#at least i have enough time to reread this without rushing

[1800-lemonadeg1rl]

Sniffle any louder

Natasha Romanoff x reader

Minors dni!! Masterlist°•☆

Summary - when you show up to work il lit aggravates Natasha that is until she sees your dire state

Warnings - mention of illness, nonsexual nudity, hurt comfort, as usual not proofread

Word count - 2k

A/n - I started rushing at the end because I wanted to have it out by tonight so the ending might not be as good srry

Fractures of pain shot through your aching body like icicles as you left the team meeting. God how you wished you'd just admitted you were ill this morning instead of letting your pride get in the way and pretended to the team that you were right as rain. I guess that's what happens when your on a team with literal super soldiers, you too start believing your above any illness or injury. Oh, but how wrong you realised you were when this flu hit you like a ton of bricks. The combined migraine alongside with the distrsssing chill of your bones left little energy left for you to do anything except lie down and rest, which you hated to admit and wouldn't ever given the choice, despite how sickly you'd begun to look.

Your usual bright eyes full of life and wonder became dull and bloodshot from the lack of sleep your blocked nose had caused you the previous night when you chose to ignore it. The skin on your face that was often painted a rosy colour now paled almost deathly looking, comparable to that of a ghost. Your unshakable senses, often remarked as some of the best had become overworked and dulled from the sickness using up all your remaining energy causing you not to notice people around you until they had begun to speak. The gravelly gasping and choking noises that spluttered from your inflamed throat were foreign to your usual bubbly voice.

Despite these stark and clear changes in not only your physical appearance but also how you carried yourself around the compound you had tricked yourself, somehow, into the belief no one around you would notice. Obviously you were unwell anyone could see that from a mile off and if you didn't think out of a house full of spies, enhanced beings and military personnel that not one of them would pick up on something up with you then you must have been seriously down with something.

Unlucky for you someone did notice after your sniffling had interupted their train of thought for the seventh time, it didn't take a genuis but she'd been ignoring the signs since you arrived. Natasha Romanoff had been trying to reread and correct a badly written mission report written by an incompetent intern. This had already been stressful enough for her without the woman next to her trying to desperately through her blocked nose instead of just going home. The first time she actually noticed something was up was when you nearly walked into the door, stumbling around like bambi on ice. This was something someone with your spacial awareness and high senses would never manage to do if they were as okay as they were telling everyone they were. She spotted it again when you began to cough like a smoker and at that like someone who smoked at least five packs a day, a thing she knew you were not. You'd told her a while back that despite your bad habits which were endless and definitely on show today that you never wanted to smoke because it reminded you of your mother. So unless you'd switched up on that which she very much doubted and had taken up chain smoking the answer was clear; you were ill, very ill.

She also questioned why you were even here, how you were even here. Natasha would leap at the first chance to avoid these dull meetings even if it meant admitting illness to the rest of the group. She'd actually faked being ill before to skip debriefs and instead head to the gym. At one point she had no clue how you were even still able to be alive and functioning with how shallow your breaths were. Everytime your mouth opened a disgusting noise alike to the disgust she felt at nails on a chalk board rung from deep in your throat. Aswell your ever scratcher voice that was beginning to drive her insane. It was one thing to come in sick, it was another to make yourself more ill by working harder than usual.

This had made her angry more than anything, angry at your selflessness. Angry no one else would ever do this, including herself. Angry you put working above your own physical health. Angry that you'd risk everyone else getting ill instead of taking a sick day. Angry you couldnt just admit your illness and leave.

Your eighth sniffle really sent Natasha over the edge as she turned to look dead at you and gave you a menacingly dirty look. A scowl that could kill glowering into your soul. Yet in feverly state you could hardly even register the spy looking in your direction as you still tried to process something said in conversation several minutes ago. Throughout the rest of the meeting she sideyed, scowled, gritted teeth, frowned, muttered under breath and cursed in your direction much to you ignorance. On an average day you could recognise what emotion someone was going through just by being in the same room as them and the tone of their breath but right now even with Natasha directly next you, practically right in your face you couldn't pick up a single negative emotion.

After the meeting you quickly stumbled in the direction of your room, hoping to avoid anyone on the way there, which you managed with much ease despite your worsening condition. Once you reached your room you shut the door without bothering with the lock. Stripped to your underwear and crawled back into bed without a sound. Curling up under your soft thick duvets you shivered and slowly cried yourself into a feverish slumber.

Natasha stayed behind to finish her reports, which she easily could have done hours ago without your incessant coughing and sniffling and all round ill noises. It only infuriated her more as she worked quickly, alone and welcoming the silence since the end of the meeting. When she finished up the work she was just about ready to give you a piece of her mind. And thats what she was gonna do. She had strong feelings about you prioritisation of work over wellness and she was gonna share them with you whether you wanted to hear or not.

Easily, she threw open your door and it hit the wall with a bang, enraged she didnt notice your crumpled whimpering figure writhing under the duvet.

"Sniffle a little louder next meeting." She comments loudly and sarcastically before instantly wincing at the sight of you in the bed.

Instantly her whole demeanour changes into one of care and pure unhidden worry. Natasha crouched over your trembling figure on the bed. Quickly she removed the pile of blankets from overtop and pressed a palm to your forhead before just as swiftly pulling it away with a frown. You were boiling 38°c at the very least and yet your body was still shivering. Without thinking twice Natasha knew the best thing for you was a cold, very cold shower.

She carried your somehow still sleeping figure easily into the bathroom as if you were no more than a light weight to her, which you probably were considering her max dead lift. Gently and ever so carefully she sat you down in the bath before turning the cool shower on next to you. Adjusting it so the water pressure was lower than usual so that it maybe less of a shock for when you fully woke.

Soon after the water began to flow your eyes opened to the hazy view before you. Natasha knelt over the bath making sure you were just alright. When you noticed the water and the bath, definitely not where you fall asleep you began to panic. Quickly flailing much like a fish out of water. Thrashing to get out the bath and attempting to scrabble to your feet. Natasha noticed your sudden frenzy and much quicker than you could, grabbed a hold of your hands halting your movements while whispering affirming words to you.

"Shh sh its okay. Your just in the bath, don't worry were just trying to soothe your fever." She begins to rub your palms slowly in a way which soothes you and instantly slows your panic as you go to rest your head on the bathroom wall.

"Hm don't do that darling. Try and stay awake while your in the bath, just for now." She's says quietly afraid to worsen the headache you already had as she coaxes your head off the wall. "That's it good girl. You can do this."

Her small praises would have usually annoyed you and felt almost condescending but right now they were almost enough to make you smile. She was making you feel as if your feeble attempts to stay conscious were really doing anything.

"M' so tired." You mumbled out a response that slumped together into your mouth so it was barely understandable to Natasha yet she still smiled and nodded at you, not wanting you to feel any worse than you already did.

"That's okay sweet girl, the sooner we get you out the bath and some medicine down you the sooner you can sleep." All the while she kept rubbing at your hands and fingers to keep you grounded in the moment. "I'm going to find you some fresh clothes just stay here."

You nodded but the minute Natasha left your head flopped back against the wall as if magnetised towards it. Upon her return with fresh clothes Natasha tutted.

"You really aren't well, are you?" A small attempt at a nod on your part did not surprise her one bit. "See if you told someone earlier we wouldn't be here right now. You have to ask for help when you need it." She knew her words meant little to you in your current state but she wanted to start bedding them in now nonetheless.

"Now, do you need help getting dressed? There's no shame in needing the help."

"Uhm.. I think a bit." Your response was croaky and your voice was beginning to sound worse by the second.

"That's okay, I'll help you then." She gives you a hand getting out the bath and holds you upright as she helps fully undress you. In her panic to get you in the bath she hadn't thought to remove what you were wearing.

You weren't insecure about your body but something like this would usually not be on with you. But right now you knew you couldn't refuse the help Natasha was offering as you could barely even stand still yourself. So begrudgingly you allowed her to undo your bra and slip off your underwear before tossing them in the bath saying something about getting them to the wash later. Putting on the fresh clothes was easier than either of you anticipated as you didn't resist and her strength helped you from falling against the cold tile floor.

Natasha helped you hobble back towards your bed which you instantly fell against ready to embrace sleep again.

"Ah. Not so quick, first the medicine then sleep." She said softly handing you first a couple pills and some water. "For your headache." Begrudgingly you took them and Natasha smiled as she saw the look of grimace on your face finding it both amusing and adorable. "Okay sweet girl just the syrup left, this will help for your throat." You stared at the syrup in your hand with a frown. Just the smell of its contents was enough to make you dry heave and its colour wasn't tempting either. After two minutes of more convincing and praise you managed to stomach it, not all of it but enough so Natasha was happy enough to stop bothering you.

You knew after that you could finally emmerse yourself in a blissful slumber and with little care curled up, face pressing into Natasha who watched over you as you slept making sure nothing interupted your much needed rest.

Tags: @wandasfifthwife @yanaromanov @idkwhatever580 @stayevildarling

[megamagimugi]

He's-a Gone

Luigi time! To suffer, that is.

(CW: character death)

This is obviously a sort of comlementary piece to I Was-a Too Late. But it's more than just that as it also illustrates a certain fun, dark what-if idea I had. Please keep reading if you're intrigued!

Lore:

Luigi's Mansion, the first game. Everything goes the same as in canon until the final boss fight, when Luigi defeats King Boo in his Bowser costume. After King Boo comes out and Luigi intends to suck him in, the villain laughs and reveals the truth: Mario's painting was an illusion, so was everything Madame Clairvoya saw. All just to mess with Luigi. Meanwhile the real Mario wasn't just captured by the Boos, he was immediately killed by them on their King's orders. The only physical thing that's left of him in this realm is the five items Luigi found - hidden by the Boos for Luigi to find, another part of King Boo's sick game.

Luigi is able to finish the fight despite his shock and grief, fueled by the anger King Boo never expected from him. After getting out of the painting the plumber discovers that it is indeed empty, no Mario or anyone else in the portrait.

Heartbroken and guit-ridden, Luigi goes back to Professor E. Gadd's lab and gives him back the Poltergust 3000. He doesn't even want to stay long enough to see what is going to happen to the ghosts. Of course the Professor tries to offer some semblance of comfort, but we all know it's not his forte.

So Luigi leaves, only taking Mario's five items with him. He notices that the mansion has disapeared without a trace. The reality of it all finally hits him, and he practically collapses onto a nearby tree's large root protruding from the ground, putting down the precious items around himself, only leaving the matching red hat and the letter in his hands. He should have known something was off. After all, the Mario he saw in the painting was wearing his hat and both gloves.

Looking at all these items, to his growing horror he can't help but imagine what exactly might have happened to his brother and what his last moments might have been like. He hugs the hat to his chest and rereads Mario's note several times, knowing that the brief warning was his brother's last words to him.

Luigi can do nothing but cry for the beloved brother he couldn't save, desperately wishing it was his warm, living and breathing body pressed to his chest rather than just a couple of his belongings.

But Mario is truly gone, apparently having met such a horrific fate that not even a single part of his body is left in the physical world.

[Good night]

…I'll leave the rest up to your imagination ;) Sorry if I got carried away with my description. Occasionally even I enjoy being a little dramatic, though I'm no writer whatsoever.

Yeah, I'm not apologizing for making this one - I was nicer to Luigi than to his bro, at least here the Mushroom Kingdom and everyone in it (except for Mario lol) is still okay!

But alas,

You can no longer play as Mario

Rest in spaghetti, funny wahoo man.

@federthenotsogreat I'm tagging you because you said you wanted more Mario art like I Was-a Too Late, thought you might like this one too!

@drones-of-innocence Also tagging you because you were interested in my idea.

Edit: Tagging a few more mutuals who might want to see this based on their reaction to my previous angsty work just in case, feel free to ignore. Or ask me to remove the tag if you want, no problem.

@silenzahra (remember, no rush) @c-lavanda @jell-o101 @stripetkattelalala54-gf

@luigixfanxayjay @itsavee4117

And you @giddlygoat just because you have a Luigi's Mansion AU and I thought you might appreciate this... Also because I'm a fan 👉👈

[messylustt]

Hi there oh my GOD. I LOVE YOUR WRITING.

I wanted to ask if you could write about Miguel protecting his favorite human (maybe from an ex?), when she least expects it. I'm OBSESSED with a casually protective Miggy omg 🤤🤤🤤

god i love this. dftgvbjjjkggjjk

݁   𓂃 ៸៸៸ protective eyes — miguel o’hara + reader: miguel has found an interest in you and your experiments. his silent watchful gaze soon gets caught up in a message you get from your ex.

contents : protective!miguel. kinda stalker miguel. tad bit of violence + threatening. reader not knowing that miguel is watching her. wc 1.7k.

it was dark outside your window. streaking sections of moonlight darted onto the floor. the very floor you were currently pacing. a text. you had gotten a text. now, normally any form of interactions brought a smile to your face, say, if it was from a friend, talking about the inner workings of dance in the 80's. and yes, they usually were drunk, resulting in you making your way to your car to pick them up.

but this is time is wasn't your friend, this time it wasn't some drunken text. you glance back to the screen of your phone, illuminating your face. you were chewing on your lower lip as you reread the message.

oliver

hey, look i know we didn't end particularly well and everything. but i miss you, babe. like a lot.

'particularly well'? really? it ended horribly. that night was filled with yelling and accusations. the neighbours almost actually called the police. thankfully no authorities were brought in, and the night ended with a harsh slam to the door. so, why now, after two months, was he texting? saying he missed you?

you bring the screen away from your eyes, pressing your lips together in annoyance. and that's when you hear a faint scratch. or what sounded to be a mix of a scratch and a shift. you spin, staring out the window. rushing over you twisted the rusty lever and pushed the window open. cold air hit your face as you squinted against the dim city lights.

just like every time, you found nothing. no one. over the past few months you had been hearing these...noises. movements of what you'd assume to be a person. but you never caught a soul. you had thought you were being watched. it awfully felt like it. but every time you thought of an explanation you could use as reasoning and evidence for the police you had to cut yourself short, realising that all your words were pointing towards a ghost. and what authorities believe in the make-believe?

sighing, you slipped back into your apartment, closing the window as you tiredly brushed your hair back against your head. "i need sleep." you mutter to yourself, stretching your neck from side to side. maybe you did have a ghost. maybe your apartment was haunted, eyes watching you from the walls.

you were wrong about majority but when it came to 'eyes' and 'being watched' you were on point. because someone was keeping a close eye on you. their reasoning? not sure. just that they'd settled into a nice little routine, coming to rest by your fire escape to look through your window when the sun went down. and when no missions required a hero.

miguel o'hara was man of many talents. even with his large frame he always seemed to slip past anything and anyone without their knowledge. and that included your own knowledge. oblivious enough to his gaze you carried on with your day to day life. and maybe he could count himself as a little creepy. but he meant you no harm, none at all. he was just...intrigued.

in the day you worked a simple life, working at sweet cafe on the corner. but at night is where you thrived, hidden in a room you concocted little experiments, using acids and chemicals. you could call it a hobby, but you wanted it to be more. money wasn't necessarily on your side. the lack thereof made sure you couldn't earn a training placement with one of the most presteemed scientific standings. so, in the meantime you were building up a portfolio for yourself, one small test at a time.

miguel had been webbing across this specific universe when a small explosion had gone off. briefly ditching the anomaly he redirected towards the apartment. your apartment. there he had spotted you, waving your hand to get rid of the smoke. the explosion was small enough to not cause too much of a panic.

but his brows seemed to furrow in interest once he realized what had caused the explosion. one of your science experiments. the visual of your hair aray, and your coughing breath reminded him a little too much of himself. similar setup, clear similar ambitions.

so, maybe he had checked in on you once or twice, just to see if you had caused anymore damage. maybe to see how your projects were coming along. you were talented. miguel realised that pretty quickly. and soon enough the routine was set. his placement on the fire escape gave him a chance to rest, along with a chance to watch as you created things with your hands.

throughout these trips he had picked up things in your life. the most obvious one was your boyfriend. or boyfriend at the time. he was...alright, with his dark locks, and a boyish grin. but there was an edge to him, one that miguel picked up rather quickly. you didn't notice this aggressive edge until that fight that ended with the slammed door.

miguel had seen it, shocked in himself that his claws flexed to...what? help? he hadn't thought his observations had mixed with his feelings. he thought his interest in you was purely based on reflection. just a happy coincidence that your actions reminded him of his younger self. but over the next few months he realised that maybe he was looking at you a little too intently. you. instead of your work.

and when he caught a glimpse of your ex's text his face fell. missed you? he missed you? of course he did. what an incredible loss you were to him. but that statement couldn't be considered in 'vice versa'. you didn't need oliver, over the past months miguel has seen that you hadn't even missed him one bit.

but what made miguel's anger come to play was when he caught sight of the next text that popped up. your phone having been left by the window as you moved towards the shower.

oliver

are you really not gonna answer me?

i know where you live

a threat? he was really threatening you? miguel's jaw clenched as he tried to find some sense of calmness in the situation. but all he found was unbridled hatred for your ex. as miguel stood, rolling his wrists he knew exactly where his next stop was going to be.

;;

oliver was busy in his kitchen, glaring at his phone. “you’ve got to be kidding me.” he muttered to himself. “the bitch really thinks that’s it?” he goes to angrily text again. “i gave you two months to miss me. to come back.”

“must have not been long enough.” miguel’s voice broke oliver’s ranting as he spun, eyes wide.

“what the fuck?” he exclaims, watching as the large man steps casually into his kitchen, his claw scraping against the granite.

oliver’s eyes dart down, spotting the talon as his breathing grows choked. “g-get out of my kitchen you…you freak!”

miguel lowly chuckles as he continues to move towards him. “who were you texting?” he asks, finally meeting his gaze.

oliver’s chest is moving a pace a minute, as he gulps, now noticing miguel’s red eyes. “what do you care?” he darts his gaze around. miguel steps closer and oliver grabs a knife. miguel raises a brow, unnerved by the weapon. “i-i’ll call the police.”

“you know, your threats have little effect on me.” miguel states, now towering over him. “but they will effect a girl i don’t particularly want being threatened.”

oliver’s eyes furrow, before the wrinkles smooth. he scoffs out your name. though his voice stays strained. “are you the brat’s new boyfriend?”

oliver doesn’t have to time to comprehend a thing, as he’s pressed against the kitchen cupboard, a clawed hand wrapped tightly around his neck, as his face actually turns a concerning colour. miguel leans closer, snarling. “do you wanna repeat that?”

oliver’s eyes are widened with fear, as he pathetically tries to get out of miguel’s hold. miguel’s claw has begun to imbed itself into the skin of his neck, making oliver’s moves frantic. “no really. repeat it.” miguel’s nose it twitching as oliver swears he’s looking into the face of the devil.

“p-please — ” he tries through gasping breathes.

“ah, that’s not quite right. i heard you call her a brat?” miguel leans closer, fangs protruding. “am i wrong?”

miguel’s claw is now tainted with oliver’s blood as his strength doesn’t let up. miguel can see his eyes fluttering, forcing him to squeeze his cheeks together painfully. tears are welling in oliver’s eyes. and maybe it’s a tad sadistic with how much miguel doesn’t want to stop. “don’t faint on me now. you have a girl to apologise to.”

miguel finally let’s him go, as oliver hits back against the cupboard gasping for much needed air, as he holds his now bruised and bloody neck. miguel watches with an indifferent expression as he waits for oliver to catch his breath. weak — he thinks to himself.

oliver doesn’t dare look up as he keeps his head hung low. “i-I’ll go apologise now — ” but just as he moves to rush towards the door, miguel grabs the back of his collar, harshly pulling him back.

“no, no. you’re not gonna see her.” miguel offers him the phone, oliver’s shaky hand taking it. miguel leans down to his ear, his taunting voice sending shivers down the boy’s spine. “you’re never gonna see her again. you’re gonna text her an apology and that you’re leaving the city.”

oliver goes to protest but miguel’s grip slips to the back of his neck, stopping his words from falling. “and you’re gonna stay away. do you understand?”

all oliver can do is shakily nod, and type out an apology to you. miguel carefully watches over his shoulder. “you can add a bit more feeling than that, can’t you?” miguel taunts. “she doesn’t deserve just some lame ‘i’m sorry’. does she?”

oliver shakes his head as he fills the message with more kind words, before miguel is finally letting him go. and god does he run, barely grabbing his jacket before he’s out his apartment and rushing to his car.

;;

you’re drying your hair, as soft hums of a tune leave your lips. grabbing your phone, you glance at the latest message. you sigh, upon seeing one from oliver. but upon reading it, your brows furrow, as you yet again hear the familiar scratch and shift by your window, your gaze darting up.

© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.

[lesbianpepsi]

would it be a sin if i stayed?

pairing: ghostface!sam carpenter x fem!reader

summary: you find out your girlfriend is hiding something from you

words: 3.120k

warnings: mentions of murders, gf!sam, knife, scream shenanigans, stab wounds, treating wounds, fear of cheating(?), swearing, bad writing

authors note: so it's been a minute huh, excuse the rusty writing i've been in pain and in a writers block

Everyone's entitled to their own secrets; there's nobody in the world that doesn't have at least one secret. 

Some people have small secrets such as not liking a certain food but saying they like to please the other person. Others don't have such sweet secrets.

The darkest secret you have is the fact you slit your ex's tire once after she cheated on you, it's not insanely dark or even cool, it's simply just a secret that you don't want people to know about.

Yet there's people in your life that hold such darker secrets, ones that could never be revealed to anyone; not even their most loyal loved ones. 

Unbeknownst to you that person is Sam Carpenter, your girlfriend of over a year.

—————

Me (17:29pm): i'll get started on dinner soon then?

Sammy<3 (17:32pm): Yes please. Hopefully I'll be done soon with my shift and can hopefully even help you a bit with the cooking! 👩‍🍳😊

Me (17:33pm): maybe i'll postpone for a bit then

Sammy<3 (17:33pm): No, start cooking. You need to eat and Derek is a bastard who won't let me off early anyways 😂😂

Me (17:34pm): fineeeee 

Me (17:34pm): see you soon then, love you <33

Sammy<3 (17:36pm): I love you too, Y/n ❤️

Me (18:12pm): i finished making dinnerrrr:)) 

Me (18:22pm): sammmm

Me (18:29pm): sam? 

Me (18:31pm): please answer me sam, where tf are you?? ik you finish your shift at six 

Me (19:06pm): Sam this isn't funny, please answer my calls.

You bite your bottom lip nervously as you reread over the messages hoping to see that small bubble pop up any second. 

Sure traffic was a reasonable reason to why Sam's late but she'd always message you after finishing her shift at work.

Sam's one of those people who never leaves the house without her phone being higher than 80%, meaning her phone being dead wouldn't explain it. She always made sure it had more than enough battery in case Tara or you called her and there was an emergency 

So why the fuck isn't Sam answering your texts? You can't help but worry after everything that's happened to the poor woman and her family with Ghostface. 

You've already tried calling her three times to no avail. Nervously you switch over to Tara's contact as your thumb hovers over the call button, debating whether you should ask her if she's seen Sam or not.

If Tara hasn't seen her and Sam is in fact just running incredibly late then you're just going to worry the younger Carpenter for no reason.

"Fuck." You mumbled to yourself as you lowered your thumb to dial Tara, deciding it's worth the risk.

Just as you're about to press down you hear the doorknob to your front door jangle, immediately you whip your head around to see Sam entering calmly.

You drop your phone and rush over to her throwing your arms around her desperately as you cling to her. 

Sam doesn't say anything as she slowly raises her hand to your back, rubbing it up and down slowly.

"Where were you, Sam? I thought something had happened." You say worriedly as you pull away staring into your eyes intently, noticing a glimmer in her eyes that you have never seen before. 

Her eyes looked darker, almost a lustful look in them. 

She sighed as she smiled apologetically. "Some girl puked all over the place so I had to clean it up so I wasn't done till six thirty, then my phone died so I couldn't text you."

You ponder for a second on the possibility of Sam's phone actually being dead since the messages and calls went through, meaning it would be impossible for her phone to be dead.

Biting your tongue you nod as you smile at Sam, just relieved to have her here. 

"Okay, glad you're safe then. I've made a plate for you so you just need to reheat it." Sam grins as she presses a quick kiss to your cheek making your ear burn just as they did the very first time they kissed you. 

"You're the best." She says and you chuckle giving a weak smirk. "I know right, the best girlfriend."

Sam pulls away from you as well, finally giving you a proper look of her. You tilt your head confused as you notice the baggy black hoodie she's wearing, practically devouring her and hiding her arms and upper body.

"You didn't leave wearing that this morning." You comment mindlessly as you grab the end of the sleeve, rolling your fingers around the soft texture.

Sam stiffens as she roughly pulls her arm away from your grip, crossing her arms over her chest. You frown at her abruptness. 

"It was in the trunk of my car." Sam replies dismissively with a wave of her hand before turning to enter your room. 

You remain where you stand a little frown toying on your lips. What was that about? You thought as you glanced at the doorway to your bedroom, the light being flickered on by Sam.

"I'm just gonna take a shower real quick then I can eat dinner and we can watch some movies?" You hear Sam yell from your room also hearing the erratic movement from her as you walk closer.

Leaning on the doorway you see Sam placing her phone, car keys and work badge on the dresser. 

"Want me to reheat your food for you?" You suggest with a smile. Sam nodded her head as she turned to face you, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead this time as she whispered, "I love you so much." before passing you and locking herself in the bathroom. 

A few moments later you hear the loud sound of the shower water hitting the bottom of the tub before it gets muffled by Sam entering the shower.

Against your better judgement you glance back into the room where Sam's phone is kept, the desperate urge to check it gnawing at you. 

You didn't want to snoop through it, no, you just wanted to see if she was lying or not. Which you basically already knew she was. 

You glance back at the bathroom door before rushing into the room to look at Sam's phone.

Reaching the drawer you picked up her phone and to your horror the movement of you picking it up lights the screen up. 


Sam's phone wasn't dead.

She lied to you. 

Sam wouldn't cheat on you, right? No, Sam would never. She loves you too much for that. 

Right?

Shaking your head in hopes of getting rid of those thoughts you place Sam's phone back into its original position, staring at it before leaving the room to reheat Sam's plate of food.

You trust Sam with your life and more and don't believe she's cheating on you since she's already quite possessive and protective of you after Ghostface. 

After placing the plate into the microwave you move back into the living room, dropping down onto the couch with a sigh as you wrap your fingers around the TV remote, pressing the on button.

The TV started up and immediately you were introduced to the loud male voice of the news reporter. You pulled out your phone and didn't pay much attention till you heard him utter a line that made your blood run cold.

"-two male victims stabbed to death near Parker Street, the police have no lead suspects as of now but a CCTV footage has been leaked showing the brutal murder and the killer wearing the infamous Ghostface costume."

Your eyes widened as you slowly lowered your phone, pushing yourself up the couch as you straightened your posture.  

Ghostface is back? It doesn't help that Parker street, that's the street where the bar Sam works at is at. 

"Sam!" You yelled and panicked as your eyes remained focused on the screen.

You could hear the shower stopping before moments later the door the bathroom being thrown opened and Sam rushes into the living room soaking wet with a towel wrapped around her body.

"What's wrong?" Your girlfriend asked as she moved to your side, holding your face with a possessive grip as she turned it to the side to see if you were hurt. 

You shake your head making her let go and nod towards the TV, Sam takes your hint and turns to focus on the screen.

She's silent for a moment, her breathing eerily calm as her eyes meet with yours.

"Ghostface is gone, we don't have to worry." She says as her hand glides into yours. 

Your brows furrowed in confusion as this is a total 180 reaction to how she reacted last time when Tara's classmate was murdered, and it wasn't even confirmed it was Ghostface at that time.

"Sam, the person was literally wearing a Ghostface outfit and two people were murdered on the same block where you work! This cannot be a coincidence." You rush out as you look down at your phone where it lay on the couch.  "We have to call Tara, Mindy and Chad. I'm not letting you all go through this again." You say as you grab your phone but you're stopped by Sam's hand wrapping around your wrist.

Looking up at her confused you see a blank expression on her face, not a panicked look you expected to see. 

"This is not our Ghostface, Y/n, calm down, please." Sam replies, moving her hand to interlock with yours with a tight grip.

Your jaw slackens as the crease between your brows gets even bigger. 

"A dude in a Ghostface outfit killed two people near where you work, Sam!" You insist on trying to make Sam notice how dire this situation is.

She shakes her head as she shuffles a bit closer, the droplets falling off of her and a few dropping onto you. 

"My Ghostface doesn't do random public killing, this is very out of character. It's probably just some psycho who's using it as a disguise, Y/n. It's fine. I'm safe, Tara's safe, the twins are safe and you're safe." You're speechless at Sam's smooth words, never hearing her so calm and confident. 

Last year she threatened to move countries instantly when it wasn't even confirmed it was about them. 

You let out a humourless chuckle as you shake your head. "And what did Mindy say when Tara was acting like you right now last year? It's a bit too close to home." 

Sam shakes her own head as she flashes a smile that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. "You trust me, don't you?" 

You let out a barely audible scoff as you nod your head at the question as if it was a stupid question to ask.

"With my life and more Sam." Sam's smile softens as she nods her head gently, as if knowing what you were going to say.

"So trust me on this, my love." She whispers, raising her wet hand to lay on your cheek lovingly. "Please." She adds in a whisper as her thumb runs up and down your cheek slowly. 

You maintain eye contact with Sam as you begin to feel yourself getting lost in her dark brown eyes, unconsciously nodding your head slowly.

Sighing you snap out of your trance as you smile weakly at her, squeezing your interlocked hands. 

"I trust you." 

—————

A few days have passed and the only person other than you who's showing concern over the murders is surprisingly Tara. The girl who was very adamant last year that this almost exact scenario wasn't related to them in any way.

You've been texting her non stop about your worries about the entire situation but you haven't said anything about your concerns about Sam. 

She lied to you, sure it was something very niche but with the timing of the murders; something just felt off. 

You have also noticed that Sam has been even more loving lately, not that she isn't always wonderful to you, but it's more than usual. 

You love the attention but you still can't help but feel that there's something wrong. 

It's a Saturday night and Sam's working the night shift again, you're not doing anything special so you decided to sleep in early. 

It's around two in the morning when you get awakened by a slam of the door, it immediately sprung you out of sleep since you've always been a light sleeper since the entire Ghostface incident. 

You rub your eyes as you slowly sit up, glancing around the room and notice Sam isn't in bed. 

Concern runs through your veins immediately as you push yourself off the bed to stand up, your feet hurting the cold floor as you move towards the door. Is it a complete dumb move to investigate the random loud noise? Yes, absolutely. But you can't help but think it's most likely Sam and maybe she's having another one of her attacks. 

"Sam?" You yell out softly as you open the door and glance around your small apartment, squinting your eyes to see better in the dark.

There's no sign of Sam but then you notice the light peeking through the bottom of the bathroom door. You definitely didn't leave the bathroom light on.

You head towards the bathroom door and go to open it but it's locked, you frown as your concern grows.

"Sam? Are you there?" You ask as you keep trying to unlock the door but to no use. 

A muffled grunt is heard through the door before you hear Sam's raspy voice. 

"Go back to bed, Y/n, I'll join you soon." Sam's muffled voice says as another low grunt is heard. That doesn't help your nerves at all.

You can feel your heart pick up a pace as you desperately keep trying to unlock the door.

"Open the door, Sam, please." You beg as you keep trying to open the door, shaking the doorknobs desperately. 

"No." Sam says sternly, making you shake your head at her stubbornness. "Sam if you don't unlock this door I swear I'll kick it down. Please open the door."

"No I-" Sam goes silent for a moment before continuing her words. "You can't see me like this, you'll leave me." 

"Sam I love you more than anything in this world, if you're hurt I want to see you and help you. Please." You say sincerely as you still your moments on trying to open the door, trying to show Sam how much you care for her. 

She doesn't say anything for what feels like an eternity, your fear growing with each passing second as you swallow nervously. 

Then you hear it, the door unlocking but Sam doesn't open it for you. Immediately you throw the door open and scan your eyes to find Sam sitting on the edge of the bathtub wearing her usual grey tank top, tight black cargos and thick black boots with bruises and a singular stab wound on her arms.

Your breath hitches as your eyes widen dramatically, your fear about Ghostface attacking Sam again being confirmed. 

Sam refuses to make eye contact with you as she sloppily tries to patch herself up, wrapping a bandage around below her shoulder that's already staining with a ruby red shade.

"Let me help." You whisper as you move to stand in front of her knowing in the frenzied state Sam is in she wouldn't tend her wounds properly.

She finally looks up at you and you notice the look of pure fear in her eyes, it breaks your heart. 

Sam stiffly nods her head as she lets go of the dirty bandage and lets it fall gracefully onto the floor. 

You don't take notice of anything else around you as your entire focus is only on your bleeding girlfriend. 

As you focus on the slash below her shoulder you see that she's sterilised it and only needs help with bandaging it up.

You grab a new roll and gently hold onto her elbow for a grip as you begin to tightly wrap the bandage around her wound.

As you keep wrapping enough layers around your eye's unconsciously flicker over to the bathtub, and the moment you see the objects scattered inside you feel your heart drop.

A bloodied knife is peeking out through a thick pile of black which almost looks like a blanket but that isn't what catches your attention. The bloodied Ghostface mask thrown carelessly near what you presume is the cloak is what makes your heart come back to life and rapidly speeds up. 

Suddenly everything makes sense.

The lie about her phone being dead when it wasn't, coming home late and the very calm reaction to the murders.

Sam wasn't attacked by the Ghostface on the news; Sam is Ghostface. 

You can pull your eyes away from the hollow eyes of the Ghostface mask as you keep bandaging Sam's stab wound up, the feeling of shame making your throat tighten. 

Not ashamed of Sam but the fact you don't immediately want to run away. Call the cops or even scream. Instead you stand there as you treated her wound. 

"That's enough layers, Y/n." Sam's quiet voice breaks you out of your stare as you avert your eyes back to hers, stilling your hands as you lock with her brown eyes.

Oh those big brown eyes. 

Grief swirls around in her eyes as if she's already grieving your relationship; grieving her life. 

You take a deep breath as a shaky smile slowly forms on your lips making Sam's eyebrows scrunched together confused. 

"I'll never stop loving you." You whisper to her as you finish bandaging her wound up, dropping your hand from her elbow to place on her cheek. 

Sam leans into your touch laying her own cold hand over yours, looking up at you with a softer gleam in her eyes. 

"I'm not a bad person, I only hurt bad people I promise." Sam whispers in a gravelly voice. You feel some reassurance from that but what shocks you the most is the fact you're not sure if you wouldn't have minded if they were bad or not. 

Would it be a sin if you stayed with her? Probably. But killing is most definitely a bigger sin which only makes you think of one thing. 


You and her will still be together in the afterlife. 

"Let's go to bed, my love." You whisper as you offer Sam your free hand to take to help stand up. 

Sam stares at it for a moment before she complies and slides her hand into your hand, a small smile grazing her lips. 

Everyone has their secrets and who are you to share them with?

—————

authors note: i'd do anything for sam (i hate this so fucking much)

[sugoi-writes]

(Preview) Trigger Happy, Part 2

SOOOOOOO I reread Trigger Happy for like, the first time after posting it. And my god, it kinda DID things to me. So without further adieu, here is a sneak peek/prelude to Part 2. It's extremely fluffy. No content warnings for this one, other than implied spicy thoughts ( @ieatcocoa I blame you, in the BEST WAY)

MDNI, or I'll cut you

🩸🦌🩸

A few months had passed since your last weekend trip to the cabin. The crisp air of Autumn had been corrupted by the cool embrace of Winter. For Louisianians, there would be no white Christmas, but the promise of chilly mornings and frosty nights lingered with the season.

Life had ultimately gone back to 'normal' for the both of you, as if the tumultuous chase has never happened. Alastor's radio show swung without a hitch, gaining traction with his extensive coverage of the famous 'Bayou Butcher'. Meanwhile, you were performing particularly well at your own job, a promotion lining up for your hard work. Life had improved drastically. 

But... even in the heat of your success, the both of you started to become stir crazy. In your efforts to work harder, the both of you neglected your sanity. All of this for the sake of being 'better off', the both of you had decided. At least you both agreed on one thing: a short getaway was long overdue. Your recommendation for a cabin-filled weekend delighted your overworked partner. And so, you both had worked your magic to make the getaway happen.

🦌❤️🦌

It was Friday morning, just an hour after Alastor got off of work. (Thankfully, he had managed to switch prodcasting times with another coworker, guaranteeing an early departure). When you had packed the last of your bags, you snuck back to your closet once more. Pushing over copious amounts of clothing on the rack, you finally pull out what you'd been looking for: a white linen gown with lace trim... Or at least, it used to be white... It was the dress you wore during the last 'hunt'. 

The fabric was weathered, rumpled, and looked quite horrific, if you were being honest. You felt the heat rush to your cheeks as your fingers brushed over the fabric, erotic memories flashing across your mind. The heavy thuds of footsteps, the smell of the dank bayou, the crunch of withered leaves... And yet all of these memories paled in comparison to him. 

Alastor. 

His heated touch, labored breaths, and manic, brown eyes nestled deep into your debauched dreams. Dreams that you found yourself longing to relive...

You bit your lip, debating if you should pack the dress. You wondered if this would be subtle enough, or if your secret desire for a part two was too 'on the nose'. 

This thought was disrupted by the bedroom door creaking open, and the sound of Alastor's silky, serene voice. 

"Darling, are you almost ready? I've gotten everything else in the trunk so far--" 

Alastor catches you glimpsing at That Dress, his back stiffening as memory lane hits him. Hard. 

He grins soon after, his smile cat-like as he wanders over to you. You're quick to hide the dress behind your back, stammering an excuse. 

"Y-Yes, I have everything-- just-- just thought about this old thing, y'know? I may need to toss it. This filthy thing has been through enough… It's just hanging here, collecting dust." 

Alastor clicks his tongue against his teeth, chuckling at your horrible attempt to deflect,"Dear, why would you want to get rid of this relic? I rather like the dress, you know~" When you avoid his gaze, Alastor sighs dramatically. He reaches behind your back, gently tugging the garment out of your rigid grasp. You can’t help the sheepish noise you make when he slings the dress over his shoulder, letting it hang off of him like a disheveled shawl. 

"Check the back of the closet, dear. In my garment bag," Alastor offers gently, stepping up beside you. You squirm as Alastor places a kiss on your temple and an impossibly large hand on your waist," I have something for you; perfect for the occasion, I'd say." 

You blink in surprise, throwing him a questioning look. Money wasn't exactly tight in your household, but the gesture surprised you all the same. A gift… for you? 

You're met with a beautiful sight. A pristine, red nightgown that made an apple look pink. Upon touching it, you realize it was satin; much nicer than the cotton one you originally had. Your mouth fell agape, your eyes widening in tandem. Dumbfounded at the sight, you hardly moved as Alastor kissed your cheek again. His sincere smile only grew as he gave your waist an affectionate squeeze. 

You follow his suggestion obediently, rummaging carefully until you hit Alastor's bag. While it usually hosted his dry clean-only suits, you noticed that it was uncharacteristic thin. Paper-thin, even.

You take down the bag from the bar gingerly, heart racing with curiosity. Alastor was just as eager, watching you with baited breath as you eased the zipper down. 

"Better to be prepared than not, right~?" Alastor mused, taking your free hand. You finally look his way when you feel a featherlight kiss press to your knuckles.

"This is--" 

"Yes yes, darling, it is. I figured it's only fair that you were dressed in my colors this weekend~" Alastor all but purred, his eyes full of mischief.

"Alastor, it's... Really beautiful. I hope it wasn't too much--"

Another kiss, this time just above your knuckles. A trail of sweet, deceivingly innocent kisses started to ascend your arm. Ever the cheeky man, Alastor was. 

"My love, nothing is ever too much for you. Think nothing of it. Simply wear it... It would make me very happy to see you in it."

You comtemplated his words, really taking them in. Like the lush fabric of the nightgown, you felt... Soft. You were almost liquid smooth, a flush festering on your skin under Alastor's affections. When he had kissed all the way up to your cheek, you turned to meet his lips with your own, smiling blissfully. Thankfully, Alastor didn't seem to mind the interruption

"Well, I guess I can't say no when ask me so sweetly... 'Can't let such a pretty dress go to waste, then~" you chime, giving Alastor another kiss. In fact, to air on caution, you zip the laundry bag closed, tucking it under your arm. You wouldn't want to risk ruining it before Alastor got his chance to...

"And," you added, a renewed glee coursing through you,"I think I'm ready to head out now~" 

Alastor reflects your smile, pressing a firm kiss to your lips to seal the deal.

"Off we go, then. Oh– and I think we should take the scenic route this time, if that’s alright..." You practically giggle as your arm is taken into his, allowing your beau to lead you out of the bedroom. 

"Honey, I would love nothing more." 

🦌🩸🦌

[sirthisisa-wendys]

hellooo!! i just found your account and all of your works got me so addicted. it's so good, i'm not lying. so i found there's this one old fic of yours about the Bonten men get caught cheating on the reader and their reaction to reader leaving them. it's the "You Should Go : bonten trio x reader". I wonder if we could get a full one shot of the ran's part. I would like it to be really angsty. it got me hooked, like i have reread the ran's part many times. so i wonder if it's possible for u to make a full version for ran :D

Thank you so much for the love! I'll go ahead and give you a final part of the Ran incident. (don't know if you read part 2, but it's right here.)

You Should Go (Part 3): Ran Haitani x Fem!Reader

wc: 764

tw: smut, angst

masterlist

(Part 1 Part 2)

"I want to make things right between us."

Clink, clink, clink. Ran's eye twitches as he listens to the sound of your fork and knife cutting into the expensive steak platter.

"Did you hear me?"

"I heard you," you quip, eyes still focused on the food, not him. Not him. Ran wants to show his displeasure in the most childish way, but he refrains from doing so and just looks away, sipping his wine with a steady hand. He can't show how bothered he is. Not now.

Silence is the third guest at the table, and you eat your entire meal without so much as a 'thank you' or a glance at him. What did you think you were doing, tormenting him like this? Once the check is brought, Ran pays for the meal, then looks up at you. You're dabbing at the corners of your mouth and clearing your throat, and for a second, Ran imagines his hand wrapped around it...

Applying just enough pressure to scare you but not enough to frighten you. Just enough to arouse the dangerous feeling you both once shared during illicit meetups and rushed sex in the back of his car.

What he wouldn't do to feel that flood of dopamine once again.

But something changes as soon as you both get in the door. You turn around and pin him to the wall, your fingers wrapped up in his dress shirt. "Kiss me, Ran." He wastes no time in pressing his lips to yours, feeling the plush skin of your mouth with a mounting sense of accomplishment.

Maybe, just maybe...

Wrinkled dress shirts, dress pants, a skirt, a dressy top, and other undergarments are strewn out across the floor as Ran leans back on the bed and watches you ride him seventy ways to Sunday.

"Holy fuck," he mutters as he drives his hips into your warm cunt. Nothing can stop him at this very moment - not even a priest. Ran's body flushes with heat at the sight of you writhing on top of him while you lean back and steady yourself on his knees. "Y/n, I... you..."

"I hear you," you echo, biting your lower lip. "I hear you, Ran."

"Please, y/n," Ran whines before you wrench an orgasm from him, wringing him dry for what he can only assume is a full hour and a half. His cock throbs endlessly between your fluttering walls, the blessed warmth milking him for all he's worth.

Ran pulls you against him and falls asleep almost instantly, his nose nestled into the sweet-smelling scent of your flesh and face cradled between your breasts.

Ran awakens the following day with a sense of renewal and peace. He rolls over in bed and is greeted with...

Nothing.

Ran strains his ear for the sound of the shower running, water in the bath, or perhaps the sound of coffee being made. Ran makes his way down the stairs to inspect the living room (empty), the foyer (cleaned), and the kitchen (bare). Ran's breath catches in his throat, but he shakes the feeling of dread that sinks into his core as he looks around the kitchen.

Things are missing.

And there's a manila folder lying on the kitchen table, all alone and sad among the other kitchen items.

Which one of these is not like the other?

Ran reaches for the folder and frowns, feeling the weight of it. His name is on the tab, but that's the least worrying thing about it. Inside, he can see the various signatures - your signatures - and the papers flutter to the table in a heap before he can decipher exactly why there's a long squeeze in his chest.

"No..."

Reasons for divorce: infidelity.

"No."

Ran scrambles for his phone, dashing up the stairs and slipping more than once in his haste to get to his device that's lying on the night table. He picks it up and types in your number, only to be met with a message that tells him the number is no longer in service.

Ran feels the bile in his throat rising, and something in him snaps. His feet propel him toward the closet, and for the first time, he sees the emptiness as it is. He sinks to the floor, his knees hitting the carpet as he realizes that you're truly, finally, utterly gone. When Ran looks up at your mirror, he spots the neon green sticky note with Sharpie scrawled on it in your handwriting.

Ran, I realized... maybe I should go this time.

[fruitcoops]

i just reread "big head" and laughed my ass off, will you do another ego award one pretty pleeeeeaseee? (only if you want of course :))

One of my favorites! Character credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

(Part 1: Big Head)

“The 2022-2023 hockey season has officially wrapped,” Talker announced as he walked backward down the hallway of Gryffindor Arena. “This team had a run for the history books and everyone is so proud—and so grateful—to have such outstanding fans there with us every step of the way. We truly could not have done it without you.

“As a ‘thank you’ for everything you’ve done for us this year, we’d like to continue a very special end-of-season tradition: the Ego Award. Some of you may recall our reigning champion, Heartthrob O’Hara himself, and his fabulously embarrassing stories from last year.” He paused just outside the locker room with a significant look toward the camera. “Those may be big shoes to fill, but rest assured we have found the one person who can literally and figuratively get the job done. Behold.”

He swept the door open with one hand and chaos spilled out in a rush.

“Read it! Read it! Read it!” half the room chanted.

“Eat it! Eat it! Eat it!” the other half cheered.

“I can’t,” came Leo’s distressed answer, red all the way from his ears to his neck as he gripped a wrinkled piece of notebook paper. “You guys, this is such a—”

“Gentlemen!” The room fell silent as Talker spread his arms with a wide smile. “Welcome to the 2023 Ego Award, hosted by yours truly and bestowed upon our sweet baby net angel, the Nutcracker.”

“It’s Knut,” Leo said miserably. “Like the lizard.”

“Hush, Crunchy Peanut Butter. Do you have your punishment prepared?”

Leo turned baleful eyes on the camera. He looked rather like a puppy that had been put outside in the rain, hunched in his stall and surrounded by his carrion-bird teammates. “Save me.”

“Saviors are for the humble. You, sir, were voted off that island. Read.”

“Oh, god,” Leo mumbled under his breath as he unfolded the paper. In the corner of the frame, Finn watched him with unhindered glee. “My name is Leo Knut, and these are my top five most humbling moments with the Gryffindor Lions. Because clearly I don’t suffer enough for this team.”

“Keep that up and you’re getting the Potty Mouth Award, too,” Talker warned.

“You can’t—” Leo rolled his eyes. “Fine. Number five: trying to drink out of the wrong side of my waterbottle.”

“How many times?” Finn prompted eagerly.

“Once.”

A chorus of protests rose up—Leo pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Nine times. Shut up. Number four: losing a kitten in my shirt when we had a shelter visit."

"Two kittens," Sirius corrected. "One went up your pant leg."

"Oh my god, can you not?"

“That one was delightful,” Kasey agreed, nodding along. “Just—honestly, one of my favorite memories.”

Leo smoothed the edge of the page, nose wrinkling like he had smelled something unpleasant. “Is it too late to eat the paper?”

Remus tsked. “We gave you a chance. Not our fault you chose the most painful path.”

A rogue socked foot came into frame and poked Leo on the shin. “Read, Butterball.”

“Number three,” Leo continued, tilting his face to the ceiling in a clear bid for strength. “Getting stuck jumping the boards, falling back onto the ice, slipping when I got up again, and only making it over successfully with the help of two different people dragging me over the edge.”

“Like hauling a bag of bricks,” Logan mused from his place on the floor.

Dumo nodded solemnly. “Or a dead bear.”

“Slip a disc about it, Grandpa,” Leo quipped before glancing to Talker. “If I read the next one without eating this paper, can I skip the last one?”

“No,” the rest of the team answered in perfect unison.

“We all go through trying times,” Finn said with a pat to Leo’s knee. “Look on the bright side: at least it isn’t me this year!”

Leo stared at him for a long, silent moment.

“You astound me,” he said at last.

“Thank you.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“I’m taking it as one.”

“How did I end up with this award?” He looked around the team with a lost expression. “How is it not Ginger Spice every goddamn year?”

“Because we have to switch it up so we can trauma-bond over mutual humiliation,” Talker informed him. “Also, you’re a little fucker and you can’t hide it from the good people of Gryffindor forever.”

Leo shook his head, but turned back to his notes. “Number two: leaving the ice baths to get my Gatorade, then slipping and falling in my own puddle on the way back.” He closed his eyes. “And spilling the entire bottle of Gatorade on myself. And slipping in that as well.”

“It’s important to me that people know you just laid there for, like, five full seconds,” Kasey added.

“Thanks.”

“Any time, Honeynut Cheerios.”

“After I’m done, can someone bury me under the net? I want to haunt you all for making me do this.”

Several noises of assent followed and Leo nodded.

“Cool. Sweet. I love this for myself.” He cleared his throat and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Number one: I underestimated the weight of my new gear, sat on a stool, and fell backwards off it. I took six and a half people down with me like a bowling ball wrapped in Velcro and foam. Every second of it was caught on camera and replayed through commercial breaks, then late-night television. Harzy, will you do the honors?”

“Of course, Bodacious Nutacious.”

Leo held his arms up and Finn scooped him over his shoulder with a grin as the room erupted into whoops, hollers, and applause. The camera followed the stream of players out and down the hallway; Talker stepped into frame once more, craning his neck to watch Leo and Finn disappear around the corner.

“Thanks for joining us for another year, Lions,” he laughed. “We look forward to so many more. Stay humble!”

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

This is technically a continuation of this post!!

-x-x-x-

prohero!bakugou who's been gone on an overseas mission for months with no contact to those who he left in Japan

any down time he's got he's at least reading through the texts he gets

a few from his mom, a couple from his dad, maybe a handful from his friends about all sorts of random shit he may or may not care about

then he's reading all of yours. He'll read all the new ones, then if he's really feeling his Emotions(TM) he'll start rereading everything

he'll also catch up on his voicemails, even if he doesn't have very many because most people know he won't listen to them or he'll go into his mailbox and just start mass deleting

but he does listen and keep all of yours

i mean, why wouldn't he? he asked you to do exactly what you've been doin everyday since he left

highlight of his days honestly

he's convinced that its the daily messages from you that help keep him off the next flight home- it sort of eases the urge to just go back home

but he does the mission from start to finish and when his date back is finally set he's itching to get back to familiar sights, soil, smells and the place where you are

but even when he knows when he'll be home, he still has no jurisdiction to tell you that

he'd have to wait until he's on the plane back home or even landed before he could whip out his phone and speed dial your phone

when he's packing his bag for his return trip, he's never been so disorganized in his life

when he packs for trips, he always prefers to separate everything. all his shirts are folded, his pants are rolled for optimum space, boxers are neat with his socks, toiletries are sealed in a waterproof bag and placed as flat as can be

now?

he's thrown all his shit inside the case and made it fit by force. squishing it all down and pinching the zipper together

he did not care if the zipper busted- he was ready to go the hell home

the entire flight home he was jittery. leg bouncing, finger tapping, arms crossed

he tried sleeping to pass the time, but he couldn't seem to calm down

most of the returning heroes who were coming home with him didn't even try and strike up conversation to make the flight go by quicker in fear of him snapping at them out of sheer impatience

when the plane finally lands, he's first off the plane and first to bag claim and first out the door onto the familiar streets of japan

"holy fuckin' shit," he's mutter, finally feeling relaxed before whipping out his phone and texting you

-wake up-

it was the middle of the afternoon and he didn't know if you were even home or asleep, but it was the only thing he could think to say strangely enough

-you can text!!-

he chuckles as he pulls his suitcase along with him against a wall. standing in the shade, he's attention is solely focused on his phone

he's glad you responded so quickly

it's been so long he couldn't remember your schedule anymore or if it had changed since he left

-i can do a lot more than that-

without much more prodding, your contact was flashing over his screen and he waits maybe a second (if we're being generous) to answer and push his phone to his ear

visibly exhaling when you start talking

"katsuki!"

"you don't need to shout, stupid"

"i'm excited, don't shout shame me. where are you? it's pretty loud over there. meeting? are you supposed to be on the phone right now"

he chuckles at your skeptical nature- like he'd break rules on a big time job in the first place

he's not that stupid

"i'm at the airport, i'm not gonna get my ass railed for being on my own damn phone"

despite his cursing, you laugh

then you register 'airport'

"you're coming home?!"

"nah, babe, i'm already here. come get me."

"what?!"

he barks at the sounds of your rushing around the house, probably scrambling to slip on the easiest pair of shoes you have and a jacket

"i'll be there in like 10 minutes. 20 is traffic is bad!"

"the traffic is always bad"

"i'm hanging up!"

he could hear your excitement before the line cuts and he's grinning before he's sending small texts to his friends signaling his return

when he sees your car pull up to the curb, he's pushing off the wall he's been resting against and you're jumping out of the car

he nearly has a heart attack since you didn't look at the road before rushing out and car were just whipping behind you

"moron! watch where you're going!" he's shouting at you as you run up to him

his grip abandons his suitcase handle to grab you as you ran straight into his chest, clinging to him as he took steps backwards from your crashing impact

his eyes almost rolled into his skull at the feel of you in his arms again after so long

he was positive he'd finally be able to have a good nights rest tonight, he can feel it in his exhausted bones

you pull away from him just enough to look into his eyes and he can see the shine of tears in yours, his hands resting on your hips just enough to sway you back and forth

"welcome home," you greet him

"yeah," he kisses your head "i'm home"

and he wasn't going anywhere else anytime fuckin' soon

[strawwritesfic]

Enma Kozato x Female!Vongola!Reader: Coda

Summary: Can we try again?

Rating/Warnings: T (post-Inheritance Ceremony arc; Friends to Lovers; Enemies to Lovers; Love Confessions; Face Slapping; Slapping; Delivery Person!Reader; Adelheid & Enma; Adelheid/Julie)

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Notes: I've been in a Reborn mood lately, reviving some old OCs of mine with a friend via email. I'm even rereading what little of the official English translation manga there is. So I thought I'd brush off some of my old one shots for the series and post them, especially since I've had such kind feedback on the ones I've got on my Tumblr.

This was written back when I was in college, so probably circa 2011/2012. I did polish it up for this repost! Although there's really no helping the abrupt ending. I suppose I could have tacked something on, but the style would be so obviously different that it would really only make the original ending seem even more painful.

The reader character is based on (and originally written as) an OC in a roleplay group that I was in on DeviantArt at the time. I no longer recall the username, but credit where credit is due, so much as I can give it. The character's name was LaRae Souma.

Coda

Enma’s heart had never beat so wildly in his chest. Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump. In the silence of the growing evening surrounding him, the noise felt abnormally loud. He lifted a trembling hand to his chest and pressed it against his rib cage.

“Why are you doing this?” he mumbled.

His heart, of course, gave no answer. Or maybe it did. Maybe its attempts to tear itself free from his insides were its way of telling him how downright crazy this entire plan was. Whatever the reason, Enma really wished his traitorous organ would stop. This whole situation was hard enough without adrenaline rushing through his veins.

Trying to calm down was a vain effort. Enma knew that. He’d been trying to do whatever that would take since school got out hours ago. How many girls had passed by, giggling because of how weird he looked standing at the gate? How many bullies had come by to exact their “standing” tax?

Maybe that was why his heart was still going crazy. Maybe he was finally running out of blood, and this was its last, desperate attempt to get what was left to the rest of his body before it gave out. Enma supposed that wouldn’t be too bad, really. At least if he was dead he wouldn’t be picked on anymore. He wouldn’t fail any more tests, either. And, for the love of God, he would not have to do what he was planning to do next.

The bag at his side buzzed. His head turned toward it. He blinked before slowly plucking his cell phone from the bag's pocket. Who would be calling him now? It was nearly dark, and the Vongola had no reason to contact him.

“Hello?” he said.

“Enma. Are you all right? It’s late.”

Oh. It was only Adelheid, then. He probably should have known, but Aoba had stolen his phone and changed all the contacts to pictures of himself flipping the camera off, so now Enma had no way to tell who anyone calling him actually was.

“She hasn’t been by.” He stared down the street again. Still no shadows appeared to be growing against the bright red sky. “Maybe she’s not coming.”

“It’s nearly dark. I would say she’s not.”

“She could be working overtime.”

“Enma, just come home. We’ll order more food, and you can talk to her then.”

“I don’t want to say it front of Julie.”

“He’s not going to say anything. If he does, I’ll hit him.”

"I'll wait a little longer.”

“Okay.” This time, her voice sounded a little warmer. “Call me when you’re on your way home.”

“Yeah. Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

He ended the conversation with a simple push of a button. Why hadn’t he taken the out Adelheid offered him? This was her idea to begin with, and Enma was seriously beginning to doubt her understanding of the matter. Her relationship wasn’t really comparable to his. All Julie had to do was grope her every once in a while.

Oh, God, was he going to have to grab your breasts? Did you even have those? It had been so long since he'd seen you that he didn’t remember. And Adelheid usually still slapped Julie when he did that. Enma didn’t really feel like being slapped. 

Was this what hyperventilating felt like? He had never done it before, so he didn’t know.

A rapid tapping came from down the vacant street. Enma looked up. Running down the shadowed walk was a figure moving at a quick pace. He stood straighter. Was it you? It had to be. His hands had started to sweat again. This did not make him feel any less like an idiot. He wiped them on his pants. That only made it worse; now he had wet patches on his legs.

The figure continued to draw nearer. The golden pool of light surrounding him was soon the one they stepped into, bringing their features were placed in high relief. [Color] hair, [color] eyes, waitress uniform. Yes, that was definitely [F Name] [L Name]. It didn’t take the painful lurch in his heart to tell him that much.

The moment of recognition must have been shared because you froze mid-step, one leg stuck awkwardly in the air. Enma reached up to ruffle the back of his head. Now he was completely lost. What was he supposed to do? You were just staring at him like he was a particularly disgusting bug that had fallen directly in your path.

Then your expression hardened. Your normally warm eyes he grown so accustomed to turned more brittle as you smacked your heel back down against the pavement. For a split second, he thought you were going to say something. Instead, you started moving again, your movements now choppy and stiff.

“[Name],” he said as you passed. 

You didn’t even spare him a second glance. 

“[Name]!” 

You did not even so much as twitch in his direction. 

Enma sighed. Now what was he supposed to do? Adelheid hadn’t described her plan past his finally making contact with you. Still, he was not the same boy you had known a year ago. Steeling himself, he moved off the wall and into step beside you. It was only be the grace of God that he didn’t fall flat on his face doing so.

"[Name].”

"What?” He had never heard you speak with that much venom in your voice before, at least not directed at him. He gulped. Maybe this was a dumb idea.

"I need to talk to you.”

“I’m in the middle of a delivery.”

“I know. It's for me.”

Thankfully, this was enough to get your attention. Once again, you stopped completely, though at least this time you remembered to put you foot down. Your mouth fell open in an “o.” Then you narrowed your eyes.

“What do you mean, it’s for you?” you asked.

“I ordered it. Can I have it, please?”

“No! I’m not giving you anything!”

“I’m going to pay for it.”

You continued to watch him for a few more seconds, then tossed the container at his head. Enma flailed. The box knocked straight into his temple before falling open on the ground. 

“Fine, then!" you snapped. "Eat it! See if I care!”

“Thank you,” Enma murmured. 

He bent down to retrieve the contents of whatever food he had asked for. He was so nervous that he didn’t remember, nor did he think he’d actually be able to stomach it if he tried. If he remembered correctly, most girls didn’t think it was cool when boys threw up their food. Once he had the scattered contents all gathered, he rummaged in his pocket until he found the wad of cash he had stuffed in it that morning–more than enough for both his food and a decent tip for you. 

“Your money." He held it out to you.

You said nothing as you snatched the cash out of his hand. And then you stood there. And continued standing there. Apparently you were intending to watch him eat the food. 

Groaning inwardly, Enma picked up the chopsticks and dug in without looking at what he was digging into. It was probably good, but he didn’t get to taste much before he started to choke. Seemingly satisfied with this development, you hopped on the wall and crossed your legs, the better to see him.

“Why’d you order from there anyway? Thought I didn’t work there anymore?” you asked.

“N-No,” Enma stammered. He was still coughing up bits of rice. “I needed to talk to you.”

“So you ordered food from my workplace?”

“It was the only way I could talk to you. You were avoiding me.”

“Because I didn’t want to talk to you.”

“Right.” 

Enma gazed forlornly at his eating utensils. Why had he done this? Of course you didn’t want to talk to him. After what he did…The look of betrayal on your face as you stood there with the rest of your family, the way your eyes seemed to grow dim as you watched him mutilate your friends…His gut clenched every time he thought of it. Who was he kidding with this? You weren't going to want to hear him out. You didn’t even want to be his friend anymore.

He took a deep breath and looked up toward you. It looked like he was still Loser Enma after all. What he realized, however, was that you were no longer looking away. Instead you had the full force of your glare on him. He flinched.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked.

There could be a million things he hadn’t told you that you were asking about, each a worse secret than the one before. But Enma thought he had a pretty good idea what you were talking about. 

“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” he said.

“And why would I get hurt?”

He licked his lips. “My family…what we were doing…”

“Yeah, it was pretty stupid,” you snarled. “And thank you so much for showing such faith in me.”

“I didn’t want you to tell Tsuna. It was important. What if you said something and they found out?

You snapped straight up. Enma stumbled backward, managing to stay on his feet but spill what was left of his meal. This did nothing to stop you. In one easy movement, you jumped off the ledge, landed on your feet, and marched up to him. For a moment, all you did was look into his eyes. Then you launched yourself forward and started trying to smack every bit of him you could reach.

“Are you kidding me?" You all but shrieked. "I thought you trusted me! I thought I was your friend!”

“Ouch. [Name]. Stop." 

Your punches, if anything, merely increased in number. Enma groaned. What would Aoba and Julie say if they saw him now? Probably something along the lines of “You’re totally whipped!” Without thinking, he grabbed your wrists. You sucked in a breath. He supposed he had surprised you. The him of a year ago wouldn’t have tried to defend himself at all. One split second later, however, and you were back on the offense.

“You.” You tugged. “Are.” You tugged harder still. “Such a jerk, Enma Kozato!” You arched backward as far as you could. Still he did not let you go.

“I know," he said. "I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough! I don’t care what you have to say to me. Just go away!”

Enma took a deep breath. Now was good as ever. He didn’t think you were going to let him stick around much longer anyway. “I think I love you.”

The anger drained slowly from your face. Feeling that it might be safe to let you go, Enma released your wrists at last. He stuffed his now-free hands into his pockets and stared at his feet. The silence stretched on for several more minutes, and then there was a sudden whoosh and the sound of flesh meeting flesh.

Enma’s eyes went wide. The sound of the slap echoed in the empty road.

“That’s for avoiding me for a year!” When he looked up, you were rubbing at your wrist and scowling. “Did you think I was going to yell at you?”

“Well, you’re doing a good job of it now,” he said as he pressed his palm against his stinging cheek.

“Because, Enma, you are an idiot.” You scowled at him again, then whirled on your heel and marched over to your delivery box. Without looking at him, you continued, but he noticed your voice was quavering a bit when you spoke: “If you’re just going to say empty words, then you can leave me alone. For good this time.”

“They weren't empty.” he mumbled at the ground. Enma thought that maybe he heard you pause before going on your way. “I won’t bother you anymore.”

Before you could answer–if you were going to answer, which he didn’t believe could be true at all–he started shuffling away. He didn’t get far before he managed to trip and crash face-first into the sidewalk. A sickening crunch sound coming from his nose told Enma that he had just seriously screwed up. Perhaps it would be best if he just stayed there in the dirt until you left. He didn’t want the last thing you saw of him to be the blood spilling profusely from his face.

“Enma? Are you okay?” 

Oh, crud, you were standing right above him. He craned his neck so he could see, trying to make sure you couldn’t get a look at the newest disfigurement on his face. You knelt down next to him and then dragged him to his feet.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

You frowned. “No, I will worry about it. Sit down.” 

You pushed down on his shoulder and Enma obeyed without thinking. What were you doing? Why were you still talking to him? Hadn’t you already left, glad to have him out of your life? While he was pondering all of this, you were digging around in your own bag. A few moments later, you pulled out a first aid kit. 

Enma leaned back. “You don’t have t–”

“Yes, I do.” 

Enma fell silent as you began to work on him. It almost felt like old times, except for the part where the girl he was in love with hated him. He could probably do without that. Well, that and the broken nose.

“Hold still. I’m going to set it. It’ll hurt.” 

He braced himself. Sure enough, you pressed your fingers onto both side of his nose and pushed. There was a loud pop and pain streamed into his face. Enma lifted his hand to feel his nose.

“Why did you…?”

“Did you mean it when you said you loved me?” you asked.

“Y-yes.” Did you find him terribly stupid? Were you going to laugh at him? 

You turned, face hidden as you placed your kit back in your bag. “Then why didn’t you talk to me for so long?”

“I was afraid you hated me. I didn’t want that.”

“I didn’t. I just wanted to hear from you. When I called and you didn’t answer…” You trailed off. He could see your eyes again. They were filling with tears. “I thought we were friends.”

“You’re my best friend, [Nickname].”

"It doesn’t feel like it.”

Enma stared at you. You looked away and dabbed at your eyes with your sleeve. “I’m sorry.” 

You didn’t answer. 

His eyes darted about the street. What he was about to do was risky, but maybe it would work out? Maybe this time he could actually do it. Maybe this time he wouldn’t be a loser. “[Name].”

You looked back. He shifted his bag so it was behind him, then opened his arms. You gawked at him, and he lifted them slightly. For a few more seconds, you did not move. Another flurry of anxiety rushed through him. Was he being dumb? Should he put his arms down? Were you just going to hit him again?

You blinked back another set of tears. Then you leaped forward and threw yourself into his arms. Enma closed them around you, shut his eyes, and buried his face into your soft hair.

“I love you, [Name]. Can I try again?”

“Only if you promise,” you sniffed, “to never lie to me again.”

Enma smiled. “I promise.”

In return, you wrapped your arms around him. “I love you, too, Enma.”

[scarydeadlavender]

꧁༺ 𝓘 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓯𝓲𝔁 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓫𝓻𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓷 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 ༻꧂

command of : @sparklyfarmfreakpaper

Can you write something about Cassandra? How it's Valentine's Day and they both take the opportunity to confess their feelings towards each other, and this surprises everyone due to their very opposite personalities

I wrote it on the plane so it seems bad to me, I'm sorry for the wait, I hope you like it! :D

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Cassandra Vole, yes, you know the girl who looks exactly like Draco Malfoy and seems to have all the boys/girls at her feet?

Yes, that Cassandra!

You probably think that this girl accepts all the gifts, chocolates from her admirers on every Valentine's Day... But on the contrary! She doesn't accept any of them!

She's had enough of finding Chocolate Frogs or various flowers of all colors on her desk. She simply tells these people to keep their ridiculous gifts and that they weren't good enough for her.

Sure, this hurts the people who have saved and bought these gifts for Valentine's Day, but she doesn't care. No one was good enough for her... At least, maybe one person makes her heart beat faster and brings a genuine smile to her lips.

And that person is none other than Tp.

Yes, yes, Tp, the complete opposite of Cassandra - kind, caring, friendly, everything that the blonde girl wasn't towards other students.

Unlike Cassandra, Tp is just a student proudly wearing his house robe's colors, hardly receiving anything, if at all, on Valentine's Day! The last time Tp received anything from anyone dates back to elementary school!

But this year was different... Tp had finally decided to confess his feelings, to confess his feelings to the girl! However, he didn't want her to know it was from him, so he decided to write an anonymous letter on beautiful paper with golden edges.

With his large white quill, he wrote, erased, started over on the letter until he found the right words.

With his trembling hands, he lifted the letter as if it were the most precious object in the world, rereading the words he had written. A shy smile formed on his lips before he placed the letter in a lovely emerald green envelope that matched the color of the girl's dress. He let the warm red wax drip onto the envelope, revealing a seal with flowers drawn on it.

To say Tp was nervous would be an understatement... He was so nervous about placing the letter on Cassandra's desk. What would she think? Would she throw it away? Read it? Accept it?

All these questions swirled in his mind, causing him to lose his balance a bit. But suddenly, he heard Cassandra's footsteps approaching. Without thinking, he placed the letter quickly on her desk and left the classroom in a rush, a light blush on his cheeks.

Cassandra was tired of hiding her feelings for Tp. She had to declare her love to him! But how? She had never given anything to anyone on Valentine's Day. So, she spent several days brainstorming for the perfect idea.

That's when the idea of crafting a crystal rose came to her. Finding the rose was child's play (even though she scrutinized each rose in the store to find THE rose for Tp). Now the hardest part was giving the rose to Tp!

She wrapped it in a pretty blood-red tissue paper, tying it with a golden bow that connected to a small note. She carefully placed the rose in her school bag.

As she entered the classroom, impatient and anxious, she spotted the letter. Her fingers glided over the lovely envelope, rolling her eyes as if expecting another letter from an admirer.

Opening the letter with disdain, she read it without much conviction before tearing it up and throwing it in the trash.

But what she didn't know was that Tp had returned, wanting to see Cassandra's reaction to his letter. Tp watched Cassandra tear up the letter he had spent most of his nights on. A work so precious to him that was reduced to pieces in an instant.

Tp's heart broke, tears welling up in his eyes. Hearing Cassandra gasp in surprise, she turned to see her friend standing by the door, looking at her.

Cassandra: Don't tell me you're crying over a letter; it's not like it was yours!

The blonde crossed her arms over her chest, leaving behind the sound of the Frey twins' chuckles. Tp wiped his tears away quickly, giving a forced smile.

Tp: Y-Yeah, sorry.

Cassandra: Fine.

With a sudden move, Tp rushed out of the room, leaving Cassandra confused and shrugging. She looked for the rose in her bag, delicately holding it between her fingers covered in white gloves. She looked at the tissue paper before smiling slightly.

As for the Frey twins, they were fighting behind her, elbowing each other and whispering, "No, you tell her."

Caught in their argument, Cassandra spun around, her heels clicking on the floor.

Cassandra: Will you two ever stop? You sound like two cats fighting!

She pinched the bridge of her nose before one of the Frey brothers stepped forward, nervously scratching the back of his neck. He spoke in a small voice, preventing Cassandra from hearing it.

Cassandra: What did you say?

Frey: I said, the letter you just tore was from Tp...

Cassandra's eyes widened.

Frey: We saw him leave the letter—

SLAM

Cassandra's trembling hands had let go of the crystal rose onto the hard floor, creating a sharp sound of shattering. Was this merely an unfortunate accident or a metaphor for the heart of Tp that she had just broken? She didn't know, but she quickly picked up the little package that now contained glass shards as sharp as the words she had spoken.

Cassandra: I... I need to go do something. Alone. You have sent With quick steps, she left the classroom, walking through the corridors of Hogwarts that seemed far too crowded for her liking. The Frey twins watched her go before whispering something to each other...

Tp had sought refuge in the library, a place he loved to escape to due to its silent and calm atmosphere. He had withdrawn from the world, emitting occasional sobs due to his tears. He murmured to himself that it was foolish of him to think that Cassandra Vole could love him back. You have sent Oh, what a surprise it was when he heard her distinctive throat clearing.

Tp: Go away, I don't want to see anyone right now...

Then he felt her sit next to him, dusting off her skirt. She didn't know why, but the words were stuck in her throat... Where had her confidence gone? She passed her hand through her blonde hair to clear her thoughts.

Cassandra: I... I'm sorry for earlier...

Tp raised his gaze slightly.

Cassandra: To be honest... I thought it was from someone else...

Tp's heart stopped for a moment, sending shivers down his spine - a mixture of excitement and anxiety at Cassandra's response. Did she already like someone?

Tp: U-uh, and who's the lucky one? You have sent Seeing Cassandra's cheeks turn as red as the crystal rose, he clenched her dress folds as if hesitating to let out the simple words that were burning her lips.

Seeing Tp's reaction, the blonde smiled sadly before shrugging her shoulders.

Tp: It's... I-it's fine, you don't have to- Cassandra: Just take it!!

He didn't even have time to finish his sentence before the girl thrust the small gift toward him. With closed eyes and embarrassment, she quickly spoke.

Cassandra: Here! For you!

Tp looked stunned, watching Cassandra in shock. She seemed to panic and let out a quick comment. Oh, the tsundere mode he found adorable.

Cassandra: Come on, take it, you idiot! I don't have all day for you! You have sent Tp chuckled, taking the small package delicately and his fingers brushed against hers. He slowly unwrapped the paper, revealing a rose broken into three pieces. It shone brightly, as brilliant as his feelings.

Cassandra's eyes widened at the sight and she wanted to take the gift back, ashamed to see it broken.

Cassandra: Give it back! Tp: N-no! Giving is giving, taking back is stealing!

The attempt at humor didn't sit well with Cassandra, who looked away, embarrassed. Tp lowered his head, smiling like a child.

Tp: Cassandra, it's beautiful! Thank you so much... Now I'm embarrassed about my letter... Cassandra: No. Tp: No? Cassandra: No, your letter touched me...

The golden-haired girl gripped her dress a bit tighter, blushing even more.

Cassandra: You're the only person who... who truly appreciates me... and who manages to like me...

She lowered her gaze. You have sent Cassandra: Tp! I love you!!

Closing her eyes, she feared her friend's reaction. Would he reject her? Hate her? When she heard his laughter, a shiver of embarrassment and fear ran down her spine. Was he mocking her? Did she ruin everything? So she wiped away a small tear quickly.

Tp: Oh, Cassandra... You have no idea how long I've wished for this moment to come!

The blonde lifted her head, shocked by his revelation. Tp nervously rubbed his head.

Tp: I love you too, Cassandra Vole. Your beauty, your personality... Well, you! Cassandra:.... You have sent Cassandra couldn't help but playfully hit him, a bit angry that he had teased her. But now, she was so happy! Tp gently took Cassandra's hand.

Tp: Well, I think both of us had broken but now fixed gifts... thanks to our love!

Cassandra chuckled.

Cassandra: You're kind of denying what you just said... But I like it! . . . You have sent The day after Valentine's Day, all the students of Hogwarts were wondering who received something for Valentine's Day, who didn't, or worse, who got rejected!

But what didn't go unnoticed were Tp and Cassandra Vole, the Slytherin girl who had refused any companion until that day. The cold-hearted girl was holding hands with the one who had won her heart, the complete opposite of herself!

The Frey twins were whispering among themselves, saying they knew all along they would end up together (and in passing a bit sad as they have to give up trying to woo the girl) You sent: Robbin sulked a little in her corner upon hearing this revelation; she was jealous that Tp had managed to convey his feelings to Cassandra, unlike her who had failed to make Kevin understand her love. Ivy, from afar, clapped and hopped in joy at this good news, and as for Lottie, she had already gone to fetch a new canvas to paint the couple! It's true... Those two have found each other well, broken and then connected by their love. That's why they both treasure each other's repaired gifts, where the marks of fracture are still visible...

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Number of word : 1930

I hope you like it, I apologize again for the wait

[bi-bats]

5, 6, 10, and 18 <3

Hiya bestie!! Thank you for the ask 💖

5. What’s a fic idea you’ve had that you will never write?

Probably The Birth of a God, which is a very complicated greek mythology au where Jason is Icarus and he falls in love with Apollo (Tim) and builds the wax wings because he's trying to reach him. After his death he gets revived as Ares (I've assigned out greek gods to over half of the characters in this fic including Dick as Aphrodite, Bruce as Hades, Damian as Thanatos, Barbara as Hephaestus, Cass as Athena, Alfred as Hestia, Duke as Helios) and doesn't tell anyone, but Tim goes to Bruce to get Jason back, which Bruce refuses because he can't. He doesn't tell Tim that he can't because Jason isn't actually there, so of course Tim wages war on him, which drags Jason into it because he's the god of war even though Tim doesn't know that and adkljfdlkfjdlkfdlfjlkdj

Look I love this idea and I'd love to read it but. I'd have to WRITE it and the amount of research I would have to do to twist the plot around the way I want would be insane so it's probably going to die in my brain 😭😭😭

6. Are there any fics from others you reread all the time?

Oh yeah absolutely. Lemme link a few (that aren't just smut lol):

sweet dreams (are made of thee) by @yasmindifference (jaytim dreamsharing 😭😭😭)

and a hand to bite by Sister (the jaytim exes to lovers of all time and also the fic that inspired Rooftops and Bookshops)

chaos is a color I wear well (and it looks mighty good on you) by @glaciya (jaytim angsty feels fic I love this one so much)

Like a Bat out of Hell by @allacesandeights (this fic. This fucking FIC. It's literally one of my go-to recs for when I'm trying to get people into JayTim and it deserves so so so much more recognition than it has holy shit this fic is so fucking good like. I very rarely read fics where I think the plot is perfect but this one is just so well done all around and akjdfajdfsdf read it)

I Didn't Say I Liked You by Generatorcat (I reread this one a LOT it's just delightful I love when they play chicken and you do it SO well, thank you for this one 💖)

Show Me the Meaning (Of Being Lonely) by @timmyjaybird (like. holy shit this whole series. I owe my life as an author to this series. This is the series that got me to consider shipping jaytim and also the first damitim fic that ever made my brain go brrrrrrr I've literally read this series like. 20 times at least and I never would have fallen deep enough into this fandom to start writing without it so thank you thank you thank you and everyone go read it)

10. Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

Definitely, and it's Now Kiss. I did not expect the response on that and if you know me, you've heard me talk about that. It just felt so rushed when I was writing it and I didn't get a chance to really edit it the way I wanted to and I've worked way harder on fics before and even if it was one of the ones that I was the most excited to share for JTW, there's just a part of me that's like: that's the one everyone loves so much?

That said, one thing about the response that has been lovely is that I've taken it as permission to trust myself a little more. There were a lot of things with that fic that I was uncertain about, but I liked them and decided to leave them alone even if I wasn't 100% sure because I was on a deadline and wanted it posted. They were probably the kinds of things that I would've fretted about incessantly and edited to death if I'd had more time, but people liked them, so it's been really nice to be able to let go of some of my self-doubt!

18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic?

Damian has always hated that Tim can carve the meat from an action, pull the bone of it out clean.

grughauhgaruharhgau just. I love this line so much. It says so much about both of them. It was also a tight race between that and this:

Everyone believes Goldie, all of the time. He just flashes that gorgeous smile like a fucking master key, and Jason’s always been a tiny bit jealous that everyone else turned out so goddamn endearing. 

also this one 😭😭😭 I really like the way that it reads like Jason's voice and also this is one of those things that he would never ever say because he can barely admit that it's true, even though it is

[justablah56]

Since you seem to be having a bad day, I threw together a little ficlet for you. Read/respond at your leisure (whether that's in 3 minutes or not until next year)

It had been a long fucking day.

It was a full day of teaching for Terry Jr, with a bad cold wiping out the entire drama department of San Dimas High (which had only been two teachers and a tech in the first place). There was screaming, and snotty noses, and one or two kids bursting into tears, and by the time the school bell rang, he was just about ready to collapse. And, of course, that was clearly asking too much, because it was drama club that day. 2 whole hours of dealing with kids who are meant to be off book two weeks ago, and still hadn't learnt half their lines. It was a fucking nightmare.

Now, dear reader, don't misunderstand. Terry absolutely adored his job and the kids he worked with. But today was one of those days where you just want to roll over and hide back under the covers.

The train had been cramped and noisy, even if the journey had been mercifully free from the kids usual loud arguments. (Why they insisted on riding back with Terry Jr, he had no idea. It was baffling though that Scary waited for him, and they were going to the same house. Although, somehow, her friends always seemed to stay over longer than expected.) Honestly, it was a relief to lock the door behind them all, the kids rushing off to the garden for soccer practice - mostly moral support to be honest.

Terry wearily pulled off his shoes, before turning to Scary.

"Hey, kiddo, I'm gonna go have a lie down. Let your mom know, okay?"

Scary, for once, didn't seem to protest either the request or the nickname. She just nodded, frowning.

"Yeah, sure. Go have a nap or whatever." He ruffled her hair a little (this did elcit an irritated groan. He may not be her dad, but she was still his kid and it was his duty to embarrass her in front of her friends after all) and headed upstairs.

Terry didn't bother to turn on the lights as he collapsed down into the bed, just letting himself he enveloped by the darkness and the comfy sheets. He felt bad about breaking his normal routine of kissing Veronica when they both got home, but honestly he just couldn't handle doing anything other than laying down right now.

He lay there with his head burried in the pillow for maybe a minute, maybe an hour, when he felt the bed dip.

"Hey, Tear-Bear. Bad day?"

There was his amazing wife, the light of his life. Her hair was flying loose from her bun, and even in the dark Terry could see that her office clothes were slightly rumpled.

She was stunning.

"You know, you gotta stop picking up Nicky's pet names. He has far too many." Terry mumbled as he grabbed her hand, tiredly bringing it up to his lips.

"Ah, but that would mean I don't get to hang out with your wife as much. Darling." A familiar weight draped itself over him, tail curling round his leg. "Dropping round unexpectedly and hanging out with V without you is half the fun."

Nicky's voice was a soothing rumble against his chest. Somehow, just having his two partners here made it easier to relax. Even if Nicky had definitely not announced that he'd be coming over. Veronica kicked her feet up and slung an arm over Terry's shoulder, pulling him closer.

"Come on, time for you to rest, TJ."

okokok I've hoarded this fic long enough , ive probably reread this AT LEAST 5 times now xnsnmsms anyways it means *so very much* to me that you decided to write an adorable little ficlet for me bcs i was not feeling good <3333 this lil fic is literally *so* cute i don't know how to properly convey to you how much i love this but icy i love this so much . thank you <33333

[alphaofdarkness]

Okay Dany, convince me to ship Kidge. What is the appeal of this ship? (genuinely asking because I've only watched season 1 and I'm curious)

⁉️👀⁉️

Not gonna lie anon, your question caught me off guard at 2am on a Sunday,, I was like 😳

“Oh shit someone's asking me?? About a ship?!” The intimidating question was so real and all I could do was literally go on a feral tirade on why I love Kidge so much and legit made no sense and just kept wondering in between moments of clarity on how I can properly defend myself on why I like the ship 😩 (not that I need to or have too, enough time has passed where I can say,,, just let me ship and be blissfully happy UwU, I do not car e anymore lol)

I will say that I want to keep this brief (as best I can, because heck I went feral just talking to myself on why I like the ship), I’m not the best at explaining things like some other amazing people might in the ship tag. But take what I say with a grain of salt and hope I don’t scare you off with whatever I do type.

**Note: This is not entirely brief liike how I wanted and I hate myself,, feck,,, I failed step one immediately**

Imma do bullet points, thoughts and prayers y'all cause I did my best to explain my chaotic thoughts lol ;;w;;

First and foremost! I definitely recommend that you watch the show in the general scope of a viewer and not just focusing on a ship. I think everyone should and would be aware of that~ but much like my initial watch I wasn’t paying much attention to the show and lore and story because I was distracted~. It wasn’t with Kidge at the time, but it definitely impeded my watch in the beginning as well as me falling off the fandom for a while into season 3-5. Plus, me rushing through those seasons when season 7 was coming around like, blood hell Alpha.

I think it goes without saying because the show is really good and love the found family aspect of it most importantly 👏🏼👏🏼 I am a sob and a fecking mess about this trope and I will forever cry over it.

I highly recommend watching the show in increments too instead of just binging it because you will lose information much faster 😭 and also it is just so fun to look forward to watch it the next day. I had so much fun this month just rewatching the show and am kind of depressed that it’s over lol 😔

Don’t cry because it’s over be happy for the journey (and all the fanfics you can reread again with full, understanding knowledge 😌)

Additionally, it is fun to reflect on the episodes re-watched, to better retain the info, at least for me, I can be slow with digesting new information (especially after so long), but it also made me giddy just talking to myself about the silly or serious shenanigans happening in the episode.

Second of all! I don’t want to convince you to ship Kidge 😩 I want you to convince yourself on why they would be good and cute together from your perspective! 👏🏼👏🏼

I personally think that they just work so well together, and while their initial interactions are short and brief, I love seeing them just standing next to each other or sharing panels during the fight sequences through much of the early seasons! I will say liike season 7 (even season 8) is like a holy grail for Kidge shippers because— 😩👏🏼 AH, took a while to get there, but we made it besties!!

Considering you’ve only seen season 1, I won’t dive into too many spoilers! To the best of my ability, I will say, I tended to focus on where the two stood by one another a lot and how they interacted in their lions and as Voltron and outside of it! ~

1. They both have family members/familial others on the trip to the Kerberos mission and just the whole concept of them looking for their respective familial figures.

Like that’s is the first part of the whole “WE COULD HAVE HAD IT ALL 😩” the way the two of them are shown to fight tooth and nail to save and go out of their way to figure out where their family members are is just 🤧✨ I truly believe if there was an opportunity to grow and develop them together it would have been over this.

I also find it incredibly fascinating that they are two of the most prominent characters that dive into their backstories in flashback sequences through the seasons ahead (we got a glimpse of Pidge's backstory in season 1 with a few more down the line). And how similar the two are in some of their experiences like school and being bullied and how their familial figures guide them (Shiro to Keith and Matt, and her father, to Pidge).

Hell, all of this could have been played as platonic all the way through or something more. Like I was there for it 👏🏼 I feel like this is a strong cemented stone on why I ship them a lot and keep me going on the potential their relationship could have been if they knew one another before the pilot episode. I just think it would have been cool, two conspiracy theorist bypassing the government to search for the truth!

2. They are literally the right and left arms of Voltron; the sword and shield ✨

I sincerely wish so much that again their relationship could have been developed more in the early seasons with this aspect, especially since we see how developed both Lance and Hunk are with each other (I mean they are literally best friends at the Garrison, I needed most of that with Kidge especially since they would be the opposite to them so it would have great to see them develop together as the arms of Voltron 🤧).

I just think it would have been nice to see it play out on how well they work together on the field and off it. I will say! It isn't all lost, especially into season 3 and like late season 6 and onwards! I say the dynamic of Shiro and Pidge in their lions and as Voltron currently is what kind of develops in Keith and Pidge later! I hope you can make sense of that later on as you keep watching 👀!

3. Other general things about their tropes and personalities just give me more fuel to ship them, such as:

Them both being introverted to heck in their respective ways; the techie nerd and the emo loner like,,, sillies!

I am always someone who loves looking at character color palettes and how they mesh well together; so believe me I lost my mind when Kidge shippers literally came up with Kidgemas cause of their red and green colors and I just *screams* 🌿🔥

I love both their personalities and how similar, yet different, they are to one another in that respect; they both have a drive and fire in them, their sarcasm and jibs to the others is so funny.

I'm not over season 1 episode,,, 2? Of the team training together and like,,, first of all, the two's small spat because Pidge couldn't concentrate during the mental exercise, but literally leaping to her defense when Allura threw food goo at her like,, Ah I just love her sarcasm to Allura then "The princess of what, your not ours--" and i just like go off queen, but also please no fighting 😩 y’all are going to be family ah,,, i love my dysfunctional family so much ya'll

Keith making a face at the action and immediately "Go loose, Pidge" LIKE AH! 👏🏼👏🏼😩😩

But they also have their calm moments of serene clarity and peace that is heighted with their interactions with the other characters as well!

I also noticed how they both tend to be the mature ones in some cases and some situations when around the other or a shared mature figure like Shiro; Keith by like a lot, clearly, but I was increasingly surprised by how Pidge maintained some serious temperament during missions, especially when around Hunk and most definitely around Lance lol (It is funny tho how serious and mildly annoyed she gets to his flirtatious ways, but can also immediately just let her guard down and have giddy fun with him when something catches her interest, it's so cute and hilarious 😌).

I also just love their development through the show of just letting their guard down around the others overtime! Especially with Keith and how his lone wolf personality melts away (believe me I lost my mind at how many sweet moments were between him and Hunk and IM just here crying at how Keith was able to smile and have fun around him 😭 💛❤️ got me all emotional i fecking criED). As well as Pidge with the others, especially after she told them about her true identity and how she wants to be able to work with them better without any secrets (On a side note, I wish there was more moments with Allura and Pidge earlier on ;;;o;;; SHE LEARNED ALTEAN FOR HER AND CORAN AND IM JUST,,, sweetie I love you! YOUR HONOR THEY ARE SISTERS! 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼).

Ah shit, is that season 1 or 2? ;;w;; well, she learns it a nice fact! My girl is such a genius like how did she not like,,, move up grades in school, she is so intelligent , i could never. Not gonna lie, I feel like the team wouldn't be as successful with intel if they didn't have her and her tech wizard skills because DAMN.

Also how Keith was so up and arms when Pidge wanted to leave initially like!? Please ;;w;; sir has abandonment issues, please don't leave sweetie (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀); but also a similar scene occurs, very briefly, later on in reverse :) so take that as you will! It is very small, almost negligible if you aren't paying attention to it.

It is made better by a concluding panel that Kidge shippers just lose their minds over ! (Me, I am kidge shippers and I lost my mind over and over because they are just — *cries and sobs* perfecto!)

Very minor thing, but the height difference (in general im weak in the knees for this) always gets me crying, screaming, throwing up, going feral on the ground. My dearest Pidge, she may gain some legs later in life, but like she is definitely still tiny and I sob, give us short queens some representation because it is so hard out here, and we will kill you (not Allura bending down to her height in that episode she was planning to leave; how NOT to talk to a short person Allura lol 😩)

I think it goes without saying that the whole team, including Keith, are protective of Pidge like as they should be and I just *grins mischievously* can say with confidence that he do 😌

Definitely more of a personal headcanon, and there is a Kidge art of it floating around somewhere in the tag, if they actually had more moments and trained together, but I love Pidge being taught on how to defend herself, especially one on one and like her managing to take down Keith in training and he's just like "⁉️⁉️😳⁉️⁉️” God, I love a woman that can kick my ass trope *chokes*.

I am a sucker for hearing their voices and tone and emotions, so you know for damn well I am listening to them just say the others name in a soft or sarcastic tone lol (I love Steven Yeun's voice, my Glenn 😭, I am a mess for not appreciating Keith before in my initial watch of the show).

Ah, I can go on and off about them, especially about the later seasons but like you're just going to have to take a look of it yourself as you go into it 😌

Once again, I definitely recommend you watch the show for what it is in its storytelling and lore and character development; you can keep a close eyed view of Kidge in the background, but definitely rewind for the moments or stop and pause or rewind for the information given in story.

I hope you enjoyed my nonsense speak and take something away from it or ignore it altogether. I don't mind, I want you, overall, to convince yourself on why you would like to ship Kidge as you watch the show, if at all! We are all here for a fun and good time after the show's initial debut 😌🌿🔥

Have a small doodle of Kidge! My first time drawing them after like 4 1/2 years and I am just,,, yelling at my growth in art and how cute I made them look; mild spoiler, I suppose, of their older selves appearances~ Hope you like! 😌✌🏼

Enjoy your day anon!

[insertsickusername13]

haven't reread this or edited it. idc. it's cute. enjoy.

word count: 3k

warnings: child abuse (rich's whole situation with his dad---it's not bad, and it's only mentioned in one paragraph, but it's there enough that it's worth mentioning)

Jake was standing in the center of the crowded hallway leaning heavily on his cane. Freshmen and seniors alike twisted and stumbled out of the way as they rushed down to lunch. His feet were shoulder width apart and his chin held high, much like a rock in the center of a rushing river.

Rich was hyper-aware of Jake from the second he slipped out of pre-calc, his attention (much like everyone else’s) immediately drawn to him. Tall. Confident. He stood like he belonged to the extent those who had to dodge out of his way were convinced they were the ones in the wrong, not him.

“And they say Christine’s dramatic,” Rich greeted. He sidestepped out of the current of students into the safety of Jake’s shadow. Jake’s gaze flickered from somewhere in the distance down to Rich and immediately his expression morphed from one of deep concentration to rosy excitement. Then, as if realizing himself, Jake pressed his lips together and snuffed out his happiness like a flame (not the first fire Jake had put out, both metaphorically and literally).

“We need to talk,” he said simply, tone barren and controlled. Rich masked the instinctive panic that promptly flooded the room at those words behind an amused quirked eyebrow.

“Intense opening line,” he commented, “8/10. Delivery could’ve been better.”

Jake’s purposeful intensity faltered just long enough for him to duck his head to hide his summertime smile. Rich, despite already sorting through all the worst-case scenarios—death, hatred, squips and secrets—did a small, mental fist pump. Having the newfound freedom to think his own thoughts without anyone there to criticize him besides his own subconscious meant spending an increasing amount of time dedicating himself to seeing Jake smile, watching him laugh, and feeling no shame at the way life seemed to return to every previously colorless corner of the room, the way his heart so hard he was convinced it was a destructive force rather than a romantic one.

“Shut up, I’m being serious.”

It’d been a minute, at least, and the halls were slowly emptying out of bystanders. Rich shifted back slightly, now free to be farther away from Jake without being trampled. Self-preservation kept him from creeping closer even as he shivered at the cold that slithered into the room at Jake’s distance.

Rich tried to keep his voice from trembling as he got out, “Okay, then. Talk to me.”

Jake shook his head and Rich frowned.

Rich felt dread, yes. Though it couldn’t have been past noon, a bluish-black dusk almost the same color as a bruise was swimming in his vision and dragging its sharp nails over every inch of exposed skin. Rich was restless in his desperation to get as far from this conversation as possible, a feeling so overwhelming he had to consciously talk himself down from an anxiety attack.

But where Rich’s anxiety manifested itself in his fidgeting fingers and tapping foot—something that wasn’t out of the ordinary for him, even a relatively calm Rich was a jittery Rich—Jake looked like he’d just watched tragedy strike an entire nation.

“Not here,” he muttered, so quiet Rich was convinced he didn’t want him to hear. “…Library? Or—”

“Library works,” Rich smiled, “We can watch horny freshmen make out in the back while we… break up? Platonically? I don’t know what you’re planning on.”

Jake didn’t seem to find Rich’s facetiousness amusing. He looked down at his shoes, seemingly deeply entertained by the intricacies of his poorly tied laces.

“Perfect,” he whispered, his voice taking on a customer-service tone he adopted when he knew his natural voice would be on the verge of breaking. Rich couldn’t even find it in him to summon another shitty joke.

Jake led Rich to the library briskly, ignoring the cafeteria completely while Rich cast a longing glance back at his lunch table, where all his friends were laughing without a care in the world.

Jake was facing straight ahead and a step ahead of Rich—his face was out of view, but Rich could hear the faint sound of him reciting a speech to himself, rehearsing whatever he was going to say to Rich in a moment. Rich strained to hear every—any—word, but all he got were empty shells of sorry and we can fix it.

“Okay,” Jake said as he pulled out Rich’s chair and sat across from him, his cane leaning against the table. They were sat in the back of the library by a window. Jake dropped his backpack on the ground next to him and unzipped it, pulling out a binder Rich had never seen before. Strange, considering Rich had sat through every pre-test, stress-induced haze while Jake paced the living room, reciting definitions from flashcards and making Rich read aloud passages from binders that only slightly resembled the one on the table between them.

Rich let out a tiny sigh of relief that he hoped wasn’t noticeable. So it was just a test or presentation—something important enough to Jake’s final grade that he was freaking out enough that he’d totally missed the mini-mental breakdown he’d caused Rich.

Jake took a deep breath. Rich leaned back, prepared and patient to listen as Jake first apologized for bothering him, then made Rich quickly skim the source material before quizzing him on every possible question or logic fallacy that would most surely never show up on a test intended for high schoolers. Rich wasn’t bothered when Jake’s expression changed from nervous to one of pure determination and cynical analysis—he was well accustomed to this version of Jake, one who compartmentalized until all the dark and scary feelings were just files to be sorted rather than genuine emotions to be processed. He’d get through it eventually, but only after he’d solved whatever problem he was facing.

“Physics?” Rich guessed. Jake looked up from his papers, barely aware of what Rich had said, his focus completely and utterly on the task at hand.

“What?”

“Physics? Is that what we’re studying?”

Another moment of awkward silence before Jake finally seemed to understand.

“Oh,” he said, “No. No, worse. Here.”

He passed Rich a paper—a timeline, starting December 3rd. Rich didn’t get the chance to read a single word before Jake shoved another paper into his hand, this one a calendar for this month—April. Then a list. A picture. A color-coded set of notes. A survey? Rich scrambled to organize himself as Jake shoved yet another paper into his hand, this one a printed-out, annotated article from one sketchy health website or another.

“Do you want a chance to review the material before I start, or can I just jump right in?”

Rich looked up helplessly from the April calendar and squeaked, “Huh?”

Jake studied him for a moment, gaze a stormy mix of expectancy and determination. Then, having come to a conclusion Rich wasn’t privy to, he said, “We’re going to start on page one.”

Rich blinked at him.

“Timeline,” Jake clarified, “The first paper I handed to you.”

Rich struggled through the pile of papers until he pulled the timeline out. He displayed it to Jake proudly only to be met with a nervous smile that quickly faded into a grimace.

“Alright,” Jake said, his voice quivering in a similar fashion to a guitar string—musically, beautifully. He clenched his paper to the point it crinkled. “As you can see, it starts December 3rd, the day I first visited you in the hospital, and ends yesterday.”

Rich’s eyes flit from the beginning to the end of the timeline to confirm Jake’s words. He nodded, unsure as to why Jake’s tidbit about the hospital was necessary.

“So upon first contact post-fire, we ignored the topic of the fire and simply discussed the play and Jeremy, correct?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Good. And you didn’t apologize until the 8th, the next date marked on the timeline.”

Rich found the 8th, labeled ‘THE APOLOGY’ in all caps. Rich searched the words for a hidden meaning, praying it’d also be the birthday of some American president or treaty signing.

“I was, at first, resistant, but by the 11th I had come to forgive you. I visited again and we discussed possible steps forward.”

Unsurprisingly, the 11th was the next marked date. Rich swallowed a confused sob.

“Yeah, I know,” Rich said, the words tumbling out of his throat like his body was trying to purge him of a poison, “What the fuck?”

Jake continued without so much as looking up.

“On the 20th, you were released from the hospital. You, your brother, and I all spent Christmas at my apartment—purchased before the timeline began—over the 25th and into the 26th. Does that sound right to you?”

“Yes. Still kind of dark times, though, so if we could skip to—”

“You moved in on January 5th.”

Rich’s memory of that day lived serenely in the back of his mind to be summoned with perfect clarity whenever he felt unworthy or scared. It had been impulsive and dangerous—Rich had called Jake in the middle of the night, bruised and scared and exhausted. He’d come home from a six-hour shift on the verge of collapse, his burns itching and screaming, the lingering memory of the squip spouting deprecations at the way he winced with every step. He was unlucky enough to find his father still conscious in the living room, anger emanating off of him in waves of violence that manifested in thrown dishes and kicked over trashcans because where the fuck have you been?! You think you have any right to parade around with your rich friends while your family is stuck here?! You should’ve been—

The list was long. You should’ve been cleaning the dishes, making dinner, doing the laundry. He made it worse by crying.

He stayed kneeling in the kitchen long after his father passed out on the couch and, with shaking hands, because he didn’t want to cry anymore—he really, really didn’t want to cry—he called Jake.

Jake offered every cliche affirmation and more. You’re enough, you’re more than enough, I love you, you deserve better, you’re beautiful, you’re smart, I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you.

All the while, Jake was texting Michael. He still had his casts on—he couldn’t drive, and Michael told Rich later that he’d never seen someone manage to sound so panicked over text.

Less than twenty minutes later, Michael had snuck in the window. He cleaned the broken dishes, set the trashcan upright, and picked Rich up off the floor and dragged him kicking and screaming out of his father’s house.

“No, no, no, I can’t leave, he needs me, he needs me—”

Upon collapsing into Jake’s arms ten minutes later, Rich realized he needed to be loved a lot more than his dad needed him. He didn't go back.

“Yeah,” Rich breathed, “I remember.”

“January 15th: The first incident happens.”

“Incident?” Rich asked blankly, his mind still replaying the car ride from his father’s to Jake’s house.

“Yes. Any urges to kiss you or—or more, will be referred to using the term ‘incident,’ whereas more innocent urges—possibly wanting to go out on a date, or hold your hand, things along those lines—will be referred to using ‘episodes.’”

“Mhm,” Rich confirmed mindlessly. Jake’s words drifted up and around him much water falling off his face and body rather than sinking into his skin. It took Jake’s heavy gaze—staring expectantly, his lips parted, forming questions Rich couldn’t hear.

Wait. What?

“Go back,” Rich rushed out, back straightening. Hope hadn’t sunk in yet—he wasn’t quite there. Only confusion. “What the hell?”

Jake nodded once. He’d been expecting this reaction.

“Beginning January 7th, I developed a crush on you.”

Instead of turning to Jake, Rich turned to the papers for confirmation. He scoured the timeline for the words crush or love. All he got were incident #4 (#7, #9, #54, #78) and episode #7 (#15, #29, #156).

Shaky, he rushed to the next paper. A list of twenty entitled Modes for Moving On. The article from Healthline or Web MD: Psychologists Estimate Crushes become a True Love After Four Months.

“I’m sorry,” Jake whispered, his voice so simply scared Rich was convinced he must be hiding from a monster under the bed or the boogyman—a childish fear. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You—” Rich started. He distantly heard Jake make a strangled sound but was too lost in flashes of the past three and a half months. Jake, flinching away when Rich got too close—Rich blaming it on the fire. Jake going out with three different girls in a week with no sign of stopping until Brooke slapped him and told him to stop playing with people’s feelings. The way he’d listened to Brooke but had been staring at Rich the whole time, his shoulders hunched over as he tried to curl in on himself.

“I… I don’t understand,” Rich whispered, though of course, by now, understanding was settling in his spine and gripping his nervous system like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. Jake liked him. Jake liked him.

“I’m trying to fix it. That’s the point. The article—”

Jake was in such a blind rush to show Rich that he practically fell from his chair, kicking it back with a ferocity as he stood and winced, his legs unprepared for the sudden weight on them.

“Fuck—the article, four months, right? And—” he hastily re-situated his chair and stumbled over to Rich, his hands clumsily shuffling through the papers until he managed to shove the Healthline/Web MD article in Rich’s face.

“See! Four months! I’ve still got two weeks, right? I’m not in love with you. I’ve got—I’ve got a plan. I looked up a bunch of stuff on the internet on how to move on, and it all told me to like, avoid you and stuff, but I can’t do that, so instead I’m ‘loving myself’ and ‘working through lingering feelings’—just a bunch of weird self-care stuff, but I’m fucking desperate, I’ll—”

He straightened suddenly, struck with the realization he’d just been so close to the source of all his problems. His expression singed and pride marred, he backed up a step, posture erect and his faked smile tight. He shook out his hands and turned to the sky for a quick moment. When he finally spoke again, it was in the same presenter’s tone he’d been offering since the beginning. In control; calm. His acting was worse than it had been in the play. Rich could hear every bit of panic running under his tone.

“Following the ten-step plan outlined on page seven, these feelings should be resolved by the 13th, with two days of cushion time in case one or two steps are thwarted or interfered with. I thought it right to make you aware of, of my intentions. I do think it would be best if I—”

Rich did the only thing he could think of to stop Jake from talking. He threw the nearest highlighter at Jake’s face.

For a moment afterward, there was only silence. Jake’s eyes were crossed to try and see where he’d been hit, right below the nose, and Rich was so mortified by his own unfounded actions to even begin to apologize.

“…You could’ve just said you don’t feel the same,” Jake finally murmured. He looked like he was physically fighting melancholia from his face and trying to stuff it into one of his file cabinets. He failed, and he had to turn away so Rich couldn’t see. He appeared to be blinking back tears.

“Oh my god, you are so fucking dramatic.”

Jake pouted. Rich laughed delightedly and got up to take Jake’s hands in his own. Jake stayed staring at the floor.

“Next time, just tell me how you’re feeling, yeah? Would’ve saved a lot of trees.”

Jake sniffled.

“I like you," Rich grinned, "If you somehow missed that. For a lot more than four months, too.”

Finally, Jake looked at Rich, his expression open and hopeful, a smile comparable to everything springtime and flowery blooming on his face.

“Really?” he whispered.

“Yes, really.”

“Oh. Oh my god.”

“Yeah.”

Unable to stop himself any longer, Rich got up on his tippy toes, smiling softly, in an attempt to kiss Jake for the first time. His crush liked him back—

Jake jerked away, eyes wide and mortified.

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Oh my god, that was so fucking embarrassing. Oh my god. I literally told you when I fell in love with you. Oh my god. We’re not even dating.”

Rich tried to suppress his smile—just for Jake’s dignity—but a small laugh escaped him before he could stop himself. Jake’s face went from a rosy red to the color of wine. Rich wanted to kiss it off him.

“No, stop it," Jake said, "don’t say anything. This didn’t happen. Oh my god. Get out! Now!”

“What?” Rich said, his amusement so complete in essence he was sure Jake could feel it like a slap across the face, “Why?”

“Because!!!” Jake screeched, “I need to destroy all the evidence! Then I’m just going to ask you out like a normal person, Jesus fuck. No. I’m just going to ask Chloe to kill me. She’ll be glad to. Goodbye.”

Jake spun back to the table and, without organizing them in the slightest (something so un-Jake-like Rich seriously considered the possibility that this whole thing had been orchestrated by a clone), shoved the papers back into his backpack, uncaring that half of them were ripped or crinkled. When he turned back to Rich, it was like nothing had ever happened. He looked like he had that morning: happy in a Jake way. Almost like a golden retriever, ready to do whatever necessary to make the people around him smile. In control. Suave and nonchalant; a flirt.

Jake conjured a look of confusion onto his face.

“Dude, what the fuck, you didn’t tell me you were French.”

“What?! Dude—” Rich giggled into his hand, so delighted by the entire affair he couldn’t even really be confused by Jake’s sudden assumption that Rich was French, of all things, “—I’m not fucking French.”

“Really?” He squinted at Rich, “Because I could’ve sworn Eiffel for you.”

He flashed Rich a grin and a peace sign before swooping down like he was going to kiss Rich. He stopped last second, less than an inch away, and carefully cupped Rich’s jaw. Rich watched as the confident exterior Jake had managed to summon last second slipped into a pure, childish excitement. His breath caught for a moment, so utterly elated at the idea that he was this close to kissing Rich—

Rich tried to close the gap. Jake’s fingers dug into Rich’s jaw, something that could’ve quite possibly been considered violent had it come from anyone else, but Jake seemed so set on making sure Rich wasn’t hurt that the show of strength came off as affectionate rather than scary. Rich frowned.

“When you tell people how we got together,” Jake seethed. Though his humor had darkened into a bad boy character that suspiciously resembled the love interest of a romance movie he and Jake had watched together a week ago, it was offset by the fact Rich had seen the utter awe on his face a moment earlier. “You tell them about this, yeah? That—” with his free hand, he motioned vaguely to the table behind them. “—that never happened. I fed you a nice pickup line and you liked it. Understood?”

“Perfectly,” Rich said, his voice so quiet and seductive Jake was forced to pull away before he did something he’d regret.

Then, the second they arrived at their lunch table, “Jenna motherfucking Rolan, you will not believe what just happened—”

[distinguished-slacker]

I’m a gureshin shipper but to be honest I have been losing my passion for this ship for some time now. It’s just that it has been so long since we had any content of them. Last time we got a scene of them in the manga was almost 3 years ago. The only content we got of them during this time was the Cat16 manga, which although I really enjoyed, at the end of the day it was an adaptation. Ever since it ended on February (I think?) everything has been duller. There isn’t even anything that hints that the Wrat19 novels will ever be continued again. Many fans left over the time and it has been so long that I even forgot the usernames of those mutuals I used to interact with. Naturally there isn’t that much gureshin fanwork anymore. I miss those times 2 years ago where there were so many Cat16 and Wrat19 analyzes and theories, and even when we created a gureshin group chat here. It was so fun. It’s like a small fandom on its own. So I would compare this to being in a fandom for a manga/LN that stopped serialising years ago. Monotony.

I guess I got a bit emotional. But seriously when I saw the “most memorable scene” for the gureshin prompts, it took me quite some time to think of something because I don’t remember what happened in the LNs as well as I used to in the past, and I don’t feel interested enough to go back and reread it. So in the end my choice isn’t something “memorable” to me at all. At the very least I wish I could have hopes because naturally Shinya has to appear in the future, but considering how things have been going on in the manga for these last years, I am not sure that when the time comes the story will actually deliver. I know I shouldn’t be assuming something that the author hasn’t written yet but I cannot help but to feel this fear in me. Elements (characters, relationships, arcs, etc.) that should have been given their proper focus have been just rushed or done half assedly for the sake of fulfilling (or as I prefer to say: “ticking boxes”). It’s as everything “secondary” (which I categorise gureshin as) has been pushed aside for the sake of prioritising the “main” elements (or rather “element without s”) of the story. It doesn’t help either that the more time passes, the more Guren is written as an asshole and the more his relationship with Mahiru is painted in a white light.

I am writing this because I haven’t really talked about gureshin in a long time so I felt like finally expressing my thoughts. I’ll still take part in the gureshin week, because at the end of the day gureshin is something that matters to me.

[vs-redemption]

For the event. Can you do a historical au for Finral. If possible use gender neutral terms?

Yes, this took forever to get to. BUT, it turned into an over 3000 word monster so I hope it is worth it ♥

Historical AU (Finral Roulacase x GN!Reader)

Word Count: 3.2K Warnings: mentions of Finral's deceased mother?

(I haven't full proofread it, so forgive any errors until I get the chance to reread it)

Many considered it an honor to serve a noble household because it required the upmost amount of trust and loyalty. Being in the good graces of such a family afforded one quite the comfortable life indeed. For Finral, however, holding such a position was something rather like a nightmare.

“Unbelievable the times we’re living in,” the cook on staff laughs while bringing him a cup of tea to welcome him onboard. “I thought his lordship crazy for buying one of those new automobile thingys, but I suppose he will need someone to drive it.”

Finral takes the cup gratefully, trying not to look too bitter about the whole situation. The people surrounding him in the servant’s quarters would certainly never earn enough to buy a car for themselves, let alone drive one. Most would tell him that he should consider himself lucky.

“But it’s a little strange, isn’t it?” one of the lady’s maids speaks up with a curious tilt to her head. “I’ve heard of your brother, Langris, and he’s a noble. So, how’d you end up here as a servant? Seems to me someone should be hired to drive you around.”

“He’s my step brother,” Finral corrects her stiffly before letting out an awkward laugh. He knew first impressions were important, and it wouldn’t do for him to come off so resentful. It would be extremely unpleasant to live and work with the rest of the staff if they felt he thought himself above them.

“But your father is also a noble from the respected house of Vaude” one of the footmen point out, his eyebrows raised almost mockingly. “And you’re his oldest son, if I recall. Surely that means you’re the heir to his estate and fortune?”

Finral had no idea what to say. What the footman said was true, but there were some key details that he’d left out which contributed to the shame of the circumstances he currently found himself in. But to have to reveal those truths out loud would be humiliating, and he had to wonder if the footman had tried to force him to spill the truth on purpose.

“Never mind all that,” the butler steps in to keep the conversation from going sour. “The man’s business is his own, and his lordship wouldn’t have agreed to take him on if there was anything untoward with his character.” The conversation was dropped after that, but Finral knew that the questions would linger in everyone’s minds. Surely the real story would come out eventually, but for now he was content in avoiding it.

Things with the new job seemed to go smoothly for the first couple weeks. The life of a chauffer wasn’t too horrible, although his employer seemed to always need rides into town without warning and for the most trivial of reasons. It was hard to find time to relax with such a schedule, but it was at least better than having to work within the household and wait hand and foot on people who were technically his equals.

“Roulacase,” the butler enters the servant’s quarters suddenly and everyone stands respectfully. He quickly explains that Finral was to bring the car around right away for his employer’s eldest child. They were taking a solo trip into town and needed a ride.

“Yes, right away.” Finral gives a slight bow before hurrying out to get the car ready. He wasn’t sure if he was incredibly lucky or the opposite. Ever since he’d been a boy, he had thought that you, the eldest child of his lordship, were rather pleasing to the eye. But after working for the family so closely these past few weeks, that attraction had grown into a full-blown crush.

“Morning, good noble,” Finral clears his throat when he sees you and rushes to open the car door and help you in. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

“Not to worry,” you assure him while putting a hand on his arm and climbing into the back seat. “I’m sorry for the short notice. And please, there’s no need for such formalities. You may call me by my name.” “Are… you sure?” Finral wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with that. Even if he still had his former status, it was highly unusual for people to address each other without titles. And if your father heard him calling you by name, he wasn’t sure what sort of repercussions he would face.

“Absolutely sure,” you assure him with a nod of your head. After giving him an account of the places you were hoping to visit that day, he starts the car and heads off. The journey wasn’t anything like Finral had predicted. Normally chauffeurs were silent, only making polite conversation if their employer addressed them first. With you though, it was different. You seemed to speak to him as if his position wasn’t beneath yours, and it did wonders for his dignity. By the time the shopping was done and he was driving you home, he’d gotten comfortable enough to joke and laugh openly with you.

That night, Finral went to bed feeling more valued and seen than he had in such a long time. Even before he’d lost his standing with his family, nobody had ever treated him so well except perhaps his late mother. For that reason, he was ecstatic when he got the orders to drive you into down a week later.

“Did you know my father holds an annual servant’s ball?” you start up a casual conversation just as soon as he pulls away from the house. Finral was relieved for the chance to relax a bit and not have to act so formally. He glances over his shoulder at you before looking back to the road.

“Servant’s ball?” he laughs, thinking it was a joke. “That couldn’t possibly be what it sounds like.”

“Oh, it is.” You assure him with a playful smile. “For one evening, the servants in the house are relieved of their duties and allowed to enjoy some food and dancing along with the rest of the family. It’s the reason I need to visit the tailor actually. I’ll need something new to wear for the event.”

His lordship was known to be quite eccentric at times, but Finral could hardly believe he would hold an actual ball for his servants. He’d honesty thought he’d never get the chance to attend such a party again, which was sad because he had always really enjoyed them.

“Something new to wear to a servant’s ball?” He glances at you through the rearview mirror. “That seems a rather odd sentiment.”

“One must always be prepared to meet someone they might want to impress at a party,” you smile coyly. “After all, it is easy to fall in love while dancing.”

“I never knew you were a romantic,” Finral replies, willing his heart not to send false hope to his brain. It would do him no good to look too much into your words. He knew he had a tendency to jump to conclusions.

Whether or not you were actually a romantic was moot, however, because you knew that he was. Before his fall from nobility, Finral had built quite a reputation as a notorious flirt, and not even a very good one. Whenever he got around a potential suitor, his mannerisms got fidgety and there never seemed to be much real confidence behind his compliments and gift giving. Yet somehow, he had never seemed to give up. It was something you’d always wondered about. Now that you had spent some time with him though, it appeared likely that he didn’t truly think of himself as some sort of heart throb. In reality, it was more likely that he simply craved for love. After being cast out by his family so cruelly, you were willing to bet all that flirting had been an attempt to fill the void left by his mother after she’d passed when he was young.

“Well, I hope you’ll save at least one dance for me,” you tell him before changing the subject, leaving him flustered for the rest of the day.

The servant’s quarters were extremally busy the morning before the ball and Finral found himself quite impressed with how much work actually went into these sorts of events. He’d always sort of taken it for granted. He shuffles through the kitchen, eyeing up the food as the cook and her assistants scrambled around.

“Is the family really going to dance with the servants?” he asks curiously, still struggling to wrap his mind around such a concept.

“They’re only actually obligated to participate in one dance,” the cook informs him while taking something out of the oven only to replace it with another dish. “Traditionally, his lordship dances with the head housekeeper and his wife dances with the butler. Sometimes they’ll dance more though, if they feel up to it. They really are a fine family.”

“Oh,” Finral pauses to think for a moment. “And… who usually dances with his lordship’s eldest?”

“That would be the first footman,” the cook turns to fix him with a look. “You do seem to find any opportunity to bring them up though, Roulacase. I do hope you’re not catching feelings where you ought not to be.”

“I quite agree,” the footman chooses that moment to walk into the kitchen, giving Finral a superior smirk while adjusting the sleeve of his dress coat. “I suppose it still hasn’t sunk in that you aren’t entitled to a noble marriage anymore. What a pity. You’ll have to cast your gaze much lower now to find a partner who will accept you.”

“That’ll be quite enough out of you,” the cook quips irritably. “If you two have all this time to stand and chat, then you have time to help. Take these dishes upstairs so they’re ready to go. You know we won’t have time to be coming back down here once everything starts.”

“Yes ma’am,” Finral carefully snatches up one of the platters and hurries from the kitchen, eyes downcast. His self esteem had never been anything spectacular, but to be put in his place by a footman was a huge blow. It was hard for him to think about how far he’d fallen, and how much he’d lost.

By the time the ball had started, Finral’s mood had sunk a great deal. The footman was right, of course. He had no chance of securing a marriage with a noble anymore, not as a chauffeur. And perhaps his father had been right as well to disown him. His step brother was a stronger and more reliable candidate to inherit the Vaude legacy.

He tried not to watch as you danced with the footman when the music started, instead choosing to stand off to side and avoid attracting any more embarrassment his way. It would be a shame if his gloomy mood was to dampen this rare chance for the other house staff who looked forward to a single night of glamor once a year.

“I hope you’re not hiding from me,” you sneak up on him once the first few dances of the evening are finished. “As I recall, you’re usually quite social during events like this.”

“I’m not the same person as I used to be,” he admits shyly, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. He suddenly realized that it might’ve been better if you hadn’t known him before and could just see him as a normal chauffeur.

“Aren’t you?” You challenge him with a lift of your chin as if sizing him up. It made him feel even more self-conscious. Admittedly, he was the same pathetic man as before aside from a few things.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he shrugs, “I am the same. Except I don’t have the name or the clothes or the money to posture with anymore.” He offers a smile, wanting to show that he wasn’t feeling sorry for himself, just merely stating facts. The way you frown at him shakes his confidence further though, and it surprises him when you offer your hand.

“Dance with me.” You practically demand and he knows he can hardly refuse, not that he wanted to anyway. He slips his hand into yours and walks with you out onto the dance floor, placing one hand on your hip and pulling you a little closer instinctively.

“Sorry,” he mumbles but you only shake your head.

“For what?” You smile and he finds himself unable to answer.

For Finral, dancing with you felt almost as if someone had turned back the clock to a time when he had actually felt like someone that mattered. But thinking about it now, he’d struggled to find his self-worth even then. In fact, this was the very first time he could remember someone asking him to dance instead of the other way around. People always seemed to prefer his younger brother. Langris had always been the one with the confident smile and respectful presence. Perhaps becoming a servant was a step up for Finral after all. He no longer had to live in the shadow of his brother anymore, at least not so directly.

“You’re very handsome, you know.” Your compliment slashes through his thoughts and brings him rapidly back into the present.

“Wh-what?” He stares at you with side eyes, disbelief clear on his face.

“For a noble to react so surprised at a simple thing like that,” you hum thoughtfully as you both continue to dance. “How do you think your brother would’ve reacted if I’d said that to him instead?” Finral’s stomach drops, feeling the sting of your barb like a knife in the chest. His brother wouldn’t have batted an eye. Langris knew he was handsome. He heard it all the time. It wasn’t even a compliment to him, more like a statement of some universal knowledge on par with ‘the sky is blue.’

“I suppose the difference between he and I is the reason I’m in my current situation,” he admits shamefully.

“There is a huge difference between you both, but the truth of the discrepancy is quite different from the one I think you have been led to believe.” Finral meets your eyes again after hearing such a curious statement. He didn’t understand what you meant by it. Or perhaps, he couldn’t.

“Anyway,” you divert the conversation, not wanting to dive too deep into his obviously traumatized childhood in the middle of a ball. “My words from before were the honest truth. I do think you’re very handsome.”

The short conversation left Finral’s head spinning for the rest of the evening. Even if you did find his appearance appealing, what was the point of telling him? Nothing could come of it surely. The questions in his mind circled around his mind for the next few days as well. His imagination had been so busy coming up with dozens of different scenarios for the way you’d treated him, that he hardly noticed the degrading and snide remarks from the annoying footman. He suspected someone had reported his dazed behavior though, because a shocking order suddenly came for him to meet his employer up in the sitting room where he’d yet to step foot before now.

“You called for me, my lord?” he enters nervously, feeling smaller than he ever had before and cursing his poor luck when he sees you in the room as well. If he was going to be sacked, he’d rather you not be there to witness it.

“That’s right,” the man stands up and comes over to slap him on the back. “I’ve got a question for you.” He leans in closer as if it’s a secret even though he doesn’t lower his voice at all as he points a finger over his shoulder at you. “What are your feelings towards my kid over there?”

Finral didn’t think there could be a situation any more embarrassing than this. Being fired for being an airhead was one thing, but being kicked out because he had a crush on his employer’s child was another entirely. He honestly hadn’t thought his humiliation could get any worse and he wasn’t used to hearing anyone say things so bluntly.

“I… beg your pardon?” He knew playing dumb was not a reliable option, but he wasn’t sure what else to do.

“Come on, now. Let’s not waste time dancing around it,” his lordship groans impatiently. “Do you love them or not?”

“What?!” Finral’s eyes dart to your face and he finds himself shocked to see you trying to hide the shyness in your eyes and posture. He glances back at your father. “Sir, I…”

“It’s not complicated, kid. You either do or you don’t.” He pulls his arm off of Finral to cross his arms. “If you do, we’ll have a wedding planned up. If you don’t, well, that’s less work for me honestly.”

“Wedding?” Finral’s eyes glance over at you again. “But I don’t have anything to offer. Langris will inherit my father’s titles and money, and…”

“Big deal,” your father cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “You’ve got noble blood in ya, not that it makes much difference to me, and we don’t need your money since we’ve got plenty of that of our own. My kid seems to have taken a liking to you, and all I care about is that they marry someone who will truly love and take care of them. Can you do that?”

“Well… yes.” This whole thing felt insane, but Finral couldn’t do anything but go along with it and be honest at this point. He notices your lips tug into a smile and he feels his heart swell with pride. Had he really been able to make you smile like that?

“Then it’s settled!” your father lets out a bellowing laugh while pulling out a ring with his family crest on it and shoving it into Finral’s hands. “I like you too, kid. Come join my family!”

Finral was so overwhelmed with this sudden turn of events, but he knew he couldn’t allow his employer to propose like this for him. He tucks the ring away for now and walks over to you, taking your hands into his and then sinking down to one knee. He brushes his thumb over your knuckles, smiling up at you and saying your name softly. “Will it be enough to have a husband that has nothing but his love and devotion to offer you?”

“I rather think that’s all I need to be happy,” you confess truthfully.

“Then, will you marry me?” He asks and you start nodding excitedly before he even finishes the question. His head is still reeling with how fast things seemed to be turning around for him, but he couldn’t be any happier. He gets back on his feet and tugs you into his arms for a tight embrace. Before he can protest about your father being in the room, you cup his face in your hands and pull him down for a tender kiss.

“I promise to give you all my love and devotion as well,” you promise him after pulling away and you swear you see a hint of tears in his eyes because that’s all he’d ever wanted as well. He almost wished he could see the look on his brother’s face when he heard the news. Sending Finral off to be a servant was supposed to be a living nightmare. But instead, it had turned out to be a fairytale from the loveliest of dreams.

@todoroki-waifu