#both pretending to be parrots

[paper-rips]

birds,,,,

my initial headcanon for Parrot is that he's a blackbird pretending to be a parrot but what if he was a nightingale,,

((closeups below. kind of.

[girlivealwaysbean]

so tired of being a shitty bandaid for my parents' loneliness. like have u ever considered you passed your curse to me and some days i feel so lonely it's like i can't breathe around the emptiness in my chest????

[leona-hawthorne]

KINKTOBER #8– BUBBLE BATH / mattheo riddle

october 29th love making , thigh riding

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary: a death eater attack had left you constantly paranoid, terrified to be left alone. and well… that’s how you ended up in a bathtub with your best friend

warnings: unprotected piv, thigh riding, love making— my fav <3, nipple play

words: 4.5k

a/n: only 2 more to go after this :(

navigation kinktober masterlist

After enduring the chaos of a Death Eater attack, the aftermath clung to you, simmering in every silence, and curling up in every shadow. The anxiety, raw and insistent, clawed at your mind in ways you never could’ve anticipated, refusing to allow even a moment of solitude. And so, here you were, tucked into the hot, sudsy confines of a bathtub, with Mattheo lounging across from you, separated only by a barricade of bubbles and the thin veneer of friendship that felt more fragile by the second.

He sat, arms stretched along the tub’s edge, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he caught your gaze lingering too long, daring you with those dark eyes. He was here because you had asked, no questions, no hesitation—he showed up like he always did, with that steady presence that both soothed you and, in the quiet hours of night, kept you awake with a restlessness you didn’t want to name.

“You look like you’re thinking too much,” he murmured, amusement flickering in his tone. “Dangerous territory for you.”

Your eyes narrowed, a hint of a smile betraying you. “Better than staring at me like some experiment,” you countered, feigning nonchalance even as the heat from his gaze seeped into your skin.

“Experiment?” His brows quirked, his smirk deepening. “Please, if I were experimenting, there’d be more… control involved.”

You scoffed, flicking water in his direction, and he laughed—a low, warm sound that settled in the space between you like a challenge. “Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor. I’m pretty sure you’re getting more out of this than I am.”

His hand moved to his chest in mock offense. “I’m deeply hurt. Here I am, the devoted friend, sacrificing myself in the line of duty to keep you from the horrors of solitude. And this is the thanks I get?”

You rolled your eyes, though a grin slipped through. “Please, Mattheo. We both know you’d jump at any excuse to play the hero.”

“Only if you’re the one I’m rescuing,” he replied smoothly, a glint in his eye. He leaned forward, bringing himself closer. The water shifted between you, and every inch of reduced distance made your pulse quicken, a relentless reminder of how long you’d been tangled up in these feelings you’d so carefully kept under wraps. You’d been in love with him since before you even realized what that meant—since he started showing up at your side without needing an invitation, since his laugh became the sound you looked for in a crowded room, since every brush of his hand felt like a silent promise he didn’t even know he was making.

“Careful,” you teased, managing to keep your tone steady, though you were sure he could see through you. “Wouldn’t want you to develop an ego on my account.”

“Oh, please,” he breathed, eyes trailing down your face to where your fingers absently traced the edge of the tub. “If anything, you’re keeping it in check.”

There was a moment, a beat suspended in the humid, soap-scented air, where neither of you spoke. He didn’t move away, and neither did you. It was like every unspoken word was simmering between you, begging to spill over, to drown out the silence.

Then he broke it with a smirk. “Besides, I’m providing a service here. Therapy, right? Isn’t that what friends do?”

You snorted, feeling your guard lower. “Yeah, right. Friends. That’s all we are, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he parroted, but there was something darker in his tone, something laced with a sarcasm that felt a little too close to the truth you were both pretending not to see. “I mean, I’m just your best friend, sitting naked in a tub with you because… therapy. Nothing weird about that.”

“Not weird at all,” you shot back, but your voice betrayed you, dipping softer. He didn’t miss it. The gleam in his eyes sharpened, and you knew he was toying with you, testing the limits like he’d always done, inching closer until the boundary between friends and something more was blurred beyond recognition.

“And here I thought you’d be a bit more appreciative,” he murmured, letting his hand drift under the water until his fingers grazed your knee, an innocent touch that felt anything but. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were taking advantage of my generosity.”

Your breath caught, and you feigned nonchalance, refusing to let him see the effect he had on you. “You’re just fishing for compliments now.”

His hand lingered, unmoving, his thumb brushing in a slow circle that made it harder to keep your voice steady. “Maybe,” he said, his voice low, “or maybe I’m just curious what you’d do if I… pushed a little.”

You raised an eyebrow, forcing a smirk despite the way your heartbeat thrummed louder with every inch he dared to close. “Oh, please. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if I actually called your bluff.”

He leaned in, eyes gleaming with a challenge that felt like a knife’s edge between you. “Try me.”

But you just laughed, leaning back, keeping the tension taut. “Maybe I will. But not tonight,” you murmured, letting the words hang there, daring him to make the next move.

Mattheo’s smirk didn’t falter as he leaned back, watching you with a lazy kind of intensity that felt almost too much to handle under his steady gaze. He stretched his arms along the edge of the tub again, his shoulders rolling as if he were settling into something he fully intended to make you squirm through.

“Not tonight, huh?” he murmured, his tone a mix of challenge and amusement. “So, you’re saying there’s a chance?”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t hide the flush creeping up your cheeks. “Keep dreaming, Riddle.”

“Already am, sweetheart,” he replied smoothly, letting the endearment slip through as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His eyes didn’t leave yours, the playful warmth in them darkening just enough to make you shiver despite the heat of the water around you. “It’s kind of hard not to, when I’ve got you here… hanging on every word I say.”

You scoffed, masking the way his words sent a thrill up your spine. “Please, I’m not hanging on anything. I’m just here for the free therapy session, remember?”

“Right,” he drawled, drawing the word out as if tasting it. He tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “But, now that you mention it, I’m feeling a bit… tense myself. Kind of unfair for me to do all this hard work of comforting you, don’t you think?”

You narrowed your eyes, catching the glint of mischief in his gaze. “What exactly are you getting at, Mattheo?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said innocently, though his hand slid under the water, his fingers grazing your ankle. “Just thought, you know, since you’re already here… maybe a little back rub? My shoulders are practically begging for it after that whole Death Eater chaos.”

You snorted, folding your arms in mock indignation. “I’m the one who got attacked, and you want me to give you a massage?”

He shrugged, a lazy smile spreading across his lips. “Who said we can’t help each other out? Friends with… therapeutic benefits, right?”

You rolled your eyes, but a grin slipped through. “Fine. But if you get any ideas, I’m kicking you out of this tub.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said with a wink, shifting to turn his back to you, the water sloshing as he moved. “I’ll behave. Scout’s honor.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle as you settled your hands on his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palms. He was tense, and you worked your fingers along the knots in his muscles, kneading firmly as his head fell forward, a low groan slipping past his lips. The sound sent an unexpected jolt through you, and you focused harder on the massage, trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest.

“Gods… that feels incredible,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a tone that felt almost sinful. He glanced back at you, a sly grin tugging at his mouth. “Didn’t know you were so good with your hands.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you replied, playfully slapping his shoulder, though you couldn’t help but smile. “And don’t get any ideas, you little prick.”

He laughed, his head tilting back to meet your eyes, mischief dancing in his gaze. “Oh, come on. You know I’m harmless. Mostly.” His hand slipped beneath the water, tracing a slow path up your calf. His touch was warm, gentle, but possessive in a way that had your breath catching.

“Mattheo,” you warned, trying to sound stern, though there was an undeniable smile tugging at your lips.

“What?” he replied, feigning innocence, though his grip on your leg was firm. He slid his hand down to your ankle, his thumb brushing gentle circles that made it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything else. “Just keeping you close. Can’t have you all the way over there, right?”

You tried to keep your composure, but the way his fingers traced up your skin, each touch gentle and slow, was unraveling you. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

He chuckled softly, leaning back into your touch as your hands continued their soothing rhythm on his shoulders. "Hey, someone's gotta bring a little excitement into your life," he teased, "Can't always rely on near-death experiences, now can we?" His hand drifted back to his side. “Seriously though, Y/N" he continued softly, "you've been through hell lately. If I can make you laugh, even just for a second... then I'm doing something right."

Your hands stilled on his shoulders as his words resonated through you, a lump forming in your throat. You pulled your hands away, leaning back against your side of the tub. “Turn around.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the gentle lapping of the water against the sides of the tub. Mattheo turned back around, meeting your gaze, and for once, the usual spark of mischief was absent, replaced by a quiet understanding that made your heart ache.

Without thinking, you reached out, brushing a strand of damp hair from his forehead, fingertips lingering on his skin. The gesture felt intimate, exposing, and yet, in that moment, it was all you could manage.

Mattheo's breath hitched as your fingers brushed against his skin, the simple touch sending a shiver down his spine. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the sensation, before opening them again to find you watching him intently.

There was a depth in your gaze that he'd never seen before— a vulnerability, a rawness that made his chest tighten. It was as if, in that instant, all the walls you'd built around yourself came crumbling down, leaving you bare and exposed.

Without warning, you surged forward in the water, closing the distance between you until your knees bumped against his hips. You placed your hands on either side of his face, fingers curling gently into his damp hair as you leaned in, your face inches from his as you stared at him with uncertain eyes.

Mattheo's eyes searched yours, his gaze burning with an intensity that seemed to pierce right through to your soul. "What are you doing, Y/N?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

His hands rose to cover yours, his thumbs stroking gentle patterns against the back of your palms as he held your gaze captive. There was a question in his eyes, a silent plea for guidance, for permission to cross the line he'd been tiptoeing around for so long.

The air between you crackled with tension, thick with the weight of unspoken desires and long-held secrets. In that moment, it felt as though the entire world had narrowed down to the space where your bodies touched, where your hearts raced in tandem.

"I..." you began, but the words caught in your throat. You cleared it, trying again. "I don't know what I'm doing," you admitted quietly, the truth spilling out of you like blood from a wound.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging gently as you leaned in closer, until your lips were a hair's breadth from his. Mattheo's breath hitched, his pulse pounding in his ears, drowning out every rational thought except one: he wanted this. He wanted you.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. His hands slid up your arms, coming to rest on your shoulders as he drank in the sight of you— the flush in your cheeks, the dilation of your pupils, the slight parting of your lips.

He licked his lips nervously, his tongue darting out to wet the dryness. "Don’t do this to me. If you don't want this," he said, his voice low and urgent, "then tell me now. Because if you kiss me... if you let me kiss you..."

He trailed off, letting the implication hang heavy in the air between you.

Slowly, deliberately, you closed the remaining distance between you, pressing your mouth to his in a tender, exploratory kiss. It was chaste, almost innocent, but the effect was electric. A jolt of pleasure shot through you, settling in your belly like warm honey.

Mattheo responded immediately, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that took your breath away. His hands cupped your face, angling you deeper into the kiss as he poured all his pent-up longing into the embrace.

Mattheo's hands moved from your face to your waist, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened. A low groan rumbled in his chest as his tongue delved into your mouth, tangling with yours in a sensual dance.

The world fell away until there was nothing left but the two of you, entwined in the steaming water, lost in a haze of passion. His hands roamed over your body, mapping the curves and planes he'd dreamed about for so long. Every touch sent sparks of desire racing through your veins, pooling hot and heavy in your core.

When the need for air became too great, he broke the kiss, panting harshly against your lips.

Your fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders as you struggled to catch your breath, your mind reeling from the intensity of the kiss.

“I love you,” you admitted in a breathless whisper.

Mattheo froze for a heartbeat, his eyes widening at your confession. Then, with a growl of pure need, he surged forward, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. His hand fisted in your hair at the nape of your neck while the other splayed possessively across your lower back, pressing your bodies together until no space remained between you.

He kissed you like a man possessed, pouring every ounce of his love and desire into the heated press of his mouth against yours. When he finally pulled back, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against yours, his labored breaths mingling with your own.

"Say it again," he demanded, his voice raw with emotion. "Tell me you love me."

Your heart raced, pounding so loudly in your ears you could hardly hear anything else. But amidst the chaos, his words cut through clear as day. You loved him. With every fiber of your being, you loved this complex, infuriating, beautiful man who held you so tightly.

"I love you," you repeated, the words falling from your lips like a sacred vow. "I love you, Mattheo."

Mattheo captured your lips once more, his kiss fierce and demanding. When he finally broke away, it was only to trail open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat.

He nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin, marking you as his own. Each touch of his lips sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, stoking the flames of desire that burned ever higher within you.

You tilted your head back, exposing more of your neck to his hungry mouth. A soft moan escaped you as he kissed and nibbled, the sensation sending tingles down your spine. Your fingers threaded through his damp curls, holding him close as you arched into his touch.

Mattheo's hands explored your body with a reverence that belied their boldness just moments ago. They skimmed over your breasts, teasing the hardened nipples beneath the water's surface. You gasped, a shiver running through you at the contact.

Slowly, you shifted your position, maneuvering yourself to straddle one of his strong thighs. The move brought you even closer, your slick folds rubbing against the hardness of his leg in a way that made your head spin.

Mattheo's eyes widened as he watched you straddle his thigh, his gaze drinking in the sight of you. His hands gripped your hips, the water sloshing around you both as you started to move. Each roll of your hips against his leg sent a jolt of neediness through him, making his cock twitch in anticipation.

"Oh God, Y/N," he whispered, his voice strained with desire. "This is fucking killing me." His thumbs brushed over your hipbones, tracing the curve of your body as he marveled at the woman he loved using him to get herself off.

Mattheo's breathing grew ragged as he stared up at you, his eyes dark with lust and adoration. "Use me however you need," he urged, his voice barely above a rasp. "I want to make you feel good, Y/N. So damn good."

Your movements intensified, growing more urgent as you chased the building pleasure. Each rub of your clit against his thigh sent sparks of ecstasy shooting through your core. You bit your lip, trying to stifle the moans that threatened to escape, but they still managed to slip past your control.

"Mattheo, I—," you panted, your hips grinding harder against his leg. "I've never...it's never been like this." Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently as you gazed down at him with a mix of awe and raw need.

Mattheo's eyes locked onto yours, his pupils blown wide with arousal. He could see the struggle in your expression, the war between inhibitions and the desperate craving for release. It only made him harder, his cock throbbing with the need to be inside you.

"You don't know how many nights I've fantasized about this," he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. "About touching you, feeling you come apart in my arms." His hands slid up your sides, splaying across your back as he pulled you down for another searing kiss.

Mattheo's tongue delved into your mouth, stroking against yours in a rhythm that mimicked the movement of your hips. He devoured you, drinking in every moan and gasp as he lost himself in the taste and scent of you.

His hand slipped beneath the water's surface, wrapping around his aching cock. He stroked himself in time with the movement of your hips, the sight of you losing yourself on his thigh paired with the sensation of his own tight fist pushing him rapidly towards the edge.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groaned against your mouth, his hips bucking up into his own grip. "You're so goddamn sexy. Watching you take what you need… You fucking love using me like this, don’t you?” He trailed off with a shuddery exhale, his thumb swiping over the tip of his cock.

Mattheo's other hand slid down to cup your ass, squeezing the rounded flesh as he helped guide your movements. "That's it, baby," he encouraged, his voice low and rough. "Ride my thigh, beautiful girl. Let go for me."

A cry tore from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you, waves of pleasure rippling through your body. Your inner walls clenched around nothing, spasming in the aftershocks of your climax.

Your movements slowed, becoming less frantic as you rode out the intensity of your orgasm. The sloshing of the water stilled in a few moments time as the rolling of your hips ceased. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Mattheo's lips before pulling back to catch your breath.

Mattheo's chest heaved with ragged breaths as he watched you come undone, his own climax looming just out of reach. The vision of your face contorted in bliss, your body trembling with the force of your release, pushed him over the edge. With a guttural groan, he jerked his hips up, spilling his release into the bathwater.

As the final tremors subsided, Mattheo collapsed back against the tub, his breathing heavy and eyes fixated on you like he couldn’t believe this moment was real.

“It’s not enough. Not even fucking close,” he murmured. “I want you give you pleasure you’ve never known, Y/N. I want to touch you absolutely fucking everywhere.”

Slowly, you shifted your weight, moving to straddle his lap fully. The new position pressed your slick folds against his semi-hard length, drawing a hiss from both of you. You leaned in close, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you spoke.

"I want that too, Teo," you confessed, your voice low and sultry.

Your hips rolled experimentally, grinding against him in a slow, sensual motion. The friction reignited the embers of your desire, stoking them into a smoldering flame once more.

"Show me," you mumbled, hand trailing up to play with the hair at the back of his head. “Touch me absolutely fucking everywhere.”

Mattheo's hands slid up your thighs, gripping your hips tightly as he guided your movements. His hips bucked up to meet yours, his hardening length sliding against your slick folds in a delicious tease.

"Fuck, Y/N," he growled, his voice rough with renewed desire. "You're going to be the death of me."

His hands roamed your body, mapping out every dip and curve as he explored your sensitive skin. They cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples in feather-light touches that made you gasp.

"Teo," you whimpered, your hips starting to rock against him with increasing urgency. The pressure against your clit built with each movement, stoking the flames of your arousal higher.

Your hands found their way to his chest, nails digging into his skin as you held on for support. The sensation of his hardness rubbing against your sensitive nub had you teetering on the brink of another climax.

"Please," you panted, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing. "I need...I need you inside me."

Mattheo's hands left your breasts to slide down your sides, his fingers trailing fire along your skin until they reached the juncture of your thighs. He hooked them under your ass, lifting you slightly as he positioned himself at your entrance.

"You want my cock, baby?" he asked, his voice a low, husky purr. "Tell me how badly you need it.”

You nuzzled your face into his neck. The only word you could manage was a meek, “please.”

With your permission hanging precariously in the air, Mattheo surged upward, burying himself deep inside you with one smooth thrust.

A sharp cry tore from your throat as Mattheo filled you completely, his thickness stretching you in the most exquisite way. Your body instinctively clamped down around him, the sudden fullness leaving you breathless.

"Merlin, Y/N," he breathed, his forehead resting against yours as he savored the feel of being inside you. "You're perfect."

"Yes, oh god yes," you managed to gasp out, your nails scraping down his back as you adjusted to the intrusion. The warmth of the bathwater surrounded you both, the gentle lapping of the liquid against your entwined bodies.

Mattheo's hips began to move, withdrawing slowly before plunging back in with deliberate care. Each stroke was a tender exploration, as if he were savoring every inch of your welcoming heat. Your knees straddled his hips, squeezing tight as if you’d never let go.

Mattheo's hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he started to move within you with long, deep strokes. The water around you churned gently with each thrust, creating a mesmerizing display of steam and ripples.

He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as he continued to make love to you. His tongue danced with yours, mirroring the rhythm of his hips. Mattheo broke the kiss to trail his mouth down your jawline, nipping and sucking at your pulse point.

“Feels like you were made for me," he whispered, his hot breath fanning across your skin. "So warm and tight around me. I could stay like this forever."

Your head lolled back as Mattheo worshiped your neck with kisses and nibbles, his words sending shivers down your spine. Each drag of his lips against your sensitive flesh seemed to awaken nerves you didn't know existed.

Your hips rose and fell in tandem with his thrusts, meeting him halfway as you chased the building pleasure. The wet slap of skin against skin mingled with your moans and the splash of the water, creating an erotic symphony.

One of your hands slid up to tangle in his hair, keeping his face pressed to your neck as you reveled in the sensations he evoked. The other gripped his shoulder, fingernails biting into the muscle as your orgasm approached.

"S-so fucking g-good," you gasped out, your voice strained with impending ecstasy. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

Mattheo's lips trailed lower, finding a pert nipple and wrapping his mouth around it. He sucked gently, his tongue flicking over the hardened peak as he continued to thrust into you.

The dual stimulation—his cock buried deep inside you and his mouth worshiping your breast—sent you hurtling towards the edge. Your back arched, pressing your tit further into his mouth as your inner walls clenched around him.

"Ahh, Matt!" you cried out, your voice high and desperate. "Right there! Oh fuck, right there..."

With a final, harsh suck, Mattheo released your nipple just as your orgasm crashed over you. Waves of pleasure rippled through your body, your vision blurring as you came undone in his arms. Your pussy spasmed around his length, milking him as he drove into you with relentless passion.

Your body shuddered violently as your climax washed over you, the intensity stealing your breath away. Stars exploded behind your eyelids as wave after wave of pure bliss radiated from your core, suffusing every nerve ending with electric tingles.

Mattheo's name spilled from your lips like a prayer, a mantra repeated over and over as you rode out the crest of your release. Your inner muscles fluttered and squeezed around his pistoning length, trying to draw him deeper still.

Through the haze of your orgasm, you felt Mattheo's movements change. His thrusts became erratic, his grip on your hips tightening almost painfully as he neared his own peak. With a hoarse groan, he buried himself deep inside you one last time, his cock pulsing as he came.

Mattheo collapsed back against the edge of the porcelain, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His forehead rested on your shoulder, his hot exhales tickling your damp skin.

He lifted his head to gaze at you with adoration shining in his brown eyes. "Y/N," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you so much it… it scares me."

With all the emotions bubbling up inside you, you couldn’t stop a single tear from rolling down your cheek and mixing with the bathwater. "I love you too, Matt," you replied, your voice trembling. "So fucking much.“

kinktober taglist: @mattheoriddles-slutt @theeslutintheroom @esmerai-artemis @gigival @cloudyyydayzzz @sn000py @abeoavita @yesiamthatwierd @shaquilles-0atmeal @roseofsharron438 @iouinotes @romantasyreader28 @c3liaaaaa @sleepiibunniiii @chemtrailsoverhogwarts @daenerystorgaryen @catching-fire-in-the-wind @emma-grace0 @tori-303 @ilovehpb0ys

[retiredteabag]

The Open Window Lets The Rain In

pairing: satoru x reader (semi suguru x reader)

synopsis: Your time at Jujutsu Tech was something of a sanctuary for you. The position you were born for did not allow you wishes of your own. Resigning yourself to your destiny, you savor the moments you have with your friends. And don't dare to wish for more.

tags/warnings -angst to eventual fluff, multi pov, canon compliant, series, mentions of child abuse, manipulation, malnutrition, violence, injuries, and smoking-

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

"We ought to start back, Satoru." The other boy urged, parroting the concerns of their teacher. But while Satoru pretended not to hear his dark-haired classmate, you truly hadn't. Your focus was all too consumed by the people in the distance. Laughing and enjoying their day together, oblivious to the fact that they carried with them every unspoken wish silently held within your heart comfortably in their grasp.

"Huh?" You murmured, looking back up to your classmates ahead of you, realizing they had been calling your name for some time.

"Get a move on! Unless you want Yaga to lecture us all again!" Satoru shouted back to your nodding face. The boys turn from you and you shake the thoughts from your head.

It was time to turn back.

--

You had been quite young when your cursed energy had presented, and you have been paying for it ever since.

--

It had barely been six months since you began classes at the Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School. You had joined in your second year, having spent your first over in the Kyoto branch. Near the end of your third semester Gakuganji, the school's principal, seemed certain that your potential would be better utilized in Tokyo. With this news, you had left without complaint.

Back then, you hadn't been sure you would fit in with the group of second years, but by the end of April, the small class had accepted you with open arms.

Your education prior to high school had been selective and rigorous, not in the academic sense but rather, in the physical. This, paired with your immense cursed energy made it easy to catch up with your fellow special-grade classmates.

Satoru Gojo was not at all what you had been expecting. He was immature and flamboyant. He seemed not to have a care in the world. Just as you had anticipated, however, his strength was insurmountable.

Suguru Geto was lenient and sarcastic. Like you, his parents were non-sorcerers. Even so, he went home to live with them during breaks, and his family accepted him for what he was.

Shoko Ieiri was the most laid back among the three, she also had the most technical skill. She was easy to like and the two of you had been fast friends. You both often made fun of the boys behind their backs.

"Do we really have to do this tonight, Geto?" Shoko is sat on the dorm room sink, lighter in hand.

"Don't tell me you're getting squeamish Shoko, need to take a breather?" Satoru is making a falsely pouty face as Shoko twirls a sewing needle between her fingers.

You're standing before Geto marking his earlobes with a pen.

"If anyone is squeamish it's you Satoru. But Y/n's got a mission tomorrow, she should be in bed." Shoko jumps off the sink, throws a look at the white-haired man and tilted her face to look between the markings you've made on Suguru's ears. "That looks pretty even."

"Awe boo hoo, a mission with the first years, so tough." Satoru rolls his eyes. "Why does Yaga always send you, anyway?" The man looks at the back of your frame. Your school jacket was strewn across Sugurus desk, you're clad in your dark, high-necked top. You've pulled your hair away from your face.

"He sends me because I'm responsible" You murmur, rubbing alcohol on the back of Suguru's ears, turning finally to smirk, "Unlike you three." You take the needle from Shoko and do your best to sterilize it with the flame, you set the earrings Geto chose on the side table next to him.

"Don't lump me in with those two." Shoko looks at you, offended, but you just laugh.

"Now, it might hurt a bit after I shove the jewelry in, just so you know." You meet Suguru's eyes. He looks calm, a grin present on his lips.

Satoru comes in close on the other side of you two. Loudly proclaiming, "Oh, please, if that tiny thing hurts he might as well not be a sorcerer." The boy's glasses are solid black but you can tell he is rolling his eyes dramatically.

You make a face at him but Suguru draws your attention once more. "Ignore him" he laughs, and you join in because you know that it is the very thing Satoru cannot stand. Said boy huffs beside you both.

"Alright, count of three." You stand to the boys left and you can see Satoru swallow thickly. Such a child.

Shoko is watching intently, stowing her lighter back in her pocket, you're leaning your knee against the bedframe Suguru is sat upon and Satoru is trying his best to even his breathing.

"One," you hold the tip of Sugurus ear, "two," you pick up the small black stud and roll it in your other hand, "three." You put the needle head on the tiny marking you put there, and press.

Suguru does not even flinch. Satoru lets out a pathetic noise and aggressively swings around so as not to look.

You try not to laugh while focusing on getting the jewelry in your classmates ear without too much pain but Shoko is toppling over herself with laughter.

"S-Satoru!!" She guffaws. "You are so-" but she can't finish, the giggles escaping steal her words.

Satoru is shuttering, having dashed in the bathroom now, he kneels by the sink, continually making disgusted sounds, running his hands over his arms to ease the chills.

"That wasn't so bad." You say, ignoring Satoru's noises. Shoko brings out a small mirror to show Suguru and he makes a pleased sound.

"Not at all..." He murmurs, turning his neck to get a better look.

"Leave it at the one." Satoru is back now, quickly crossing his arms. "I'm not watching that again."

"I bought a pair, Satoru, I'm doing them both." Suguru gives the boy a deadpan look and you prep the next earring while Satoru makes an annoyed "Ughhh" sound.

The self-proclaimed strongest sorcerer bites his knuckles while looking at the two of you. And when it's done, you worry he might faint. After a closer look though, he might just be in search of attention.

"All done. You should probably keep them clean." You turn to wash your hands.

"Mhmm, probably." Shoko echos, giggling still.

"Thanks." Geto stood up to look in a bigger mirror.

"Ughhhh Yaga is gonna kill you." Shoko looks up at Suguru and smiles, a sort of "tattle-tale" "I told you so" air to her voice.

"That's fine, it was worth it." Suguru waves her off, you give his ears one last look before making to leave with Shoko to your hall.

"Ohhhh yeah, I forgot! Y/n's got a big day tomorrow. So tiering, monitoring those first years." Satoru teases to the other boy. You chuckle and Shoko turns.

"As if you would know." She sticks her tongue out before making to leave with you, kicking the door shut.

"He's so stupid." She rolls her eyes, flipping her phone open.

You just hum, turning the halls in the silence.

--

The weather had long since grown warm in the ending weeks of spring, consistent as you were, however, you pulled your near-black turtleneck past your abdomen while dressing that morning. In the past, Shoko has jovially claimed you always wear the same thing, even outside of school.

Your uniform, customized to your comfort, consists of straight-cut, dark blue pants, your uniform jacket, and a form-fitted turtleneck. It did when you were at the Kyoto branch, and you have no intention of changing it now.

You shut the door of your closet, the rack of muted high-collar shirts hung there. Each tag was removed. Though easy now to ignore, you cannot avoid the region of sensitive flesh permanently branded just below your neck.

The early morning air is crisp, and in the time you have before shadowing Nanami and Haibara's mission, you allow yourself to enjoy the dull peace it brings to your morning.

Satoru thinks the first years are weak. Or maybe he just says that, you can never quite tell if he means all that he says. Regardless, they are skilled enough to handle a mission on their own. Even so, Yaga insists on someone monitoring them, after this years exchange event, if all goes well, perhaps they will be allowed to handle missions themselves.

You were hoping that your thoughts weren't too wishful when you are pulled from them, Haibara, adrenaline-filled and curious, calling your name.

"I've never really seen you use your technique, I mean, I guess that's the point, but I think I probably know more about Gojo's cursed energy than yours! And I barely ever see him!" Nanami is trailing slightly behind his classmate, listening to him ramble.

"Well" you hum, "That's good, don't you think? Just means you never need me to intervene on a mission." You look over and smile.

"Awe c'mon! What is it that you do? I'm so interested! I hope I can be a special grade one day too! Though, I doubt I ever will at this rate..." He mumbles around his words, seemingly too focused on his thoughts to actually be worried about his placement as a sorcerer.

"You already know about my technique, Haibara. I create weapons with my cursed energy. That's about it... I'm pretty lucky though, since they're not physical items, most curses can't really see them which means they can't tell what it is I'm using."

You lift your arm in front of yourself, palm up, in an instant your short sword appears there, held at equilibrium, a few inches up the blade. As soon as it appeared, the weapon melts away in your grasp and you look up at the boy, knowing he couldn't have seen what you'd just done.

"Except Gojo, right?" Nanami is beside you now, trying to meet your eyes. You turn to him.

"Yes..." sighing, you look up at him, "Yes, that's right- Gojo, he's the exception to a lot of things."

Nanami shakes his head, seemingly annoyed by this and Haibara bounds ahead of you both.

You can't be sure, but after today you have every confidence that this years exchange event will end well. And by next spring, you won't need to monitor the first years. With all that time on your hands, you can't imagine what you'll get up to.

--

Utahime was a fourth year when you were finally given liberty to come to Jujutsu Tech, despite her seniority, she has always felt like something of a little sister to you. You'd never tell her that though.

This is her first year as a full time sorcerer and her presence marks the onset of the exchange event. Her voice carries across the grounds as you make your way to stand by your classmates at the school entrance. A smile comes to your face as you watch her throwing visceral insults at Gojo as this is the only way she can attack him.

It's not her fault. He is cruel to her.

When she spots you, her gasp only makes your smile grow. She shrieks out your name, "AH! How I missed you! I feel SO bad you have to be here with THEM." She throws an anguished look at your classmates and Shoko only grins, knowing Utahime would never associate her with the two boys.

"Now that's just mean, Utahime, you-" Gojo is cut off as Iori spins around, pointing a finger at the younger boy and shouting that he ought to be more like you.

"She's so polite!" Utahime gives you a big hug. Her arms wrap snuggly around your neck and you flinch at the contact, playing it off as a movement to pat her shoulder.

"Why would I want to be more like anyone?" Gojo swings himself off of the stoop that leads to the schools entrance, landing with his arms lifted, "I'm already perfect!" He pushes his glasses back into his hair, his gaze seems to tease Utahime, she looks as though she wants to stomp her foot, but contains the urge.

"You are insufferable." She spins to look at you once more, "I'm rooting for you," She turns one more time to glance at Gojo, "and only you," she clarifies, "in the event. I know you'll do well. Be kind to the Kyoto first years." She gives you a pleading look.

"I'll be gentle with them." You smile at her and she grips your hand once more before dashing off, likely to help coach the students from her alma mater.

In the time you've been in Tokyo, one could understand your forgetting that Gojo Satoru has eyes behind those pitch glasses he wears. Rarely removing them, you hardly see the famed six-eyes, but when he looks down at you just then, his look pierces you in a startling way.

"Don't go easy on anyone, that's so lameeee." He extends the words and droops his head too look at you, "Ugh what's even the point of this whole thing when everyone is so weak."

"Gojo, they'll never get stronger if you beat them down too much." You speak from experience, having witnessed this "invisible lid" phenomena before, but he couldn't possibly know that.

"They'll never get strong at all, lets be honest." He laughs to himself and somewhere behind you both you hear Suguru pestering him about being entitled.

But deep down, you know he's right. Any sorcerer can improve but there are few set apart. Born with intention, with purpose, and you have long since given up trying to evade the purpose of your existence.

As a child, days came and went the same as they do now, the one consistent aspect that remained true in those days was the dull ache, that- evidently eternal- buzzing on either side of your spine.

It was difficult to enjoy the exchange event when your mind was elsewhere. You simply could not tare your subconscious away from the dread that swam within you at the advent of summer break. It was clear at the grins of your classmates that you were the only one with wishes of staying at school for the summer holiday.

None of your classmates were familiar with the Residential Boarding for Children with Unattended Cursed Energy. They either came from sorcerer clans, or they had parents that couldn’t mind or know of their abilities. Gakuganji, the principal of the Kyoto school seemed well informed about the "goings-on" at the estate you were raised however.

You had been taken by the boarding school with little memory of your life prior. Cursed Energy rarely presented itself in children younger than five years old, however, your technique developed early, and was unexplainable to parents without knowledge of the Jujutsu world.

Allowed to be trained from a young age by competent sorcerers, it was easy to see how the boarding school might have been portrayed as a charity, or even a blessing to orphaned young. Gakuganji certainly made it out to be. Even so, what went untold were the secrets just below the surface of the dojos and dorm rooms seen by the public.

Nearly all forms of gambling or organized fights (outside of mixed martial arts competitions) were highly illegal in Japan. Having said that, you learned quickly that those drawn to violence and risk were often willing to go to the most extreme lengths to take part in the underground world hidden from the eyes of law abiding citizens.

And you, as well as many other children with unbridled cursed energy were forced to take place in the bloodthirsty entertainment so enjoyed by those that put little value in human life.

--

In your future years, you might be surprised to know, the scars etched into your back would hold little to no significance in your daily life, at this moment, however, as a child with no claim on your autonomy, the bar that was so neatly tailored to your neck dug its wired talons into your scapula, void of electricity, yet still unforgettably present.

Before you was a feast to your young eyes, fresh bread, marinated beef on rice, pork dumplings, roasted vegetables, and baked potatoes. This was the best meal you had received in your time as a ring fighter. It was fair to say that the motivation of a good meal was encouraging enough for you to take aim at whomever stood askance in the opposing corner of the ring.

Heads across the room shot to the door as soon as the entrance to the hall was slammed.

"Shame you couldn't get your act together." Came a deep voice in the hall, firm boots echoed up the stony floors.

As the adults approached the guarded off room you sat in, the noise of a struggle worked its way closer as well. A frustrated grunt came from one of the men who looked to be tugging a young boy by the arm into the space.

"Alright. That does it." A dull buzz was heard and most everyone in the room visibly turning away from the scene. Eyebrows pulled down, gazes averted, knowing exactly what the boy in the mans grasp was feeling.

"I swear they do it to themselves." The man who once held the boy removed his finger from the device on his hip. The boy collapsed in a heap on the floor. Barely-there breaths escaping him.

"If ya had behaved you could've eaten with the rest of the kids. See where making a fuss gets you?" The toe of the mans shoe was gently placed under the boys jaw, one might think the man about to kick the child but the next moment, his figure had turned and he was walking off. The opened door left behind as a mockery to the onlooking boys and girls.

You knew what the man had been saying, the boy could be eating right now with the rest of the kids, but each student was only allowed one meal per time block, and none of the children sat on the tables were willing to give up the little bit of stew allotted to them that night.

The boy on the floor looked far too weak still to get up and scan his bar for dinner. You had already felt slightly sickened by the abundance before you, but now, with the child laying a few feet from your spot by the wall, you had decided.

--

That was how you had met Kaito.

He had been far older than you when he was accepted by the program. In the later years, the mentors would come to learn he had little cursed energy. Not very strong. Not much good for entertainment.

Those who could not fight. Did not eat. Or at least, did not eat well.

You looked out for Kaito back then, sharing your meals with the boy. And he had looked out for you in other ways. Being one of the most known students among the crowd awarded you many good meals, and more experience training your technique, but did not grant you much time of study. Kaito excelled where you fell short, and frequently insisted on tutoring you, eventually, you both would find joy in the stories he would read to you while you massaged your limbs after fights.

Kaito was the only one you looked forward to seeing as you exited the station and made the trek back to your off-season boarding. He was eighteen now, and had not been used for entertainment training purposes since he was taken on by the grounds crew.

When you had first left for Kyoto, he had an established job as a groundskeeper. Now, his tenure at the estate might very well be coming to an end and you were unsure how you planned to move forward without him there.

It was already challenging enough, leaving Shoko, Geto, and Gojo with a smile, but at least you knew you would see them again. Was it selfish to wish Kaito could remember you, even as he inevitably goes on to pursue a normal life?

And then even worse, would it be wrong of you, to feel the weight of envy on your shoulders?

These questions swirl in your mind as you stand before the estate, it was clear that in the time you had been away, funding for the school had grown to new heights. Crossing the threshold, a hand on your duffel, you make your way to the communal dorms, picking an open bed, and sprawling across its length.

Unfortunately, this place smelled of home. Five weeks seemed too cruel a sentence for the turning of the season.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

[vaspider]

I'm just gonna put this here, from Rabbi Dayna Ruttenberg:

According to charges filed by the Department of Justice, Russia has been working to interfere in our elections again, whoo! This includes funding conservative social media influencers to parrot useful-to-them talking points and– get your shocked face ready–having agents pretend to be both media companies and people that they weren't in order to sow discord, disinformation, and divisiveness. Including!

creating “a full-fledged three language” information project that would “target Jewish communities across the globe, first and foremost in Israel and the US.”

TL;DR if you are or have seen more progressive Jews being attacked viciously online by what appear to be more right-wing Jews or Israelis, it's entirely possible (probable? likely? ??) that they weren't real Yids Behaving Badly Online (can confirm that this also happens), but rather Kremlin actors hired to sow division. Hard to know?? Cool, cool. 

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (v)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, witchcraft

A/N: it's like i never left amirite (im sorry it has been like 10 months pls forgive me ily guys let's pretend this series never went on hiatus) (i had cancer and college but now I've graduated from both and i live babyyy. anyway. welcome back to my house of horrors)

Previous part || Series masterlist

When you tell Maya you want to do witchcraft, you'd done so with the full expectation of defending your idea with the force of a PhD student who was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

She surprisingly agrees. 

“Really?” It's hard to stop the astonishment from entering your voice. Honestly, it sort of pisses you off that the Canva presentation you spent five hours on wouldn't actually see the light of day.

“Yeah, sure. I think it'd do well with the older demographic. ” She shrugs.

"Really?" Now you weren't sure she was on the same plane of existence as you were.

“Make some animals talk. Conjure up some parking spots.”

Ah. 

“I was thinking more like... hexing people and shadow demons,” you test slowly.

That seems to tether her to reality.

Her head cranes towards you centimetre by centimetre, like she was buffering in real time.

“Are you insane?" she states, not very much sounding like she was expecting an answer. "Do you want to end up on the news? Do you know how vicious Facebook groups can be?” 

“No PR is bad PR,” you preach wisely, parroting advice you’d seen bots on Twitter tell other bots. 

“That doesn’t apply to you. I already have a tough time explaining Stephen Strange and why he’s not literally the devil to the public."

Now that was a little unfair. Perhaps it warranted another Canva presentation.

"Have you considered that I'm hotter and significantly cooler than Stephen Strange?" you suggest helpfully.

She squints at you, or more likely your audacity. "I will not have another scandal on my hands this week.” 

“But next week is okay?”

Her hardened stare tells you quickly what a thousand words cannot.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Thou limit me so, Maya. How is one to find you invigorating content in these trying circumstances?”

Maya taps your shoulder on her way out, crooning, “There’s a reason I asked you to do this series. You’ll figure it out.”

You hide a smile with an all too dramatic sigh. “Thou compliment me so. How am I to not fall in love with thee?”

Maya shakes her head playfully. “Nothing that will get me called into a press conference by mid-day. No hexing. No extreme curses. ”

“Mid-level curses it is, then” you call after her.

Her leaving figure does not give you a reply.

After a week of staring at the corner of his room through the night, delirious to the point where he seriously considered using Sam’s Amazon Prime account to buy his own stupid ghost apparatuses, Bucky throws in the towel.

Clearly, he was mistaken. Sleep deprived and probably missing his family a little more than he would have ever admitted to a living soul.

Bucky's sleep deprivation adds to his already charming and sociable personality.

No one would touch him with a ten-foot pole. Bucky’s usually grumpy and while everyone had sort of built a tolerance towards his regular nonsense, he was now the very sexy combination of grumpy and sensitive.

For his part, after last week's shenanigans, Bucky has stuck to avoiding anything and everything horror.

He watches only romcoms and finds that while everyone says he seems most like Harry from Harry Met Sally, he hates that Mike Wazowski motherfucker with a passion. 

While everyone else seems to get the memo, you have chosen to ignore it blissfully, and have instead been prancing about all week, shoving meme after meme into his face.

Bucky Barnes smiling compilations that were 7 seconds long. Bucky Barnes social media fanfictions that showed him replying far more than he had ever replied to anyone in real life ever.

Bucky’s learnt to ignore you with a long-suffering glare. You adapt quickly, skillfully dodge the daggers shooting out of his eyes and shove another TikTok in his face. It is an edit of him to Toxic by Britney Spears. He doesn't want to ask where they got some of the footage they used.

After the fifth Twitter screenshot, he takes to avoiding you like the plague.

Unfortunately for Maya, that involved avoiding the set too. He sees on the official The Graveyard Shift channels that there’s an announcement put out about an episode delay. 

It is undeniably his fault. No, he still won't answer the group chat or the several knocks at his door every day.

But because the universe is invested in his sorrow, you seem to find him wherever he goes.

In the garden, digging through the vegetable bed.

In the storeroom, looking through oversized cookware.

When he walked into the alley behind the Tower and found you there, he hissed at you like a feral cat and you asked very loudly what the fuck was wrong with him. 

He checks every part of him and all his clothes for a tracker but no-- you just seem to have a karmic connection level of being exactly where he is. 

When he runs into you for the fourth time at the library, he really thinks he’s lost it.

“Are you following me?” he asks, voice sharp.

You look at him in wonder. “Your ego is so big it could have its own gravitational pull. How do you carry around your massive head all day?"

“Everywhere I go, you’re there.” He continues, finger pointing in accusation. 

“Bitch, you're the one who walked in here," you exclaim. "I’ve been here all day.”

“Doing what?”

“Who’s following who now?” you dare.

“Because you’re in this section.” He does a quick check to see what section it actually is. Witchcraft and Wizardry. He may not have known that when he accused you but he definitely was not wrong.

“Why do you care what I do here?”

Because he's wondering if he’s managed to shut down production permanently and sent a bunch of people into unemployment.

“I don’t trust you here," he settles on instead. "What are you actually doing?"

“I’m learning things. Gaining knowledge. And such." You gesture vaguely before you narrow your eyes at him. "Not that you would know, you ape.”

He scoffs. He had the intelligence of a thousand suns, mind you.

“You don’t even have a book," he counters.

“So? I’m gaining knowledge through osmosis.” You look around. “I’m absorbing.”

His nose twitches, teeth clenched.

“Whatever,” he mumbles instead, turning his attention to the bookshelf.

As he thumbs through various titles he’s too annoyed to read, a small movement catches his attention. 

He watches you from the corner of his eyes. 

“What?” you demand, this whole exchange too damn loud for a library. 

“What?” he challenges right back. “Why are you watching me?”

“Why am I– you’re the one staring at me.” You throw your hands up. “First you follow me here, second you accuse me of things that would get me burnt at the stake a couple of years ago, third you accuse me of watching you just 'cause you know you're pretty. You–”

Bucky narrows his eyes, not missing the random compliment you slipped in.

“Hold on just one second. That’s why you’ve been avoiding everyone all week.” You stare at him, wide-eyed and unrelenting.

He thinks he must have missed some part of the conversation because he has no idea why you're looking at him like you've figured him all out.

“That’s why you’ve been so jumpy and sleep deprived ever since that episode you filmed.”

Bucky’s gaze doesn’t waver, but his mind races and his breath falters for a second. There’s no goddamn way you knew what had gone down, he’d deleted every footage that could possibly–

“You missed me.”

He stops his overthinking right in its tracks.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” You tilt your head, face full of pure sympathy. “You filmed one episode without me by your side and realised you couldn’t live without me.”

“Fucking ridiculous,” he mutters, eyes pressed closed tighty, partially in relief. 

“You want me, don’t you? You want me so bad it makes you throw u–”

“Fuck off.” Bucky turns on his heel at the speed of light.

“You have a fat, raging crush–”  

“I’m fuckin' moving out.” His voice is like rocks.

“You can move out, but you can never move on, baby,” you whisper-shout. “When’d you realise you liked me, Bucky? Night one? The first hou–”

He slams the library door behind him. 

From: Stevie Left some strawberries outside your door. They’re good. 

From: Stevie How are you doing today, by the way?

From: Bucky alive

From: Bucky and thanks 

From: Stevie Anything we have to talk about? Your wood chisels didn’t break again, did they?

From: Bucky nothing im fine

From: Stevie You sure? Time for a Cypress Hills visit?

From: Bucky no im fine 

From: Stevie You haven’t left the room in a week. Beat your old record and I'm going to start getting worried here.

Bucky stares at his phone wondering how he ended up with a mother a century after his own died, before sighing.

From: Bucky going to film a video this week. im fine

From: Bucky promise 

Because there really was no other way to convince Steve that he as leaving the cave he constructed from his comforter.

From: Steve Good to hear. I’m always across the hallway if you need anything. 

From: Bucky i know. your gramophone won’t let me forget it. 

From: Steve Dick.

From: Bucky it is too damn loud. old ass

From: Steve Got a new record. Haven’t listened to it yet.

From: Bucky ill be there in 10

That Friday, Bucky walks onto the set in his finest black hoodie and darkest sunglasses, looking less like a badass and entirely like a hungover teenager. 

Before he has a chance to even register what’s going on, he is ambushed by lights, a team touching up his face and his stupid dollar store sunglasses leave him before he has a chance to protest.  

“I told you he’d show up,” you pipe up proudly from your place at the table. “Lil' shit simply missed me too–”

“Stop,” he interrupts, finally getting around to look at the set when the foundation brushes stop assaulting his line of vision. 

For a hot second, he thinks you've taken over Steve's cooking show. 

There are candles floating around, which he assumes you're holding up. A large… cauldron, gigantic wooden mixing spoons and 50 little bowls worth of ingredients are neatly arranged on the table.

“What the hell is going on?” he questions immediately. “What is all this?”

“Mise en place, baby,” you reply, shutting a book you had on the table loudly before looking at him. “You’re on dish duty. Come on.” 

“What?” His eyebrows pull into a frown. 

You dust off your hands before reaching under the table and chucking an apron at him. “Back when I worked as a line cook, the number one rule was to clean up as you go. I like to think of it as--”

“What is going on here?” he specifies, already trying to piece together your timeline in his head with every new piece of lore.

“Welcome to my kitchen, motherfucker.” Your grin is nefarious. “We're gonna do some witchcraft.” 

After he spends fifteen minutes on the phone with Maya confirming that yes, that is indeed the episode and that the heads up he needed would have reached him if he opened the seventeen million messages on the group chat– he finally comes to stand behind the bench with you, a tick in his jaw but also with enough self-awareness to be sheepish. 

He thought his grand return to the channel would be a simple video with some ghost reading or whatever, not… this. 

He turns to you, ready to reach a compromise that ends with him not having to be there at all.

But in the fifteen minutes he had turned his attention to the call, you’ve somehow convinced them to start rolling before he gets the chance to leave, so he’s immediately hit with a--

“We’re on in three…two–”

“Where is your apron?” you demand, looking him up and down.

“I’m not wearing that shit.” It had some stupid slogan like ‘Life is about taking whisks!’ and he had already been through enough.

“Jeez, annyone would think that you're not in love with me--"

"I'm not."

"--by the way you're so ungrateful. I got that custom-made for you,” you tsk. “I could've gotten the other one. Mine could've said ‘he’s my sweet potato’ and yours could've said ‘I yam’.”

Bucky experiences a whole-body chill. 

“Whatever," you dismiss with a wave of hand before looking into the camera. "Before we get started, we recognize that for some, witchcraft is a deeply meaningful religion and spiritual practice that should be approached with respect and curiosity.”

“We’re not claiming this is the definitive guide to witchcraft, we’re simply trying out a book that’s been highly recommended for better or worse, and seeing where it leads us. Whaddya say, Bucko?

You look at him for input. Bucky stares at the dusty, hole-ridden monstrosity on the table.

“What’s it called?” Bucky asks finally after a long pause.

You tap the thick, old book. “Witchcraft for Weenies: A Totally Legit Guide to Authentic Witchcraft by A. Harkness.”

“Is that the actual name or are you just making it up?”  

“Rich coming from the only one between us who actually lied on camera--" you glare at him. "I would never fabricate my sources, I’m a champion for academic integrity.”

You pick up the book to show him, flipping it towards the camera too and sure enough, the book that was basically falling apart at the binding was called exactly that.

“Let’s-a go, baby.”

You stare at him, lips pressed together. Bucky gives no inclination towards changing his answer. 

“Fine. We’re going to do this the hard way, I see.” You exhale, reaching into the pocket of your apron. 

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together when you brandish a deck of cards, yank his arm towards you and drop it into his open palm. 

“Shuffle," you command.

Something very familiar faces him.

Bucky stares at the cards before looking back at you. “Why’s my face on it?”

“It’s a tarot deck I got from Comic Con,” you insist. “Avengers themed. Now shuffle it.”

He thinks you left that card on top on purpose, but regardless, he's already been too much of a menace to the crew to be the cause of any more disturbance.

So he slowly begins, careful and skilled, before you scoff in his face.

“Faster, grandpa," you chide. “I’ve seen the way those hands cut garlic when no one’s around, I know you move faster than that.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but complies anyway, shuffling the cards with the adeptness only a certain Jim Morita could have taught him in a dark tent to keep him awake on a night watch. 

“Faster,” you goad, face smug. “Faster. Come on now, Barnes, your age finally catching up to you?”

It’s stupid– he doesn’t even know why he’s actually complying and increasing his speed. He can’t believe that he was letting you pressure him.

“C’mon, faster, Barnes, you abso-”

His hands were moving so fast by then that they’d have to put the video in slow motion to catch all the movement.

“Faster–” and in the commotion, a few cards fly out.

“Brilliant, thanks.” You slam them down on the table, plucking the deck out of his hand before he has a chance to process why the fuck he actually went ahead with what you were trying. 

“Right, so the universe has decided that these will be your cards,” you tell him, and he finally looks down at what had fallen out of the deck. 

The cards show Sam’s Captain America shield, Carol Danvers, and Spider-Man, with words written below.

“The Star, Six of Cups, The Hanged Man,” you read out thoughtfully.  

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they’ll fall out of his skull. 

“You know, I’m going to just make a general assumption and say you need help.” You hum to yourself. “I'm gonna make a potion to get you some.”

“Get me some?” He's too busy trying to figure out what the cards could possibly mean to see that he's walked straight into that one.  

“Get you some perspective. You need an advisor who’ll dish it to you straight. Give you the facts, no bullshit–”

"No." He had too many of those in his life and he has had enough of people being “honest” and "straightforward” and telling him his moustache was ugly every time he dared to try out a new look–

Until you reach under the table and again and suddenly, there’s a white creature buzzing around on the table in front of him.

“Behold– your new advisor,” you announce.

From the corner of his eye Bucky can see the production team scrambling to figure out where the hell this was going. He lip-reads producers’ orders to find adoption links or resources to insert during post-production, and teasers on social media, to make this look more planned. Great, so no one was prepared-- it wasn't just him.

“Whose fucking cat is this?” He looks down at it, all white except for a few brown spots all around, green eyes and evil in her aura.

“Relax, I'll give her back when we're done.”

“Give her ba–” he echoes. “Where did you get her?” 

“The alley outside,” you coo, rubbing under her chin. “I checked and she doesn’t have an owner. But look at her, she’s meant to be here.”

Bucky looks at the cat. The cat looks back at him, irises narrowing into slits. His nose twitches. 

“You can’t just bring a cat–”

“Remember to adopt, not shop,” you say to the camera before clapping your hand. “Anyway. If my potion goes according to plan, she will be giving you unsolicited life advice for eternity.” 

“You will be unemployed, then,” Bucky manages to add while watching the chaos unfold behind the camera.

“Nonsense, I’m irreplaceable.” You grin. “Besides, you can't manufacture chemistry like this even in a cauldron.” 

You send him a flying kiss. His glower was as sharp as laser beams.

“Let’s get started.” You grin at the camera. 

Bucky tries to pet the cat. She hisses at him.

Well all-fucking-right then.

One hour later, things have descended into madness of the most mundane kind.

It was precisely when you started telling him ten minutes in that a book had nothing on your instincts and raw intelligence that Bucky knew that this was going to shit. 

The cauldron was on an electric stove unlike the open fire demanded by the book because the team had enough foresight to know it would be a fire hazard.

You toss in something that looks like cardamom but he isn’t sure at this point. He just wanted to get away from the bright lights and the strange smiling liquid boiling awai.

The cat sits obediently by your side, watching curiously. He is convinced that she is evil.

Unfortunately, Bucky has had to hold her back twice when she tried to stick her paw in to attack a bubble, and at this point, he doesn’t think he has it in him to do it a third time. 

You read the recipe as if it makes any sort of fucking difference now.

“We’re almost done,” you sing. 

Bucky nurses his headache.  “Don't give me hope.” 

“Put some more reegelbeetle seeds in,” you dictate. “This is gonna work, I can feel it.”

Bucky uses his free hand to do as you say. He doesn’t even think it’s the right one, he just reaches for whatever is closer to you and you don't seem to care either.

You toss in some more seeds, stir twice and then turn off the stove. 

“Boom.” You lift the spoon up, watching the thick liquid drip back. “This is either a talking potion or a hex.” 

"Hex to do what?”

“I think it activates dormant allergies.” You squint at the book that literally had no significance besides being a prop. “You got any?”

“No.” But it makes him think of Steve’s pollen allergies. 

“Oh. Well, then there’s only one outcome here.”

“Alright, here we go.” Of the gigantic pot that you’d just stirred, you fish the tiniest amount out on the smallest spoon he’d ever seen, which you also apparently stored in the vast space that was your apron pocket.

The cat watches you hold the spoon near its face.

It takes a sniff. Then two. Finally, after deeming it non-poisonous, it sticks out its tongue the tiniest bit and takes a lick.

The whole crew is silent.

Bucky’s hand is still pressing against his temples.

“Tell us your name,” you urge, voice hopeful.

The cat looks at Bucky, and for a second, something akin to understanding flashes in its eyes. It’s uncanny and weird and something about it unsettles him deeply. 

You seem to catch it too because you look at him in surprise. He looks back at you, face pulled into a frown. 

And for a moment, he wonders. If you'd somehow done it. Because there’s no fucking way–

Then it meows.

He exhales.

Your shoulders drop as you let out an “Aw, man.”

"Great. Goodbye. Like and subcribce to the bell icon," he calls out, dusting his hands against his pants.

Someone from the production crew sneezes.

Both of you turn to him immediately. 

At the same instant, someone else all the way on the opposite end sneezes again, and the whole crew turns to look at them, before another sneezes in the front.

“We did it!” you cheer.

“We didn’t do jack,” Bucky interjects immediately as the crew errupts into a cacophony of chatter and sneezes.  

“It’s a hex that activates allergies and they’re sneezing,” you point towards them with the spoon, triumphant.

“You threw fifteen fuckin' pounds of pepper in there,”  he argues. “You've turned this room into a sandstorm of dry spices. This proves nothing.” 

“I’ve connected the dots.” Your eyes shine, ignoring him.  

“You didn’t connect shit.”

“I’ve connected them.” 

Someone in the corner sneezes. He wonders if Steve’s allergies would be activated by the trace amounts of... cursed soup that he carries with him back to the floor. 

“Well, we can’t leave them like this, Bucky.” You look around, tsking. “We gotta make a reverse hex or something.”

“You can,” he says. “It’s called opening the windows.”

“Nope,” you pop the last syllable. “We’re making another potion. C’mon.”

“First of all, this is not a potion–” he begins, but is interrupted by a buzz on his phone, the screen lit up by a text on the groupchat. 

From: Maya I don’t give a shit if it’s placebo or not. Make a damn potion before you get sued for hexing employees. 

“Fine,” he grumbles. 

“Beautiful. Grab the ash sphinx flakes,” you brandish another big cauldron from fuck knows where.

Bucky stares at you, unmoving.

“Just get the oregano,” you sigh. 

The cat tries sticking her paw in the pot again.

Bucky feels a sneeze incoming.

Whether the hex and subsequent anti-hex Maya forced you to make at gunpoint was real or not, is yet to be determined scientifically.

What actually does happen, is the damn apron you give him carries enough trace amount of your stupid experiment, that it somehow activates Steve’s very real pollen allergy. Bucky finds himself on edge for the rest of the day every time the man rattles the walls with his middle aged dad sneezing.

It carries on over to his show, which means Steve’s episode on baking a 1950s chocolate cake from tomato soup is edited extremely strangely to cut out every sneeze.

Which means Nat’s episode on spy inaccuracies in Argylle takes twice as long to film because they have to take a few seconds every time Steve’s sneezes interrupt her from the set next door.

Which means Bruce’s video on the science behind memory is delayed on shooting.

All in all, something does seemed to have been hexed, but it mostly seems to be everyone’s fucking productivity.

Finally, everyone manages to get through the day, and the videos are sent to post production.

The same night when everyone’s gathered at the dining table to commemorate the end of another shoot day, Bucky slips out, knowing that Steve would save him a slice of pizza if he never returned. 

He goes back to the library to return his copy of Understanding Wood Finishing, when his curiosity leads him back down a familiar path. 

It’s where he finds you again, in the same corner as the last time, on the floor, surrounded by shelves.

“You again.” You quirk an eyebrow when he appears from the shadows. "Aren't you supposed to be eating pizza?"

“What are you absorbing now?” he asks, voice low for once, respecting the sanctity of the library now that day had slipped into night and everything seemed a bit more solemn now.

“Nothing,” you answer.

“Then why are you here?” 

He figured you’d be out there, introducing everyone to the cat that was now set to be roaming the halls, before someone assumed it was a shapeshifting enemy and dealt with it accordingly.

“God forbid someone get some peace and quiet for once,” you mumble. “It’s too loud out there.”

Oh.

You don’t say anything else, leaning back against the bookshelf with your eyes closed.

There really isn't a need for more words. He gets it. 

The understadning leaves silence in its wake. Bucky doesn't really have anything to say.

“Did you come here just to stare at me?” you ask finally. “Did you finally admit your feelings?” 

“Jesus Christ,” he groans. “I’m not in love with you.”

“Only a matter of time.” You smile before changes to something more subdued, a bit more serious. “You wanna talk about what’s actually been bugging you for the last week?”

Bucky looks at you wearily. “The tarot cards tell you something?”

You eye him. “Not more than what’s obvious. Wanna talk about it?”

He swallows, throat suddenly feeling like it's closing in on itself. 

“No.”

“Alrighty.” 

You say nothing more than that, leaving the both of you in relative quiet, save for the buzz of the warm fluorescent light above. 

Bucky takes an awkward seat next to you on the floor.

You pry open an eye to look at him in suspicion.

“Y’mind?” he manges.

“Mind what?”

He gestures to himself uncomforably, readiy to jump up and leave at any second.

You observe him for a second, and for once he stares back with no irritation in his look, just permission.

“No, you can sit.” You close your eyes. “So long as you don’t tell anyone else 'bout this place.” 

If there’s anything Bucky’s good at, it’s keeping a secret. 

He settles back into the shelf with an exhale, letting the weight of day roll off his shoulders.

You wordlessly slide a thermos towards him. He doesn’t even have to open it to know it’s the damn soup from that afternoon.

And if he’s being honest, it doesn’t taste that bad at all. 

here��s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to keep up with updates for this fic and others, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications!

Next part

[rinneverse]

cw a little suggestive towards the end, mdni please and ty :)

alhaitham is the type to seethe quietly in his jealousy.

he’s not outwardly possessive—no, because he lets the stranger talk to you—his pretty girlfriend—about his thesis plans, about his academic feats, and you sit there with a smile plastered on your face, nodding your head as you listen to him prattle on and on and on.

alhaitham nearly bends the book in his hand into pieces with what he claims is annoyance. not possessiveness, no, that was out of character. he was just… annoyed, that this random man had the gall to interrupt his reading session with you.

that’s what he tells himself, at least.

of course, how was he supposed to know you were dating the akademiya scribe, when alhaitham was possibly the most low-key person ever? the two of you were quiet about your relationship, content to share it between yourselves. only your close friends really knew the extent of how deep your “friendship” with the scribe went.

as soon as the man leaves (not without leaving his number for you, of course), and the two of you are blanketed in the quiet murmurs of the akademiya library, alhaitham sets his book down. he turns to you.

he finds you staring at him, amusement flickering in your eyes. alhaitham tilts his head, all feline grace, his eyes narrowing into slits as he asks, “what?”

you shake your head mirthfully, crumpling up the slip of paper in your hand and tossing it into the nearest bin. alhaitham feels his shoulders un-tense just a fraction at the sight.

“nothing,” you say, but alhaitham knows you’re lying.

so he leans closer to you, grasping your chin in his hand as he tilts your head back and forces your gaze to meet his.

“liar. what is it?”

you smile. wide and wider it grows, and you reach a hand up to brush alhaitham’s cheek. he barely suppresses a shudder at the gentle touch.

“i didn’t think you to be the jealous type.”

“i’m not.”

“then what was that all about?” you hum. you’re… amused by this. amused by him grappling with his emotions. alhaitham feels his lips twitch downward.

if you didn’t know any better, he would appear to just be frowning. but you did… and it was like he was pouting. you giggle.

“i am annoyed,” alhaitham says, stressing the last word, “that we were interrupted by a stranger. nothing more.”

“nothing more?” you parrot, your eyes gleaming with amusement. “sure. and i’m the grand sage.”

alhaitham bites his tongue, pulling his hand away from your chin. his fingers flex—he has to stamp down on his self-control. being found in a compromising position in the library would surely wreck the both of your social statuses.

but the thrill of it… seeing you bent over the table, utterly wrecked under the careful ministrations of his hands—getting to mark his claim on you...

he quickly shakes the dangerous train of thought away.

“do you want to go home?” you suddenly ask, a coy smile dancing on your lips. he must have been obvious where his line of thinking was going, if you managed to catch on that quickly. the grin on your face tells him that you did.

alhaitham pretends to ponder it. grabs the book he set down, turns it over in his hands, then shrugs.

“sure. kaveh shouldn’t be home for another few hours.”

his voice was bedroom-soft, and the tone in which he said it—nearly purring—has heat pooling in your core.

“alright. let’s go?”

he wordlessly rises, holding out his hand for you. there’s a small part of him that feels a maddening satisfaction when you let out a pleased hum, followed by a surprised yelp as he gracefully slides an arm around you.

someone nearby makes a “shh” noise, and he completely ignores it. you giggle out an apology.

it was utterly unlike him, he thinks, as he guides you through the library with his arm wrapped around your waist, slowly moving to rest his hand on the small of your back when the two of you exit the library.

maybe he’ll try being more public in his attention to you. that would most certainly keep this from happening again.

[emilyprentissluvr]

The Best Day (Emily Prentiss x Reader)

“I hear your laugh and look up smiling at you”

Summary: In which you and Emily end up coaching your daughter's little league soccer team.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.2k

As soon as Emily entered the house, she knew something was wrong. The living room was spotless, the dishes were done, fresh cookies were cooling on the stove, and the smell of her lavender bath salts was permeating from the bathroom upstairs. 

This could mean one of three things. The first was that she had completely forgotten an anniversary. Except for the fact that it was September, and Emily knew the two of you didn't have any anniversaries this month. Thank God it wasn't that, Emily thought. 

The second thing was that you were buttering her up for something. 

The third and most likely option was that you had already done something and were doing all this to soften the blow. 

She heard your soft footsteps come down the stairs before your hands were wrapped around her from behind. 

"Hi honey," Emily smiled as she leaned against you momentarily. Taking in the smell of your shampoo and reveling in the fact that it was a Friday night and she could spend the weekend with her two favorite people. 

"Hi," You answered as you kissed her on the cheek, "I just put Amelia to bed-" You started as the sound of your four-year-old bounding down the stairs interrupted you. 

"Mama!" She yelled excitedly as she collided with Emily's legs. 

You chuckled as you removed your hands from Emily so she could pick up your daughter.

"Hi baby," Emily smiled as she adjusted Amelia onto her hip. "I thought Mommy put you to bed," She said as she tickled the little girl's stomach, causing her to laugh and squirm in Emily's arms. 

"Too excited!" Amelia giggled.

"Too excited for what?" Emily asked, turning to you, but you quickly turned around and pretended to be cleaning something in the already spotless kitchen.

When Emily looked down at  Amelia, the little girl mimed, zipping her lips closed.

Emily followed you behind the counter, leaning her hip against it. "Y/n Prentiss..." Emily trailed on, "What did you do?"

"I made cookies!" You announced, ignoring the question as you picked one up and held it in front of Emily "Chocolate chip, your favorite." 

"You're deflecting," Emily commented as she took a bite out of the cookie. It was delicious, just like everything else you made, but she wasn't going to let that distract her.

"Yeah, Mommy, you're deflecting," Amelia parroted, having no clue what the word meant, but lately, she'd been Emily's shadow. Following her everywhere and copying everything she did, it was honestly the most adorable thing you'd ever seen.

"Fine," You groaned as you let Amelia have a small bite of the cookie before putting it back on the pan. "I may have accidentally agreed to something." You said with a sheepish smile. 

"Uh huh," Emily said, prompting you to continue. This hadn't been the first conversation that had started like this, and it definitely wouldn't be the last.

"So you know Amelia's little league coach, Heidi?" You asked as you started putting all the cookies in a container.

"I do," Emily confirmed. She looked down at Amelia and saw the little girl giggling into her shoulder, so whatever this was, she knew about it. 

"Well, she just got a promotion at work and doesn't have the time to coach anymore." You continued.

"So?" Emily asked, already knowing where this was going.

"So I may have agreed for us to coach Amelia's team." You said, turning around with a guilty but hopeful smile.

"Yay!" Amelia cheered from Emily's arms. You were honestly surprised she was able to keep the secret that long and not blurt it out as soon as she saw Emily. 

"That's right, baby," You said as you lifted her out of your wife's arms. "Aren't you just so excited?!" You asked her, and she clapped happily in your arms. 

Emily looked at the two of you, both staring at you with pleading eyes, and she knew without a doubt that look was her undoing. It was impossible to tell you or Amelia no.

"You two are lucky you're so cute," Emily said with an amused head shake, "When do we start?" She asked.

"Tomorrow's game!" Amelia blurted out, and Emily narrowed her eyes at you, but you knew no malice was behind it.

"Surprise." You joked as you took a few steps closer to Emily and kissed her on the cheek.

"You owe me a lot of coffee tomorrow morning," Emily said seriously as you walked upstairs to put Amelia to bed again.

"Deal."

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

It was 8 am the next morning, and the three of you were heading to the soccer field. 

"I did some research last night," Emily said as she drove.

"You did?" You asked humorously, turning toward your wife. You and Emily both had on matching hats and pink coach jerseys. It took some corralling to get Emily to wear it, but as soon as Amelia walked into your room and squealed in excitement about matching with her mom's, Emily was a goner.

"I read up on some gameplays and strategies," Emily continued, and you couldn't help the dopey smile that came to your lips, "You're so cute," You giggled because if there was one thing about Emily, it's that whenever she was all in, she was all in. 

You watched the small blush rise on Emily's cheeks and couldn't help but revel in the fact that you still had this much effect on her.

You turned toward Amelia in the back seat, "Isn't your Mama just so cute," You asked.

"Yeah!" Amelia giggled excitedly.

"Okay, okay. I get it," Emily said as she pretended to swat at you. You and Amelia seemed to be partners in crime in tearing away at her walls and insecurities, and she couldn't have been happier. 

"Good. Now, what I meant to say was that they're four, so I'm pretty sure all we have to do is make sure no one runs off the field and hand out juice boxes." You said.

"Oh right," Emily said with a sheepish smile, "But if for some reason they turn out to be soccer prodigies, we have a game plan," She continued, and you chuckled in agreement. 

It was 20 minutes later when you made it to the field. You put Emily in charge of helping the kids warm up as you talked to the parents. With you being the one to drop off and pick up Amelia from practice, you knew them better than Emily.

"Alright, when I roll the ball to you, I want you to kick it!" Emily said enthusiastically as she lined up the ten four-year-olds a couple of yards away from the soccer goal. 

Of course, Amelia had volunteered to go first, the little girl had been outspoken and energetic since she'd arrived in the world. It was a trait that Emily had been reprimanded for when she was younger, her mother telling her that young girls were supposed to be passive and quiet. 

But seeing those traits in her daughter made her realize just how wrong her mother was. There was nothing about Amelia that Emily wanted to change. She was perfect the way she was.

"Alright, Amelia, you ready?" Emily asked as she kneeled in front of the goal, a small soccer ball in her hands.

The little girl nodded eagerly, and Emily slowly rolled the ball to her. Amelia kicked it, and it was nowhere near the goal, but Emily still cheered, "Yeah! Good job!" She smiled as Amelia ran toward her and gave her a high five before going to retrieve her soccer ball. 

"You ready, Chloe?!" Emily asked the next girl in line.

By the time all the girls had kicked the ball a couple of times, you jogged over to tell Emily the game was about to start.

You rounded the girls up into a circle for a short meeting before the game started. 

And when Emily heard the words, "The most important thing is to have fun," come out of her mouth, she knew she was a changed woman.

It took a few minutes to get all the girls on the field. "It's like herding a bunch of squirrels," Emily murmured to you as she kept putting the girls back in their spots since they had all tended to wander around.

"I take it we have no soccer prodigies on our hands." You giggled, bumping your hip into Emily's as you walked off the field.

"We were 0 for ten on the warm-up goals. So, maybe next year," Emily commented.

Once the game started, there wasn't much to do except stand on the sidelines and cheer.

Halfway through the game, you put Amelia as the goalie since you wanted the girls to play all the positions.

"Zoe, sweetie, you can't pick the ball up!" You heard Emily yell from beside you. You chuckled as you watched the little redhead run across the field with the ball in her hands before throwing it into the goal.

"Did you see that, Mrs. Emily?" Chloe said excitedly as she ran over to the two of you.

"I did! But maybe next time we use our feet to kick the ball, alright?" Emily said, and Chloe just shrugged before walking before you and holding her hand out, "Juice box?"

You chuckled as you grabbed one out of the cooler and handed it to her as you ruffled her hair. "You wanna take a little break?" You asked, and Zoe nodded as she walked over to the bench. 

When you turned your attention back to the field, you noticed the lack of a goalie.

"Hey, where did Amelia go?" You asked Emily, who was watching your team try to score another goal.

"What?" Emily asked as she looked to the left and saw that Amelia was nowhere to be found.

"We need to put a tracker on that girl," Emily murmured, not at all surprised that Amelia had wandered off somewhere. The little girl's attention span had always been next to none, constantly running off when something caught her eye. 

Emily would have been more worried if they were anywhere else, but the field was small, and she walked the perimeter beforehand, so she had a good idea of where Amelia had wandered off to.

"You stay here, I'll get her," Emily said as she squeezed your shoulder before jogging off the field.

"Amelia!" She called out as she walked over to the patch of flowers behind the bleachers.

She was relieved to see the little girl's pigtails peeking out. "Baby, what are you doing?" Emily asked before Amelia turned around, smiling at her mom.

"Look!" She replied, holding two tiny bouquets that she had picked in her hands. Although bouquet was probably a generous word for it. "This one is for you,"  Amelia said as she handed the crumpled bunch of flowers to Emily. "And this one for Mommy!" She said excitedly.

"Those are very pretty," Emily chuckled as she easily scooped Amelia into her arms, "But you're supposed to stay on the field."

"But flowers!" Amelia said, once again holding up the flowers at Emily's eyesight. 

"I know, but it's not safe to wander off like that, okay? Next time, you need to wait for me or Mommy to go with you." Emily said as she rubbed Amelia's back.

"Okay, fine," Amelia sighed dramatically as she flopped her head onto Emily's shoulder.

"Thank you," Emily smiled as she walked back to the field.

"How about I take the flowers, " Emily said as she put Amelia back down on the ground. "And you go back on the field," Emily continued.

"Being the goalie is boring!" Amelia pouted.

"There's only a couple minutes left of the game," Emily chuckled, very familiar with the pout that one hundred percent originated from you.

"And once we're done, maybe Mommy will buy us ice cream. But only if you play," Emily negotiated, and Amelia immediately sprinted back to the goal, going as fast as her little legs could carry her. 

Emily shook her head with a laugh as she walked back over to you. 

"Amelia picked you some flowers," Emily said as she handed you the crumpled flowers which were more stem than actual petals. 

"Of course, she did," You giggled as you grabbed them and gently put them in your pocket.

The rest of the game went by quickly. The team didn't score a single goal, but it didn't look like any of the girls cared as they ran off the field. You and Emily gave them all high fives before sending them off to find their parents.

"Ice cream time!" Amelia announced as she ran up to you and Emily.

"Oh, is it now?" You asked as Amelia tugged on your hand.

"Yeah! Mama said you're paying!" Amelia giggled, turning toward Emily with a mischievous smile. 

"She did?" You question, turning towards Emily with a raised eyebrow. 

"Uh-" Emily trailed off, pretending to be oblivious as Amelia laughed at her antics.

"C'mon!" Amelia said, trying to pull the two of you, but just staying in place as her feet slid on the grass.

"Okay, okay," You appeased as all three of you walked to the car. 

You could feel Emily's giddy smile before you turned to look at her. 

"What?" You asked, feeling the slight blush rise to your cheeks just from the way she was looking at you. 

"Nothing, I just- coaching was a lot of fun."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Emily said as she leaned over to give you a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Oh, thank goodness," You sighed in relief, "Because I signed us up to coach next year,"

"Y/n Prentiss!"

"I'm kidding! I'm kidding!" You laughed, and Emily knocked her shoulder into yours.

"You're definitely paying for the ice cream now," Emily said as she unlocked the car and helped Amelia into her car seat. 

"We share a bank account, honey." You reminded her.

"Well then, you're paying in spirit!" 

[beomcharms]

detest! [TEASER]

pairings: actor!soobin x actor!reader

genre: e2l, idiots to lovers, actor au

warnings: mentions of anxiety, jealousy, both characters are mean at times, probable smut in the full fic (none in the teaser)

wc: 2.9k (full fic-tba)

release date: tba

a/n: it’s finally here!!! every word in this fic was literally squeezed out of me. i really hope y’all like it :)

taglist: leave a comment or an ask and i’ll add you 🤍

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⌗﹒

TEASER BELOW CUT

The lights were too bright. You could already feel the headache coming on from trying to remember all your lines.

“So, tell me Y/N, how was it like working with The Choi Soobin” the interviewer asks you with a smile.

You sigh inwardly. This was the third time you were answering this question.

Plastering on a smile, you pretend to contemplate before parroting off your answer.

“Ohh… it was genuinely the best experience…” your voice felt alien even to your ears.

Soobin was not helping things in the slightest. Leaning back in his chair with a cocky smirk, he pretends to fall asleep while you answer. You on the other hand were pretty sure you couldn’t handle another one of his “improvisations” as he liked to call it, while he goes completely off script.

You give him a little nudge and the interviewer laughs.

“You seem pretty tired with these questions” he says with a smile.

“Y/N gives the same answer all the time” Soobin says in mock pout and you feel like smacking him down with a chair.

You laugh along giving him a little push and Ssobin takes hold of your hands.

“Be honesttt now” he drawls out and you glance at his eyes. They’re full of mirth.

“Whaatt I AM being honest” you say “To work with you was a dream come true” you say gently, sure that the fans would go wild over this clip.

“Aww you guys are cutee” the interviewer says, “Alright then I have one last question for you Y/N”

No. You knew what was coming next. You hated this question twice as much as the rest of them. You feel Soobin’s teasing energy radiating off of him.

“How difficult was it to shoot the kiss scene?”

There it was.

-.-

To say Soobin and you didn’t get along would be an understatement. To say you detested each other to a point where neither of you could look at one another without gagging would be a more appropriate deduction.

You don’t know when exactly the rivalry began. You both went to the same acting school and had done multiple projects together before. But you just couldn’t seem to work together. Soobin felt like you were too practiced and poised and you felt like he was not trying hard enough. To see him on the big screen before you only added to your existing dislike for him.

He never took anything seriously. This was your debut break and you were sure that Soobin was purposefully holding himself back in some scenes for this film to flop. And who exactly would they blame? A rising star with hundreds of fans or the newbie that no one really knew?

-.-

You sighed inwardly before answering the question.

“It was the hardest scene to shoot, we just couldn’t get the angle right and I’d like to thank Soobin for being so patient…” you smile a little and look at Soobin the way you practiced and he winks back at you.

The interviewer chuckles before wrapping up the interview, wishing you luck on your film and shaking your hands.

Finally the lights turn off and both Soobin and you slump back into your chairs in exhaustion.

You close your eyes for a moment trying to collect yourself when you feel a finger poking you.

Tiredly you open your eyes and stare at Soobin hoping the exhaustion in your eyes is enough for him to leave you alone. Doesn’t seem like it though.

“You should try to be a little more creative with your answers instead of vomiting the same ones with little to no variation you know? Fans like a person with charisma not someone dull, lifeless” Soobin says in a pompous manner.

If you had the energy you would’ve toppled him over and set him on fire but you don’t so you just shrug at him and get off the chair.

This seems to wind Soobin up more.

“Look at you. Already tired and boring and we haven’t even finished all our promotions yet. I told you-

“Hey Soobin” you cut across him, “Can you like you know, shut up?” you ask him calmly.

You hear both your managers snort which is enough to soothe your anger for now.

Soobin is about to start his retort when his manager cuts him off.

“That’s enough the two of you. We have a lot of schedules to plan and you both have to get through all of it while looking on the verge of love” he says.

That was the worst part. Acting in a film with Soobin was bad enough. Now you had to act like you were about to fall in love with him to truly sell your role.

Your managers go over your schedule and by the end of it you’re pretty sure one of you is going to kill the other by the end of it.

“So, to sum it up, we have the party, a photo shoot, an overseas event and ofcourse the premier after which you guys wouldn’t have to be within five feet of each other” your manager smiles at the last part.

“Excellent” you say with relief.

“Just what I need” Soobin echoes.

Getting up from your seat you both thank the staff for their help and patience before heading off to your dressing rooms.

“When will you be arriving at the party?” Soobin asks you casually.

“Why do you care” you sigh, removing your heels. You look over at him loosening his tie and look away, something about the way he tugged at it made your stomach clench. Maybe you were going mad from hunger.

“Fine, if this is how you wish to spend the rest of the promotions, that’s fine” he huffs out.

“Around 8-8:30 I guess” you answer him quietly. “Who are you bringing?” You ask him.

Soobin wishes to answer your question the same way you answered his but looking over at you with you tiredly massaging your feet he can’t find it in himself.

“No one” he says. “See you there then” he says walking out.

“Bye” you mutter.

-.-

Cameras flash everywhere as you get off the car. Reporters barge in poking all their mics into your face. Your manager tries his best to push them away and you try to hide your eyes from the flashes

“Is it true you and Soobin did not get along on the set?”

“Y/N look here look here”

“Oh she is such a bitch”

You try your best to drown it out and hurry to get into the hall.

Once inside, you finally let out the breath you weren’t even sure you were holding. The anxiety that threatens to choke you down finally takes her hand away from your neck. You breathe and look around.

The party is crowded. You look out for a familiar face and notice Beomgyu and Yeonjun a few feet off to the bar. They seem deep in conversation and you slowly make your way towards them.

“I’m telling you it was a disaster- she had the most horrifying voice- Hey Y/N” Beomgyu stops mid sentence greeting you with a grin. “Nice dress” he adds, winking.

“I could’ve dressed her in something better” you hear Yeonjun drawl out and you smile a little to yourself.

“I’d like to protect what little is left of my dignity Jun-ah” you tell him calmly and Beomgyu snorts.

The designer narrows his eyes at you while you warmly pull him into a hug. You had known Yeonjun and Beomgyu since college. Design students and drama students went hand in hand and Yeonjun had helped design your dresses for stages multiple times before.

“I’m gonna let that one slide, because I like you” he tells you in a warning tone and you laugh.

“So which new singer are we badmouthing now” you ask Beomgyu.

“Jiyung- like you won’t believe” Beomgyu huffs out in frustration. “I put her on mute for a while to prevent myself from killing someone in the recording booth”

Yeonjun and you try to hide your laugh as Beomgyu animatedly explains his producer shenanigans.

“I don’t know how long I can hold onto my sanity before I stop being a producer and start my own dog cafe or something” Beomgyu sighs.

You rub his arm in consolation.

“Well, what is up with you? How are the promotions and how is the love of your life doing?” Yeonjun asks you and you echo Beomgyu’s sigh.

“Don’t get me started. The new rumour in town is that he and I didn’t get along on set and I wonder what the staff is gonna come up with now to diffuse it” you say.

“It’s not entirely a lie now, is it ?” Beomgyu smirks a little.

“Yah-” you start.

“I’m not too sure though” Yeonjun says thoughtfully. “The kiss…. it looked a little too real”

“It’s called acting” you huff out. Having to think about the kiss scene twice a day was painful.

“Hmm… I’ve known you way too long for that excuse to be believable Y/N” Yeonjun’s tells you with a small smile.

“For what to be believable?” Soobin asks and you nearly jump.

“Jesus Christ atleast let people know of your presence you idiot “ you tell him clutching your chest.

“So dramatic” he mutters while shaking hands and bumping shoulders with beomjun.

“I believe our seats are over there” you tell him pointing towards the tables. The dinner was about to start and you didn’t need Soobin hearing anymore about the Kiss.

This would be a publicised event, with photographers calculatedly talking shots of celebrities for their stories so your team had decided to place you two next to each other for the fans.

You sit down next to Soobin adjusting your dress a little.

Soobin looks over at you and takes note of your exposed thighs and gulps a little.

“You couldn’t find anything shorter to wear?” He huffs out.

“No” you tell him smiling sweetly as he rolls his eyes.

The MC rambles on about the founders of the trust who were throwing the party as part of charity. You make a silent prayer to god to give you the strength to make it through the event.

-.-

Soobin had gotten up a while ago and was now deep in conversation with Zhang Hao at the bar and you feel bored out of your mind. You know Soobin sort of hates you but to leave you hanging like this all night was a bit much. You look around at the other tables watching people converse and you can’t help but feel a little out of place.

You sense someone watching you, glancing up and you notice Minho looking at you. You give him a small smile and he grins back at you.

Minho had reached out to you when you were done filming, congratulating you. Casual conversations wherein you wanted to engage more but rarely had the time to, left you both as acquaintances and nothing more and yet here he was looking like he wanted to start something.

Flustered, you look down on your plate. You sense more than see Minho getting up from his seat and walk towards you. When he reaches your side you look up at him again and he still has the smile on his face.

“Mind if I sit down?” He asks you.

“Not really” you reply and he sits down next to you.

“So, tell me, why is the prettiest girl in the room sitting all by her lonesome?” Minho’s eyes crinkle as he asks the question and you blush a little.

“Guess I’m not pretty enough for this crowd” you answer him, tilting your head a little.

“Now, let’s not lie” he tells you dragging the chair closer to yours.

Maybe the night wouldn’t be too bad.

-.-

Soobin is still completely oblivious to what’s happening around him when he hears your laughter and he turns around.

There you were sitting at the table, laughing onto- wait was that Minho?

Something inside Soobin twists. He had gotten up to grab drinks for the both of you when he got sidetracked by Zhang Hao who insisted on keeping the conversation flowing.

Soobin’s eyes narrow when he sees you holding onto Minho’s arm to keep yourself upright while he was looking at you with adoration that Soobin wanted to smack out of him.

“Hao, I really need to go now” he mutters to the boy beside him pushing his way past. “Later”

-.-

You don’t think you’ve laughed this hard in a while. Minho’s dry comments about everyone had you cracking up more than you thought it would’ve. He was witty and charming and you found yourself in hysterics when you felt a familiar presence behind you.

“Minho” Soobin calls out and you look around to see him towering behind you. He glances once at you and for some reason you feel like sinking further down into your seat.

“Hi Soobin!” Minho greets him with a smile, “I was just telling Y/N about the Chan debacle”

Soobin gives him a tight lipped smile before looking back at you.

“I think our manager is looking for us” he tells you.

“I just saw him a couple of minutes ago and he mentioned nothing” you tell him puzzled.

“Yeah I just ran into him and he says its time for us to leave.long day tomorrow” Soobin tells you in a cold tone.

“But we haven’t even danced yet!” You huff out.

“Yeah, I’m sure one dance wouldn’t hurt anybody” Minho says getting up from his seat and adjusting his suit, holding out his hand to you.

“You’re right, maybe we SHOULD dance” Soobin tells you grabbing your arm and pulling you upto your feet cutting across Minho.

“Wai-“ you say trying to shake Soobin’s hold on you but his grip is vice like. Looking over his shoulder you mouth a quick sorry to Minho.

“That was so unnecessary” you hiss at Soobin. “You knew he wanted to dance with me”

Soobin tugs you closer to him, his hand on the small of your back. “And you tend to be forgetful about the fact that we are being filmed currently” he whispers into your ear.

The whole purpose of the event had completely slipped from your mind. Ofcourse you were being filmed and how would it look if you danced with some other man while Soobin was right next to you?

You look up at him guiltily.

“Forgot about it, didn’t you” Soobin huffs out.

“Well, the cameras didn’t seem to matter to you all that much when you ran off with Hao” you mutter silently.

Soobin holds back his smile.

“Aw, did princess miss me that much?” Soobin asks you in a playful tone and you pretend to gag.

“Please. If it weren’t for the cameras I wouldn’t even stand five feet next to you” you tell him.

“As if I would be caught dancing with you on any other occasion!” Soobin tells you indignantly.

You look up at him with narrowed eyes “FINE”

“Yeah fine” Soobin retorts, resting both of his hands on the small of your back while yours wrap around his shoulders

“Besides what was he talking about? What’s so funny?” Soobin asks in a quiet tone.

You smile a little thinking of Minho’s jokes before looking up at Soobin.

“I don’t know, I haven’t laughed this hard in a while” you answer him honestly.

“He should’ve debuted as a fucking comedian then” Soobin spits out. For completely unknown, some might call it envy-not Soobin, reasons he hates the way you talk about Minho.

“Aw, is my little prince jealous?” You ask him sweetly and Soobin pretends to puke leaning away from you.

You both sway a little to the dance, falling into a rhythm. Having been forced to spend so much time with one another, you’ve grown used to how the other one moves and feels.

Soobin is just so tall that your arms hurt a little from the strain of reaching upto his shoulders.

“Can you like bend a little you giraffe” you ask him.

Soobin scoffs before leaning down. You gulp a little at the proximity, an action not missed by Soobin who leans in closer still, almost touching foreheads.

You look away into the distance trying to calm your rising heart rate. Hoping to God that the dim lighting is enough to cover up your red cheeks you look back up at Soobin who is smiling at you.

“What”

“You’re cute when you’re flustered” He laughs out.

“You’re delusional, if you think you make me flustered Choi” you answer him dryly.

“Really?” He asks you softly leaning down closer still to you.

“Mmhmm” you manage to make out, trying not to let your voice show how affected you are.

“You can’t act even to save your own life” Soobin tells you, leaning back and you feel the competitive spirit in you flare up.

Pulling him down by his tie, so that your faces are only a couple inches apart, you ask him a question that’s been on your mind for the last couple of minutes.

“Were the cameras really the only reason you dragged me away from Minho?” You ask him calmly, looking deep into his eyes.

Soobin feels like a fish out of water. To have you, in his arms, staring at him like this was as close to a sensory overload as it could get.

“I- I uh-“ Soobin stammers around. He wonders if his brain has turned to mush. What was the question again?

“You can’t act to save your life” you retort throwing back his line at him and letting go of his tie.

Soobin leans back away from you and finally feels like he can breathe normally again. This was the first project you worked on after college ended. If he were a little more honest, Soobin would’ve admitted that he missed having you around. Excitement slowly bubbles up in his stomach at the thought of spending more time with you

This was going to be a long promotion.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⌗

🎧this is the end of the teaser!! i hope yall liked it, if you did please leave a comment/reblog/like it helps me out a ton and consider giving my other fics a read xoxo🎧

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: Convincing Them To Get A Pet

⊱⊰ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Phillip Graves, Keegan, Hesh Walker, Logan Walker, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

You kept bringing stray cats home

Every time you walk through the door, hands buried in the pockets of your tightly wrapped coat, John turns his head and asks "What've you got in there?"

"I don't know what you're talking about" and a meow can be heard coming from inside your coat

He makes you take it off to find a cat and her kittens snug and warm in the inner pockets

"They were cold..." you say sheepishly when he sighs

Ghost

He has to take care of you and now you want a pet??

Says he has enough on his plate with just you

You’re blowing up his phone sending him videos of animals or shoving the phone in his face

“Simon, Simon! Look at this! We should totally get one.”

“…That’s a spider. Why would you want that?”

Soap

He had also been wanting a pet for some time now, he had an exotic animal in mind until you got chickens

"...Are we going to eat it?"

"Johnny, no."

Now he has to wake up early and feed them every day when the sun rises to when the sun goes down

The chickens have grown on him and he's even named them, gets upset when you or someone jokes about eating them

Gaz

Is totally fine with any pet as long as it’s nothing too out of the ordinary, so you got bunnies

You'll let them roam around the house sometimes and Kyle hates when you do that because they tend to chew things and it's somehow always his things

Imagine Kyle falling asleep in your bed with the pink comforters and the adorable fluffy baby bunnies (yes i'm making a reference to that one tiktok)

Roach

Unfortunately for both of you, you are weak when it comes to animals

You’re both fawning over the cats and dogs in the animal shelter, cuddling with the baby goats at the local farm even if they’re chewing your clothes and head butting you

Together you’ve owned your weird assortment of pets; ducks, goats, spiders, snakes etc.

I headcanon Gary is a nerd when it comes to snakes and bugs

Alejandro

In the moment, you manage to convince him pretty easily, until you actually bring home the dog you wanted

Pretends he doesn’t like petting it or getting near it

Even curses when he has to get up at night to let it out for it to use the bathroom

But ofc within a month he’s totally smitten over your pit bull

Spends money on buying it nice collars and food, taking it out for a drive in his truck frequently

When cooking on the grill he always buys extra meat just for your dog

Phillip Graves

I like to think he has a soft spot for animals and agreed to going along with you when deciding what animal to adopt

What he didn't expect was to be pulling into a ranch and looking at horses

He expected to be looking at dogs or cats or a fish even

Now he's helping you muck out the stall for the beautiful pinto you bought

Helps brush her down and keep its mane and tail smooth to enter it in shows and competitions

Keegan

He knew you'd been wanting a pet for a while now because every time you visited someone who owned a pet you'd asked if you could play or pet them

You probably spent longer bonding with animals than with humans

Decided to surprise you with a talking parrot

Every now and then he'll teach it cute phrases like "I love you", the parrot will sometimes pick up some colorful language from Keegan

Hesh Walker

He caved in and originally thought of gifting you a pretty Siamese cat before thinking he'd like to play a little prank on you

As a joke, he gave you two rats, each with a pink bow on them

David would've started laughing if it weren't for you growing attached to them, eventually he did tell you he intended to buy you a cat

The rats were quite intelligent and learned tricks fast and frequently played games so both you and David decided to keep them and forget about the original plan of getting a cat

Logan Walker

He could never say no to you

However, you had owned a dog before, Logan wasn't fond of cats and you didn't want something like a lizard or a fish that would stay inside a tank all the time

The perfect opportunity came up when you had the chance to adopt a baby cow, a calf who had lost its mother

You both agreed, there was extra unused backyard space

The calf was named "Moonpie"

König

You really wanted a pet, but König couldn't understand why

"We already have a pet"

It was an iguana, which König already owned when you moved in with him

You weren't very fond of it because of an anecdote that occurred the first time you were over at König's place; you had seen a long tail in between the couch cushions and thinking it was a stuffed animal or a toy you pull at it only to see the iguana moving

It still freaks you out to this day when you remember how flaky and weird the scales felt

Horangi

He agreed and suggested he be the one to go pick out a pet from the shelter

You stood at the door when you heard his car ready to meet your new pet only to be met with a plastic container

Upon opening the box you're shocked to see he brought home a snake, he just snickers as he picks it up, holding it as the boa wraps around his arm biceps

"You wanted a pet, didn't you?"

Nikto

You had spent months trying to convince him to get a pet, to which he kept saying no to

"Come on Andre, a dog wouldn't be as bad as a kid"

He had no reaction other than just a grunt, but next time he came home from deployment he set a portable crate down

You rushed excitedly when you heard squeals thinking it was a puppy, after three weeks you notice the brownish fur begin to lighten and spots appearing

"Where did you say you got the dog from?''

"Did I ever say it was a dog?"

Post inspired by this cutie:

Everyone say "Thank you Corazòn"

[cumironi]

Enemies to lovers toji x fem reader!!!!! Theyre both in college and reader is usually really smart and focused n stuff but toji likes to tease her and yeah!!!!

THUNDERSTORM : TOJI FUSHIGURO

oh just how much you hate toji fushiguro, and the feelings are mutual. you are a calm, intelligent and focused person, while he's in the other hands annoying, stupid, arrogant and many other things you hate— you hate how he always makes your heart beat like a thunderstorm.

content warning: college! toji, non-sorcerer jjk, fluff! toji

i wasn't doing my best with this one but i hope you like it

“stop that.”

“stop what?” your eyes narrowed.

“doing that thing with your face when you're happy, it's making me nauseous.” he's looking at you as he's making a disgusted face. his index finger makes a circle while pointing at your face. your smile dropped and an annoyance sounds left your lips. you slam the tray and sit yourself beside the white-haired boy, gojo satoru. and there's that boy, in front of you eating his lunch with a disgusted face as he eyed you, toji fushiguro.

“get your nasty finger off my face before I break it,” your hands move faster trying to catch his finger only for him to pull away faster. “always so slow,” he mocked you. “oh fuck you, toji,” you spit to him, getting more annoyed each second you look at him. while the other boy just laughed. seeing how your face turned red from anger amused him. toji fushiguro always showed a liking every time spat at him, getting nastier and sassier each second. hands gripping on something tightly or just clenched your fist he's afraid you're gonna make your nail bleeding from your nail.

he loves how your eyes always look at him like you're on fire, how your pretty mouth insults him in the most hilarious way he could ever imagine. he loves to have the power of having a calm, pretty, intelligent person like you going crazy because of a person like him. a girl with patience like a saint always growling in anger every time he open his mouth. it's like watching a soap opera, for free. you, on the other hand, despise him with all of your heart. you hate the way his green eyes glisten when the sun hits, you hate the way his personality is embedded in each word when you read a poem about love, you hate the way his voice shapes into a melody and echoes his entire being, scaring you.

“what are you doing here, anyway?” satoru asked as he shoved a macaron into his mouth. you look at the man in front of you, feeling confused also. toji never sits with you and your friends, always with his suicide squad— sukuna and weird ass choso, you swear that guy always looks like his soul just gets sucked out of his body. “yeah, toji? what the fuck are you doing here?” you parrot, this time sassier and you glare at him.

“what? I can't have lunch with friends now?”

you and satoru look at each other before you roll your eyes, “can you please go be annoying somewhere that's away from me?” you asked, nearly begging. you're too hungry to deal with toji's nonsense and he's too insufferable to be around. “but that wouldn't be nearly as much fun,” he pouts, pretending to be sulking as he put his palm under his cheeks and battling his eyelashes. but you don't budge, just keep glaring your eyes to him hoping suddenly your eyes let out a laser that could kill him on the place.

toji sighs in defeat before he gets up throwing you a glance of judgement, “boo, you whore.” and with that he swings his ass as he walks away with a tray in one hand and the other on his jeans pocket— leaving you with mouth hanging open.

“fucking asshole.”

you feel something was throwing at you— hitting your back of the head. you're in class right now, trying to focus on whatever your professor was talking about. you try to ignore whatever that was throwing at you but each time it's getting bigger and you become more annoyed. so with the last patience you had left, you snap your neck to look at whoever it is— of course it's other than toji fushiguro. “what?” you yelled whispered. “let me borrow your pen,” he said, looking like an idiot with his slay grin, makes you more annoyed.

“no, shut up!”

you back to your position again and this time you're insisting on not gonna pay toji any attention. for a moment things got quiet and you don't hear anything from toji. but of course, that man wasn't letting you sit there in class and try to study quietly. you hear something from your behind that makes you turn around only to find already sitting there, smiling at you. “what the fuck are you doing?” your voice rough while you shoot a glance at your professor.

“i miss you,” he pout.

you look at him in disgust, “shut the fuck up toji, i'm trying to learn something here,” you grumble. that's only amused him more as he put both hands under his chin and battling his eyelashes to you. “make me, y/n,” he whispered, trying to be seductive as he snout his lips to you and making a kiss noise. you winces in disgust before shoving his face away with your hand.

“what the fuck is wrong with you..”

he just laughed.

you were walking on the hallway of your campus alone. book on your left hands and the other holding a cup of your coffee. you spend a night working on your project until morning and you haven't got a single sleep, so you really need caffeine to keep you awake. when you turn around the corner something big suddenly come out of nowhere, startled you by surprise.

“AH!”

you were so shocked that you fell on the floor along with your books and coffee getting you wet in the process. you look up only to find toji fushiguro hovering you. hands in pocket as he looks down at you. “you scared me,” you shriek. his shoulder move up and down as he shrugged, looking unbothered. “well, i'm naturally terrifying,” he said obvious, like it's was something natural and common. you scoff while rolling your eyes.

“nobody finds you terrifying, fushiguro.”

he frowned after hearing what you were saying, “that's not true, everybody finds me terrifying,” he said in defense. you snicker and cover your mouth, “you're delusional because I'm not finding you terrifying,” you mocked him. and toji doesn't seem like he's agree with whatever you just yapping about. his green eyes bore at you and he was silent for a moment like there's a war inside his head.

“what?” you feel annoyed as he keeps on looking at you with an expression you can't figure out. something you never seen on his face before, something unfamiliar. but he keeps his mouth shut, refuses to speak and entertained you with his lame answer but no, he just stood there looking like he just found something he's longing for who knows how long. his eyes, you can't stand it— worse, you were afraid of it. it feels like his eyes can touch you more than his hands ever could, that's the only thing about him that terrifying to you.

a hard covered book kisses his face harshly to snap him out of whatever he was in. he grimaces in pain and rubs the red on his forehead— where the book landed. “the fuck is wrong with you?” he yells in pain. “stop being a baby,” you dryly said to him. before he gets to let out a bunch of insults, your high pitched scream stops him. your white shirt covered with coffee making your boobs and bra look visible.

“oops,” toji laugh.

you who's still on the floor sending a tall man in front of you a glare. toji swear he can see the steam coming out of your ears. “look at what you've done!” you growl in anger. toji rolled his eyes bored before scoffing, “stop being a baby,” he mocked you— purposely throwing you the same sentence you just said to him. you clicked your tongue as you tried your best to clean yourself with hope in your heart that it doesn't leave a stain. toji just standing there watching you.

he let out a sigh before throwing you his leather jacket making you stare at him in confusion. “cover yourself, idiot.” and just like that he walks away, leaving you all confused and dumbfounded.

your day is always filled with toji fushiguro. every corner you go, fate seems to find it amusing when he's making your blood boil and your face turns red like fresh tomatoes, that's why it always sends him around, find you every time. you started to get used to his presence. you started to find the scar on lips look more stunning than it used to— especially when he's smile. you no longer feel scared when his green eyes flashed to you. his smile become sweet, different from the rest, from everyone else. you started to notice everytime he touches you it suddenly felt as if the stars dancing across your skins.

“your hands,” he said, softly this time.

you don't say anything, too amused with how beautiful he becomes after all this time, after you start to notice. like it has its own thoughts, your hands just move to the man in front of you, letting him hold it like it's always belonged to him, and it fits perfectly also. and then there's it, the stars thing again. something you're unfamiliar with but knowing you're gonna become an addiction of it, of his touch.

he slipped something on your ring finger. you look down to your hand, hand that he was holding. a ring with white bunny, matching with him as he shows you his hand. your heart smiles, followed by your lips but then it's beating faster, knocking your chest as if it's begging the man to hear. you scared so you look at him and your heart beating faster than before when you realize he's already looking, like a thunderstorm. “it's promise ring,” his voice gentle.

toji fushiguro, a man who couldn't go on with his day without hearing your voice, he couldn't go on with his day without feeling your eyes on him, without your presence around him— it feels like an addiction he doesn't realize, getting too attached to each second. when you're not around he's always looking for you, purposely making you mad just because he knows you're the most expressive when you with him, knowing only him that can makes you feel something you try to denied. he too, try to denied.

the feeling he has for you wasn't something he is familiar with and he's unhappy with that. he wants to quit because every time you walk into that hallway beautifully his head feels fuzzy and the world faded into the background like on the movies show, it's lonely and cold. and standing there with you, in the middle of your campus festival, where people and times move faster— but not faster as his beating heart.

“i'll pick your thunder,” he said, nearly whispering.

you didn't like this boy, you didn't find him attractive in a romantic way, his face wasn't something you'd be thinking about next week. he spoke and he sounded just like the others, a voice you wouldn't recognize again, but now he seemed gentle, so do for toji, he didn't like you last year, but now he started to notice the way you filling the room, expanding like a butterfly breaking free from the cocoon, it was hard not to notice you glisten when all eyes darted like spotlights on you.

when you speak everyone has no choice but to listen and indulge in your smile. or when the room is empty and moonlights spills in through a creak in the door. he starts to love the way your eyes gleam. you changes, you're no longer just a gentle looking girl. he didn't care for the soft waves in your hair but now he started to notice each wave, and the clothes that you wears, and the way that you stands, and smiles, and walks.

you find yourself not just listening but losing touch of things when he talks. he was just another head in the crowd, he was just annoying classmates that always fuming you, you wouldn't recognize his voice when he speaks, but now it is echoing in your mind out loud. he hasn't changed a bit but how something both of you overlooked become something both of you desire?

he didn't like this girl

and you don't like this boy

but you and him now sure do

how'd you do it?' you thought.

how'd you do it?' he thought.

how'd you make me fall in love with you?

[lzlxmuse]

Just a Kiss

sakura haruka × f!reader ▪︎ the way he gets all shy with a kiss makes you want to tease him even more.

contain: suggestive work, shy sakura, reader is a tease.

It started with a simple kiss. Just a peck to his lips when you saw how adorable Sakura was as he grumbled over another loss from the game against you.

A grin emerged as you saw how he still goes all red up to his ears when you kiss him. Just like the first time when you took his first kiss. Still as shy and adorable as ever. Your boyfriend, your Haru.

Seeing him like that made a thought wander into your mind. How red could he get if I pushed him? And so you did it again. You gave him another peck to his lips. This time, your lips stayed flush against his for a while. You felt the heat on his lips transferring to yours before you backed off. Lashes fluttering open, you glanced up to see him even redder than before. Wow!

“Wh–what was that for?” Sakura turned his head away in embarrassment. One of his hands covering his own lips. The other gripped the controller so hard you heard it creaking.

You easily pried it off his hand and placed it down. It would be bad if he actually broke it. It's not cheap at all! The fleeting thought then went away, and your focus came back to him.

“Do I need a reason to kiss my boyfriend?” You tilted your head in an innocent manner, but the curve of your lips betrayed the facade.

You looked at him in silence as he pretended to cough and tried to compose himself. Once he finally managed to meet your eyes and said, “Well, I guess it's fine. But! You gotta tell me about it before! Or else–”

“Or else what?” You parroted back.

“Ugh! Or else… I–I…” Sakura's face started going all red once more.

“Hm?” You waited for his reply.

“Or else I'm gonna get all shy and wouldn't know what to do! Damn it!” Sakura squeezed his eyes shut and finally vomited his embarrassing words out. He had even panted at the end as if he had lost all his breath.

“...Oh, I see.” You replied in a calm manner. Well, as calm as you could fake it. It may be embarrassing for him, but to you, it was basically like a declaration of love. It was his sincere feeling.

You felt your heart going all excited from his sincere words. Well, not just your heart actually. Somewhere down there was also getting excited. You felt it squeezed at nothing before a wet trickle seemed to seep out. Whether it got all excited because of Sakura's sincere words or because of how embarrassed he looks, you weren't sure. Maybe it was due to both.

Taking a deep breath, you leaned closer to him and traced your fingers over his clenched fists. You could feel the raised veins over the back of his skin. You tilted your head a bit to the side and looked up at him. “Then, can I kiss you now, Haru?”

You felt the shiver rising over his skin as your fingers now traced over his tense arms. He knew you only called him Haru when you were excited.

He got all quiet before finally answering with a, “...yes.”

A smile bloomed over your face, and then you closed the distance.

[loaksky]

— 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 [𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦]

the lowdown — the one where neteyam is too blinded by duty to realize what he has right in front of him. 

the who — neteyam x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count  — 5.6k (this isn't even a drabble anymore).

the tags & warnings — language, more emotional constipation, mentions of blood & injury, childhood friends(?)2l, unrequited love, angst w a semi-happy / openish ending.

the notes  — based off of this request & this one ! let’s pretend the trees of souls didn’t get burned down in the first movie :) 

masterlist

You were an odd thing, curious, maybe a little strange, but like learning anything, everyone had grown accustomed to your weird little habits. Everyone except for Neteyam, the clan leader’s son. And the weird habit in question was poorly-expressed words of adoration that seemed to meld into unconventional confessions as you got older. 

It started when you two were eight, perhaps nine. The two of you were in a village elder’s tent, learning the best ways to debone fish to prepare for meals when she’d ducked out for a moment and left the two of you in a cloud of uncomfortable silence. 

Neteyam’s fingers were nimble, swift, while you lagged behind, eyes fluttering to the way he seemed to grasp the elder’s instruction with more ease than you. 

“We should always be together,” you’d said absently, still fiddling with the same fish while Neteyam moved onto the next. “I will be useless to our family without you.” 

Neteyam’s spine had gone rigid, gaze wide as he side-eyed you from his seat. 

“Huh?” He’d clearly been caught off guard, ministrations on the catch frozen as his eyebrows furrowed. 

“When we are married,” you’d said, holding the bone structure of your first fish triumphantly.

“Married?” he parroted shrilly, fully turning to face you. 

You looked up from your task, nodding like it was the most common of knowledge.

“Yes, Neteyam,” you affirmed, chuffing a small laugh. “In the future, when we are married.” 

Neteyam wouldn’t have been so off put had the comment been a one time thing, but they were frequent, spoken both in the quiet of much-dreaded time alone with you and hushed whispers in the midst of the other villagers your age. 

It wasn’t any help that his parents seemed to always set the two of you up in many endeavors over the course of your adolescence. And he’d tried, tried so hard to shake you over the years, but you were glued to his hip. 

You look handsome today, you’d say often, regardless. Training is paying off, whispered in his ear as your fingertips smoothe over the skin of his biceps. I hope the little ones grow to be as mighty as you are, spoken after sessions in the archery circle. The comments are all fleeting, mentioned in passing like a casual word, but they make Neteyam warm, make his cheeks heat when he searches your face for any betrayal of emotion. 

But all he’s met with is an expression that borders smug, one that makes him wonder why, out of all of the boys growing into fine young men over the course of your adolescence, had you picked him to be the object of your affections. 

Try as he might, to be short-tempered, callous, you were always there. He sought the attention of other women, tried to put as many bodies between the two of you, but you were relentless, smiled gently when you’d catch his wandering hands against the skin of another, would turn a blind eye when his lips brushed too intimately over eager ears.

At first he figured that maybe it was because he was the first boy you’d encountered and it’d just been the way the cards were dealt. At times he thought you were messing with him, a long-running joke between you and some unknown entities to fuck around with his feelings. His current theory, however, is one that he sits more confidently on when he begins observing you. 

You spend an awful amount of time not only tailing him, but tailing his family, pestering Kiri and Lo’ak about god knows what, spending many afternoons schmoozing with his parents, seeking guidance from Mo’at. 

He comes to the conclusion, after some time, that you’re trying to solidify your place within his family, trying to secure your role next to him as the future leader of the clan. This much is confirmed when his parents bring up the sore topic of you one night once everyone has turned in after the evening meal. 

“The time for your selection feast is arriving,” Neytiri says hesitantly, like she’s treading on thin ice. 

Neteyam has an inkling where this conversation will go when Jake shifts to sit next to his partner, the perfect picture of what a love that transcends all should look like. But he doesn’t know love, just knows preparing for his future and what ruling the clan will look like. 

“Yeah,” Neteyam agrees. 

“Do you have someone in mind?” Jake prods, busying himself by toying with his songchord. 

To his dismay, you briefly eclipse his mind, the annoyingly beautiful girl he’d grown up with but, even a decade later, still can’t seem to get a good read on.

“No,” he answers slowly. 

His parents seem to chew on this for a moment, glancing at each other momentarily before Neytiri draws in a deep breath and focuses her attention on her oldest son all over again. 

“Well…your father and I believe that perhaps ________ could be a good choice.”

It’s like a bomb detonates, but the aftershocks are only seen in the way Neteyam’s lips purse and his brows furrow. 

He’s not one to go against his parents, but he’ll be damned if he has to spend forever with you. 

“No,” he repeats, but with time with vindication. 

Jake looks stunned, back straightening as he takes his son in with wary eyes.

“No?” 

“No,” Neteyam reiterates. “I would rather spend my life alone than spend it with her.” 

“Neteyam,” Neytiri sighs. 

“I’m sorry, Mom, I won’t,” he says firmly, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he glances between both of his parents, hoping, wishing that maybe they’ll see that this isn’t a good idea.

“Maitan, you don’t understand,” Neytiri says softly. “When you and ________ were born, Ewya gave us a sign.”

Neteyam’s blood runs cold. 

“So this has already been decided?” he asks, voice eerily steady. 

“Not necessarily,” Jake interjects. “We didn’t want you two to feel like you were being forced to be together so we hoped that encouraging you both to spend time together would allow something to develop…” 

“But they haven’t, so now it’s a not-so-silent push,” he says shortly. 

His parents share another look and he feels annoyance beginning to form in his gut. 

“We wouldn’t say that there aren’t any feelings there,” Neytiri says. 

Neteyam breathes a humorless laugh as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“I don’t feel anything for her,” he says with finality. “Nothing about a union with her piques my interest. We’ve been in close proximity since birth but my heart feels more for the trees in the forest than it ever will for ________.” 

Jake squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Have you thought about giving her a chance?” he pushes. “She’s a lovely girl, really likes you.” 

That draws another huff of humorless laughter from Neteyam. 

“The only thing she’s interested in is status and being tsahik,” Neteyam scoffs. “There is nothing there.” 

Neytiri opens her mouth to say something, but Neteyam has mustered up as polite an excuse as he can as he stands to his feet and bows his head to his parents. 

When he ducks from the tent, he doesn’t expect to see you lingering outside of the exit.

His face morphs as the quiet words leave your lips. 

“You doubt my affections for you.” It’s a statement and a question wrapped in one, but you’re resigned, like always, and Neteyam can’t seem to grasp what you’re trying to get at clinging to him, to whatever this dynamic is. 

“What’s this game you’re playing?” he accuses, eyes narrowed. 

“What game?” you ask, gaze unfaltering as you stare up at him with those round golden eyes. 

He lets out a frustrated sigh. 

“Our entire lives, from being kids to now, you’ve toyed with me,” he says fiercely. “With this idea of us. Why? I’ve given you no reasons to be fond of me, yet you’re always here, there, everywhere.” 

“I have much to be fond of,” is your simple answer and Neteyam could groan in frustration. 

“Like what? Being the olo’eyktan’s son? Holding the future of this clan in my hands?” he asks sharply. 

“I would love you, circumstances withstanding,” you respond. “You don’t have to be afraid.” 

Love. 

What an odd concept, weird. One that Neteyam can’t seem to wrap his mind around when it comes to you. Doesn’t think he ever will. 

“Afraid of what?” he bites. 

“Of loving me back,” you say. 

He grimaces like the very thought disgusts him, like you’re an aversion he desperately wants to rid of. And perhaps you are, you realize, seeing years of pent up frustration and anger culminating into one big wound ready to rupture. 

“You think I love you?” he asks incredulously. 

He doesn’t miss the way you shrink, blinking quickly. 

“If you gave us a chance, maybe,” you whisper.

It sounds like the conversation with his parents all over again and realization seems to shutter across his features as he looks down at you. 

“How long have you known?” 

“Known what?” you ask quietly. 

“How long have you known that they’re trying to force us to be together?” he asks. 

You’re silent for a moment before muttering something under your breath. 

“What?” he snaps.

“They aren’t forcing us,” you clear your throat. “Not me, at least.” 

He scoffs. 

“Of course,” he mocks. “Because it only matters what you want out of this. Not that for the last decade I’ve been trying to get you to back off, trying to get you to understand that I don’t want this. I don’t want us, and if it means forfeiting my responsibilities, then so be it.” 

It’s a lofty statement, one that seals the last nail on your coffin. 

You’d loved Neteyam for as long as you can remember, have probably liked him for longer. When your parents told you early on that Eywa had given both of your families a sign that you and Neteyam were meant for one another, you’d embraced the idea wholeheartedly. Loved the idea of loving him even through moments when he’d try to drive a wedge between the two of you. 

Give him time, your parents had said to you. Jake and Neytiri want his feelings to develop naturally. 

And you waited. God, you waited, for so long. Waited for him to come around, to realize the things he did to you. Perhaps you had been too presumptuous, thinking that he’d be able to read you behind such a stoic facade, afraid that if you revealed too much of your wanting, you’d turn him off from the idea of being with you. 

But as you stand here before him, small under such a burning gaze, you realize that it’d been wishful thinking. Choosing him meant nothing if he didn’t choose you back. 

“I see…” you trail off quietly.

“Do you?” he asks, tone facetious. 

You nod once, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to see that his expression twitches the tiniest amount when he clocks the way your body seems to deflate.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.” 

His following days are quiet, filled with personal duties and commitments to the clan. He’d expected you to sleep off the night’s confrontation, he certainly had, a twinge of guilt searing his gut.

But you’re good at hiding, good at masking your feelings, good at disappearing. It doesn’t bother him at the beginning, figuring that you need your space, but then it’s a dull ache that ebbs into a grating gnaw as his every other thought flits to you and what you could be doing now that you’ve settled such a wide distance between himself and his family. 

“You are injured a lot more these days,” Mo’at observes, slathering the viscous mixture over a cut between his shoulder blades. 

He remains silent, doesn’t know how to admit that he’d been far more reckless these past few days in the hopes that he’d run into you in his grandmother’s quarters. A silent yearn to feel your skilled fingers work over his wounds, tender as you try to pry your way into his heart. 

Mo’at had been the one you spent the most time with, diligently training in the chance that Neteyam would finally see you, would make you his. But right now, you’re nowhere to be found and all he’s rewarded with is his grandmother’s rough hands and inquisitive gaze.

“She made this salve,” Mo’at says, filling the silence with idle talk. “Found a recipe that speeds healing and softens the skin.” 

“Did she?” Neteyam responds absently, imagining you picking and pruning the herbs yourself, frame languid as you move through the brush. 

“Said she didn’t want her lover to have such tough skin.” 

There’s laughter in his grandmother’s voice, but he can’t find it in himself to see the humor in the situation. Not when he’s beginning to see that maybe he’s not just another rung in the ladder for you, that duty is the most miniscule drop in your bucket.  

“Where’s ________?” he asks after a moment, hissing through his teeth when his grandmother’s fingers prod the wound. 

“Taking a break from her studies to assist Ama with the children,” she answers, and he misses the knowing look in her eyes. She pats his shoulder when she’s done patching him up. “She’s a fine young woman, Neteyam. Many of the villagers do not turn a blind eye to that fact. If she is not the one that your heart desires, give her the opportunity to align with one that does.” 

It makes something ugly, green, roil in the pit of his stomach at the idea of you being the subject of houndish eyes. You’re too reserved, too sweet, too devoted to be anyone else’s. 

And the thought floors him, makes the knot growing obnoxiously in his throat choke the air from his lungs. 

“Yeah,” he agrees in a whisper. 

And he knows that his grandmother is right. Knows that he shouldn’t be asking about you, doesn’t have the right to hold you hostage if the union is something that truly unsettles him. But the thought of letting go of whatever the two of you have is surprisingly indigestible. 

Neteyam is frustrated, thoroughly disoriented now that all he can think of is you. He’d tried everything under the sun to shake you, to get you to throw your cards in first, but now that you have, it’s like you tug on a string tethered to his hellish heart. 

He stands to his feet and turns to face Mo’at, giving a respectful nod before exiting the tent. 

It’s wrong, he knows it, seeking you out after burning every bridge between the two of you, but he can’t help it. Can’t help but enter the clearing in the forest carved through with a stream that the little ones play in. 

You’re exactly where his grandmother had said you were, sitting near the edge of the bubbling waters with Ama, a girl a few years your senior. The children are giggling, laughing as they splash each other, splash you. The expression on your face falters a little, stern as you adjust the netting strapped to your chest. 

The air is trapped in his lungs as he realizes. Sees the little head that peeks from the top of the fabric, ear pressed to your heart as you cover the baby’s head from the children’s gleeful laughter. 

“That’s not very nice,” you say gently. “Your little sister is trying to sleep.” 

Your voice makes the hairs on the back of his neck prick, a soft rasp that’s haunted him for the last few sleepless nights. It’s odd, seeing you in this light, relaxed from your lack of duties. You’re in your element like this, smiling and coddling the children of the clan as they climb over you and poke and prod. 

“Teyam!” One of them clocks him before he can retreat and his spine is going stiff, stomach turning when he sees the way your expression melts. 

“Hi,” he greets simply, unable to form anything more solid in the fears that he’ll spook you. 

The kids start emerging from the stream one by one, surrounding him as he takes a few tentative steps into the clearing. 

“Neteyam,” Ama greets cordially, eyes flitting between the two of you as you busy yourself with the little one strapped to your chest. 

Neteyam, on the other hand, can’t keep his eyes off of you. He’s silently pleading with Eywa, with whatever other force lies out of reach that you’ll just look at him. But you’re locked up tighter than a vault, obviously still reeling from the confrontation all those days ago. 

He hums your name, gentle like a prayer. Your eyes are hesitant, watching the snoozing baby in your arms before glancing at the remaining children in the stream before finally meeting his longing gaze. 

“Can we talk?” he asks you, flashing one of the curious kids a brief smile when they tug on the hem of his loincloth. 

Your response is far more blunt than he’d expected, taken aback when you murmur a firm, “No.”

He supposes that he deserves that, has earned the warmth that eclipses over his cheeks as the children watch the exchange with inquisitive eyes. And the way you stand to your feet to wrangle the village’s little ones is merited, telling them that playtime is over. 

But as Ama helps you gather their things, sensing the obvious tension between you and the olo’eyktan’s son, he realizes that he can’t just let this go. He won’t. Not without making things right, without telling you that loving you isn’t the hard part, it could never be. 

But agency is something his parents have withheld from him his entire life, molded him into being the perfect son that bends to the clan’s every beck and call. Loving you was just another thing to add to the list of things he did for everyone else’s sake but his own.

He sees now, though, sees that loving you, being in love with you isn’t a difficult feat. Not when he’s been given the smallest glance into what having a future could be like with you. Especially not when he’s learned so many things about you in the moments where you’re a fleeting plume of smoke that surrounds and chokes him all the same. 

He calls your name again, firm this time around. There’s a stutter in your step, he sees the way your shoulders draw taut with a labored sigh. 

You murmur something to Ama, undoing the ties to the netting that carries the dozing infant. Neteyam watches as you shush the kids, reminding them to be good to their tsmuke on their journey through the forest. 

Your fingers are gentle as you tie the last knot, brushing Ama’s shoulders lightly as you tell her you’ll catch up with her shortly. 

When they’re out of earshot, clambering back into the village circle, you turn on your heel, standing on the opposite side of the embankment. The glittering waters gurgle between the two of you as you wait patiently for Neteyam to muster his courage. 

“About our union,” he starts. “I–” 

“I’ve told my parents to forgo the preparations,” you say softly, seemingly unbothered as you pay more attention to the blades of grass that tickle your ankles. 

Neteyam’s spine stiffens.

“Why would you…” 

“You don’t want this,” you repeat his words from the fall out. “You don’t want us. We’ll both be unhappy.” 

It makes his heart squeeze. 

“You would be so unhappy in our union?” he scoffs, like he’s cracked the code. 

He doesn’t expect the humorless laugh that spills past your lips, obviously laden with tears when he focuses hard enough. 

“Of course I would, Neteyam,” you say fiercely, quietly. “I have spent so much of my life being so disgustingly in love with you when all you’ve wanted was me gone. Do you really think I’d let myself suffer at the expense of someone who would rather be alone than be forced to spend time with the likes of me.” 

You make it sound horrible. And perhaps it was, being so taken by someone who’s life mission was to sever every carefully stitched tie.

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s coming to terms with the fact that maybe he’s been gravely mistaken this entire time. 

“So have your freedom,” you say chillingly. “I surrender.” 

He’s closing the distance between the two of you, splashing through the shallow river to root you to place, fingers wrapped tightly around your elbow. 

You snatch away from his grasp, turning so sharply, he stumbles back. The pad of your finger pokes harshly into his chest, tear-filled eyes brimming as your gaze searches his face. 

“Don’t be heartless,” you hiss. “If there is one thing I will ask of you it is to leave me alone.” 

The distance between the two of you widens as you pluck your bow and quiver nearby and rush off into the brush, leaving Neteyam in the quieting clearing to allow the weight of your words sink to his bones. 

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, watching the same spot you’d disappeared past, but the forest is beginning to glow and he should be home soon. 

The entire encounter puts him on edge as he climbs through the foliage, moving over fallen logs and blooming flora. His muscles are taut, shoulders tight as he maps the long route back home.

It’s only when a sudden crack in the distance sounds that he becomes aware of how still the forest seems around him, like there are eyes and ears watching his every move. 

A look in the sky reveals a darkening swathe of midnight, leaves gleaming from outstretched branches. As he surveys his surroundings, his ears prick, picking up the most minute of sounds, rhythmic against the dense grass. 

His hand is on his dagger in an instant, eyes wild as he holds his breath. The pulse is nearing, almost insignificant against the backdrop of nature’s call, but something isn’t right and it makes nausea stir in his stomach. 

He blinks once, twice, before something closes over his mouth and a body seems to fuse against his back. 

“It’s me.” Your voice is ragged, hushed against the shell of his ear, and he nearly melts, fingers loosening from around the hilt of his knife. 

“I–” 

“Don’t speak,” you warn. “They are near.” 

He tenses again as you move your bodies behind a curtain of green, off the trodden path. 

“There are five of them,” you whisper and he shivers something fierce. “Two down, three on foot.” 

After years of training from his father, he knows who they are. 

“How did you…why do you–” 

“You didn’t return to the village,” you hiss. 

His heart skips a beat, thrumming because even if you’d been angry at him, you’d noticed his absence. Had gone looking for him, even. He turns to face you, wants to tell you that he’d do anything to make things right, but he realizes that now’s not a good time. 

You’re pale, gravely so, a feral look in your eyes as you grasp at your left side. 

Blood. You’re bleeding. 

“What the fuck?” 

“Stop,” you breathe shakily. “Not now.” 

“________, you’re wounded!” he protests. 

You slap a hand over his mouth, golden eyes widening as you press closer to him. 

He takes the opportunity to peer over your shoulder in pursuit of an exit wound and sighs when he finds the skin still intact. 

“You’re hurt,” he tries again, grabbing the wrist clutching your side. 

You shake your head vehemently. 

“Stop it, Neteyam,” you plead hoarsely. “We need to get rid of them before they find the village.” 

You’re right, he realizes, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he notes the tremble of your lip and the furrow between your brows. 

“Okay,” he swallows, nodding hesitantly. “Okay.” 

“Near the Tree of Souls,” you tell him, knees shaky as you draw an arrow and load your bow. 

You creep forward slowly, willowy frame shielding Neteyam as you move through the forest. 

He barely notices, only sees it when you pause a moment too long, body twitching as the bow quivers in your loosening grasp. 

“________?” Neteyam’s voice is testing, closing the berth. 

Your bow lowers, fingers brushing over the wound once again. When you assess the wetness of the pads of your fingers, Neteyam’s able to get a good look at the damage. 

His eyes widen, grabbing your shoulders tightly when he sees that your eyes are drooping. 

“Wait,” he says sharply. “Don’t—”

Your bloody hand brushes his chin. 

“Make sure…make sure they are…” 

“She must rest.” 

“It will only be for a moment.” 

The words slur together, distant and muddy as your eyes flicker open to assess your surroundings. 

“Maite, you are awake.” Your mother kneels next to you, expression a picture of harrowing concern. “Oh, Eywa, I’m glad you are awake.” 

It returns in waves, like the ebb and flow of water dousing you. The enemy, in bodies like your own, ruthless to creatures both gentle and roaring. Clothed like humans with gear so imposing, you nearly shrunk with such a small bow and only enough arrows to make each shot count. 

You’d taken out two of them with shaky hands before their hailing bullets pierced the trunks of trees and left gaping holes in the leaves. One had landed, lodged its way right above the left side of your pelvis. 

It aches as you sit up, seeing the aftermath of what must have been a grisly extraction. 

“Stop, stop,” your mother says quickly, hands on your shoulders to guide you back. “You will disturb Mo’at’s work.” 

“There are more of them,” you rush. “They are–” 

“Shh, my child,” she coaxes. “They are gone.” 

It had been a horrific sight, seeing Neteyam carrying you back to the village, limp and listless, covered in the blood of multiple parties with a nearly animalistic look in his eye. 

“Where is Neteyam?” you whisper, lashes wet. 

The look on your mother’s face softens with pity, knowing, as she sees it written all over your face. 

She’d known it before and she’d known it after you approached her and your father with the request to call off the union. 

I don’t love him, you’d said, unable to meet their eyes as you confessed. Eywa’s made a mistake with us. I want to be with someone that I love.

You’d been embarrassed, wanted to save face. You didn’t want them to know that the only man you’d ever known from adolescence to young adulthood hadn’t wanted a thing to do with you. 

“I’m here.” 

Neteyam’s entering the tent with your father hot on his heels, obviously defying his wishes to leave you be. 

His forearm is wrapped in medicinal leaves, tied off with thin vine. A cut slices his brow bone, the wound still red and raw. 

“I told you–” 

Your mother shoots your father a contemptuous look before turning to you to smooth some of the hair away from your face. 

“Eywa makes no mistakes, Maite,” she whispers, gaze pleading. 

She’s on her feet, crossing the tent to meet Neteyam half way. With a comforting squeeze to his shoulder, she pushes your protesting father through the hide and suddenly the air is shrouded in silence save for your labored breathing and the weight of the eldest Sully’s gaze. 

“I thought I lost you,” Neteyam says, the tiniest inflection of trembling pricking your ears. 

You blink, watching as he stands at the end of the mat. He’s fidgeting but his eyes are searing, shaking with tears as he stares at you unblinking—like you’ll disappear between the shutter of his heavy eyelids. 

You don’t know what to say, the lump lodged in your throat far too thick for you to form coherent words around. 

Neteyam continues for the both of you. 

“I thought that I wouldn’t…that I…” 

You watch as he crumbles. 

“Wouldn’t what?” you finally ask, voice dry. 

“I thought that I wouldn’t be able to give us a chance.” 

Your jaw tenses, breaking eye contact first as you shake your head in defeat. 

“There isn’t an us,” you sigh shakily. “Said so yourself.” 

“Oh, come on,” Neteyam scoffs, voice thick with tears. “Don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” you argue, clutching your injured side as it pulses with every beat of your thundering heart. 

“Don’t—don’t give up on me yet,” he whispers. “Please.”��

Your expression crumples and his face falls as you knuckle your tears away angrily. 

“You’re cruel, Neteyam. So so cruel,” you murmur. “I am ashamed that you have my heart.” 

The words are spoken with a quiet vindication that makes Neteyam feel like his nerve endings are fraying. A singular tear arcs over the swell of your cheek and an ache roots in his gut. 

“Don’t say that,” he says, throat bobbing as he swallows the emotion threatening to bubble over. “I–” 

“Neteyam.” Your father’s voice is stern, the flap of the tent flipping as he reenters. 

Neteyam bites the inside of his lip as he spares you one last glance and your resolve dissipates when the broad expanse of his back faces you. 

You’d expected Neteyam taking his leave to be some semblance of closure for the two of you, as clean of a break as you could come to terms with now that any precarious ties that bound the two of you were severed. But you hadn’t anticipated the singular ember inside of Neteyam fanning to be engulfing and all-consuming. 

“I know you’re there,” you say simply, plucking the petals and leaves from the flora to tuck into the small pouch strung across your chest. 

He’d been following you all afternoon, lingering a safe distance away, but his eyes haven’t left your healing frame and what had initially been confusion began to bleed into annoyance. 

“Pay me no mind,” he says simply, emerging from the brush with a bow and quiver.

It’s been over a week since the sky people had infiltrated your corner of the forest and Neteyam hasn’t let you leave his sight once.

From the morning eclipse to the evening’s, Neteyam’s doted on you; shearing chunks of fruit, grinding down your herbs for your treatments, rewrapping your wound under Mo’at’s careful supervision. 

You’d asked him to give you a moment of peace in the forest alone, but it wasn’t long before you scented him, heard his labored breathing as he tried to keep up with you. 

You heed his word, stonewalling his presence like he’s nothing but another leaf stretching from the trees. And for a while, a long stretch of silence surrounds the two of you as you venture deeper and deeper into the forest. 

But before you know it, each one of your steps is exchanged like for like, his looming and muscular frame eclipsing you like a shadow as you try to ignore the fact that he’s drawing nearer. 

You turn on your heel to face him just as he settles a pace away, eyes clear and golden. 

“What?” you snip, taking a step back. 

He takes a step forward. 

“You should not overexert yourself,” he replies simply. 

“And what happened to paying you no mind?” 

His fingers brush your sore wound and your gaze flits to the way his fingertips ghost over the dressing wrapped around the expanse of your lower abdomen. 

The grin he gives you has many layers. You immediately decipher something sly, coy, as he searches your face. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” he says quietly. “I want you to pay me all the mind.” 

Your expression is dry, eyes rolling as you step away from him. You’re swatting his palm away and shaking your head like a final warning. 

“You don’t get to flirt with me after all this time,” you say, blanketing the semi-tense air with a cover of finality. “And you shouldn’t. There is no longer an obligation for us to be within vicinity of each other.” 

You sound so cold, like you hadn’t spent the past decade pining after him in your own weird way. Like you hadn’t turned a blind eye when he found comfort in hopeful women despite wearing your heart on your oddly-stitched sleeve. Hadn’t been so willing to spend forever with him.

“You cannot dictate the turn of my heart,” Neteyam argues. 

The look you give him could instill fear in even the most intimidating predators. 

“You’d go to great lengths to quell a guilty conscience?” you ask. “Do not forget that forever is a long time. If nothing about our union piques your interest now, do not count on anything in the future.” 

You’re feeling for buttons to push, tender spots that will make him let up, but Neteyam isn’t easily swayed. He doesn’t know if he loves you now, but the last few weeks make certain that he will. He isn’t ashamed to admit that he’s falling fast and hard.  

“You’re not gonna get rid of me that easily, yawne.” 

The nickname makes you freeze, makes your eyes narrow as you glare up at the future olo’eyktan. 

“Don’t be insufferable, Neteyam.” 

“Duties be damned, I’ll spend every remaining moment doing right by you,” he says, fingers threading through yours so that he can bring your knuckles to his lips. 

Your heart wavers and he sees the way the curtain falls, eyes a fraction softer. 

He grins, tugging you closer. Moves your hair over your shoulder then skims his fingers along the sharpness of your jaw. 

It draws a shiver from you as you shift nervously, gaze fluttering from his eyes to the plush of his mouth. 

“Stop,” you whisper meekly. “We–”

“You’re mine, you hear me?” His voice is raw, edge melting away. “Union or no union. It’s always going to be you and me.” 

neng © 2023

taglist: @nao-cchi , @jkiminpark , @philiasoul , @amart-e , @s-u-t , @netesbby , @tayswiftlovebot , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @ewackmn , @fanboyluvr , @mazemymirror , @itssiaaax , @girlpostingsposts, @athenachu , @hiya-itsamber , @morks-watermelon 

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Flip-Flopped AU

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

1k. Series Masterlist

My entry in the Flip-Flopped Summer Writing Challenge by @munson-blurbs and @corroded-hellfire in which a plot point happens differently in your story and alters the trajectory.

In this AU, Eddie and Teach got lost in the heat of the moment in Chapter 17 and both decided not to use a condom.

CW: pregnancy, big feelings, protective!eddie

If this is not your thing, feel free to scroll on past! This does not affect the main story whatsoever.

The days were getting longer. 

The changing of the clocks had sunlight stretching on past dinner time. Birds were making nests outside your bedroom window, singing as early as you woke. But they had been feeling longer even before now. Back when frost still clung to the windows of your classroom, you would find yourself slumped against your desk before lunch period—bleary-eyed with a tiredness that seeped into your bones, made you want to sleep forever. They were long because you were exhausted, and not just from work.

There were changes in your body. The early nausea had ebbed for you to discover your appetite again. You couldn’t wear underwire bras anymore, not that any of yours fit anyway. You could smell the ink from the Xerox machine over by the coffee table clear across the room; a superpower you never wished you had. When it finally stopped whirring, you got up from the table and sought to alleviate the pain in your lower back with a stretch. It did little good. With a tired sigh, you plodded over to the Xerox machine, grabbing the warm stack of copies and securing them with a binder clip before placing them atop three large textbooks. You hoisted the stack, wincing at the soreness in your breasts but thankful for the shield it provided. You’d noticed another change this morning that had you feeling anxious others would as well.

Like clockwork, Eddie was waiting just around the corner, leaning against the concrete wall pretending to read one of the novels you’d assigned last fall. He brightened as he saw you, stuffing the dog-eared book into his back pocket. “Hey,” he breathed, joining your stride.

You smiled, parroting the same in response, unable to stop the tingles at the sight of him from radiating down your chest to flutter low. That hadn’t changed at all.

“Let me grab that,” Eddie offered with a nod of his chin.

You clutched the stack like a safety blanket, readjusting your hands against the stiff covers. “It’s fine, I’ve got it.”

“Come on, you probably shouldn’t be carrying so much while—” Eddie glanced around the bustling hallway, lowering his voice, “in your current condition.”

You sighed, softened by the concern in his deep brown eyes, the way he hovered so attentively beside you. “Ok, fine.” Veering out of traffic, you halted by one of the bulletin boards and yielded the stack of books into his waiting arms.  

That was when he saw it—the swell under your floral cotton dress. 

It had appeared practically overnight. Or at least it seemed that way. You had been looking out for it for many weeks now, always checking in the mirror before you left, making sure your clothing covered anything suspicious. It was easy in the winter, but there hadn’t been much to hide then—aside from the truth to those closest around you. Now that the trees of late March were beginning to bud, your options were dwindling to dresses with empire waists and generous fabric, big t-shirts on casual Fridays. 

A lump caught in Eddie’s throat, eyes locked on the small bump. He almost dropped the books, hands burning with the urge to feel the evidence of his fatherhood. Your eyes met for a long, heavy second, welling with mutual recognition. Chatter echoed off the tile, lockers slammed, shoes squeaked and quickened with the approaching bell. Reluctantly, you broke his gaze to glance around, folding your arms protectively across your midsection before starting slowly down the hall again. 

It was a longer walk than usual, or maybe it just felt that way because of the weight of your predicament hanging between you, or maybe it was born out of the desire to be close as long as possible.

Suddenly, a freshman whizzed by, weaving in and out of traffic to bump past your left shoulder. You stumbled, clutching your belly reflexively as your feet righted themselves beneath you. 

Eddie felt a rage course through him like he’d never felt before. Icy like fear, but igniting to a blind fury that seared through his veins, made his vision narrow until he saw nothing but red. “HEY!” he barked. All of a sudden his shoes were pounding the tile as if moving on their own, books shifting to his left arm while his right reached for the handle on the freshman’s yellow backpack. He yanked the kid back, almost lifting him off the ground to face him. “How ‘bout you watch where you’re going, ‘kay?” he gritted.

Terror swept across the freshman’s pimpled face. “‘Kay,” he eked out. 

Nostrils flaring, Eddie held his gaze for a second to drive home his point before releasing his grip. The freshman clambered away, straightening his shirt and glancing over his shoulder as he slunk into one of the classrooms. Eddie stood there a moment, staring at the door he’d vanished into, steadying his breath before your voice broke the spell.

“Eddie,” you started wearily, unable to maintain your exasperation when you saw the worry so vividly in his eyes.

“You tripped.”

“I’m fine,” you soothed, resuming your place, close enough to brush the hair on his arm. Though you didn’t condone the outburst, you couldn’t deny it stirred a warm, buzzing feeling in you. 

You walked together carefully in silence as the chaos swirled around you. But the tension didn’t leave his shoulders, not even once he unloaded the pile from his arms with a thud onto your desk. 

The classroom was empty, but not for long. Beyond the open door was a commotion of footsteps, any one of them with the potential to breech the threshold. Eddie eyed your bump again, and the stiffness in his jaw softened slightly to longing. Stepping around the corner of the desk, he closed in until it was just about the only thing between you. 

“I’m coming over later,” he said just above a whisper, eyes flitting up to yours before resting on your belly again.

A smile cracked through the worry on your face for just a moment before a glance at the door made it return. You could tell from the heat in his eyes just how badly he wanted to touch you, just how close he was to letting the impulse take over.

He followed your glance toward the door, then back to the subtle swell, rising and falling with your bated breath. With a determined set of his jaw, and eyes that brimmed with unbridled wonder, Eddie raised his hand and placed it firmly on your belly. It was warm and soothing, thumb stroking gently over the smooth cotton.

And for a fleeting moment, on an exhale you both shared, all was right in the world.

______

A/N: If you loved this, please tell me! And lmk if you want to be added to the AU taglist (which will be separate from my main one) because I will be writing more of these! Just little vignettes.

I am taking requests for anything and everything in this AU, so if there is a moment or situation you want to want to see, send me an ask!

Also, there will be a celebration hosted by the lovely @teddiemunson86 and @ladylilylost on their discord server tomorrow Sunday, Sept. 1st at 2pm EDT where I will be talking about chapter 17 and what the future has in store for our forbidden lovebirds (and maybe the AU as well)! If you're interested in joining, the link to the server is here. Hope to see you there!

Tagging my main list just this once to gauge interest: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly

@kissmyacdc @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @carolmunson @keeponquinning

@blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @alizztor @godcreatoreli

@ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxxsblog @siriusmuggle

@sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420

@readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless

@eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo

@eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi

@liminalpebble @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins @mimsthebannished @tssf-imagines

@eddiethesexy

[lost-in-lamentation]

sharing a bed was a fleeting thought in his mind; who would have thought it'd have to happen so soon?

content: when there’s only one bed, what will the demon brothers do?

no warnings, really; just a lot of fluff. non-established relationships and some subtle confessions.

after being sent back to the human world, you spent some time gathering research materials and inspiration for diavolo's upcoming RAD event. the excursion left you tired enough that you were dragging your feet to your hotel with your paired exploration partner just behind you. you checked into the hotel with ease, tension finally leaving your shoulders at the thought of going to bed. but the hotel seemed to have forgotten to tell the both of you about the sleeping arrangements of the room you were booked into. when you got to your room, you hesitated to enter, but when he asked you what was wrong, the words slipped out. “there’s only one bed.”

belphegor. ═  ˎˊ˗

“oh, really?” belphie slips around you, tired eyes surveying the room in front of him. he shrugs a few moments later, sliding his bag off his shoulder and onto the ground. “i’m fine with it if you are,” the demon hums. 

you raise an eyebrow at him, shuffling to the other side of the room to place your own belongings down. “you don’t seem very concerned about this situation.”

“would you rather i be excited?”

“wh- no!” pouting, you turn away from belphie, rummaging through your bag as an excuse to not face him. “just go shower already. i’ll probably take longer than you, so i’ll go after.” he hums again in return, and you hear him enter the washroom not long after. with him out of earshot, you sigh quietly to yourself, pretending that you don’t feel the tips of your ears burning

by the time you finish your shower, you half expect belphie to be knocked out. instead, you find him lying on top of the covers, eyes fixated on the ceiling before they flicker over to look at you. “you’re still awake?”

he shoots you a smile, and your heart skips a beat. “didn’t feel like sleeping.”

“that’s rich, coming from sloth himself.” you stifle a laugh at his excuse, throwing your daytime clothes onto your bag before hopping up onto the other side of the bed. the pillow belphie had set in the middle of the bed as a border felt more like an obstruction rather than a guidance. “so what? couldn’t sleep without me around?” you croon, strangely delighted at the blush that spreads across the youngest’s face. 

but belphie is quick to control his expression, and he’s smirking not more than a few seconds later. “didn’t want to sleep without you,” he says, parroting the tone that you had just used. your jaw drops as belphie laughs, and when you finally decide to say something, he beats you to it. “sweet dreams, MC,” belphie murmurs, features soft under the light before he flicks the bedside lamp off.

“g-goodnight,” you manage to stutter out, turning away from belphie to face the other wall. a subconscious habit of yours, you begin to clench and unclench your fists, making rustling noises under the blankets. you continue for a while, until you feel a hand on your back and hear a gentle voice calling to slumber, eyes falling closed as belphie strokes you softly.

beelzebub. ═  ˎˊ˗

ever the considerate demon of the bunch, beel gives you the most steadfast look he is capable of. “i can take the floor, MC.” 

you quickly shake your head in response. “beel, i don’t want you doing that here.”

“i sleep on levi’s floor whenever i fall asleep while watching him play games. it’s okay.”

a grimace forms on your face at his reasoning. “that… doesn’t exactly make me feel better about it.” you give the demon one more look, but when you see how determined beel is, you back down. “fine. but you’re taking the comforter.”

seemingly happy with the exchange, beel grins at you, his eyes nearly sparkling with victory. you sigh at him, but with his famous puppy-dog look, you can’t stay mad. with a hand on his wrist, you pull him into the room, unaware of the way his eyes widen at your touch. eventually, the blush on his face dies, and the two of you get all your things sorted before freshening up for bed. as beel walks out of the washroom, towel draped around his neck, you tug the comforter free from the mattress, placing it at the foot of the bed. 

the sixth born frowns at the comforter, and then at you. “you’ll get cold at night.”

you wave your hand at beel, smiling at him despite feeling the chill settle into your bones already. “don’t worry, i never get cold,” you say, hoping he buys your act. 

the demon is reluctant, but nods and takes the comforter in the end. you watch as he sits down and spreads the fabric across himself, waiting until he finishes. when he does, you bid him goodnight, reaching over to turn off the light before curling into yourself underneath the bed sheet. it doesn’t take long for you to start shivering, and you internally curse at yourself when your shaking makes the bed frame groan. silently, you pray that beel has already fallen asleep, but he does not possess the same aptitude for it as his twin. your hear him stand up, and he softly taps your shoulder before saying anything. “actually… can we share the bed?” 

you swallow your chattering, turning your head to face him, even if you can’t see in the dark. “floor isn’t comfy enough?”

“it’s fine, but you’re really cold, aren’t you? you’ll be warmer if you have the comforter. and if i’m there too.” 

your heart warms at his sincerity, and you flip yourself over to wave him closer to yourself. 

the dark serves well to hide beel’s burning face from you, and he’s glad that the lights are off right now. he swiftly throws the covers over the both of you, settling into the bed close enough that you feel his warmth, but aren’t touching.

you’re confused when you hear him holding his breath, so your hand feels around the bed until you can find his.

beel nearly flies out of the bed when he feels your fingers lock with his, but it’s his hunger for you that keeps him still. “goodnight MC.” 

you want to say goodnight back, but you feel lips brush over your knuckles in the dark, and you no longer have the courage to say it. instead, you tighten your grip, relaxing further until you fell asleep.

asmodeus. ═  ˎˊ˗

asmo practically squeals in delight, and you immediately slap a hand over his mouth to quiet him down. “there are people in the other rooms!” you hiss, taking your hand away from his face and dragging him inside the room instead. with a sigh, you dig your fingers into your temples; but you suppose that asmo not being picky about sharing a bed is a nice surprise. “just- go get ready for bed,” you grumble, throwing your bag into a corner before flopping down on the nearby chair. 

“we’re gonna do skincare together after, okay MC?” you haphazardly throw a thumbs-up at asmo, waiting for him to disappear into the washroom before you gather your things. 

surprisingly, asmo finishes his regular routine in record time, and a part of you wonders if it’s because of the fact that you’re sharing a bed. you shake the idea away, trudging into the washroom to clean yourself up. when you finish, asmo is laying all his different products out onto the desk next to the bed. you can only stare at the sight, and find a seat next to him on the bed as he debates what brand of toner to use. as soon as his decision is made, asmo places one bottle onto the desk, and the other gets thrown into his luggage. finally, he turns to you, eyes sparkling with excitement. 

“first, we wash our faces with this!” 

you blink at the bottle in his hand. “i just washed my face with the bar of soap they gave us.” 

asmo looks at you incredulously, stuck feeling something between disgust and amazement at the lack of effort. “well, you’re going to wash your face again!” 

the avatar of lust lives up to his name; you spend over an hour going through the perfect skin care routine until asmo finally gives the word that you’re done. 

“that was a lot,” you breathe out, flopping onto the bed with a relieved sigh. “you do that every night?” 

the demon laughs at your question, but his answer catches you further off guard, “of course not! my routine at home is much longer. we just didn’t have enough time to do all of it today. i still need my beauty sleep, MC.” you do your best to hold your expression, but you can’t help the slip of shock that flickers across your face. “you know, i’ve never done this with anyone,” asmo begins. “my brothers all run away either halfway or even before we start.”

“really?” you turn onto your side to look at him, and asmo smiles at the gesture.

“really. so, thanks for doing this with me.” he ruffles his hair into place as he walks to the light, switching it off before climbing onto the bed next to you. “good night MC.” he doesn’t wait for your response before pulling the blankets up to his chin. “i hope i can spend more nights like this with you,” he whispers to himself, part of him hoping you heard it, and part of him praying you didn’t.

satan. ═  ˎˊ˗

the avatar of wrath immediately turns on his heel and walks away, stalking towards the elevator with a determined look on his face. panicked at what he might do, you snatch his wrist and yank him back towards you, matching his glare with one of your own.

“where do you think you’re going?”

“front desk. i’m going to get this fixed.” 

you wince at the idea of satan yelling at the hotel receptionist and getting yourselves kicked out. “what you’re going to do, is take a shower and calm down. i’ll head down and see if they can do anything, but i’m not risking you lashing out at them. got it?”

satan twitches uncomfortably at your scolding tone, but nods nonetheless. wordlessly, he marches into the room, leaving you to venture downstairs to the front desk. 

much to your dismay, and not so much surprise, there were no more rooms with two beds available. the receptionist confirms that there was an error during the information transfer between booking sites, so you say your thanks before asking for an extra blanket and heading upstairs. when you return, satan says nothing, only giving you an inquisitive look. you shake your head in response, also remaining silent as you grab what you need to freshen up. you finish quickly, exhaustion too prominent as you realise you don’t have the energy to be mad at anything. on one side of the bed, satan sits against the headboard, legs straight in front of him as he reads through a book he had bought yesterday. as you come out, his gaze follows you, eyes narrowing in confusion when he sees you grab the extra fleece blanket you got earlier and sit down on the floor. 

“oi, what are you doing?” satan’s curiosity always has the better of him, asking questions before he can even think about it.

“you seemed very adamant about not sharing a bed,” you reply curtly, draping the blanket over your shoulders. “so i decided i’ll sleep on the floor.” 

“th-that’s not…” you glance up at the blonde, lips itching to smile as a blush spreads across his face. “i thought two beds would be better because i like to stay up reading, and if we share a bed, i might keep you up. that’s all.”

you feel your heart swell, even if you know the excuse is made up on the spot to cover up his embarrassment. “i’ll fall asleep easy, satan. you don’t have to worry about that.”

“is that so…” satan mutters to himself, weighing his options briefly before extending a hand to you. “just get up here. my brothers would kill me if they found out i almost let you sleep on the floor.” 

you place your hand in his, fingers curling around his palm as he pulls you up to join him. “thanks satan,” you beam, squeezing his hand tightly before rounding the corner of the bed to the other side. he mutters something you can’t hear, placing his attention back on his novel. “goodnight,” you hum quietly, turning away from him and pulling the covers over yourself.

a few minutes later, on the verge of sleep, you feel fingers threading through your hair and hear a gentle “goodnight, i love you,” before losing yourself to sweet dreams.

leviathan. ═  ˎˊ˗

“i can sleep in the bathtub.” 

you whip your head around to stare at levi, who is uncharacteristically serious. “come again?” 

he throws his hands up in defence, against what, you’re not really sure. “it’s not like it’s different from back home.” with your jaw hanging open, you continue to stare at him. “stop making that face! what’s wrong with sleeping in the bathtub?!”

you drag your hand down your face now, unsure if this idea is smart or stupid. “levi, this is a hotel bathtub. you don’t know who or what has been in it!” 

“i’ll clean it with soap before i sleep,” he protests.

“that’s besides the point!” you sigh in defeat, thinking that you’re too tired to argue about this right now. “fine, fine. but i’m casting a cleaning spell.” you see levi’s shoulders relax immediately, and you wonder why he refuses to share a bed with you in the first place. 

the both of you finish your nightly routines rather quickly, and once you determine that the bathtub is dry enough for levi, you cast your spell on it. you watch with a frown as he clambers over the side, still mostly against the idea of sleeping in the hotel bathtub. somehow, levi catches your discomfort, and quickly slides in against the walls of the tub before saluting to you. 

“feels good in here,” the water demon declares, trying his best to get you to relax. 

although it doesn’t exactly work, you resign anyway, telling levi you’ll be right outside if he needs you. with that, you bid him goodnight, leaving the door to the washroom ajar just in case. in the dead of the night, you last only around 15 minutes, before the guilt gets the better of you. angrily, you throw covers away from yourself, stomping towards the washroom and jerking the door open. you can only hear levi’s splutters of confusion as he flails around. you inhale sharply, flicking the light switch before locking eyes with levi and saying, “bed. now.”

levi flushes immediately, his face scarlet red with confusion and embarrassment. “y-you won’t be able to sleep if i’m there!”

“i’ll fall asleep faster with you next to me instead of in this godforsaken bathtub!”

he freezes at the statement; of course, initially he wanted to share the bed, but he was too afraid of being seen as weird for wanting to do so. levi swallows his fear, pulling himself out of the bathtub just slightly. “... you mean it?” 

you sigh again for the nth time that night, but reach your hand out to him as you do so. “yes, levi. now please, just come to bed.” 

levi is reluctant, but he takes your hand in the end, allowing you to pull him away from the washroom and towards a proper sleeping surface. when you feel him sink into the mattress, you feel relief flooding your body, tiredness making its appearance now that levi is next to you. “sleep well,” you murmur, knocking out as soon as your head hits the pillow. 

unbeknownst to you, levi does not fall asleep until at least 2 hours later, but he takes comfort in the fact that you’d rather have him by your side than far away. he’ll have the courage to hold you while you sleep another day.

mammon. ═  ˎˊ˗

mammon peeks into the room, his face unreadable for a fleeting moment.

"guess there's no helping it. we're sharing." 

the white haired demon spins to look at you, disbelief written across his features. "sharing?!" 

"what about it?" you ask, exasperated. lightly, you push against one of his shoulders, turning him back around so that you can escort him into the room. the door shuts behind you with a click, and despite the room being dimly lit, you quickly notice the red dusting mammon's ears. "mammon? you don't want to share a bed with me?" 

mammon trips on his words, fumbles with his sentences. eventually, he manages to get out an "i'll just sleep on the chair." he moves in full speed, suddenly grabbing his sleeping clothes from his bag and rushing into the washroom a second later. 

too tired to press him about it, you let the matter go, scrolling your phone while you wait for your turn in the washroom. when mammon steps out, refreshed for the night, he pulls the chair out from under the desk, dropping himself onto it rather gracefully. you give him a look, but mammon has his eyes on everywhere except you. sighing, you give up for the second time that night. but as you head into the washroom, you tell yourself that the third time's the charm. mammon won't feel comfortable in that chair, and you don't feel great about letting him sleep there either. 

your mind is made up, and by the time you're ready to sleep, mammon is now tucked into himself on the chair, knees pressed up against his chest as he attempts to make use of the tiny space. you wait for him to look at you, but when he does, he tears his gaze away and hides his face in the crook of his elbow. you grow soft at the sight, seeing the way his blush reaches just to where you catch it. stifling a giggle to yourself, you switch the light off, hopping up onto the bed just after. once you get comfortable, you burrow into your side of the bed, flipping over to be able to see mammon's figure in the dark.

"goodnight mammon," you call out.

it takes him a second, but he brings his face up so that he isn't muffled. "... g'night, human." 

you smile to yourself, forgetting that mammon can see even without the light. luckily for him, you can't see the way his blush deepens, and how his gaze looks over you with such stark affection. meanwhile, you wait 15 minutes, listening to the way mammon shifts on the chair, and when you think he's also had enough of pretending to be okay with it, you call out to him again.

"mammon?"

"oh, you're awake?"

"come join me." you hear him inhale sharply, so you push yourself up onto an elbow. "i don't want you sleeping in that chair." 

mammon feels his sin surge up, greed entering his nerves and pulling him to join you under the covers. he wants to hold back, but then he sees the way you hold the blanket up, inviting him closer with no strings attached. finally, he gives in, crawling in so that you face each other while lying down. the space between you and him is infinite, and yet, so short at the same time. mammon feels his heart jump into his throat when you cross the boundary first, your hand reaching up to scratch his chin. he relaxes instantly, and before he knows it, he's murmuring out an apology before his arms wrap around your back and tug you into his chest. to his delight, you don't pull away, instead tucking yourself closer. 

perhaps he can be greedy for you just this once.

lucifer. ═  ˎˊ˗

"will you be alright by yourself?"

you blink in surprise at the question. "eh? i mean, yes, but, where are you going?" 

lucifer places a hand on the small of your back, guiding you inside the room while he stays outside the doorway. "i'll go around the city and find a hotel with another room. after all, it would be impolite to have to force you to share a bed." 

"wait- huh?" you squawk in confusion, turning on your heel to face the avatar of pride. you have a feeling that being impolite is just an excuse. 

"i will text you when i've found a hotel. for now, go and clean yourself up. it's been a long day, and-"

"and that's exactly why you're staying here." you reach for the cuff of his sleeve, fingers holding tightly despite the glare you receive from lucifer. 

the demon makes no move to tear his hand away, and instead sighs into his other one instead. "MC, really." 

"lucifer, it's almost past midnight," you hiss, now trying to tug him into the hotel room. "you won't be finding any hotel rooms at this time, and i'll be too worried about you out there that i won't get any sleep anyway." keeping your grip steady, you pull on his sleeve again, waiting for lucifer's next move with bated breath. 

between the look on your face and the iron grip you have him in, lucifer can only give up, begrudgingly following you into the room. to his surprise, your eyes light up when he finally agrees, and he thinks that maybe he made the right choice if you were this happy. he doesn't say much else, instead hurrying you into the washroom to wash up. once you're inside, he groans to himself; lucifer can't deny the fact that he's also somewhat elated at the situation, and yet, he can't help but feel nervous about it. the mere fact that a human like yourself has such a big impact on him has him wondering if he should have agreed to this trip in the first place. but when you come out of the washroom, ready for the night, lucifer also can't help but think that he's glad that this side of you is reserved for him on this trip. 

you send lucifer a smile, tilting your head towards the shower to tell him it's his turn. a gentle hum makes its way towards your ears, and before lucifer disappears from sight, you see a ghost of a smile gracing his features. 

by the time he finishes, you're already tucked into one side of the bed, scrolling your phone for text messages that you missed during the day. lucifer watches you with careful eyes; his pride is too great to admit to himself that he loves to see you so relaxed around him, but his racing heart speaks a different story. carefully, he climbs into bed next to you, waiting until your gaze matches his to speak. 

"if you are uncomfortable at any time, please let me know." 

"oh, please. if i'm going to be stuck in this situation, i'm glad that it's you here." you set your phone down, turning onto your side to face him. as you roll over, you reach up to brush away the hairs that have fallen onto his forehead, giggling at the way lucifer stiffens at your touch. "goodnight, lucifer," you practically sing, turning away again to leave your back exposed to the demon.

lucifer, now that you're facing away, allows himself to smile. just as you feel yourself falling asleep, he drapes an arm over your waist, pulling you close. his chest rumbles as he says his goodnight, and you fall asleep immediately in the safety of his arms.

a/n: i really wanna do a 500 follower thing but uh... what do people do for those-

reblogs are really appreciated (´ω｀) ♡

[loveinhawkins]

Steve gets the idea from Dustin and Robin, in a roundabout way: Robin insists on buying a camping stove from The War Zone, which Dustin pounces upon with glee as soon as he notices it.

“Oh, we’re cooking with gas now,” he says, which is the worst pun Steve has heard thus far.

Eddie snorts, almost but not quite hidden underneath the sound of the engine. Steve smiles.

“Y’know there’s a stove right here?” he asks in benign exasperation, gestures behind him to the little kitchen area of the RV.

“Steve,” Robin says, “that’s not as fun.”

“Yeah, come on, Steve! It’ll be like at Camp Know Where—”

“Know Nothing,” Steve mutters automatically.

“—we oft dined al fresco.”

“Oft,” Eddie parrots, and Steve can faintly feel the movement of him laughing, from where he’s pressed up against the back of the driver’s seat. “Al fresco. Henderson, what lab did they make you in?”

“Eddie, either shut up or back me up, I wanna get a culturally enriching experience outta this.”

“Oh, excuse me, didn’t realise this was a field trip.”

“You’re excused.”

“Okay,” Steve cuts in, “have fun playing at camping, Henderson, but don’t come crying to me if you, like, blow yourself up.”

Robin chuckles. “Such a happy camper.”

“Boo,” Steve says flatly.

He parks the RV a little bit away from a store just off the main road—heads in alone as it’ll draw less attention. Out loud, he says it’s so he can focus without hearing whining pleas to buy junk food, whether Dustin-approved or not, but he already knows he’ll cater to each and every one of the group’s demands.

Eddie, surprisingly, doesn’t put in a request, says he’s happy to just go along with whatever everyone else wants—a far cry from when Nancy had relayed, with more amusement than frustration, “He said he wants a six-pack.”

Steve figures that the whole being wanted for murder thing would kill anyone’s appetite, but it still makes his stomach sink, that the most substantial meal Eddie’s gotten a chance to eat has been lukewarm Spaghettios.

They set up ‘camp’ in a field, and Robin’s the first to rush outside, shortly followed by Dustin, both intent on using the stove she’s bought.

Steve leaves them all to it, kind of enjoys the temporary peace of just messing about in the RV on his own—it gives him enough time to find where some crockery is kept, anyway.

He’s heating up chicken noodle soup on the stove when Eddie comes back in and tells him, “They got it working, no explosions yet.”

“Oh, miracles can happen. Good timing, by the way.” Steve switches the burner off, pours the soup into a bowl and sets it down on the table—where he’s already laid out a spoon. “Yours is ready.”

At first he doesn’t think the silence is all that unusual. He’s not really looking either, focusing on rinsing out the pan he’d used. But when he does glance up, it’s to see Eddie just standing there, looking at the bowl of soup and blinking rapidly.

It’s almost like… almost like he’s—

“Woah, hey,” Steve says, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Eddie says, even though he’s still quite clearly tearing up. “Absolutely nothing. Jesus Christ.” He groans, presses a couple of fingers to the inner corner of his eyes. “This is fucking mortifying, just pretend you didn’t—ugh.”

In barely a blink, he shuts himself away in the bathroom.

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again. “Hate soup that much, huh?”

A watery laugh from behind the door. “No.”

There’s a silence. Steve dries the pan and puts it away before calling, “It’s gonna get cold!”

It won’t for a while yet; he can still see tendrils of steam rising from the bowl.

There’s a long, drawn out sigh, and then Eddie opens the door, sidles in to take a seat at the table.

For a moment, Steve thinks he isn’t going to acknowledge it, which is fine. But as Eddie picks up the spoon he says, head down, “It’s just. That was, uh. Really—really nice.”

Steve’s concern abates a little; he can’t help giving a slight smirk. “Would it help if I was mean instead?”

Eddie laughs again, no tears in it this time. He shrugs with a grin. “Do whatever you want, man.”

He’s eating slowly, his spoon dragging through the soup. His eyes seem distant.

“It’s just… I miss—” His voice threatens to break, but doesn’t quite get there. “I miss… home.”

Before Steve can think of a reasonable reply, Eddie scoffs, rolling his eyes. He drops the spoon with a clatter. “God, that sounds so—”

“It doesn’t,” Steve interrupts.

“Yeah, sure.” Eddie picks up the spoon again, keeps scraping it against the bottom of the bowl.

“Dude, what did I tell you? You’ve gotta give yourself a break.”

Steve pauses, stuck on what to say next.

He can’t even relate, honestly. Home has long become something he couldn’t… Something he couldn’t really miss, exactly.

It’s ever-changing: the luxury of eating a late breakfast in History; the crunch of leaves underfoot as he walked the railroad tracks with Dustin; the chill of the freezer in Scoops Ahoy, Robin’s snorting laugh bouncing off the walls.

Now it’s his car radio playing as he gives rides on busy school mornings. A high school basketball game. A goddamn video store.

“I think you have this thing,” Steve says slowly.

“A promising start,” Eddie says, lips twitching.

He’s finished the soup. The sight spurs Steve on.

“I think you have this thing,” he repeats, more confidently, “where you think that, like, we’re seasoned monster-killers, and you’re—”

“Uh, speaking objectively, Harrington, that’s kinda what you are.”

“My point is,” Steve says, “that you don’t need to—shit, I don’t know, man. Just. You don’t need to apologise or whatever. You’re doing fine.”

Eddie blinks. He’s cupping the empty bowl with his hands, breathing a little deeper, like the residual warmth is calming.

And that Steve can relate to: in the days after Starcourt, when Robin pretty much dragged him to her house, empty thanks to her folks visiting extended family. They both pretended that they just wanted to stay up late because they could, because they were just teenagers enjoying the summer, and Robin had made shitty hot chocolate from a powder, heating up milk on the stove; when Steve complained that he could hardly enjoy it through a busted lip, she’d said, still jittery, “I just thought—it’s just nice to hold, y’know?”

She was right.

One of Eddie’s fingers starts tapping against the bowl, the underside of his ring making a series of restless clinks. Steve wants to still his hand, gently press it further into the warmth. Settle him.

Eddie stands up with the bowl.

“I can—”

“Nah, I’ve got it,” Eddie says, already at the sink. He turns on the faucet, smiles. “Thanks, by the way.”

It’s so simple, so domestic, and all of a sudden, Steve’s struck with a thought: oh, I want this.

“No problem. I’ll get you something better, after… um, everything.”

Eddie chuckles. “Oh, Jesus, I think I actually would kill for some fries.”

Steve clicks his fingers. “So we’ll make it happen.”

“We?”

“Yeah, I hate to break it to you, man, but as soon as they hear about free fries—” Steve jerks his head towards the chatter outside, “—they’re gonna demand to come with, they’re like piranhas.”

He expects Eddie to play up the joke, to groan and complain.

But while he does laugh, Eddie just sighs before saying in earnest, “That sounds fucking fantastic.”

And his eyes are warm and fond, like maybe he’s found another home in all of them, too.