behaving." Darry's tone keeps everyone silent, even Dally who watches Darry with a mixture of interest and amusement.

"Feet off your chairs," There's a rustle of movement as most boys adjust, "Elbows off the table," Another commotion, "And voices low. There's other people here, and if one of y'all launches a piece of bread across the room we're gonna get kicked out. Sit down, shut up, and figure out what you're eating."

Six heads duck shamefully towards their menus, and a blissful silence reigns over the table for the first time all night. You turn towards Darry with a shit-eating grin etched into your features, one that makes his cheeks warm as he tries occupying himself with his own menu.

You prop the plastic sheet up on the table between you, and it's large enough to cover your faces. You duck towards Darry and press a sweet kiss to his rosy cheek, "That was pretty intense, Superman. I liked it. Whipped 'em right into shape."

"Damn hooligans." Darry grumbles, letting his nose brush against yours.

"Scoundrels," You snicker, leaning in to press another kiss to his face, this time catching his lips.

"Whippersnappers." He murmurs against your mouth, the two of you shaking with laughter behind your menus.

"Unwilling audience members." Two-Bit snags the edge of your menu, tearing it away from you to reveal you and Darry with your noses pressed together, "Talk about poor table manners- I'm pretty sure you're supposed to save the boning for dessert."

"Y'all are gross," Soda's nose scrunches in faux-distaste, but you know he's thrilled that his brother has found you.

"You'd better hurry up and figure out what you want, then." You smirk teasingly at the group, "The sooner we order the sooner we eat, and the sooner we eat the sooner we can get out of here and get a room."

"Hurry up, Johnny," Dallas elbows the boy theatrically in the side, a sharp laugh coming from Johnny as Dallas smirks at the two of you, "If we wait any longer they might start making out behind the bread basket."

[python333]

bedbound — python333

— — — —

synopsis you're on a mission and oopsie daisy you get trapped under a building!! you end up in the medbay and tf141 visits you one by one, each of them giving you a lil piece of their mind for going and getting yourself trapped under a collapsed building.

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 4.5k

warnings pretty detailed (i think) descriptions of [reader] being in pain [specifically having a bunch of leg injuries], angstier than i usually write, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note this is my first actual fic ive wrotten in MONTHS so i hope its okay! so sorry if it feels like a majority of the focus is on the reader, i had a too much fun writing out the first part where they get crushed :3 i am also once again begging for requests. like on my knees hands together begging for requests. its the best way of getting motivation istg. anyway, this is all mild hurt/comfort and some angst + fluff so enjoy!! :3

You tried running out of the building—you didn’t expect the whole damn thing to come crashing down on you.

You’d just been chasing after an enemy soldier moments ago, dashing into the building, when suddenly the whole building seemed to shake. Then, the whole thing seemed to just collapse. When you think about it now, you realize the shake must’ve come from a nearby explosion, an explosion somehow powerful enough to damage the structural support of the building so terribly that it couldn’t hold itself up anymore and instead fell down onto you. 

Now, here you were, just ten steps away from the entrance of the building, stopped by the huge slab of concrete and twisted metal that pinned your legs down to the ground. Your earpiece fell off when you fell down, sliding across the floor, preventing you from calling your team.

Sure, you could try and move your legs, but the excruciating pain that came with each movement wasn’t worth it. You think your legs are broken with the way your nerves scream at you every time you move them, and with how uncomfortably and horrifyingly disconnected they feel.

“I’m making shit up,” You whisper hoarsely to yourself, ignoring the tears that welled up in your eyes from the debris and dust in the air, “They’re not broken. I’m making it worse for myself by thinking that.”

In the back of your mind, you remember that you’re quoting Price on that one, from the last time you got seriously hurt like this. You vaguely remember your panicked words and Price’s soothing voice that came after every worry, telling you that no, you’re not too badly hurt, it’s gonna be okay, you’re just panicking.

But in the forefront of your mind, all you can do is think about how you can’t reach your earpiece to talk to your team, the only thing you can do is listen to their worried voices.

The earpiece is loud enough for you to hear, even though you’re just out of arm’s reach from it, you can still hear your teammates repeating your call sign and asking how you copy. With the stupid Push-To-Talk thing, you can’t even just respond, no, you have to push the button on the side of your earpiece to unmute yourself.

You stretch your arm out just a little bit more to try and reach the earpiece, but when your leg starts to strain and your nerves light up you immediately give up, letting out a small, pained huff. You take a moment to just lie there and listen to your own labored breaths, every other breath hitching or catching in your throat.

You swallow down a sob that threatens to bubble out of your throat and try to reach again and—nope, that still fucking hurts.

You bring your hand back and put it over your mouth to muffle a small sob that climbs up and out of your throat, and try to take a deep breath the best you can with the debris in the air.

You feel a slight discomfort in your chest and cough, horrified when you see small specks of dust in the air you cough out, and God, the sight of it makes you want to rip out your lungs.

You feel the sudden urge to cough everything out, to flush out the dust in your lungs, to get rid of the uncomfortably full feeling you feel in your chest, but you know that every time you cough you can only exhale more of that debris-filled dust back in so now you’re trapped in a loop and—

“[c/n], how copy?” God, you want to yell at them that repeating that question won’t help, but you know there’s nothing else they can do. They’ve already asked where you are, if you’re okay, and how you copy multiple times, all of which got no answer.

They’ve only experienced radio silence on their end, and the thought makes you feel guilty for not being able to suck up the pain in your legs and just reach over to the damn earpiece and tell them you’re trapped.

You take a few deep breaths, trying your best to ignore the way you can literally feel the dust entering your lungs, and reach. You stretch your arm out the farthest you can, and feel the strain in your leg, and you’re almost to the earpiece, just a few more inches— pop.

A bone chilling pop rings through the air the moment you manage to snatch the earpiece, and good thing it was at least after you managed to grasp it firmly in your hand because you recoil back on instinct and gasp.

The gasp only lets in more dust, and you cough, wet tears dripping down onto your cheeks as you go through a seemingly endless loop of coughing out dust and inhaling debris and coughing it out again only for new dust to make its way into your system.

You stifle a pain-filled whimper and try to control your shaky breath, gripping the earpiece firming in your hand, looking down at it, looking at the sheer amount of debris on it. You bring your free hand out and wipe away the debris with shaky hands, making sure it’s clean enough to put in your ear before you carefully insert it.

It takes you a moment with your trembling hands, but you manage to do it, and you listen to Price ask how you copy one more time before you push down on the PTT button.

“Copy—” You hoarsely say, before coughing, everyone on the other line going silent, “Copy, not doing very well over here.”

“What happened?” Price’s voice crackles through on the damaged ear piece, “Are you hurt?”

“I got trapped under— under some concrete, and I…” You take a moment to catch your breath, “My legs are pinned, I can’t move.”

“Okay, okay,” Price’s voice softens, his tone becoming more soothing, “Where are you?”

“In a building— dunno which— which one… it’s by the really tall one,” You breathe out, mentally slapping yourself in the forehead for not being able to remember, “I’m sorry, I just know it’s orange and it has the entrance that Ghost bumped his head on—”

“It’s okay, I know which one you’re talking about,” Price reassures you, “Catch your breath. I’ll be there to get you out of there, okay? Just stay still, don’t move a muscle, you hear me?”

“I hear you,” You mumble, trying to catch your breath, coughing at the amount of dust that infiltrates your lungs. You bring your hand off of the PTT button and sob once, quietly, and sniffle to try and stop yourself from crying, blinking away tears.

The tears that trailed down your face earlier now only make you realize just how much dust and grime is on your face, how the tear trails must’ve been the only clean lines on your face, how there’s a whole layer of pure filth on your face and you can’t even properly wipe it away because your hands are dirty too.

The pain in your legs are throbbing and you know that you’ve torn some of the muscle in your thighs, and you know the popping noise had to have been your hip, from the unnatural way you’d twisted it to reach your earpiece. You don’t even have time to think about how pathetic you look when suddenly Price opens the barely-hanging-onto-the-hinges-door, looking at the floor for a moment before his eyes finally land on you.

He immediately walks over to the slab of concrete pinning your legs down and forcing you to lie on the ground and you can hear him faintly murmur, “Oh, God,” and kneel down to the same level as the concrete.

You turn your neck to look at him and watch as he looks at the concrete for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to lift it, before he simply grabs the edge of the concrete and, with a grunt and after a good thirty seconds, he manages to lift one end up and flip it over onto its other side. The circulation that immediately floods back to your legs and the sudden feeling of weightlessness you get is almost too much, and you can barely find it in yourself to feel shame as you let out a small, relieved sob at the sudden rush of blood to your legs.

Price immediately gasps and you can’t see much from your angle but in the midst of your relief you suddenly feel a pang of pain and oh God, that hurts. You can recognize now the warm blood that accompanies the drying blood on your calf, and with the blood rushing into your legs, more spills out from the wound in your leg. Vaguely, you can remember twisted metal doing something to your leg—stabbing it, maybe? Your brain becomes fog-filled; too hazy to think through but just clear enough to register the throbbing pain in your leg. 

“I’m so sorry,” Price murmurs softly, and before you can question him he takes the metal out of your leg and you let out a closed-lip scream, slapping a hand over your mouth to try and muffle the now uncontrollable sobs that break past your lips, the pain you feel making you light-headed.

Price quickly pulls a tourniquet out of one of the many pockets of his tactical best, wrapping the bright red strip around your leg just above the bleeding, blocking the blood from reaching past that point. He tightens it and rolls you over so that you’re laying on your back, making you stifle another pain-filled whimper. Without another word, he slips his arm under your knees and his other below your back and lifts you up bridal style, making you gasp sharply and cry out for a moment in pain, a few drops of blood making it onto the floor from your calf, the whole sight dizzying.

Being lifted up like this gave you vertigo—your head spun as you were lifted up and you could barely process anything with your hazy mind. Price mutters small ‘sorry’s under his breath, carrying you out of the door and quickly running with you in his arms back to where the others are, almost wanting to cry for you, seeing how much pain you were in.

Your eyelids drooped and your eyes shortly became half-lidded, and your ears started to ring, and everything was so overwhelming you just wanted it to be over. 

Price notices your eyelids drooping and quickly says, “Hey, hey, don’t pass out on me, you gotta stay awake, kid.” You can only shake your head ‘no’ because talking feels like too much right now and let out another small, pain-filled whimper, just the sound of it making Price’s heart shatter.

You can only find it in yourself to talk a moment later, your words slurring together as you try to speak, “I can’t— can’t… I’m sorry, I can’t—” You don’t even know what you’re trying to say, what you’re trying to warn Price about, but he seems to know.  

“No, no, no—” Price tries to beg you, as if you had enough strength to stay awake. Those are the last words you hear before you completely black out.

—

You wake up to a white ceiling and the faint beeping of a heart monitor. You move your head around a bit, trying to gauge where you are, when you realize— oh, I’m in the medbay. You blink for a moment before sighing and just resting there for a moment, trying to recount the events that happened earlier. You don’t have time to go down memory lane, though, because suddenly the curtains in front of your bed are pulled back to reveal your Captain. “You’re awake,” He states, closing the curtains behind him. “How could you tell?” He snorts and sits down in a chair by your bed. You look at him questioningly, “Where’re the others?” “They’ll be here soon,” Price assures you, looking at your blanket covered legs for a moment before looking back up at your face, “Medics said one at a time.” You hum neutrally in response to that and wait a moment before asking, “How bad is it?” “Your leg?” “Yeah.” “Well…” Price starts to list off on his fingers, recalling the doctor’s words, “The joint that connected your hips and your legs was twisted and it had to be set back to normal, your muscles were torn, your ligaments were torn, your nerves were so compressed someone had to physically massage your legs back to life, and the stab wound in your leg almost got infected.” “… Huh.” You blink at Price, before asking, “When can I get out of here?” “Why is that what you’re thinking about right now?” Price asks, confused, before sighing and answering, “Kid, your leg was basically broken. You can get out of here in maybe a few weeks to a month. Getting back to your assignments is a whole different story. It could take several months for your muscles to fully heal, and even then I don’t want you back out there for a while. Not until it’s guaranteed your leg won’t… give out, or something, out there.” You frown at Price, “So what, I’m just gonna be stuck here?” “What else are you gonna do with an almost-broken leg?” “…” Price sighs and puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, “Look, I know it’s frustrating, having to sit here for a few weeks then be able to get out only to not be able to do anything too physical, but your leg muscles were torn. You were trapped under concrete. You’re not going on any missions any time soon. I feel like that should be kind of obvious.” You can understand it, knowing the condition you’re in now, but you still deflate a little where you lie down and let out a tired, frustrated huff. Price chuckles softly at your clear display of disappointment and rubs your shoulder gently before patting it and getting up. “I guess I have to let the others see you too,” He muses, making your lips twitch up into a smile, the sight making him smile in return, “But I’ll be back tomorrow to talk to you again, alright?” “Alright,” You nod, watching as he walks past the curtains blocking your bed from the rest of the medbay and listen as the door clicks open and closes shut. Not even a few seconds later, the door opens again, this time with someone walking faster to the curtains, pushing them aside eagerly. You quickly recognize Soap as he walks in, quickly closing the curtains behind him before rushing over and leaning down to hug you. This all happens so quickly you have to take a moment to process it, but you eventually hug him back, sighing at the warm embrace. “I want tae call ye stupid sae bad,” Soap mumbles into your neck as he hugs you, “but it wasn’ even yer fault sae I can’.”

“That’s the worst thing that’s happened all day,” You mutter sarcastically, making Soap laugh quietly. He pulls away from you and looks down at you. “It is, actually,” Soap says, and at your confused and mildly offended expression, he adds on, “It’s been over a day since ye got yer leg fucked up.” “… Oh.” You dumbly said, trying to process that. Over a day. “Everyone was really worried about ye, too,” Soap tacks on, refusing to sit on the chair behind him, simply standing by your bed. You stay silent, and Soap takes that as an invitation to keep talking. “I think that's the first time I've actually seen Ghost stressed," Soap muses, making you huff out a small laugh. “Really?” “Yea,” Soap smiles, “I ken. Stone cauld L.t, suddenly worryin’ o’er ye.”

“Isn’t that a surprise,” You mutter, a small smile gracing your lips thinking about Ghost worrying over you, “So you were all really worried?” “Very worried,” Soap nods, “Gaz thocht ye were gonnae die, poor chiel.” “Hm,” You hum neutrally. Soap stays silent for a moment before his voice softens and he quiets himself down a bit. “Try no' tae dae that again, aye? Ye'll gie the captain a heart attack," When you give him a pointed look, he rolls his eyes and adds on, “And me. Possibly. Maybe.” “Uh huh,” You look at him, unimpressed, “Right. I’ll try to predict when a huge piece of concrete is gonna fall on me.” “Ye ken wha’ I meant.”

“Never said I didn’t.” “Ye— y’know wha’? I’ll just leave then,” Soap says, feigning annoyance as he walks away from your bed, making you laugh quietly. He slips out and doesn’t bother to close the curtains behind him, simply walking out the door, not bothering to close that either.

You can hear him letting someone else know you’re ‘free to visit’, and just a few seconds later you watch Ghost walk in. You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are, seeing as Soap had told you Ghost was worried over you, but you still find yourself a little shocked when he walks over to you and closes the curtains behind him. He sits at the chair beside your bed, and silently stares at you from the chair.

You stare back, not blinking, waiting for him to say the first word. You and Ghost’s silent staring match ends with Ghost sighing and speaking up. “How does your… leg feel?” “How do you think it feels?” You ask, deadpan, watching as Ghost’s eyes narrow. You blink at him for another moment before adding on, “It feels numb, right now.” Ghost hums at the actual answer and sits there awkwardly for another moment before stating, “Gaz thought you died. Or, were gonna die.” “I heard about that,” You respond, raising an eyebrow at Ghost, “Did he not know it was just my leg that got hurt?” “Hurt is a mild word,” Ghost mutters, before clearing his throat and saying, “No, he knew. He was more worried about all the stuff that got into your lungs.” “Oh.” “Yeah.”

You both stay silent for a bit, again, before you speak up, “So… are my lungs okay, or… ?” “No, yeah, they’re fine.” “That’s… good.” “Mhm.” Why is this so awkward? You purse your lips and turn your head back so that you’re staring at the ceiling rather than at Ghost, not knowing what to say. Why’d he even come in here if he was just gonna be awkward about this whole thing? It’s silent again, an uncomfortable sort of quiet that’s silent yet deafening at the same time—and you hate it. It seems Ghost hates it too, because he shifts in his seat, not saying anything verbally but you can tell by his body language it’s awkward for him too.

This goes on for maybe a minute or two, when suddenly Ghost gets up and walks the short one step between him and your bed and leans down to hug you. Like the silence, the hug is awkward, but unlike it, it’s comforting. A comfortable awkward? You tentatively hug him back and you feel his hands snake underneath your back, forcing his arms under you so that he can hug you properly. 

“I know Soap told you I was stressed and worried and whatnot,” Ghost mutters, his skull mask pressing into your shoulder, “… And he was right.” “… Did you think I thought he was wrong?” “Shut it and let me try to talk.” “Yes, sir.” Ghost sighs and takes a deep breath before continuing, “He was right. I was growing greys watching you passed out, and I think I almost passed out as well, hearing you were trapped under a huge block of concrete and got stabbed by metal.” 

“Did you ever find out what the metal was?” You ask after a moment, making sure he was done talking.

“The Captain said it was a twisted pipe.”

“Huh.” You lay there for a moment, simply enjoying Ghost hugging you, before Ghost speaks up again.

“I know it wasn’t your fault, but please, God, never do that shit to me ever again.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m in a collapsing building.”

“I’m serious,” Ghost pulls away from the hug and looks down at you, keeping his hands on both of your shoulders, “I had to drive a car with you in the back passed out laying in the trunk with Price, all while not knowing what happened, and having to drive you guys back to base.”

“… Damn, you guys didn’t get a helicopter, or anything?”

“[c/n].”

“Sorry.”

Ghost sighs, “I’m trying to say that I don’t like worrying over you like that. I don’t like knowing that my kid is hurt, and I can’t do anything about it. That was the first time I was seriously worried and— and stressed over you, and it was terrifying, seeing you just passed out with dirt all over you and blood all over your leg, and just seeing you like that— I can’t do that again,” Ghost takes a deep breath, and looks down at you, trying to gauge your reaction, trying to see what you think of his words, but all you can think is, wait, he called me his kid?

“You called me your kid,” You dumbly voice your thoughts, watching as Ghost’s expression becomes more confused, and he opens his mouth to deny that when suddenly— oh shit, he called you his kid.

“… I did,” He dumbly says back, sounding surprised by his own words, before he fully realizes what he said and simply blinks down at you, not knowing where to go from here. You both blink at each other, not knowing what to say, before he clears his throat.

“I’ll just… head out then,” He awkwardly says, slowly walking away from the bed.

You take the opportunity to say, “Alright, dad.”

He freezes and slowly turns towards you and mutters, “Don’t call me that.”

A grin splits across your face, “Oh I will. Dad.”

He points at you with a single finger, “Don’t. You. Dare.”

“I’ll call you it in front of everyone. I’ll gaslight them into thinking we’re related.”

“God, you better not.”

“I will. In fact, tomorrow, I’ll begin with the Captain. Then I’ll tell Soap, he’s the next most gullible next to Gaz, who I’ll see right after you. Gaz won’t fight with me over it, he’ll just accept it, I know he will, then, and only then, will I tell everyone else. I spread it across the base like the flu. Everyone, and I mean everyone will think that you’re my father, Ghost.”

“That is…” Ghost blinks at you, dumbfounded and mildly horrified, “... terrifying.” “Yeah, I know. Pretty sure I got that from you, dad.” “Oh my God,” Ghost groans, making you laugh at his misery. He walks out without another word, being sure to slam the door behind him, making the poor medic passing by jump at least a foot in the air. You giggle quietly in your bed, waiting for the next person to walk in. By the time you’ve contained your laughter, Gaz walks in, looking strangely sheepish as he walks over to you and closes the curtains behind him that Ghost had forgotten to close. He doesn’t say anything until he’s right by your bed and bends over to give you a nice, firm, quick hug before standing up straight again and clearing his throat. “Hi,” He greets you simply. “Hi.” “How’s the uh… how’s your leg?” “You thought I died?” You ask teasingly, ignoring his question. You can’t see any blush on his face, but you’re almost certain his face heats up as he looks away from you. “Listen…” He sighs, looking back at you, “Price ran over to the whole group, with you not moving at all in his arms, and a tourniquet wrapped around your calf. I feel like it was a bit reasonable for me to think you were dead for a second.” “Right, of course,” You nod, definitely not believing that he only thought you were dead for a second, “That’s totally why I’ve had both Soap and Ghost tell me you thought I was dead. They only told me that because you thought I was dead for a second.” “I’m gonna murder them both, I swear to—” He mutters, burying his face in his hands, making you laugh quietly. He glares at you from behind his hands and adds on, “Oh, you think this is funny? You having a laugh down there, knowin’ that I thought you were dead?”

“I think this is hilarious.” “You’re insufferable and I don’t even know why I try to care about you anymore.” “You don’t try, you just do,” You roll your eyes, “Don’t act like you have to actively try and care about me.” “You’re so snarky today, my God,” Gaz scoffs, “Wait ‘til I tell Captain Price about this.” “Alright, Draco Malfoy. You do that.” “I shouldn’t have ever visited you in here,” He mutters, crossing his arms and looking away from you, feigning annoyance. You huff out a laugh at that and that makes Gaz laugh a bit, though he keeps up his dramatics, continuing to look away from you. “You still think I’m dead now, or?” “Shut it, you.” “My bad.” “I wish they amputated your leg.” “No you don’t.” “…” Gaz can’t even argue with it, simply sighing and rolling his eyes before looking back at you, ”No, I don’t.” “I knew it,” You smile at him knowingly, making his lips twitch up into a smile. You think for a moment before tacking on, “Wanna hear what Ghost said to me?” That makes Gaz perk up and immediately reply, “Oh, absolutely.” Cue you both five minutes later, Gaz gaping at you while you laugh every other word, remember the horror on Ghost's face when he realized what he called you. Gaz covers his mouth with his hand, laughing into it, gripping the rail of your bed with his other hand, keeping himself up.

“He— oh my God,” Gaz laughs, trying to keep quiet so Ghost wouldn’t hear him, knowing the latter was right outside the medbay. He takes a deep breath and another before breaking into small giggles once again, making you do the same. After maybe a few more minutes of just pure laughter, Gaz manages to catch his breath and stop laughing, and you do the same. “I should probably head out now,” He says, sounding almost disappointed by the fact, glancing over at the closed curtain a few feet away from your bed. You nod in understanding and don’t say anything in response, making Gaz look back at you and add on, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow though, yeah?” “Yeah,” You confirm, making Gaz offer you a warm smile and lean down to hug you tightly one last time before getting up and walking over to the curtains, sliding them to the side and walking out, sliding them closed behind him. You hear the click open and shut of the door, as well as Gaz’s footsteps walking outside of the medbay and eventually fading into nothing.

[markkiatocafe]

my beautiful markiattocafe the world is a sad place (there are no johnny fics) i call you to the rescue! something cute, established relationship, FLUFF!!

ive been sooooo in love with johnny lately its unreal😢😢😢

have an amazing day babeee🩷🩷

coffee

a short story with johnny of nct 127

𖠚 warnings: johnny is sick with a fever, johnny looks “dead” asleep, nothing much else but pureee fluffiness!!!!!

𖠚 synop: taking care of johnny wasn’t something he let you do often, but you were definitely never complaining when you could.

𖠚 pairing: gn!reader x nonidol!johnny

𖠚 w.c: 355

𖠚 a/n: my beloved j0h4nk4, i am happy to come to the rescue of the johnny drought!!!! i’m a firm believer in loser johnny, so pls enjoy this 355 word long drabble of practically only sick loser johnny and lovesick reader <3 if you want some more johnny drabbles, i have multiple in my 127 masterlist ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১💛 i hope you have an amazing day too, tysm for the support always!!! now, enough yapping, i hope you enjoy!!!!

“you’re sick. you’re not going into work, end of story.” you said firmly. usually, you weren’t the one that was like this with johnny, telling him what to do was a hard battle to fight. but this time, you were putting your foot down. he had a 103°F fever, you weren’t about to let him go and do labor!

he groaned leaning back into the bed, coughing slightly. “you’re over-paranoid, i’m fine.” he mumbled, his throat a bit hoarse. over paranoid? if only he could see himself right now. he was paler than usual, and you could tell just from the way he talked his voice hurt. you could practically feel the scratchy throat yourself. 

“and you’re stubborn, you’re gonna have to get use to that.” you shot back, which caused johnny to let out an impressed chuckle and mumble something along the lines of, “fair game,” as you started out the room.

“wait, pause, where are you going??” he asked, raising an eyebrow and sitting back up, leaning his back against the headrest of the bed.

“i’m gonna make you some tea, for your throat?” you replied like it was obvious.

johnny hummed, cocking his head to the side. “hmm, could you make me coffee instead? i need an energy boost, anyways.”

you let out a gentle laugh, nodding and walking to the kitchen, starting up the coffee pot. honestly, you weren’t even sure if coffee was that good for you while you were sick, but, you already denied johnny going to work, the statistics of him agreeing to no coffee were a 0% chance.

once you finished the coffee and came back, you walked in to see johnny looking almost dead, laying with one leg over the covers, body parts all kinds of tangled, and eyes closed. you smiled to yourself, walking over and placing the coffee on his bedside table, pressing a kiss to his forehead and rubbing his shoulder. as rare as these kinds of moments were, quiet and steady, contrary to the loud and chaotic (but fun) nature of your usual time together, you could never get enough of them.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

I was wondering if you could do a little drabble where the reader breaks her leg in an accident and Arthur goes to help her by picking her up and taking her home. Please I want Arthur to hold the reader like a princess! 🥺💞

Here you go sweet anon! 🍑

Yes this was supposed to be a drabble but I got a little carried away as always and this ended up being a bit longer than expected. I hope you won't mind!! 🙏

˖✧To pick up a Peach

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Warnings/Tags: Description of a broken leg and physical pain, otherwise this is pure fluff. Arthur being the sweetest gentleman he is in high honor. ✦ Words: 2,4k ✦ a/n: I don't know why but I got carried away with this one and I ended up really loving it. I changed it just a little bit and made Arthur carry you to the doc, cause you know, he wouldn't let you go home without minimum care. He's like that. I made the reader some sort of farmer's daughter AU? Anyway, hope you'll still like it, Anon! Credits. Arthur's pic is mine. Other pics are from Pinterest. Little doodles made by me.

You were screwed.

That’s the thought that was stuck in your mind. Your horse, which the stableman had sworn to you was a gentle and peaceful creature, turned out to be a wild furious animal who was extremely nervous and appeared to have only one idea in mind: go back to where it belonged, the plains of the Heartlands.

You were simply on a ride to Valentine. You would often go there with your sisters on Mondays and Sundays to sell what your family had harvested in your native town, Emerald Ranch, setting up your little stand next to the butcher’s. Usually, these trips were pleasant and you had grown to like them, relieved to see something else than the gloomy and weird atmosphere that had settled in your village.

But your treacherous companion had decided, after an encounter with a snake somewhere near the Twin Stack Pass, that enough was enough. After rearing up as if his life depended on it, he took off at full speed, ejecting you with a crash to the ground, making the wicker basket containing all your precious products fly up in the air like a colorful firework of fruits and vegetables.

An ominous, muffled creak as your body lands.

Stunned, breathless, it took you a few seconds to regain your composure, long gone and galloping off with your horse.

Of course, that had to happen the only time you had decided to ride alone for once.

Your left leg, broken. The fruit of your labors and harvests, your perfect peaches, flawlessly ripe tomatoes and carrots, promising seeds, and beautiful flowers, scattered and smashed on the floor. Your dignity, gone. 

Lying back on the dirt, hair spread like a star around your head, surrounded by an indescribable substance made of crushed fruits and flower petals reduced to a mush, you looked like the religious figure of Bad Luck.

On top of that, being a lonely young woman, unarmed, and hurt in the open clearly wasn’t an ideal situation. Any man with bad intentions could easily do the worst thing to you in your state.

You tried to get back in a sitting position. Every movement was igniting the pain in your broken bone, deep inside your calf, spreading it through your entire body like a burning trail of powder. You let out a short pained grunt, followed by a curse. Slowly tugging your skirt up your knee, you took a worried look at your leg. 

It looked bad.

Painted with deep colored bruises kind of bad. 

The sight of it along with the incessant stabbing pain coming from it made your heart beat faster, and you did your best not to pass out from the nausea that was flying over your head. The panic of not feeling your toes anymore didn't helped at calming your heart rate.

There was no way you could walk back to any town in that state, or contact the rest of your family already waiting for you.

Yes, you were screwed. 

Tilting your head backward, you looked at the sky, in an attempt to prevent your threatening tears from falling, or to throw a desperate call to the Heavens, you didn’t really know it yourself. 

A muffled sound suddenly made its way to your ears. It looked like your involuntary prayer had been answered sooner than you would have expected.

It was the sound of hooves.

You snapped your head in the noise’s direction and noticed an approaching form on the road, raising a cloud of dust in its wake, coming towards you. Your only hope. You were praying, for real this time, that this upcoming stranger was a gentleman and not a bad man.

Praying, praying, praying.

Praying again as the man was at voice’s reach, and as you screamed and begged for help.

“M-Mister!” Your voice sounded even more pitiful than what you had planned, and a bit hoarse from the pain. Your ego protested, but screw it, he probably was your last chance. “Mister, please! I broke my leg! I can’t… I can’t…”

Apparently, shouting didn't seem to help the nausea. The more you were getting air out of your lungs by screaming the more your head was feeling dizzy.

Luckily for you, the lonely rider had heard your desperate breathless words and was heading towards you, stopping his horse in a skillful maneuver before dismounting, his two boots hitting the ground.

“What happen Ma’am, d’ya need some help?” He asked you, voice powerful and worried frown on his face.

“My horse got spooked by a damn snake and he ran away… Making me fall and I… I think my leg broke…” Your tone was pained and way weaker than his as you did your best to explain the situation, a single tear now streaming down your cheek.

The pain, the panic, the frustration from having a month’s worth of work destroyed in just mere seconds… You couldn’t hold it anymore.

Slowly approaching you, the man lowered himself in a crouching position to take a better look at you, and talk to you at the same eye level. His deep blue eyes studied your broken leg, surely not missing the disturbing, alarming color the bruises were taking, your skin an odd mix of purple and green now. It didn’t seem to disgust him though, his face stoic as he scanned your wound.

“Alright Miss jus’... Don’t move too much.” He advised you in a softer tone. You could see he was truly concerned about your state. “What’s with all this mess? You trynna make some soup or what?” He asked in a deep sarcastic tone, as if amused by his own words.

You drily chuckle, which revived the pain you were still feeling in your bone, making you cut your laugh and groan a bit, your own features contracting in a pained expression.

“It is… It was my crop… I was going to sell it in Valentine…” You explained once again, feeling shame and exasperation hitting you. You were feeling so angry from this waste, so angry at yourself to be the only one responsible for it, you couldn’t prevent more tears from falling, trying hard not to let yourself go into sobs.

“Ah, shit… I’m sorry for ya.” He exhaled, contemplating the scattered and mashed jelly-like matter composed of what was once your yield, pieces of peaches and broken carrots lying there, like on a battlefield. His gaze came back to yours, full of compassion and probably pity for your state, before continuing. “Don’t worry Miss. I’mma take you up to the Doc, in Valentine. ‘Was goin’ there anyway.”

You nodded in order to thank him, feeling so relieved life had put him on your way. 

“Okay, I’m gonna help ya get on ma horse. It’s gonna hurt a little but we have to.” He warned you, getting completely down on his knees by your side.

You didn’t dare to move from one inch. He slowly wrapped an arm under your shoulders, his hand grabbing your side. Even more carefully, his other one slipped under your legs, and he gently lifted you up bridal-style, as if you weighed nothing, a fallen leaf in a gentle breeze.

 As if he was carrying injured people all day every day.

Your broken member didn’t like it as much as you did though, and you hissed in pain from feeling your own weight pull on the wound as your leg was hanging in the air. He noticed, and spoke again while getting up, just as easily as if he wasn’t carrying an entire person in his arms right now.

“Gonna be okay Miss, hold on a lil’ longer.”

As if taking his words in a literal way, you encircled his waist with your arms and rested your head on his chest. His work shirt was used and dirty, rough against the skin of your cheek, but right now it just felt heavenly to you compared to the dusty rock of the floor. You sighed, feeling calmer and way better now.

If you had brought up your gaze, you could have seen how a slight blush was spreading on the tan skin of his cheeks the moment he felt you getting comfortable in his arms.

You heard him call for his horse with a short whistle and a sharp noise from his teeth. His mount obeyed right away, getting closer to both of you in a happy trot. You wish your horse could have been as gentle as this one. He looked like a really strong and powerful, but very sweet on the inside animal. A bit like its owner, now that you were thinking about it.

As carefully as if you were made of porcelain, the man in question let go of your legs, and you took support on your valid one. He then picked you up again, by your waist, and lifted you on the saddle, helping you to get settled and as comfortable as possible. His large hands were very soft on you, cautious, caring. You could feel how his touch was light and measured, calculated to make you feel the least pain possible.

“You take the saddle, else your leg would get too bumped during the ride.” He explained before hopping behind you, grabbing the reins by bringing his arms from both sides of you.

He was basically enveloping you, his large frame keeping you warm and steady. Against your shoulders, you could feel his biceps, and thanked the Lord once again this man had good intentions with you because there was no way you could have resisted this mountain of muscles.

The silence fell as your gentle savior spurred his horse into a slow pace, keeping him calm and cold-blooded. You mentally thank him for it, every movement from your leg, even the tiniest one, would ignite the flames of your pain again.

The ride to Valentine was a quiet, peaceful one, just like it was supposed to be from the start. Your eyes kept closing and opening as if you were on the verge of falling asleep, but still needed to be alert until you'd be safe and sound in town. 

You only had exchanged a few words with the man, your names, and where you lived. 

Arthur Morgan didn't look like the kind of man to have the longest conversations but his presence was reassuring nevertheless. His heavy breathing, his body around yours, the calmness of the plains… It was all making your pain less vivid and way more bearable.

Once in Valentine, Arthur rode straight to the Doctor, and got off first, tying his horse's reins around the fence.

“Here we are, Miss. Let's get ya checked up for good, shall we?” He said while standing right next to the saddle, opening his arms to pick you up again, a gentle smile on his face, as if telling you all your worries were behind you now.

If you thought this man was going to let you walk alone to the doc’s office and head off to his own business, you were damn wrong.

Even through your terrible state, a grin curled up your lips and mirrored his own expression. You let your tired and injured body sink into his solid one, and he carried you in his arms once again.

His scent ran through your nose as you breathed, traveling all the way down your veins to your lungs and everywhere in your body, enfolding you and your soul. It was a strong smell, not a delicate one like those gentlemen would carry with their cologne, but you liked it regardless. A mix of leather, sweat, tobacco, and this early dew scent, the one you can smell just before dawn, earthy and herbal, as if he had been sleeping under the stars for months. 

The smell of the outdoors. 

Arthur opened the door with one foot, and entered the Dr Calloway’s office with you in his arms, careful not to let your leg get knocked while walking through the door. The doctor took care of you right away, ordering Arthur to put you on the chair in the little room where patients were treated.

His muscled arms dropped you, his hands gentle and attentive, as slowly as if you were a newborn filly he could hurt or scare away by using too much force. There was such kindness, such gentleness and care in his gesture that it left you feeling all bubbly on the inside.

You kept on looking at him during all the time it took for Dr Calloway to treat you, waiting for him to just go, but he didn’t. He stayed, casually leaning his back against the wall to leave some space for the doctor, his eyes voyaging from your injury to your face, then away from you, as if he was feeling guilty about staring at you like this. It made you giggle.

You paid the doctor, thanked him goodbye, and before you could process it, here you were, freshly gifted with two crutches and a wooden splint around your injury in front of his door. Perfect. For a farmer family, a hurt worker was a curse.

“You gonna be okay now, Miss? D’ya need another ride home?”

Arthur’s deep voice dragged you out of your thoughts. This man was so special. He looked used, strong, and intimidating, but had been nothing but kind and delicate with you. Right now, his deep azure gaze was staring right at yours, making you feel even weaker in the knees than you already were.

“Oh, don’t worry, my family is already here. We have a wagon and all. Besides, you have done plenty for me, Mister Morgan.”

“Ah, don’t ya worry. 'Did what any man would have done seein’ a pretty lil’ lady like ya hurt on the ground.” He answered with a subtle grin.

Before you could realize it, his hand was reaching out for a strand of your hair, and his fingers brushed against it.

You froze, feeling a dark red settling on your cheeks, your eyes looking back at his in surprise and disbelief, searching for an explanation, even if your heart didn't want it. It wanted more of it, no questions asked.

“You hum… You still got some… pieces of peaches or somethin’ in your hair, Miss…” He explained himself, his voice a little less self-assured than before.

You blushed even more. You indeed must looked like a total mess after your accident, and mentally noted to go fix yourself as soon as possible.

“Oh, God I…” You started, feeling embarrassed and flustered, words mixing and blurring in your mind instead of lining up properly. You just sighed, closing your eyes, giggling a little. You then spoke again, keeping your tone as calm as you could. “Thanks again, Mister Morgan.”

“Please, jus’ call me Arthur.”

“Alright, Arthur. Thank you, for everything. I don’t know how I could thank you enough.”

“You know, maybe I could come someday, at your farm I mean, and buy some of your stuff. You could give me a rebate on those, unless everythin’ you sell actually looks like jam…” He added with a mischievous, low chuckle, gaze sparkling.

“Hey! My crops are perfect, Mister. I promise you won’t be disappointed.” You said back in an equally amused tone, a toothy smile completing the picture of your precious blushing face.

“I'm sure I won’t be, lil’ peach.” 

His voice had turned just as soft as his touch had been when carrying you; for Arthur, you really were starting to become his sugary, soft, and delicious favorite fruit.

[yonseibananamilk]

content ahead: hurt/comfort w/ dazai x reader, descriptions of public meltdown, just a drabble but yes it does have a happy ending, relationship can be up to you but they are very close

NOT betaread + ~700 wc

An eraser had rubbed away at your eyes. Puffy and hot and sticky.

With labored breaths, your feet trudged toward what you hoped was the way to your home. Alas, you were still in public and under the scrutiny of passing strangers.

Various shouts by those familiarly warm yet irkingly bitter stirred a pot of bile in your tummy.

You needed to get out of there. Fast.

Sounds thundered in your brain with rapid-fire speed. Every ring. Every footstep. Every voice — especially the ones growing louder and louder behind you.

Flimsy palms cracked against your ears. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Too much attention.

Then shook to your hips. Instinctively to your chest after. Then back to your hips with a forceful grunt.

You couldn’t be seen like this.

It was already bad enough that you broke down in front of your friends — now you had to deal with side-eyes.

On one hand, pity felt like a dream come true. On the other, it made you gag yet again.

Trembling fingers flitted everywhere; Thigh. Shirt. Hair. Grabbing at anything and everything within reach that could keep it from making the truth most obvious.

As you heard yet another shout — words undetermined — your heels spun you into a right turn.

Hard brick thumped against the meat of your shoulder. Ouch.

Stumbling forward, you weren’t quite sure how you manage to catch yourself — but you ended up safely landing anyway. Still standing too.

Lukewarm. Likely some fat water pipe. Though it was far too soft to be metal.

Searing and glossy eyes swung your vision side to side. Settling on an enigma of chocolate hair and widened eyes.

Your hands palmed themselves into the tan of his trench-coat.

Everything from your neck and down slumped against his front. And if you weren’t so frenzied, you would’ve giggled at his lanky body magically keeping you up.

Passing cars filled the air of your body against Dazai.

His gaze traveled all over the tears that cradled your face — more shocked than you by the fated unprecedented meeting.

“You’re crying.” He whispered. Another droplet ripped from your tear ducts.

“I’m sorry.” You tried to redeem yourself. ‘Muh-muh sowwy’ was probably what he heard instead.

No one could understand you like this.

Despite the snot gurgling in your babbling throat — the brunette slung an arm around your waist. Slowly. With intervals of internal battle in-between.

The second arm came quicker.

“You shouldn’t be out like this.”

Captain Obvious murmured, staring at the ground behind your hiccuping back.

Another string of gasps and sobs replied.

“I guess it happened while you were out then, huh?”

Sympathy never came easily to him. Still, it was hard not to feel at least a little bit for someone in a state like yours…

Plus it was easier to feel the sensations of life when you came around. Good and bad.

Your lower lip trembled under its upper twin. Stuck in a weighted pout despite all your efforts to keep a straight face.

Another loud car zoomed past the alley.

And despite all your efforts not to bang your head against the wall.

“Do you wanna go home?”

You nodded.

“Are you able to speak?”

Strings of thick saliva, thanks to mixing in with the marathon of snot in the back of your throat, strained your voice until —

“Yes. Wanna go home.” A wisp pleaded.

“Can I touch you?”

“Uu-uuh.” Unsure of whether or not he understood that — you opted for another nod.

Bandaged hands, awkwardly lukewarm like always, coaxed your body to follow him.

The walk home was quiet.

Dazai’s hand cupped over your ears whenever passing by streets.

Spiky sensations lingered, but most had fizzled away into an annoying, but much more tolerable fuzz.

A humming voice vibrated against your back.

After an eternity in that caving world of unreadable smiles and endless scraping, the walk home zoomed by in a second.

Soft cotton fell against your otherwise quiet frame.

Your hands, growing stabler, smoothed over the light green top. Another lump of human joined you not long after.

‘Warm…’

Chocolate eyes locked onto your glazed gaze.

No longer sticky, the still-damp shine of your lips parts to coo with an adoring touch along his cheek.

Black pupils blended into the color of his irises, even more so when they dilated into saucers.

“Dazai…”

Bandaged hands wrapped surely around you.

“Yes, darling. It’s me. Dazai.”

[valley-of-headcanons]

hii! could you do a headcannon for Alex's emotions and how he would react when his first child is born ?( sorry for the bad grammar, English isn't my 1st language )

alex's first child || headcanons

when faced with the birth of his first child, alex is determined to rewrite the wrong-doings of his father.

warnings: abusive dad mentions, self deprecating on alex's part, female bodied farmer with gender neutral pronouns

requested by: anon! hii, tysm for the request! this is a really cute one that i enjoyed writing a ton! alex is so underrated and his storyline breaks my heart. i love redemption arcs more than anything. anyway! hope you enjoy <3

• Alex has always wanted to have children, but he's always been extremely nervous. He knew that he was not raised in a traditional household, despite his grandparents' rather traditional views. His father was a monster, and he realized this more and more as he grew. When he got to his father's age, more and more he thought to himself: “How could you treat a child like that?”

• When he first found out that you were pregnant, he was over the moon. He was so excited to be a dad! He was going to do all the cool stuff that he never got to do as a child. He was going to play sports with this kid, take them on father-son/father-daughter dates, and love them unconditionally! All the lovely feeling of being a parent swarmed him immediately. Everything was good ... until he got in his head.

• Late night thoughts are never good. When his partner is asleep beside him, about half way through their pregnancy, Alex didn't think the bad thoughts could get to him. But they certainly can. Y'know, aren't mental issues genetic? What if having this kid uncovers some mental issues that he never knew he had? What if he fucks up, making this kid feel as worthless as he felt as a kid? What if he turns into his father?

• That man made Alex feel like a completely different person than what he actually was. The confidence, the light, the joy behind his eyes ... every single time that man popped into his mind, it seemed to be snatched away from him. What if his child feels like that about him? His father is just ... that man. That man who makes them feel like shit and laughs about it. The kind of man that leaves after the damage is done.

• His anxieties were quiet, reserved for nights when you were getting your well deserved rest. He didn't open up to you about it until a bit closer to the date, when his nerves were at an all time high. You noticed there was an uneasiness about him, which was highly unusual. His dam just ... broke. It didn't take too much of a push, and you could tell he hadn't had much sleep. He tried his best not to cry, but he couldn't help it. When it came to his father, he was a defenseless little boy.

• You took him into your arms and held him, consoling his worries. Alex knew the damage of his father, and in knowing that, he would be able to prevent those actions. He cried until he felt a bit safer, resting his head on your stomach and closing his eyes. Maybe the child in your stomach understood Alex's cries, because he felt something softly graze his cheek.

• Soon, the time came to deliver the baby. Alex rushed you to the hospital, at your side consistently. He was there for your every need. He was more focused on you and your health than his own anxiety-ridden thoughts. There was a scratch at the back of his mind, putting him a bit on edge, but that didn't matter right now. His partner was going through a terrifying major life event right now. That may be a bit more important.

• After everything was all said and done, Alex was tired. He certainly wasn't as tired as you were, but he was exhausted. He sat with you, holding your hand as the child was brought into your room for the first time. It finally hit. That's it, he's a father now. You were the first to hold them, you did all the labor after all. After you were done for a moment, you handed them off to Alex.

• That baby could fit in the palm of Alex's hand, but it was his whole world. A cute little bundle of joy, eyes barely open enough to see the world it had just been brought into. Alex then felt his own eyes begin to pour. His little buddy. He held the child close to his chest, pressing the most gentle kisses on their forehead.

• “Hey, little buddy ... I'm your dad, and I'm gonna make sure nothing's gonna happen to you ... you're so tiny! ... how could anyone wanna hurt somethin' so small ...? ... I'm gonna make sure you're taken care of, as much as I can ... I love you so much, little buddy. I promise you'll have the best life ...”

[moonstruckme]

Hi lovely, i hope youre having a good day.

Could i request a poly!maruaders (maybe +lily or bff lily) where reader is either muggleborn or a half-blood and does every day tasks normally (ie. redecorating, dying hair, climbimg to get something up high, looking for something theyve lost, painstakingly repairing something, trying to navigate in the dark). Maybe reader has convinced lily and Remus to help her spring clean and redecorate and they both just automatically go about it a muggle way. And when Sirius and James come to find them later theyre so confused because for them thats always been done with magic.

I have sent a very similar request to someome else before (think its been 2+ months) but i dont think they posted for it. Just in case they do i wanted to let you know. Also no pressure.

Regardless, i love you 🩶

Hi angel! I decided to do this with platonic (or, if you like, pre-relationship) marauders+Lily, and I know you said spring cleaning but my roomie and I just decorated for Halloween and I’ve got that on the brain so I’ve taken more than one liberty haha but I hope you like it <33 Love you too!!

platonic!marauders (+Lily) x reader ♡ 1.1k words

“Do you think this would look alright here?” you ask, stretching your arm as high as you can to pin the middle of the leafy garland to the wall. 

Lily hums contemplatively. “I don’t think that’s quite the middle. A bit to the left?”

You reach leftwards, tottering on your stepping stool, and Remus steadies you with his hands at your waist before you can fall. 

“Here, I’ve got it,” he offers, encouraging you to step down and taking your place. He makes the reach look easy (it’s hardly a reach for him, you suppose), taping the garland in place. “How’s that?” he asks, and you step back beside Lily, assessing. 

“It looks great,” you decide. “Thanks!” 

“‘Course, love.” He grins at you as he steps down, going back to dusting off your mantle. You’re immensely grateful for your friends’ help, the quiet between you companionable as you each work on your tasks, your Rumours record playing softly in the corner. You’d been a bit down about cleaning and decorating your first apartment all by yourself, and Lily had all but invited herself over, offering to keep you company. This morning, she’d shown up with Remus and a bucket full of cleaning supplies, and neither of them would hear your protests about not wanting them to labor for you. Remus had become immediately obsessed with all the dusty surfaces you’ve yet to clean since moving in a week ago, and Lily claims she’s going to make cookies after she’s finished cleaning the oven, so your apartment will smell cozy and homey. 

You’re not sure how you managed to snag such fantastic friends, but just as you’re about to tell them so for the upteenth time since they’ve arrived, your door creaks open. 

“You can’t just leave the front door unlocked,” James says, aghast. “You’re a young girl living on your own, shortcake. Exercise some caution.” 

Sirius breezes by James with a small box in his hands, and you accept the one-armed hug he offers you with faint confusion. Your friends are welcome anytime, but you hadn’t been expecting anyone other than Lily today and you worry the apartment is far from guest-ready. “I usually lock it,” you defend yourself. “It’s just that we’ve been in and out all morning. Anyway, who’s going to murder me with everyone here?” 

“Well, they won’t now that I’m here,” James allows, pecking you on the cheek amicably. “But if you were thinking Lily and Moony could defend you all by themselves, then I’m even more worried about you.” He receives matching exasperated glares from your friends, but ignores them, surveying the apartment. “This is a nice place you’ve got here.” 

“Thanks.” You beam, proud of your little apartment. It had been a bit run-down when you’d first moved in, but the morning’s efforts have really brightened the space. “Did you come by to see it? I’m not sure it’s quite ready for a tour yet, unless you’re alright with dust.”

“A lot,” Remus says wearily, “of dust.” 

“We thought we’d bring you a housewarming gift,” Sirius says, opening the lid of the box to reveal a cake. In cursive frosting, it reads Congratulations, graduate!, but someone’s struck through graduate and scrawled, in messy writing underneath, homeowner. 

You laugh. “Thanks, that’s so sweet! Um, you guys know I’m renting this place, right?”

“We know,” Sirius agrees. “But apparently they only do custom writing if you order, like, way in advance, and we didn’t have enough room to put congratulations on your first big girl apartment ourselves.” 

Remus snorts, but immediately begins sneezing after inhaling some dust from the mantle, and Lily comes over to admire the cake. “I think it’s lovely as it is,” she says, and you hastily agree. You love it, and you love them all the more for it, your sweetheart friends. “Still, Remus and I have been here all morning, so I think our housewarming gift is a bit better.” 

James laughs disbelievingly. “What’s your gift?”

“Cleaning and decorating,” Remus says, having recovered from his fit. “Bit more of a time commitment than a cake.” His voice takes on a slight haughtiness, and Lily smirks. 

“What, all day?” Sirius shakes his head. “That takes ten seconds.” 

“Not the muggle way,” Lily says. 

Sirius’ eyebrows shoot up, and James’ gaze sweeps over the room more intentionally, lingering on the unswept floor, the decorations still in their boxes. “Why in Merlin’s name would you do it the muggle way?” he sounds vaguely horrified. “We could charm this done right now.” 

Sirius nods, sliding his wand from his sleeve as if he intends to do just that, but you clamp a hand around his wrist. “That takes all the fun out of it!” 

“Dollface,” Sirius says slowly, looking at you like you’ve lost it, “how is laboring all morning to accomplish what could be done with a simple spell fun?”

You wave your hands about, gesturing vaguely to the room at large. “I don’t know, it’s about the simple things. You listen to music, and do things the slow way, and you get to choose where your stuff goes instead of letting the spell choose for you.” 

“And,” Lily adds, “it’s satisfying to know that you did it yourself. Like these cookies, which are going to be way better than if I charmed them to bake themselves.” She pauses, glancing at the cake. “By the way, you’re going to have a ton of sweets on your hands, Y/N.” 

“Oh, I was under no impression I’d be eating all this by myself,” you say, somewhat appalled. “Won’t you guys stay and help me with them? I can get us takeaway.” 

Sirius and James help with more than that. Neither of them will touch a broom (frankly, they have trouble wrapping their heads around the idea that some are used for more than flying), but they help you arrange your fake pumpkins on the newly dusted mantle, and bicker over whether they should charm your candles to float like in the great hall or leave them on the coffee table. 

By the time you make good on your offer of ordering takeaway, almost every crevice of your apartment has been cleaned, and it’s smelling like cookies and looking seasonally festive. Remus nips to the store to get a couple bottles of wine for you all, and you and James end up sitting on the floor to eat while Lily declares she’s taking you shopping for more chairs tomorrow. The cake is fantastic, but the company is better, and of all the things you’d wanted to decorate your first apartment with, you think you like filling it with your friends best. 

[suguruslut]

Giving Birth/Them as a Father

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴

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Gwen's Note: babies are only fun in fiction, lol

🐉𝒯𝒶𝓉𝓈𝓊🍳

–he is so prepared! Even more prepared than you, honestly. He’s read every article and book there is with updated info about which positions to give birth in, how to naturally alleviate pain, the sterile process everyone must take to ensure no infections or illnesses are spread. He will be watching everyone like a hawk

–you go a week past your due date, which worries Tatsu, so he does some light exercises with you hoping to induce labor. Wouldn’t you know it, half an hour later your water breaks. Cue Tatsu grabbing the bag he packed six months ago and whipping out a wheelchair you didn’t know you guys had

–Tatsu is great during labor, though he’s secretly very nervous something will go horribly wrong. What will he do if he loses you? What if he loses you BOTH? He was a yakuza, though, so he manages to keep his cool on the outside, saying encouraging things to you the entire time, and lets you squeeze his hand as hard as you can

– “You can do this, {Y/N}! Focus! Push that little sucker out!”

– With your husband’s encouragement, your labor (mercifully) goes quickly, and within four pushes they’re out! Tatsu comforts you with kind words, shaking with anxiety and adrenaline as he sees your baby for the first time

– Tatsu stands over each medical personnel to make damn sure they’re being sanitary as they pass the baby around, finally handing them back to you. Tatsu allows himself to smile, seeing your happy tears and the cries of your child–he would have never in a million years expected this sweet scene to involve someone like him

– “Aww, Tatsu, you’re crying!”

– “No I ain’t! It’s just the lighting!”

–can you say GIRL DAD?!!! Tatsu sobbed when they said your baby was a girl. He’s so excited to do dress up and have tea parties and tutus and worry about her every second of every day…very excited. (Secretly, this is because he thinks a girl would be more like you than him. He’d rather have a mini you than a mini him)

–You wanted a pretty name, but not something overused; Tatsu said no daughter of yours was going to have a typical “scrub name,” so you go with the cute but not common Shiori. Tatsu nicknamed her his little dragon immediately

–When you go home with your little girl, Tatsu is fretting about EVERYTHING. The man has prepared for things you never would have thought of, but he knows that babies always surprise their parents, and that makes him nervous. He never takes his eyes off Shiori, overreading into every little thing she does as a possible sickness or issue

–Tatsu will absolutely wait on you hand and foot. He does that anyway, but now it’s x50. He will prepare bottles, get diapers ready, clean puke stains, and in between that, will give you massages, make your favorite foods, bring you snacks, tea. He will literally wash your hair for you if you ask.

–you need a break from breastfeeding and sitting in bed all day? Tatsu is already ready with a spa day coupon for you. He can’t imagine how hard it is on your body as well as your mind, being a new mother, and whatever you need to do to feel your best, Tatsu is your number one supporter

– “If my beautiful wife needs a break from nurturing our daughter, you bet yer ass she’s gonna get it! Here’s a 30% coupon. I got it from a tomato growing contest.”

–Endless picture taking! When he isn’t worrying or rushing around trying to make things easier for you and your little dragon, he is filling his camera roll with adorable pictures of Shiori. And his beautiful wife, ofc. The last 500 pics on his phone are of you, Shiori, and quite a bit of selfies with him and his little girl. And it’s only been one week

–Tatsu’s heart is overflowing with love upon becoming a dad, filling your head with deep appreciation and revere for allowing him to pass this milestone with you. He quickly becomes the most popular dad on the block, admired and respected by everyone for his loud, but gentle parenting

🐅𝒯𝑜𝓇𝒶𝒿𝒾𝓇𝑜🍰

–Tora is constantly checking his phone, always on edge that you might suddenly go into labor. One day when he’s at the crepe truck at three in the afternoon, he’s in the middle of whipping up a crepe when you text him SOS,BB OTW! He has never dropped a crepe so fast

–He meets you at the hospital, breathless and yelling for someone to tell him where his wife is. Tora sprints into your room all dramatic like, rushing to your side with immediate worries and demands to know what’s going on

–Tora hates seeing you in pain, which makes it hard for him to watch you in labor. He knows you’re doing it to bring life into the world, life he helped create, but it hurts him to see you yelling and crying in agony. He’ll do his best to encourage you, trying to hype you up for that last push

–He is more focused on you when the baby actually comes out, constantly asking if you’re okay, if you need anything, etc. Then when they push the baby at you guys he’s like “??? Oh, yeah!”

–Much like Tatsu, I think Tora is such a girl dad!!! She would be his angel from the first moment you place her in his big hands. He is her protector, her tiger. Speaking of tigers…

– “How bout we name her Tigress? You know, from Kung Fu Panda? What a boss!”

– “Tora…no.”

– Neither of you want a traditional Japanese name; you settle on Sakima, which means ‘warrior queen.’ Enough flare for Tora, enough uniqueness for you. Her nickname quickly becomes Kima the Killer, courtesy of her father

–Tora does not like random people handling his daughter, even if they are “medical personnel.” He glares at everyone, always asks questions on what they’re doing and why they’re doing it. You have to cool him off sometimes, reassuring your husband that they’re just making sure Sakima is healthy

–Back at home, Tora loosens up a bit. He smiles big smiles, slows himself down and really admires his little girl, staring at and watching her for hours on end. It’s a softer side to Tora no one else usually sees. Feels so relaxed around his little killer who loves tickles and kisses

–Absolutely sends a million pics of him and his daughter to Tatsu, bragging like you wouldn’t believe. Not that you can blame him, Kima is very cute, and already has her father’s intense gold eyes that demand respect

–Tora will take on any challenge brought to him, which includes dirty diapers, spit, puke, snot, spilled milk, anything, and he won’t complain at all, not even silently. Nothing compares to blood and guts anyway

– “It’s an honor to serve my family and get my hands dirty!”

–He is always the one to get up in the middle of the night if Kima cries. In his eyes, you’re already doing so much, have already DONE so much, giving birth and all, Tora won’t let you lift a finger. His wonderful wife is gonna get her beauty rest and not have to worry about a thing

-Tora loves being a bad ass dad and strolling around the neighborhood with his adorable little baby girl and his hot wife, whom he vows to protect with his life. Insert DILF era!

🐕ℳ𝒶𝓈𝒶🥡

–you go into labor in the middle of the night, and it takes you a good five minutes to wake Masa up. Dude can sleep forever, so you pinch his side hard to get him alert. When you do, he still needs to be told several times that you’re going into labor before his brain catches up

– “You’re…huh? Labor? You mean, like…the thing that…you know…really?!”

– Calls Tatsu on the way to the hospital in a panic, having forgotten everything he should do to ease your anxiety. Tatsu talks him through it, but it’s pretty clear that Masa is panicking just as much as you are. Luckily the nurses at the hospital know what they’re doing

–Masa tries to be brave and goes into the delivery room with you. He really doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but the boss said he’s gotta do it, so here he is. Poor boy tries hard to be supportive, but his ramblings only make you more anxious because you can tell HE’S nervous

–as soon as he sees the baby’s head popping out…yeah, he passes out cold, lol. Gory yakuza movies are great, but this kind of explicit imagery is too much for his manly brain to handle. Sorry, but you’re on your own now, kid, lmao

–Tatsu wakes Masa up and waits for everything to be cleaned up before bringing him back in. Masa is scared shitless, eyes wide, hands shaking as he approaches you and your newborn; but the second he sees your tearful smile at him, all his panic drifts away

– “Woah! We really made this thing? Dope! …Huh…it’s kinda ugly, isn’t it? Why does it look like that?”

– It takes some convincing, because Masa is afraid he’ll drop your baby, but you do get him to hold it, and a genuinely excited smile finally comes through. He’s in disbelief about being a dad until he holds the baby in his own arms, amazed at the lively little thing squirming about

–I can see Masa as being a boy dad. He’d be so stoked to have a mini man, would probably try to name it something like Kazuma, Yami, Link, anything from a video game he loves. You would compromise and go with Shinji, a nice name that can also be connected to several games and anime

–Masa feels clueless when you take your son home, anxious about everything you have to do right away…he spends most of his time just staring at the little guy, though, overwhelmed with awe that you two created this. It blows his mind, and he has no idea where to begin

– “So like, what do babies eat? I’ve got like, ten yen…maybe we can get them something small from the convenience store?”

– “Babies drink breast milk for the first year of their lives, Masa.”

– *Masa malfunction*

–For probably the first time in his life, Masa becomes focused, worried that he’s doing everything wrong when really, he’s doing a great job trying to keep up with your newborn. He’s doing his best, and that’s all you could ever ask for; the bags under his eyes prove it

–brags endlessly about his baby boy! He’s YouTube and Instagram famous already. Masa wants to set Shinji up for success and fame

–Although he might whine on the inside, he’ll clean diapers, wipe boogers, clean up puke, get up during the middle of the night, whatever! Masa wants to be as good a father as Tatsu says he can be. Whatever you ask him to do, he’ll do it, even if he feels like he isn’t doing things good enough

– Babies fascinate Masa, lol, and his son is especially interesting to him. He gets so excited whenever Shinji makes a new noise, or a new movement, or just does humanly things in general. He becomes convinced that Shinji’s quick fingers mean he’ll be a great video game player one day

– Speaking of video games, Masa sets his baby son down on the couch with him as he plays, explaining the lore in details a newborn could never understand. He claims Shinji is his good luck charm, and frequently casts a look down at his son to ensure he’s okay. You think it’s cute when you find Masa and Shinji asleep on the couch after completing a hard level together, your two silly boys the best of friends already

–Like Tora, Masa loves showing his baby off, feeling like a real adult when he whips out pictures of Shinji at his first photoshoot; really, it isn’t pride he’s feeling, but just pure, unfiltered happiness he wants to spread to everyone he meets. Masa might worry a lot about his parenting skills, but with you there to help, he thinks he might turn out to be a great dad

🐉 🐅 🐕

Househusband Headcanon Masterlist