#but it's still annoying to be back in this same place

[lymtw]

Poor Shiu, spontaneously thrown into the un-designated driver role for both you and Toji. You both called him relentlessly to see if he could pick you up from the restaurant you were standing outside of, as neither of you were sober enough to drive back home. Meanwhile, Shiu and his wife were already cuddled up and sleeping like logs. When his phone started buzzing and he turned it over and saw Toji's name, he let it go straight to voicemail. He saw your name on his screen just five seconds later and also let it go to voicemail. No more calls came in for a while, and then he woke up to the sound of his phone buzzing, again. With an annoyed groan, he finally decided to answer your call.

That's how Shiu ended up with both you and Toji in the backseat of his car. The ride home was quiet for a while, because you both thought he was mad. He didn't say anything to you two when you hopped in the backseat and he accelerated the car aggressively once he started the drive to your house. If he wasn't actually annoyed, his demeanor sure didn't make it seem that way.

"Toji knocked over his glass of whiskey and it shattered everywhere," you tell Shiu, finally breaking the awkward silence, looking at him through the rear view mirror. "Like this, like this. I'm Toji... Oh look, a glass cup..." You, exaggeratedly, push your arm into Toji's chest during the reenactment and mimic the sound of the glass shattering. Shiu's gaze flits between the road and the mirror. He's trying not to laugh at your little performance and the offended look on Toji's face.

"Baby," Toji says, as if that little moment was a secret that no one besides you—and whoever else was around—was supposed to know.

"Sorry, baby," you say, smiling sweetly, while squeezing his hand, comfortingly.

"It's okay," he says, pecking your cheek. Then, he looks at Shiu through the rear view mirror and returns the favor. "She almost didn't make it to the bathroom and was about to pee all over the floor, like a dog. She was all like: Toji, where's the bathroom?! I'm gonna pee, i'm gonna peeeeeee!" Toji quotes you, for Shiu, this time. The man is fighting so hard not to crack up at the drunken lovers banter between you and Toji.

"Babe, you said it was okay," you whisper, still loud enough for Shiu to hear in the driver's seat. He just chuckles at your paired ridiculousness. You really are the perfect Dumb to Toji's Dumber.

"Sorry, doll," Toji says, giving you another longer kiss on the cheek. You both grin at each other and forget that you were ever beefing in the first place. You hold hands and stay quiet for the rest of the ride home.

-

"Toji, hold her hand. Make sure she's not trailing behind you," Shiu shouts, watching from outside his car as you hold your hand out and get air instead of Toji's hand. "And you, stop being so gentle. Hold on tight," Shiu says, referring to the two times your hand slipped out of Toji's, leading to your grasping of air.

"Come on, baby," Toji says, stopping to grab your hand. He drags you along with him to the front door and yawns as he pulls out his keys. Shiu stays until he sees the door open and you waving goodbye. He waves back, before you turn around and follow Toji inside the house. Then, he gets back into his car and quickly speeds off, rushing to return to the arms of his beloved.

Toji locks the door and kicks off his shoes, then waits for you to do the same so he can lead you to the bedroom. He's still holding your hand as you make your way through the dark hallway, only letting go once you reach the room. You crawl onto the bed and lie down, stretching your limbs as much as you can, until Toji gets there. He climbs into bed and lies on his side, turning you over so that you're facing him.

"You're so pretty," Toji murmurs, despite not being able to see you clearly in the darkness of the room. "Gonna put triplets in... in your belly," he slurs, poking your stomach.

You giggle at the thought of walking around with a huge belly, the image of it being way bigger than you only further egging on your amusement.

"Let's kiss," Toji says, pulling you until you're up against him. "Right now," he murmurs, leaning in. He manages to graze the corner of your lip, before you push his face away.

"Mm... Why not, pretty baby?" He whines, confused. "Want you to kiss me."

"Okay, fine. Let's kiss," you say, as if it was your idea. You both miss when you lean in to kiss each other. Your lips land on Toji's nose and his land on your chin. It's fine, you're both into it, just kissing random parts of each other's faces, but when your lips finally find each other, it's amazing. You're lost in the contact and the warm feeling, so desperate to give and receive more kisses. You think rolling on top of him will give you an advantage in speed and quantity, but Toji also thinks the same for himself—that it will favor him—so he assists you in getting on top of him. His hands go under your shirt and feel the warmth of your skin beneath them, but when he maneuvers his hands so that they're on your waist, you stop kissing him back and laugh at the ticklish sensation, rolling over to get away from it.

"You're gonna fall," Toji says, a quiet gasp leaving him when your leg slides off the bed. He grabs onto the hem of your shirt, and pulls you back with whatever strength he's conscious of in this inebriated state. "No, baby. Hey," he calls, attempting to grab your attention. "This way, this way. Roll over this way," he says, still pulling you. "Ah, shit." He sighs, defeated, when he loses the grip he had on your shirt and hears a thud.

"Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!" You cry out, cackling on the ground, deliriously, afterwards. Not even ten seconds later, the pain settles in and you stop laughing. "Ow, I think I cracked my head open," you say, lying there, not even attempting to get up. Out of context, it would look like you are having an existential crisis, because of how you blankly stare up at the ceiling.

"Shut up. No, you didn't," Toji says, a tinge of fear causing his heart to beat a little faster. He sluggishly moves to lay across the bed and leans over the edge to check on you. "Can you get up?" He asks, and you simply shift your eyes in his direction, not moving an inch.

"I can, but I won't. I'm a bug. And the floor? It's a goddamn Venus Flytrap, that is slooowly digesting me."

Toji snickers, his concern for you being injured dropping by the second. "You're so dramatic, sometimes, ma." The longer he looks at you on the ground, the harder it is to hold back his laughter. "Get back up here. We're supposed to be mackin'."

You interlock your fingers and rest your hands on your stomach. "Any chance you can come down here?"

"No. Absolutely not," Toji responds, instantly.

You sigh through your nose. "Keep the bed warm for both of us, then, 'cause, like I said, I've fallen... and I can't get up," you say, dramatically throwing an arm over your eyes, as if the predicament you're in signals the end of the world.

"Ma, stop playing. I'm cold."

You peek at him from under your arm, with narrowed eyes. "You're not even using the blanket, genius. Cover up." You lift your heels off the floor and let them fall, finding amusement in the recoil of your feet.

"You come cover me up." He kicks the blanket to the other side of the bed, until it falls on the ground. "It's a stupid blanket and I don't want it, I want you. I want you to warm me up."

"Shh, listen." You raise your feet, again, and let them fall, grinning at the dull bonking noise your heels make when they hit the floor. "That was cool, huh?"

"Babyyy," Toji whines, frustrated by the lack of affection he's getting from you. "Babyyy! Babyyy!"

You sigh and sit up, feeling all the ache in your back from the fall. You reach forward and peel your socks off your feet, folding them into each other, so that they're balled up.

"Bab-" Toji's cut off by the impact of something soft that was thrown at his forehead. Something that leaves him confused, when he can't find it after being hit.

"Finally." You groan as you stand up from the floor, stumbling a little as you work to balance yourself. You feel like you're in a daze as you look around the room. Your vision remains bleary, no matter how much you blink to try and clear it.

"Come over here," Toji says, sitting up on the bed. He outstretches his arms and watches as you slowly walk towards him. His arms wrap around you once you settle in his lap and he lays down with you, both of you on your sides, face to face, like before.

"I'm tired," you mumble, resting your head on his chest.

"I know, pretty. Me too," Toji responds, following the words with a kiss to the top of your head. His hand slides up the back of your shirt and rubs your back, occasionally applying pressure to some areas. He's aware that the fall must have hurt more than just your head, so he's trying to make it better, even if his touch only offers the smallest bit of relief for you.

Clearly, it did something, because your eyes fell shut, you stopped talking and you weren't moving around anymore. You fell asleep. The soothing motions he did on your back, worked wonders. Normally, when you're drunk, you ramble so much and you talk Toji's ear off. He doesn't hate it, but he always ends up having to humor you about the most random things.

Usually, he can't get you to settle down until you sober up a little, but tonight is different. Tonight, he gets to coil around you and warm you up manually, since the blanket he kicked off the bed has been forgotten on the floor. He gets to wake up and put you back to sleep with those same soothing motions on your back, when you stir awake in his arms. Best of all, he gets to wake up to your pretty face in the morning and take in that smile that expresses your remembrance of the night before.

[scartale-an-undertale-au]

So... I see this a decade after i decided to simply... Stop instigating conversations because i felt like im simply burdening others with my presence and that they actually felt annoyed having to hear from me and wished i wouldnt send messages.

The thing is that none of them ever approached me afterwards. When we saw each other after a while we would be ecstatic but there was a wall between us already and i dont know if its simply life going on and us being very different than back then, or that they truly didnt see me the same as i saw them (as my besties).

One time i met one of them (this one specifically was my best friend from first grade until twelve basically) on the street and i see that she's married and walking with her husband. Turns out the wedding was that sunday and i wasnt even notified of it happening or of the engagement. I wasnt mad about not being invited, but i was hurt for not even being notified! She then turned to her husband and said that im a friend of her from high school.

Its been a decade from high school so i can see why she said that, but that hurt me so badly that the moment i waved them goodbye and they disappeared around a corner, i collapsed and just sobbed. I was so heartbroken. It seemed that i was the only one who still thought of her as my old school's bestie or had thought of including her in any future milestones simply because she was so important to me.

So i dont know how i feel about this post. I understand where you guys are coming from and its in good intentions, but the main issue is that many kids who become the sole instigators were never shown that they can be vulnerable in front of their friends about this matter. It felt like its your duty and how you contribute to the group. And when it became harder and harder, the friends never questioned why you pulled away or asked for your wellbeing. It turned into a situation when you feel more like a nuisance than a leader.

Fortunately, i have now friends who instigate so much more than me and i keep telling them how i appreciate it and apologise for how terrible i am at texting back and that its never because i dont want them to text me. Its simply because texting or answering messages had become so hard for me and so mentally taxing i sometimes shut down when i see messages i need to reply to.

So rambling aside, as much as i appreciate your sentiment, i think a different approach would be helpful.

My approach (which is not better or worse, just a different approach) is to get comfortable with a 'friends for one day' reality. I go so many times to so many places and meet so many amazing people, we always say we'll contact one another and keep in touch and then never contact one another again, and that's alright.

You have to be comfortable with being friends without focusing on the 'keeping the friendship going' let people come and go. Those who truly want to stick around will stick around, and they usually have a much deeper connection with you that isnt dependant on who instigates the conversations.

My friends are those that mostly text in memes and reels since we dont see each other often. And i do the same in return. Its easier and relays so much more. We have proper conversations here and there, but our actual interactions happen physically. And they instigate meetups much more than i do and i always make sure that they know that i appreciate it. One of my friends and i also have some differences in opinions, so we have some long discussions.

I also have a friend who i dont text to at all but invites me to shabbat meals once in a while and i come over and its like no time had passed. I invite her back for bbq or shabbat as well, but thats also once in a blue moon.

Another friend is across the ocean so its mostly photos and small comments and talks about our lives and since the war began, she keeps checking if im alive and well.

Another friend is also across the ocean and we mostly speak about our realities of being jews or squeal over her precious daughter or make plans for when she finally comes to Israel.

So my friends arent part of one group but many branches of different aspects of my life. I would say i have around seven/eight of them that arent my current co workers (work friendship is also temporary and i accept that fully and enjoy our time together) and im truly blessed because i had let go of the desperate need to keep my friends together.

So please dont call us a bitch for not willing to talk about it. And we're certainly not mini community leaders, we're just people who are friends with those that never cared about reaching out first or affirming our friendship in any kind of way. Its not fair to put the expectations of reaching out onto the one who constantly did that. Friends who truly want to keep up a friendship will attempt to do so when they see that the other side isnt as present as previously.

Sorry im all over the place, im on my phone and its harder to articulate on it

every now and then the internet decides it should revamp the ole “stop texting first and see how many friends you lose” when in reality you could literally just communicate that u feel bad that ur the only one texting first

[seosracha]

⸻ SAINT MATTHEW'S ACADEMY II (preview)

- "i haven't quite moved on from who you were before"

SYNOPSIS ⸻ heeseung at the start thought he wouldn't mind if you forgot him. but now with his best friend fighting for that sacred position in your heart, he can't help but try to make you remember.

PAIRING ⸻ lee heeseung x fem!reader x park sunghoon

GENRE ⸻ love triangle, exes to ??, friends to ??, private school au, angst, smut, fluff

TAGS ⸻ tba.

EST. WC ⸻ 20-25k

PREVIEW BELOW CUT ->

No more words, you said no more words after his confession. You stayed silent, and that pain flooded you today. The silence stayed with you.

Every night you’d spend on a phone call with him, laughing because no matter how hard you begged him he wouldn’t hang up first, was now filled with the darkness and tranquility of your room, the only sound being the cars that sped past your window or occasionally drunk people who’d loudly call out to taxi’s.

A tall figure towered over you, casting a dark shadow on your papers. An intense scent radiated off of them and you knew exactly who it was.

“Did Sunghoon come to school today?” Jay asked, just like he has every single day.

There was also Sunghoon. Another person you hadn't spoken to. Another person that just disappeared.

His presence in the situation felt so foggy, confusing. Your growing feelings for the boy also confused you.

Did Heeseung tell him to kiss you like that, touch you in those places?

You tried calling him, once, then twice and you’d call again a third time just in case the other two didn't go through. But he didn’t answer anymore. You didn't know if you wanted to speak to him so badly to find out what happened before the party or because you missed him.

Maybe it was both.

Jay chose to stick by Sunghoon almost immediately, which was appaling considering he knew Heeseung much longer. He claimed that Sunghoon just gave into his manly desires and Heeseung is wrong for punching him over nothing. ‘I’d do the same to her if I were him’- Jake forwarded a couple weeks back.

You were no longer mad at Jay, you’d no longer get annoyed at his snarky, degrading remarks. You just accepted the fact that he’ll never get better.

“No, he didn’t” you replied, turning around to face him “Just like he didn’t yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that one too” you added, a sarcastic smile on your face.

He dyed his hair, the blond locks no longer complimenting his sharp features. He looked much softer with the brown dye.

He sighed “Can I sit?” Jay eyed the seat next to you, and you looked at him amused.

“You want to sit next to a woman? Won’t my female aura disturb your studying?” you scoffed, a hint of sarcasm in your tone.

He rolled his eyes “Very funny” he looked over to Jake who has finally caught a whiff of him “Jakey, what you say?” he tilted his head.

The relationship between them used to be strong, but that’s probably because Jake pretended to be someone different, someone much ‘cooler’. Cooler as in a lame pig who liked to shove alcohol down innocent girls throats.

Oh you’d never let him forget that.

“Do whatever you want, I don’t care honestly” he replied, avoiding eye contact with him.

That’s how it was most day’s at school. Jake and Jay pretended to hate each other, not care, even though deep down, they still had so much left to say. Jay would come down to the study hall with an excuse of looking for Sunghoon, just so he wouldn’t be lonely.

[1d1195]

The Lottery III

Read The Lottery here | ~4k words

From me: takes place during her second year in town. It's Christmas time 🎄

Warnings: fluffy

Summary: It's truly embarrassing how smitten Harry is with her.

“Please, please, please!”

“No,” his voice was solid, flat, devoid of emotion. Impervious to her pleading it seemed.

She frowned and looked at him with a look that Harry assumed was supposed to be menacing. But it looked about as menacing as a baby bunny could be. “Harry Styles, people will think you’re The Grinch.”

“They already think that, Peach,” he rolled his eyes and moved to the next table check that the ketchup wasn’t completely depleted.

“Then I’ll think you’re The Grinch.”

That seemed to do something to his brain because he paused running around the diner. He looked at her with the same irritation that he always directed at her. The kind that made him annoyed because she wanted two different pancakes. Or that she didn’t wear the proper coat in the snow. Or that her tires needed to be replaced on her car, but she didn’t mind (refused to replace them) because she wasn’t driving very far these days and really, it wasn’t that big of a deal because it probably wasn’t going to snow in the remainder of that March.

Harry shook his head, remembering he was supposed to answer her. “Peach,” he sighed and rubbed his face. “I’ll look ridiculous.” There was no one else in the diner. It was nearly five in the morning. Much too early to have this conversation and even earlier to be having an argument.

But Harry thought she looked so cute. Cold but bright-eyed. “Well, that’s why I came now to ask. No one will know it’s you. We’ll park your car at my house, and you’ll tell everyone you have an appointment in the city. You’ll look unrecognizable.”

He stared at her for another moment before he turned to the coffee pot that he was brewing to make it cold for her. She was hours too early so it wouldn’t be cold. Her last pitcher was used up yesterday. Which only made him grumpier that he didn’t have what she liked. On top of being asked to do her ridiculous task. The silence was deafening. She smiled sweetly at him. “I’ll order regular pancakes for a week,” she offered.

He rolled his eyes. Maybe because he knew that he would still make her stupid pancakes and two omelets if she asked. “If anyone finds out s’me, I’ll tell them y’drugged me, Peach.”

“That’s very reasonable. While I’m asking for things, is it possible, I could borrow your oven for cookies and your coffee burners for hot chocolate?” She batted those pretty eyelashes at him, and he wondered just how obvious it was to her that he would do anything she asked of him.

“Y’know... I don’t do the whole town celebration thing,” he reminded her turning back to the coffee pot because if he looked at her any longer, he was going to tell her everything and this was not the time nor the place. She also wasn’t someone he wanted to know all his dark secrets. She was the one person that didn’t look at him with pity and he wanted that to remain true for as long as he could manage.

She frowned. “Well, I do,” which made next to no sense because at the time of asking she had only lived through one town Christmas—kind of. She wasn’t part of the traditions at all but somehow inserted herself into helping as much as she could. “No one will know it’s you,” she reminded him. “And I know you want to help,” she shrugged casually. “Can our pancake deal start tomorrow I’m desperate for peaches and white chocolate chips,” she dropped into her seat.

He didn’t answer, but he assumed she knew he was putty in her hands. “Coffee’s not cold yet,” he grumbled pouring her a hot cup.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to make me cold coffee anyway,” she shrugged and reached over the counter for the sugar and cream only for Harry to smack it away as was their own little tradition. “Oh!” She squealed and hopped out of her seat rushing out the front door as if she saw a ghost.

Harry blinked and hurried after her in case there was some kind of issue or if she saw something troublesome that would get her killed or kidnapped. Not that anything of the sort ever happened in their little town. But leave it to her to find something dangerous. “What—”

Her head was tilted nearly at a sharp forty-five-degree angle looking at the moon, dipping lower in the sky. Some of the stars were still out, and the sky was just starting to turn the slightest light blue. “Isn’t she pretty?” She sighed dreamily. Harry felt a warmth spread through his chest. The same kind that did any time she had him look at the moon. The awe, the fascination, the unadulterated innocence on her face made his heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, Peach, s’lovely,” he agreed and waited twenty seconds to let her stare. “S’cold out,” he reminded her because she of course didn’t put her coat back on for this expedition. Gently, he placed his hand on her lower back. “C’mon,” he encouraged. “I gotta make y’some pancakes.”

Harry swore she continued looking over her shoulder as he ushered her inside which just made him fall a little harder for her.

*

The day of the town’s Christmas festival Harry did what she said. He talked about his appointment in the city (that he didn’t have) all morning. When nearly everyone he ever knew was in town, he drove his car to her house where no one would notice it was there. He dressed in a red suit, and she drove him over in her own car dressed in an elf ensemble. Had Harry known she had a part to play he may have agreed a little faster. She was adorable, the shoes curled into a swirl at the toes, she was decked in red and green from head to toe and sure Santa was a symbol of Christmas but she was the near embodiment of it as well.

The second she stepped out of the car after all the little ones shouted excitedly for Santa, she pulled up the rear carrying a bag of candy canes over her shoulder.

“Miss Peach! You’re an elf too!?” Someone called when they realized the bookstore owner was in tow with Santa himself.

“You know Santa?!”

She giggled as Harry threw his voice and laughed at the little ones in awe over the pretty girl. They were right to be in awe. She was lovely. Making this happen. Picking someone certifiably Grinch-like. Yet he did it anyway.

“Santa’s sleigh is being fixed a couple towns over, so I picked him up and he was so grateful he agreed to come say hi to everyone! One of the elves gave me a costume to borrow for the day,” she explained. “Santa is going to see if he can get everything you all want, if you’ve been good.”

So, Harry took his seat on a chair that was much too poofy and frilly. It was set among a huge sack of mini presents, a mailbox for letters, and she dumped her bag of candy canes into a bucket. There were cookies and hot chocolate at the table beside the setup, run by her employees, curtesy of Harry’s oven and coffee maker. She stood beside Harry the whole afternoon as so many little ones came to tell Santa what they wanted.

What was worse was it was fun. Harry actually enjoyed being Santa. The little ones were so funny, and she was adorable dressed in her little get up. “Miss Peach,” one little boy whispered toward the end of their little event. He waved her over several yards away from Santa’s chair.

Naturally, she hurried over, leaving Harry with a pair of nine-year-old girls who wanted a lot of makeup and dolls. She greeted his parents who smiled knowingly at the cute bookstore owner with a little baby in a stroller beside the boy who waved her over.

“Is that the real Santa?” He asked gulping.

She smiled. “I got him off the sleigh and everything.”

He looked down nervously. She knew him from her story hours and going to the bookstore to do crafts related to the book of the week. “I’m kind of scared of Santa, Miss Peach,” he whispered.

“Oh,” she pouted. “There’s nothing to be scared of,” she whispered. “He’s very nice and just wants to know what you want for Christmas.”

“Will you go with me?” He asked.

She nodded and held his hand. “Hey Santa, Caden here is a little nervous,” she told Harry. Behind the hat, wig, glasses, a white beard and a firm pillow tucked into his shirt, it was next to impossible to know it was Harry.

How anyone couldn’t tell those pretty green eyes belonged to someone other than Harry was ridiculous to her, but whatever. She was eternally grateful he was doing this for her. Honestly, she couldn’t fathom why he would do it for her, but she wasn’t going to question it long enough for him to back out.

There was a kind smile beneath the white beard and mustache. One that she had only seen a handful of times. When it appeared on his face in the diner it was nearly always hidden from view—but every once in a while, she would see his pink lips turn up in a genuine smile. Happy over a joke someone made. Or how a little one told Miss Peach they had a crush on her.

She wondered if Caden knew how lucky they were to witness such a soft, beautiful sight. “S’that so?” He chuckled.

Caden tucked himself behind her leg and she bent to scoop the six-year-old into her arms. “Santa is a good friend of mine, he just wants to make sure you get what you want,” she assured him. “Do you want me to tell him?” She asked stepping closer toward Harry. He hid his face against her shoulder. Gently, she stroked the back of his head. “I used to be scared of Santa too,” she whispered. “But we’re friends now, right Santa?” She asked glancing over. Harry nodded, waiting patiently. Letting her do her thing. “Here,” she walked to Harry, wedged herself between Harry’s legs and perched on his thigh, stretching her own legs out so she wasn’t putting her full weight on his body. She sat Caden on her lap facing her and Harry.

Poor Caden looked like he was about to have a breakdown.

Harry knew what Caden was feeling almost at the exact same time. Other than a touch on her back or smacking her hand away, Harry hardly ever touched her. Now, her whole pretty butt was on his thigh. Had he known this would have happened, he wouldn’t have argued with her at all. She was so casual about it, as if she sat herself in his lap all the time. How was this not a moment in time that caused for absolute shock for her? Was he breathing? It felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Hey,” she smiled sweetly, encouragingly. “I’m right here, tell us about what you want Santa to bring,” she ran a hand across his cheek. “Do you want... a Lego set?” She asked. He glanced up shyly at Santa and nodded. Harry smiled behind his beard reassuringly. “And a skateboard?” She continued guessing what a little boy his age would want. He nodded again. “And... a unicorn stuffie?” She smirked.

He frowned and shook his head. Which made the two of them laugh. “My sister likes unicorns, not me,” he told them. Harry nodded.

“So, a skateboard for you and a unicorn for—” Without missing a beat, Harry watched her mouth the name of the younger sibling. “Lily.”

“You know Lily?” He asked, pure wonder in his eyes. Staring up at Harry like he was the most amazing person in the world. Harry did think he was the Grinch because his heart truly melted and it was all thanks to the pretty, peachie girl.

“Santa knows everything,” she whispered. “Can you say thank you?”

“Thank you... Santa?” Caden asked, hopping down from her lap and turning bravely toward him. She stepped away from his legs which made him feel cold and grumpy again. But he remembered to stay focused on Caden.

“Yes, lad?” Caden ushered him closer waving his hand toward him. Harry leaned down further so Caden could whisper in his ear.

“Can you help me get a present for Miss Peach?”

Harry looked at her as she gathered a candy cane, a cookie, a present, and a cup of hot chocolate for Caden to take. “Absolutely.”

*

When Santa left, Harry magically returned with his car and headed to the diner to check on things. “You missed all the fun Harry,” she sighed stepping behind the counter and heading for the coffee pots filled with hot water for her hot chocolate stand. “I brought Santa in and everything.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and stuck his arm out to stop her. “Did he tell you he was bring y’coal?” he rolled his eyes and turned her physically by her shoulders before she reached the coffee pots. “Get out,” he said.

“Miss Peach getting coal?” Edith laughed. “Harry, don’t be ridiculous.”

She smiled, a knowing smirk on her lips. “Can I please have more hot water for hot chocolate?” She asked.

He sighed, like it was a big to do. But he did it anyway. She was getting really good at reading his eyes. She could see the slight amusement. Or what she hoped was amusement. Maybe it was just more annoyance, but the light shining a little differently in his irises. “I’ll keep it coming,” he shrugged and handed her two of the coffee pots.

“You are like Santa himself,” she grinned and carefully walked out with the hot liquid. Someone held the door for her and Harry headed to the kitchen, smirking once he was behind the cover of the wall away from the rest of the diner.

*

Christmas morning in a small town was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was literally a Hallmark movie. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground. Against the lights it was the stuff of dreams. She walked through the quiet town, her second one in town but the first one she had ever spent away from her family.

“Peach?” Harry called. He was taking a bag out behind the diner to the trash. The door to the back was open to what she imagined was his apartment. She heard it was attached to the diner, but she had never seen beyond it.

She gave a wave and walked toward him. “Merry Christmas, Harry!” She chirped and dove in for a hug. Harry awkwardly wrapped his arms around her and despite his awkwardness, it felt like the best Christmas present he had ever received.

“Merry Christmas,” he hummed. “I thought y’were heading t’your family’s place for the holiday?”

“I did last year, but I thought I would try and start my own traditions. They’re going to be down this weekend actually.”

“Make sure y’bring them by,” he reminded her.

She smiled. “How about you? Any traditions?”

Traditions hadn’t been part of Harry’s vocabulary in ages. But Gemma was coming and that made him immensely happy. Well, as happy as someone as grumpy as he could be. “M’sister is coming around lunch time. I do a Christmas brunch, and a lot of people stop by.”

“Oh, that’s really lovely,” she grinned. “I’m sure you’re busy then and I don’t want to keep you. Have a happy—”

“You’re invited,” he practically blurted. She blinked, surprise coloring her pretty face.

But she recovered quickly and the smile on her mouth returned and made Harry think that even if he never touched her again, he could settle for a smile directed at her. “Really?” She asked. “I don’t want to mess with tradition.”

But that was far from the truth because she had already inserted herself into so many town projects and made the town so much better just by existing. Not to mention she got him to dress as Santa. Tradition flew out the window the moment she stepped foot in the diner.

“S’a whole town thing.”

“Well then, I really have to run because I cannot show up empty handed. Muffins or cupcakes?”

“Y’don’t have to—”

“I’ll make both unless you tell me.”

Harry rolled his eyes and her stubbornness. “Muffins, Peach. Thank you.”

“Christmas looks good on you, Santa,” she nodded. “You’ve got the best smile, Harry,” she waved and headed back the way she came.

*

Her mom always hosted parties and if she didn’t then it was a neighbor, Grandma, or aunt. She became a makeshift hostess and always tried to make herself useful. The second she walked into the diner she was greeted with cheers and Merry Christmases. Honestly, other than it being a holiday and the garland draped around the place, it was no different than walking into the diner any other day. She scurried to the counter where all the food was lining it, the warmers keeping the food hot, just waiting to be devoured. She could hear noise from the kitchen. Without thinking much longer, she stepped behind the counter, set her muffins toward the end of the line of food, and began gathering the plates and silverware to put at the beginning of the line.

The moment he heard clinking, he stepped from the kitchen. “What the he—”

“Oh hi,” she chirped over her shoulder. “Just making myself useful.”

“You’re not supposed to be behind the counter.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s Christmas and I’m helping.”

“I like her,” a woman stepped from behind the kitchen wall as well and smiled with a wave. “I’m Gemma,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas. Harry’s sister?”

“The one and only,” she had the same pretty smile that Harry did. She wondered who they inherited from. But the smile seemed much more natural on Gemma’s face than Harry’s.

“Peach,” he rubbed a hand over his face. “If y’get hurt, m’insurance doesn’t cover annoying pains in the butt.”

“What a nice thing to say on Christmas,” Gemma rolled her eyes. “How many times did you come back here when Mum told us not to?” Harry turned to the kitchen before he could answer.

She frowned. “I just wanted to help.”

“Don’t worry about it, Harry is just a grump,” she shrugged. “Thank you for the help,” she grinned sweetly. “I’m going to bring Mr. Sour out again but please make yourself at home,” she assured.

People chatted with Gemma for most of the time they ate. She helped Harry carry food out from the kitchen even though he grunted at her in annoyance each time she picked something up. She ignored him making a plate for both herself, and Harry. “Harry come eat,” she held the plates of food in her hands. “Everyone is good for the moment, and you deserve it,” she told him.

He sighed as he always did. Like talking to her was getting a splinter taken out of his hand. He grabbed the plates from her and walked toward the side of the diner where there were two seats open. “Miss Peach, these muffins are delicious!”

She grinned. “Thank you, an old family recipe,” she said sweetly and plucked a piece of bacon from her plate. Harry headed back to the kitchen and she pouted but he returned quickly holding a cup of coffee for her, cooled and iced as always. “Thank you.” Harry sat across from her eating silently, but it was comfortable. Peaceful even. The chatter around them was comforting. “You do this every year?” She asked. He nodded. “It’s nice, Harry, thank you for inviting me,” she grinned. He didn’t look up from his food, but he nodded again, and she was certain the corners of his mouth twitched in an upwards direction.

Harry was dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a dark green button down. It brought out the gold specks in his eyes and enhanced how green they were in general. It was her favorite look on him. Given he only seemed to have about six or so shirts in total. His hair was styled just so, so it wouldn’t fall in his face. “Let me get a picture of you and Gemma.”

“No,” he shook his head sipping his orange juice.

“Oh, come on, Harry. She’s your sister.”

He shook his head. “I don’t do pictures.”

She rolled her eyes. “Gemma, would you like a picture with Harry?” She called across the room.

“God, would I!” She hurried over and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind. She kissed the side of his face and he rolled his eyes but the smile was a little harder to hide that time around. She pulled her phone from her pocket and held it out to get a picture of the siblings.

“Say Merry Christmas!”

Harry smiled, genuinely. Which made her utterly happy. Gemma kissed his cheek again. “I love you, little brother.”

He shook his head as she hurried back to her conversation across the room. Harry cleared his throat and reached into his pocket pulling out a small box, wrapped perfectly, and slid it across the table toward her.

Of course, her gifts for everyone in town that had made her feel so welcomed were at her house. She planned on giving them out at the diner the following morning. Let the day be about family. So she was unprepared and felt terrible that she had nothing for Harry.

But she was also so shocked she simply gaped. “Harry,” she managed. “I don’t—”

“S’not a big deal,” he shrugged. “Caden... he wanted t’make sure y’got a gift. I asked him t’help me pick it out. Told him Santa left a note here since he knows y’here a lot,” he explained. “S’really from Caden.” But it wasn’t. Not really. It was from Harry. The grumpy diner owner who made her pancakes, gave her a hard time because she was a nuisance. “Go on,” he encouraged. She pulled the paper off, revealing a small brown box.

“Your gift is at home,” she told him.

“Y’didn’t need t’get me anything,” he rolled his eyes.

“Of course I did, Harry—”

“Will y’jus’ open it, Peach? Y’making it a huge deal and honestly, s’hardly anything.”

She opened the lid and inside was a square piece of cardboard. A delicate chain draped along the middle of it, holding the small crescent moon charm at the center of a pair of matching earrings. “Harry,” she brushed her finger on the charm. “This is too much,” she frowned knowing that he probably spent way too much on someone who was a pain in his ass.

“Y’do a lot for this town,” he shrugged. “S’the least Caden could do.”

She tilted her head at him. “Thank you,” she plucked the necklace off the cardboard and quickly secured it around her neck. Her ears already had Christmas presents jingling and dangling from the lobes, but the necklace looked delicate and pretty against the top of her shirt. “I’ll bring your gift tomorrow.”

“Whatever helps y’sleep at night, Peach. Y’want more food?” He asked standing and grabbing her plate at the same time.

She played with the charm at the base of her throat and nodded. “Please," she wondered if Harry was aware of how much she truly liked him. How sweet he really was despite the front he put up in front of everyone else. But she supposed for today, since it was Christmas, she would let him play his grumpy self and enjoy the thoughtful gift he bought for her and the yummy food he made.

She hoped this tradition would stick around every year.

--

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[wisecura]

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1

p.8  ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.11

p.10

Short summary: Your arranged marriage to Toji Fushiguro had been sudden and unexpected, but now you found yourself living under his roof alongside your moody stepson. Your only directive from your clan head before moving in was clear: keep a close eye on Toji, the notorious Sorcerer Killer, and his son, a potential sorcerer prodigy.

AN: can I make it up to you with a slightly longer chapter? please? sorry if this is a bit wordy, but enjoy. the next few chapters will have more momentum and movement. I'm still debating how messed up I want this story to be-- i tend to lean into the dark fic lines. i have a rough outline but....

warnings: this story may cover sensitive and uncomfortable topics. please read at your own risk, violence, lashings, blood, mental breakdowns, yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), hints at inappropriate thoughts, toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build.

thoughts and time changes

Lately, you’ve found yourself growing unexpectedly closer to Toji. 

There’s a subtle… warmth in him now that wasn’t there before, though he still remains quiet, never prying—and it all started after you returned from your clan house battered and bruised. When he was surprisingly gentle as he wordlessly patched you up. Yet, despite this newfound…what? fondness?—his frequent absences still plagued the house, never lingering longer than necessary, and more often than not, It was still just you and Megumi.

Megumi returned home for the summers—with that first one standing out as particularly difficult to navigate. 

The two of you fell back into that familiar closeness, as if the strained conversation from before had never happened. As if he hadn't ever avoided you in the first place. He never spoke about it, opting to steer clear from any conversation that seemed too personal. Yet, this left you with a lingering uncertainty that seemed to hang over every interaction—never knowing if he might suddenly pull away or how his mood might change—keeping you constantly on edge around him.

And how could you bring it up? No, you’d much rather keep things peaceful—safe, between the two of you. 

Despite all of your “concerns”, he slipped back into his touchy, almost affectionate habits—perhaps even more so than before, seemingly fine for the most part. The anger and blatant irritation that once defined him, present in his every interaction with Toji, had given way to a stoic calmness—a neutrality that left you feeling a bit happier. He changed so much, yet felt so familiar in so many ways.

And it was that same composure that made him so hard to read, leaving you endlessly guessing at what he didn't say. You definitely can't say you knew him as well as you did before.

Megumi’s thoughts drifted back to his first year at Jujutsu High.

A plethora of new faces and challenges—meeting his classmates had been, to put it mildly, eventful. There was Gojo Satoru, for one. His arrogant and self-absorbed teacher, who seemed far too amused by his own power and status as the strongest sorcerer. Easily the most skilled, he pushed Megumi all year to become a better version of himself, taking an interest in his background with the Zenin Clan. Annoying as it was, Megumi had to admit—thanks to the blue eyed freak, he understood his potential far better than he ever had before. 

Then there was Yuji Itadori. The reckless idiot who, in a moment of pure desperation and absolute insanity, swallowed one of Ryomen Sukuna’s fingers. Even now, Megumi couldn’t shake the guilt. If only he’d been faster, stronger—he might’ve stopped it. Might’ve saved Yuji from a path that tore his life apart.

Yet, despite it all, he became what Megumi would consider a friend. Easily the biggest doof he'd ever met—somehow managing to be both absurdly reckless and irritatingly good-hearted, resembling you in a weird way. Despite knowing him for such a short time, they’d already faced more together than most do in a lifetime.

And meeting Nobara Kugasaki. A girl he initially thought of as only loud and annoying, proved to be more than capable in more ways than one. Somehow, she managed to grow on him, though not without constantly provoking his every last nerve. Even worse than Toji did—a feat he hadn't thought possible.

He’d been careful not to tell you too much, as hard as it was when he saw your face waiting for him the moment he walked through that front door—a sight for sore eyes if there ever was one. His first year had been chaotic, after all, but he hadn’t lied to you… just carefully sidestepped the truths. You poked and prodded for answers, but he remained evasive, selectively sharing only what he thought was safe for someone as precious as you.

Those text messages you sent? He couldn’t bring himself to respond much—not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t stand the thought of making you worry. Your messages were always so short, almost hesitant—yet somehow, impossibly cute. Strangely endearing in a way that made him smile without meaning to. And they had him staring at his phone far longer than he’d ever admit. Long enough for Yuji to notice, of course, grinning as he tried to snatch the phone from Megumi’s hands, teasing him mercilessly about some "mysterious girlfriend."

There was no way in hell he’d let Sukuna’s vessel or his creepy teacher know about you—let alone meet you. Gojo probably had some inkling about your presence in his life—after all, who in Jujutsu society wasn’t at least vaguely aware of an arranged marriage? Especially one involving someone he had only recently discovered was as much of a social pariah as his father. But even if Gojo knew, Megumi was certain it was only through word of mouth alone, and he intended to keep it that way. You were a part of his life that he refused to let this chaos touch.

But they were good people—people who made him question everything he thought he knew about himself. What kind of person did he want to become? What kind of lives did he want to protect? The answer always circled back to you. You were his constant, the standard by which he measured everything. Someone who deserved better, someone who had endured far more than anyone should, and someone he would never stop trying to be worthy of.

He hated the unfairness of it all. Despised it—the sheer injustice of everything you had endured. The crushing expectations your clan had forced upon you, the suffocating marriage to his father, the unrelenting sense of entrapment that shadowed your every step. None of it was right. And the more he learned from Gojo, the angrier he became. A power system designed to crush those deemed weak or inferior, wielded to maintain a twisted hierarchy.

The true difference between you and Megumi was your golden heart—your unwavering care and strength, even in the face of how he knew you were likely treated within your clan. And yet, it was him who was being praised, lauded for qualities he wasn’t sure he deserved credit for.

That first year had taught him plenty. He’d solidified his choices, made his intentions clear, fully understanding what he was stepping into. And Megumi wasn’t just reflecting on these wrongs—he was determined to set them right, no matter the cost.

To him, you didn’t belong to anyone else—least of all his father. You were his. The very thought of you leaving, of slipping beyond his reach, sent a sharp, desperate ache through his chest. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t. He’d free you—not just from the chains of your family or his father, but so you could truly be free. Free to choose him. To stay by his side. Always. Forever. Exactly where you belonged.

All he needed was for you to wait for him. Just a little longer.

After that long, grueling first year at school, Megumi finally got to see your beautiful face again. The way your smile lit up the room, the teasing lilt in your voice as you poked fun at him—it was enough to completely unravel him inside. It quietly reassured him that you still cared, easing the self-consciousness that had lingered since the day he left. Somehow, despite everything, it still felt the same. Like nothing had changed. Like home.

He had to restrain himself when he came back—the overwhelming urge to pull you close, to kiss you like he’d always dreamt of, nearly getting the better of him. But no—he wouldn’t risk it. He couldn’t scare you away, not when having you near again felt like the only thing keeping him steady.

And he didn’t want you worrying about him, either. The probing questions you had? He’d place those on the backburner for now. Maybe even forever. That wasn’t what he needed from you. The thought of seeing your broken expression, your worry etched into every line of your face, was enough to haunt him. You were his light, his solace—and he’d do whatever it took to keep it that way.

Since coming back, Megumi had been careful—deliberate—in carving out his place in your life. Every move he made, every word he spoke, was measured and planned, more so than ever before. Subtly, almost imperceptibly, he had begun reshaping the way you saw him. He dropped small, seemingly innocent comments here and there, gently steering your attention toward him and away from anyone else—especially his father. Subtlety was key, he figured.

Every look, every gesture, was a calculated effort to blur the boundaries between you, to shift the nature of your relationship without you even realizing it. He wasn’t content with simply being part of your life—he was determined to make himself the center of it.

He worked tirelessly. 

He regretted pulling away before, but if school had taught him anything, it was to cherish these fleeting moments with you. And each day, it seemed his efforts were paying off. You turned to him more often now, seeking his presence, his reassurance. Every question you asked, every flash of that radiant smile, felt like a step closer to what he wanted—to what he needed.

But it still wasn’t enough. He could tell you didn’t see him the way he saw you, didn’t feel the same pull that consumed him. The way he craved you. It ate away at him, the frustration building with every stolen glance, every moment he found himself aching for more. More than your smile, more than your laughter—he wanted all of you, and the thought of waiting drove him mad. He wanted your everything.

At least your eyes were still on him. At least you still cared. For now, that would have to be enough. 

But he wasn’t going to stop. He couldn’t. You’d realize it eventually—you had to. And when you did, he’d be there, ready to claim the place in your heart that was always meant for him.

Before you knew it, Megumi was heading back to school, leaving the house quieter than usual. You’d been bracing yourself for another inevitable summons from your clan, surprised by their unusual silence. It was an uncharacteristic delay, one that left you both relieved and unsettled.

When the message finally arrived, it was as if the air grew heavier around you. Steeling yourself, you went, prepared for the worst, knowing all too well the weight that came with their demands. The possibility for retaliation. No. the absolute for retaliation. 

As expected, you were met with the same barrage of insults, the words slicing through you with their usual sharpness. But this time, there were no lashings, no physical punishment to endure. The absence of that particular cruelty felt like a small, bittersweet victory. You carried the weight of their scorn on your way home but couldn’t help feeling a tinge of relief that it hadn’t been worse.

Toji was home that day—a surprise that caught you off guard, especially since you’d texted him earlier about your meeting with the clan. He’d mentioned being tied up on another one of his long-winded trips, at least for the next few days. Yet here he was.

He greeted you with his usual detached demeanor, but his eyes betrayed him, scanning you with unnerving precision—a deliberate, assessing once-over that made your stomach twist. Before you could fully process it, he stepped closer, his presence effortlessly commanding the space between you. Instinctively, you recoiled in surprise, but it didn’t deter him.

Without a word, his hand moved with an almost lazy confidence, slipping under the back of your shirt. The warmth of his palm against your skin sent a jolt through you, heat rushing to your cheeks as the intimacy of the gesture froze you in place. You couldn’t move, caught entirely off guard by his boldness, the casual intensity of his touch leaving you breathless and unsure of what to say.

“Relax,” he murmurs, a teasing lilt coloring his voice. His fingers trailed lightly across your skin, as though searching for something. It didn’t take long for him to pause, clearly not finding what he was looking for. With a quiet chuckle, he pulled his hand back, a smirk curving his lips as his eyes locked onto yours.

“Clean this time, huh? Guess they decided to play nice.”

You couldn’t tell if his words were meant to mock or comfort, but the way his eyes lingered on you left your pulse racing, your breath catching in your throat. He stepped back, the teasing edge in his demeanor—his gaze, softening ever so slightly before he turned away, leaving you rooted to the spot.

The warmth of his palm still clung to your skin, your mind spinning, cheeks burning a vivid red. He’d never been this handsy before, but you knew exactly what he was searching for. What you couldn’t quite grasp was why it seemed to matter to him. Then again, when had Toji ever made sense to you? 

You and Megumi had been exchanging texts more frequently than ever. It wasn’t something you had expected, but it started after he seemed to notice how upset his silence left you. The habit picked up when he returned to school for his second year. Whether it was guilt or something else driving his newfound consistency, you couldn’t deny the quiet relief that warmed your chest each time your phone pinged with his name.

Megumi’s birthday came and went, and for the first time, you felt comfortable enough to text him without hesitation, inviting him home for a small celebration. "Bring your new friends!" you added hopefully, sprinkling in an emoji or two to lighten the tone.

His reply came swiftly, cutting through your excitement—though, deep down, you should’ve expected it.

"I can’t. I have a mission coming up. I won’t be able to make it."

The disappointment settled heavily in your chest, but you tried not to push. The memory of his last birthday lingered in your mind, making you wonder if he avoided these moments on purpose. Megumi was never the social type, but you couldn’t help wanting to meet his friends, to see the people he spent so much of his time with. And, if you were honest, you missed him. The house always felt quieter, emptier, without him around.

Later that evening, however, your phone buzzed with an unexpected surprise. A picture.

It was Megumi, his expression as stoic and neutral as ever. Standing beside him was a pink-haired boy who couldn’t have been more of a contrast—wide-eyed, grinning ear to ear, brimming with an energy that practically leapt off the screen. The backdrop was lively, vibrant, a fleeting glimpse into the life Megumi was living far away from you. 

You lingered on the photo, your fingers brushing lightly over the screen. For all your probing and insistence on wanting to meet his friends, wanting to see him again, you were surprised he’d sent anything at all. Megumi had always been evasive, but this felt like a compromise—his way of meeting you halfway.

He looked… different. He had been looking different for a while now—since arriving at that school. Once again, as always when you saw him, you couldn’t help but notice how much he’d grown. He wasn’t just older; he was changing. Growing up. Making friends. Breaking free from his shell. Enjoying his life in a way you hadn’t seen before.

For a fleeting moment, pride swelled in your chest—warm and undeniable—only to be chased by a bittersweet ache. He was different, and though you were happy for him, the realization of how little he shared with you felt suffocatingly lonely.

And you couldn't help but feel a little…jealous. 

The next summer passes much the same, uneventful but filled with moments of quiet reflection. Your clan has kept their distance physically, but their questions have grown intense, more persistent. They never hit you again, though the threat was always there. Prodding for details you refuse to give, their subtle questions suggesting they have something more planned—something you can’t quite decipher yet.

When Megumi returns, it’s impossible to ignore how much he’s changed toward you. At seventeen now, he towers over you—maybe even reaching Toji’s height. His lean frame is noticeably stronger, and his presence feels heavier, more grounded. He still leans on you in his quiet, familiar way—that same energy that had always lingered between you stubbornly remained. But now, it felt… different. A little harder to ignore. A little harder to navigate.

It catches you off guard sometimes, especially when his eyes seem to linger on you just a bit too long. You’d always shrugged it off—those previous years, Toji’s words, even Megumi’s actions. A crush. That’s all it was. A fleeting, innocent crush. One you never addressed, one you assumed he’d outgrow. He’d figure out soon enough where you stood in his life.

But there was something unspoken in his gaze now, something that left your heart uneasy and your thoughts spiraling. You couldn’t help but think back to his bedroom, the night before he first left for school—the way the air had felt heavy, the unspoken tension hanging there ever since. His promise to protect you. That anger of you dismissing him. 

That third summer at home felt different—unsettlingly so. The reminder of how much he’d grown. The uncomfortable realization of how much you’d come to lean on him in return. But most of all, the subtle shift in how he acted around you, how he spoke to you, how his presence seemed to take up more space.

Your relationship with him had already felt off before. What could you even do about it now? Especially when he wasn't going to talk about it first?

Yes, that summer was a strange one.

Megumi was determined to win you over.

He was close—so close. With just one more year left until graduation, his plans were nearly complete. All that remained was you.

But despite the way you turned to him more often, leaned on him in ways that only fueled the fire of his obsession, your affection stubbornly stayed confined within the boundaries of platonic care. And for Megumi, that wasn’t enough—not even close.

But despite the way you turned to him more often, leaned on him in ways that only fueled the fire of his obsession, your affection stubbornly stayed confined within the boundaries of platonic care. And for Megumi, that wasn’t enough—not even close.

So he made sure you noticed. Made sure you saw just how much he’d grown.

He began wearing less clothing around the house, casually shirtless as he passed you in the hall, his lean, sculpted frame brushing just close enough for you to feel him. Bare skin ghosting against yours in fleeting touches that lingered in your mind. His voice dipped lower in the mornings, rich and deep as he greeted you, leaning in just a little too close as he reached for one thing or another. The subtle pink that crept into your cheeks didn’t escape him—and he enjoyed every second of it.

His touches grew more deliberate, yet always subtle enough to avoid suspicion. Fingers grazing your waist as he passed, lingering just a beat too long on your arm, or a hand ghosting over the nape of your neck in what seemed like an accident. But none of it was accidental.

It was all calculated—every movement, every look, designed to pull your attention, to fluster you, to shift how you saw him. Like a predator circling its prey, he was patient, methodical, and utterly focused. 

And you… you were quite the prize. Every day, he admired you, every glance fueling the fire that burned inside him. The more he pushed, the more flustered you seemed to get, each reaction feeding his obsession. But no matter how carefully he set his traps, how hard he tried to shift the dynamic, you remained painfully oblivious.

If you noticed the changes in him, you didn’t let on—offering only the small, well-meaning comments of someone watching a child grow. But Megumi couldn’t ignore the cracks in your composure, the way your voice faltered or how your cheeks burned when he walked around shirtless. Because really—what mother blushes that much when her stepkid walks by?

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

But Megumi wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.

As the summer wore on, his patience began to wane. Subtlety had carried him far, but now it felt too slow, too restrained. His tactics shifted, his determination sharpening. He wanted something more, something that would bring him closer to you—something impossible to ignore.

p.9

p.11

come home

[diamonddaze01]

all tie-d up

pairing: seungkwan x reader | wc: 1.4k for camandem's secret santa collab!! | warnings: bondage MINORS DNI!!!! (no actual sex, but its implied!) a/n: this is for the lovely @seungkw1! ren, i hope you have the happiest of holidays and the coming year is everything you want from it and more <333 // check out the entire collab HERE!

The late afternoon light spills golden over the room, but you can’t focus on anything except Seungkwan, visibly annoyed with his tie. His fingers tug and smooth the silk with practiced ease, the curve of his wrist and controlled motions mesmerizing.

“You’re really just going to sit there and stare?” His voice, teasing but dry, breaks through the silence.

You fumble, flushing. “I’m not staring.”

He laughs softly, glancing at you through the mirror. “Right.” Turning to face you, his tie finally perfect, he arches a brow. “Stand up. You’re not zipped, are you?”

Caught, you rise and turn your back to him. His hands find the open back of your dress, warm and steady. “You could’ve asked for help,” he murmurs, the zipper gliding up slowly. Each brush of his fingers against your spine sends a shiver through you.

When he’s done, he smooths the fabric at your waist, his hands lingering longer than necessary before retreating. “Wait,” he says, retrieving your necklace from the dresser. The faint clink of metal is followed by his touch at your neck, cool against your skin as he fastens it with precision.

“You’re fidgeting,” he murmurs by your ear, his breath warm.

“Sorry,” you manage, though you’re anything but. How are you supposed to stay still when he’s this close?

He steps around to face you, one hand tilting your chin up as his thumb brushes over your lip. “You smudged your lipstick,” he says, his voice low. He swipes again, firmer this time, before his gaze dips to your mouth.

“There,” he says softly, but his hand doesn’t leave your jaw, his fingers curling around it gently. The air thickens, and when his other hand finds your waist, your breath hitches.

“You’re staring again,” he teases, his voice a whisper.

“Your hands,” you admit, heat rushing to your cheeks. “They’re... distracting.”

That earns you a laugh, soft and warm, though there’s a flicker of something darker in his eyes now. “Distracting?” he repeats, his tone playful but edged with curiosity. His thumb moves again, brushing over your cheek in a way that feels almost indulgent. “I didn’t realize my hands had that kind of effect on you.”

You want to roll your eyes, to say something sharp and dismissive, but you can’t. Not when his hands are still on you, his thumb trailing down to your jaw before finally, mercifully, pulling away.

He steps back then, the smirk on his face unmistakable as he adjusts his cufflinks. “We’re going to be late,” he says casually, as though the air between you hasn’t shifted entirely.

But as he walks to the door, his fingers brushing his hair into place, you know he’s entirely aware of what he’s done. And when he glances back at you, his smirk widening into a grin, you know he’s going to keep doing it—keep teasing, keep lingering, keep making you feel like his hands were made for you, and you alone.

Seungkwan pauses at the door, one hand on the frame, and turns back to you with that same maddening smirk tugging at his lips. His gaze is measured, deliberate, as it trails over you one last time. “You didn’t even notice my tie,” he says, his tone mock-injured but dripping with amusement. “After all that effort? I’m offended.”

You blink, still reeling from the intimacy of his hands on your skin just moments ago. “I noticed,” you manage, smoothing the skirt of your dress, feigning indifference. “It looks good. I like it.”

He tilts his head, letting the compliment settle before his smirk deepens. He steps closer again, just a fraction—close enough that his voice drops low, intimate, almost conspiratorial. “Good,” he breathes, the word deliberate as his eyes lock onto yours, leaving no room for misinterpretation. His hand rises to straighten the tie at his throat, a slow, practiced motion. “We’ll make good use of it later tonight.”

The air between you crackles, your mouth parting slightly as the weight of his words sinks in. His eyes gleam with mischief, but there’s a darker edge to his voice now, softer and almost reverent as he adds, “You’d look so pretty with it around your wrists.”

You’re not sure if it’s the way he says it, low and unhurried, or the promise in his gaze that makes your pulse race. Your breath catches, but before you can reply—if there’s even anything you can say—he steps back with a wink, resuming his casual ease like nothing happened.

“Come on,” he calls over his shoulder as he heads for the door, leaving you frozen in place, the imprint of his touch still lingering on your skin. “Wouldn’t want to keep everyone waiting.”

You don’t even make it 3 hours. 

Seungkwan treats it like a game, making direct eye contact with you across the ballroom as he quickly licks some frosting off his fingers. When he looks back at Mingyu with a quick laugh, it feels like your heart has dropped out of your ass. 

It takes only one more heated look, this time with his fingers curled around the neck of a champagne glass (it's the smallest flick of his tongue over his bottom lip that makes your legs press together, your resolve dissolving), and suddenly you’re faking sick and all but dragging Seungkwan home. 

The moment the door to your apartment clicks shut behind you, Seungkwan's demeanor shifts. Gone is the playful teasing, replaced by a hunger that makes your breath catch. He crowds you against the wall, one hand braced beside your head, the other already working at his tie.

"Couldn't even make it through dinner," he murmurs, his voice low and rough. "What am I going to do with you?"

You reach for him, but he catches your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand. The silk of his tie slides cool against your skin as he winds it around your wrists, securing them with practiced ease.

"Remember what I said earlier?" he asks, his free hand trailing down your neck, over your collarbone. "About how pretty you'd look?"

You nod, unable to form words as his fingers trace the neckline of your dress.

"Look at you now," Seungkwan breathes, his eyes roaming over your bound wrists, the flush creeping up your neck. "Even prettier than I imagined."

His hand cups your face, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. You part your lips instinctively, and he smiles, a slow, dangerous thing that makes heat pool in your belly.

"Tell me what you want," he commands softly, his body pressed against yours, pinning you to the wall.

"You," you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please, Seungkwan."

He leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear. "Be specific," he murmurs, his hand trailing down your side, fingers splaying over your hip. "I want to hear you say it."

Your breath hitches as his hand slides lower, bunching up the fabric of your dress.

"I want your hands on me," you breathe, emboldened by the heat in his gaze. "Everywhere. I want you to touch me until I can't think straight."

Seungkwan's eyes darken at your words, a low groan escaping him. "Good girl," he praises, his hand sliding up your thigh, fingers teasing at the edge of your underwear. "Is this what you've been thinking about all night? My hands on you?"

You nod, unable to form words as his fingers trace delicate patterns on your inner thigh.

“Well,” he muses, breath hot on your neck. “Who am I to deny you?”

With that, Seungkwan's lips crash against yours, hungry and demanding. His hand slides higher, fingers dipping beneath the fabric of your underwear, and you gasp into his mouth. He swallows the sound, deepening the kiss as his fingers explore, teasing and precise.

"Is this what you wanted?" he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with desire. "My hands on you, making you fall apart?"

You can only nod, a whimper escaping as his thumb finds your most sensitive spot. Your bound hands strain against the tie, desperate to touch him, to pull him closer.

Seungkwan chuckles softly, his free hand cupping your face. "Patience," he whispers, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. "We have all night. And I plan to take my time with you."

[fanbasetwo]

Ꮺ . , CUZ YOU’RE MY HYPE BOY , L.CY !

PAIRING: bf ! anton × gf ! afab reader. SYNOPSIS: never in your wildest dreams had you dreampt of leaking at the wrong time but here you were, trying to hide the stain your period blood left on your bf's sheets—will you succeed? [REQUESTED] . . . . . . GENRE: fluff, fic, period talk & mentions of pain and blood obvio. WORD COUNT: 1.6k [LIBRARY] ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 sena’s note — this was such a cute fic to write, thank you to the anon who requested, ily <3

You wake up to a sharp, familiar ache in your stomach, and a groan slips out before you can stop it. The cramps are bad—bad enough to make you regret spending the night at Anton’s apartment. You weren’t planning on staying over, but it was late, and Anton, being the gentleman he is, insisted you shouldn’t walk home alone.

Now, though, you wish you’d just gone home. Because as the pain twists in your lower stomach, you have an awful realization.

Carefully, you lift the blanket and glance down, your heart dropping. There, on Anton’s spotless, white sheets, is a visible red stain.

Your period.

For a moment, you just stare at it, horrified, your cheeks burning. How could you forget it was coming? And of course, it had to happen here, of all places. Your hormones are already making you emotional, and now panic kicks in full force.

Anton is still fast asleep behind you, his soft breathing the only sound in the room. You glance back at him, guilt and embarrassment tangling in your chest. He looks so peaceful, completely unaware of the mess you’ve made.

Your mind races. What is he going to think? Will he be mad about his sheets? Annoyed that you’ve ruined his morning?

And yet, a small voice in your head reminds you of who Anton is—the same Anton who stayed up late helping you pick out groceries, who insisted on carrying your bag even though it wasn’t that heavy. He’d never yell at you. Right?

Still, you can’t shake the nerves. You’ve worked so hard to keep a good image in front of him—always put-together, always in control. And now this? How are you supposed to explain it?

Taking a deep breath, you sit up slowly, wincing as another cramp hits. You’ll have to handle this before he wakes up. You just hope he’ll understand if he finds out.

You’re so lost in your panicked thoughts that you don’t even notice Anton stirring behind you. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close, but you immediately squirm out of his grip.

Anton blinks, rubbing his eyes with a sleepy confusion. The sun hasn’t fully risen yet, and the soft morning light barely fills the room. His brows furrow as he sits up slightly, his voice gentle and laced with concern. “What’s wrong, baby?”

You open your mouth, intending to brush it off, to say nothing, but the words catch in your throat. His gaze is too soft, too worried, and for a second, you freeze.

But Anton isn’t as clueless as you hoped he’d be. He pauses, his nose twitching slightly, his expression shifting. There’s something about the smell—unmistakably off. Not that he knows exactly what period blood smells like, but it’s… different. And it’s coming from you.

Before he can say anything, another gush of blood makes your stomach twist, and you bolt from the bed, rushing toward the bathroom. Your heart is pounding as you shut the door behind you, barely holding back tears as you glance down. Your underwear and pants are already worse than before, and the humiliation hits harder than the cramps.

You lean against the bathroom counter, trying to steady your breathing, but all you can think is: How am I going to face him now?

Anton isn’t confused—he’s just worried. The moment you shut the bathroom door, he glances down at the bed and notices the fresh red stain on his pristine white sheets. He doesn’t hesitate. Getting out of bed, he approaches the bathroom door, softly knocking as he hears the faint sound of your sobs.

“Baby, talk to me. Do you need anything?” His voice is gentle, filled with concern.

You try to keep it together, forcing out a shaky, “I’m fine,” from behind the door.

But Anton isn’t buying it. After a brief pause, he knocks again, his voice a little quieter this time. “I… I kept a packet of pads in my drawer. You know, just in case… so… you can…”

He trails off awkwardly, and you can easily picture him standing outside the door, scratching the back of his neck, trying to give you space but wanting to help.

You wipe at the tear slipping down your cheek, your embarrassment still overwhelming. “Do you… have them right now?” you ask hesitantly, your voice small.

“Yeah.”

“Okay…” You take a deep breath. “I’ll open the door. Oh gosh, this is so embarrassing.”

You crack the door open just enough to let him hand the pad through. Anton doesn’t try to look inside, and you snatch it quickly before shutting the door again. But as you glance down at your ruined underwear and pants, another wave of frustration and helplessness washes over you.

“Um…” you mutter, hesitating before you call out again, your voice shaky. “My panties and pants… they…” You trail off, staring at the bloody mess.

You groan, more to yourself than to him. “Why does it have to be me? God!” The urge to yell is overwhelming, but before you can spiral further, Anton knocks again, his voice soft but steady.

“Here,” he says, slipping a pair of boxers and shorts under the door. “They’re mine, but, um, the boxers are an old pair—probably a little smaller, so they might fit okay. And the shorts are loose, so…”

You stare at the clothes, his thoughtfulness surprising you. He adds quickly, “Oh, I put the blanket in the wash. Don’t worry about it. And… if you want me to, I could wash your panties and pants too—”

“PLEASE NO!” you blurt out, horrified. “IT’S DISGUSTING, EVEN FOR ME!”

Anton flinches on the other side of the door, your sudden outburst making him fall silent. “Okay,” he mumbles, his tone a little sheepish, before retreating to give you space.

As you get yourself cleaned up, you can’t help but replay everything in your mind, the humiliation bubbling up again. But underneath the embarrassment, a tiny flicker of gratitude lingers. Anton may have seen more of you than you’d ever intended, but his calm, gentle way of handling it makes you feel just a little less alone.

You’re not sure how much time has passed as you stand in the bathroom, rinsing the blood from your panties and pants. You know you’ll eventually need to properly wash them later—leaving them would just make the smell worse. The memory of an old, similar experience leaves you determined to clean up the mess as best as you can now, even though the situation still feels mortifying.

After finishing, you take a deep breath, shoulders slumping as you step out of the bathroom. Your hands are thoroughly washed, but guilt still weighs heavy on you. You can’t help but feel like you’ve ruined Anton’s peaceful holiday morning with this mess.

Always causing trouble, you scold yourself internally.

But the soft, refreshing smell of lavender in the air pulls you out of your spiral. Glancing around, you spot the faint flicker of a lavender-scented candle melt on the nightstand. He must have lit it to make sure you didn’t feel self-conscious about any lingering smells.

Your chest tightens, warmth blooming where shame had been moments ago. Why was Anton so thoughtful? So gentle? You couldn’t help but fall for him a little more.

“Baby,” his voice calls from the other room, breaking your thoughts. You turn, finding him standing near the bed with two plates in his hands. “I made us both—woah.”

His jaw drops slightly, and you follow his gaze, realizing you’re still wearing his shorts and boxers. They’re a bit oversized, sitting loosely on your frame, and suddenly you feel self-conscious.

“What’s that?” you blurt, quickly trying to divert his attention. Your eyes land on the plates in his hands.

“Oh, this?” He holds them up slightly, a sheepish grin on his face. “I cooked for us… since you’re on your… ehm, periods.” His cheeks flush slightly as he finishes, his voice awkward but endearing. It’s clear this is all new to him, and you realize—you’re his first girlfriend, and this is probably the first time he’s ever dealt with something like this.

You blink in surprise, glancing at the plates again. Eggs, fully cooked, sit neatly on them. It’s not perfect, but it’s not runny either. You know how much Anton struggles to cook, so this feels like a small miracle.

The realization of everything he’s done for you hits hard. He didn’t just stop at replacing the sheets or lighting the candle—he even attempted cooking despite his lack of skill.

Your chest swells with emotion, and before you can stop yourself, you wrap your arms around him. Anton flinches slightly, caught off guard with both plates still in his hands. You bury your face in his chest, mumbling, “You don’t think I’m weird?”

Anton tilts his head, the corners of his lips twitching into a small, innocent smile. “I just think you’re fertile.”

The sheer absurdity of the statement makes you laugh, even as a tear slips down your cheek. He’s so clueless yet so sincere that it’s impossible to stay embarrassed.

You pull back, wiping the tear away as he teased, “I love you, but I’d appreciate it more if you forget the stain and instead praise this chef.”

Anton smirks, watching as you plant a soft peck on his lips. He doesn’t even get the chance to pull you closer, both hands still occupied with the plates. The warmth of his love and efforts almost makes you forget the dull ache in your stomach.

Even if your cramps are still there, maybe surviving this morning with your boyfriend’s cooking and his genuine care will be enough to make the pain feel a little less overwhelming—even if his cooking turns out to be a bit of a disaster.

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[opiopal]

I genuinely need a nerdy Mc that puts season 1 Levi in his place bc oml

like listen listen, I’m aware that like, him being a nerdy otaku is his one thing he feel 100% confident in being, and honestly same dude I relate to that, HOWEVER. every time I remember that boy telling mc that they wouldn’t understand TSL a part of me wants to spite watch and read the entire series a million times over JUST to catch a detail not even he would know to rub it in his scaley FACE.(I’m sure that says a lot about me as a person lol)

But like, I also feel like it would be kinda fun? Cause imagine the two getting into an argument at every gap of silence, but it’s just them throwing facts about different series in each others faces. Standing up on either sides of the dinner table yelling whilst everyone sits there trying to process how they’ve done this five times today and still aren’t done bickering.

Levi shouts ”THAT WAS JUST A FAN THEORY! IT WAS NEVER CONFIRMED IN THE SHOW!!” ”NO. IT WAS CONFIRMED BACK IN 2017 ON THE CREATORS SECONDARY SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNT THAT IT WAS 100% TRUE! SEE YOU’D KNOW THAT IF YOU WERE A REAL FAN!” Mc retaliates, slamming their hands down onto the table,

“I DONT HAVE ACCESS TO HUMAN WORLD SOCIAL MEDIA!”

“MAYBE YOU WOULD IF YOU WERENT SUCH A PUS-“

luci finally cuts in, standing up himself to shout,

“BOTH OF YOU SIT DOWN AND SHUT YOUR MOUTHS.”

they both stop to look at him for a moment before they both reluctantly take their respective seats.

however once they finally get past their hatred, they become the most ANNOYING fans in the world and STILL won’t stop talking. However the brothers are just grateful they aren’t having screaming matches about what color some anime girls hair tie is.

[cherrysurf]

New years kiss!suna rintarou x reader

timeskip obvi, drinking, fluff, angst if you squint super duper hard, crack, profanity, atsumu being a wingman and lwk annoying at the same time ᡣ𐭩 (also not proofread lightly looked over tho?)

Osamu decided to have a little small get together for new years, it being him, atsumu, suna, kita, you. The rest of msby and epj raijian I guess it wasn’t so small but it was atsumu fault since he made the guest list, and of course you had to help set up the rooftop of miyas onigiri shop where the party was going to take place since everyone else lacked creativity and everyone had their own Jobs to do osamu was in charge of food, Sunas was drinks, atsumu was bodyguard aka stood their and did nothing until kita put him to clean and sweep the rooftop it felt like highschool all over again, planning parties while someone’s parents were away kita trying to convince everyone that this was not a smart decision yet still being there (saving atsumu from plenty of black outs) “the gangs all back together” atsumu said as he let out a sigh while everyone was outside setting up the final things causing a cringed face from everyone and an eye roll from osamu “we were all together literally last weekend you idiot” suna said “he probably doesn’t remember since be passed out after the second round of soju” you said laughing “it’s funny to you guys but you weren’t there having to make his fat ass food at 3am” osamu said annoyed “whatever whatever let’s all have fun.” Atsumu proposed, and the fun of the night was filled with laughter and catching up talking about Japan’s volleyball stats and everyone’s plans for the small little break. It was nice seeing everyone like this again. As you stand their leaning a bit on the edge with your drink in hand watching over the city suna comes next to you “figured you needed some company over here” he said staring at the scenery as well “how thoughtful of you rin” you giggle “what’s your New Year’s resolution this time” he asked, “I don’t know I guess I don’t really have one, you?” You say looking at him admiring his side profile “get to the Olympics maybe fall in love? Whatever the new years brings me I guess” he says shrugging with a small smile on his face “falling in love? That’s new I guess it’s time for that huh” you say curious to what brought this on, did he have someone in mind but the thought of that made your heartache in some way. Since unfortunately you’ve been aware of your feelings for suna since earlier last year you didn’t have time to dwell or act on them before since you were so busy, but since everything has been slowing down it’s slowing been creeping up on your mind “I don’t know if it’s time for it to be honest but I’d be ready for it if it came” he said looking at you now observing your features which causes a pink tint to grow across your cheeks the was a moment of silence until atsumu came squishing himself between the two of you “so who’s getting a new years kiss” he says cooing “not you with that alcohol smell from your mouth” suna says rolling “boo you’re no fun” atsumu says leaving you two alone “guys the fireworks and countdown are about to start” bokuto says yelling you and suna turn to look at each other with a smile and then look at the city “3…2..1”

you and everyone else says which somehow causes you to hold sunas hands instinctively probably because of nerves which he didn’t mind at all he holds on a bit tighter which causes you to look up at him to find him already staring at you “kiss me.” he said “huh?” you look at him confused to what the fuck he was saying right now. “tsumu told me about your little crush ya know” he said smirking “that piece of shit” you murmured “i feel the same yn. I always have so kiss me."He said looking serious, you couldn’t muster up a snarky reply like usual or anything at all but you nodded yes “i need a yes or a no yn” he said “yes suna.” you look at him those being the only words you can get out which gave suna the go away to lean in and you doing the same the moment felt surreal and natural all at once the fireworks made it even more magical “my plan worked” atsumu said grinning which caused you and suna to separate and roll your eyes at him in sync “i guess i got one thing off my list for new years” suna said smiling holding you close “i guess you did.” you say smiling because you wouldn’t have it anyother way.

a/n- wrote this only for meeya lwk and thanks to dee for forcing me to write this actually helped me outta my writers block a bit

[captain-hawks]

hiii Dee!! for your holiday drabbles, maaayybeeee accidentally standing under mistletoe with Meian? 🤭

no questions asked 🎀 meian shugo x f!reader

Spending Christmas Eve with your cheating ex-fiancé is no longer an option, so a party at Atsumu's will just have to do.

1.3k — msby manager!reader, angst and fluff

It’s a little embarrassing—thinking about how you should be out for dinner with your fiancé and his parents right now. 

How you should be planning a wedding that’ll take place in the new year. 

How, instead, you’re standing in the middle of Miya Atsumu’s apartment wearing the same red dress you picked out for a very different occasion, ring finger now entirely devoid of a weight you were once familiar with for the past five months.

While the Black Jackals tried not to pry into the mortifying details of your breakup when you showed up for practice uncharacteristically late one morning two weeks ago with eyes ringed red after a sleepless night, Bokuto, Hinata, and Atsumu were all wholly insistent that their team manager couldn’t spend Christmas Eve alone. 

(They’d let Coach Foster off easy when he politely declined the invite to tonight’s party, but you? Not so much.)

(Bokuto’s known you since your Fukurodani days, after all, since you were a year ahead of him on the girl’s volleyball team.)

Which now finds you here, leaning against the doorway that separates the living room from the kitchen, fingers curled loosely around the sweaty neck of a bottle of beer. 

“I never liked him, ya know,” Atsumu’s voice interrupts your thoughts. 

You turn to face the setter, brows raised in mock amusement. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”

You met Ren a year or so after you started working for MSBY, after you’d already grown close with the team, and he got down on one knee just over six months later. 

And now—

“He never liked showin’ his face at games, that cheatin’ bastard. He probably knew we’d see it on his stupid face and pummel his ass.”

Sighing, you nod in a disconnected way, taking a swig from your bottle before placing it down on a table nearby. 

You hadn’t gotten into the rest of the details—how the marketing executive had been sleeping with his eighteen-year-old intern for the entirety of your relationship.

How he was only proposing to you to appease his father for the sake of inheriting his company.

How everything was a lie—

How—

“Atsumu.”

Something prickles along the back of your neck at the sound of Meian’s voice, his tone stern as he approaches.

Atsumu perks up. “And I bet Meian woulda really loved to beat his—”

“Bokuto’s two seconds from puking on your bed,” Meian cuts him off brusquely, sliding into the spot where the blonde was standing as he scurries off, eyes going wide in concern.

You shake your head, offering a genuine smile to the team captain and trying to ignore the long-ignored warmth that rustles in your chest as he looks at you.

“Really?”

He shakes his head, the curve of his mouth matching your own. “Nah, but I know he gets annoying when he’s drunk. And I know that’s the last thing you want to talk about right now.”

Meian has always had a way of reading you, of knowing what you need. 

And you know that, logically, it’s just something that comes naturally to him as a captain. He does it with his team all the time.

But it still does something odd to your fragile heart anyway—the way he notices you.

Bokuto’s sworn this secret (which you accidentally shared after too many drinks one night) to the grave, this stupid little crush that you have on the team captain. One that sprouted long before Ren came into the picture.

One that you were quick to pluck, to try digging out at the roots before it could blossom. 

Part of you is loath to admit that you were inclined to reciprocate Ren’s advances solely in an effort to get over these feelings. 

Feelings that came boiling right back to the surface the night after that teary-eyed practice when your phone lit up with a text from the captain.

MEIAN: I’m not going to ask about things you’re not ready to answer. MEIAN: But if you need help, a hand, or anything, let me know, and I’m there.  MEIAN: No questions asked.

Meian stayed true to his word when you subsequently texted him an address and asked him to bring his pick up truck. 

He didn’t dig for details when you swung open the door to your shared apartment with Ren and gestured at the boxes you’d packed. 

Truthfully, you didn’t know who else to call.

You didn’t know who else would let you sniffle and struggle your way through it all without prying. Without pushing. Without batting an eye when you asked if he could grab things from the closet you couldn’t bear to look back into again. 

Without asking for all of the sordid details of your fiancé’s affair that still find you dry heaving in the bathroom most nights. 

You didn’t have much, the apartment and furniture was Ren’s to begin with.

He helped you move across town back to your parents place with the promise that he’d help again when you found an apartment. 

“I’m not ready to talk about it yet,” you exhale, and Meian nods in understanding as you smooth your fingertips down the skirt of your dress. “But when I am…”

He waits patiently as you trail off, eyes offering a comfort that’s always been there, that feels like a balm now against the frayed edges of your rattled nerves.

“...I’d like to tell you,” you finish, nervously pinching the material’s hem. 

Meian smiles. “I’ll be here.”

And it’s then that you feel something light hit your head, and you glance around to find a plastic sprig of mistletoe rolling away on the floor. 

“Really?” you choke out a weak laugh.

You don’t immediately look up at Meian. Because while it feels almost childish, the back of your neck burns anyway with the implication behind the silly tradition. 

It wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve found yourself wondering what his lips would feel like against your own. Wondering if he’d cup the back of your head or stroke your jaw. If he’d part the seam of your lips with his tongue and run his thumb against your chin as you melt into his touch. 

Wondering what it would feel like to jump into his arms after a win, to wrap your legs around his waist, to drag your fingers through his sweaty, messy hair and laugh in a mess of tongue and teeth as someone tells you both to get a room while he presses you up against a wall—

You’re tugged away from that train of thought by the feeling of Meian’s large hand taking your own, and your eyes go wide as he lifts your knuckles to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to them.

“Rules are rules,” he shrugs, offering you a lopsided grin that has no right being that handsome under the multi-colored glow of string lights that adorns the living room.

Overcome by a fleeting surge of confidence as your heart flutters wildly in your chest, your fingers find a home curled in the collar of Meian’s button-down shirt before you can think better of it.

“Captain, I thought you followed rules to a T,” you tease in a voice that feels almost foreign on your lips.

But you’re too caught up in the moment to second guess yourself.

Meian leans in as you tug him closer, and you sway a little, steadied only by his hand as it comes to rest against your waist. Gently, featherlight—as if he’s still waiting for you to change your mind.

He quietly says, “You’re the manager here, maybe I need a refresher.”

His breath is hot as it curls against your lips in the scant space left between your faces.

Your mouth brushes against his, and you can feel him smile against your lips.

“Like this?” he murmurs, fingers curling and pressing the fabric of your dress.

“Yes,” you breathe out, and Meian’s other hand slides to the back of your head as he kisses you.

[uniquebluelioncub]

I Cracked Sebeks place in the Diasomnia family

Sebek to rest of the diafam is that one cousin that is more your sibling than cousin , like yes technically he has his own family and is their cousin but if you say that they would be like no , he is our brother ?? Take back that nonsense at once. ( if they were honest for once with their feelings) Sometimes all of them forget he has his own family . Silver has the same exact position on the Zigvolts . Because there is no may Mr. Zigvolt or Ms. Zigvolt just left baby Silver with his dad who thought his baby would just come back after he crawled away , like no we are co-parenting now . like Lilia is giving his best but his best isn't that great , still a good dad but he needs help. That Man and Mal are the reasons Silver grew up relatively healthy. They would have went that boy is ours too now ( no Lilia bashing but his cooking is deadly)

To Lilia he is one of his boys, he isn't the legal parent of Mal either, and yes he isn't Sebeks dad but that is his boy , he may have good parents but hey they can share. They already do .That is the boy he saw grow up and a constant in his home , he is his teacher , mentor and adult responsible for him . Thats not his son but one of his kids.

To Silver , he is a core part of his family , what you mean he isn't ? Thats his little bro from another father/mother , his best friend he has know him for all of his life , when he thinks family he thinks the dia4. The Zigvolts have pictures of Silver with the rest of the kids at their house change my mind . It isn't even a question for him Sebek is family thats it.

To Malleus he is one the little kids that he saw grow up , he may have not held him as a baby but as a toddler , he may be obsessed with him , but Silver is obsessed with mushroom risotto and he is with gargoyles thats just how Sebek is , thats his littlest guy . His little guy who cried bc he couldn't do magic. Yes he might be annoying sometimes but everyone in this family is sometimes thats normal . Mal is that one sibling with a huge age gap who basically raised his little siblings . If Lilia and Silver are his family so is Sebek . He will protect Sebek with his life , he chose those two as knights not because of their strength but because of their hearts, they will never be afraid of telling the truth to him ( or so he thinks) And with them close he can protect them .

AND Sebek is still like ah yes my cousin/sibling and his emotionally foolish family thank 7 I am the normal one in this family and not a part of it he is in denial as he is SEBEK ( need I explain more ?)

[possibilistfanfiction]

CaitVi prompt: hospital

[u are all so silly, i got four asks with 'hospital' so here's the first of probably a few more :) also on ao3. there's not any real angst as i've tried to stick to in this little au lol. some more jinx pov, cait being kind. just the little family they all deserve!]

///

immediately there’s, like, a lot of blood. you wrap a towel — greasy, but better than nothing — around your arm and take a deep breath so you can stop yourself from feeling like you want to pass out. after a few perilous seconds, the wave of nausea and lightheadedness passes.

not that things even get easier, though, because you remember quickly that ekko is out of town on some arborist soil sample something something trip, and vi had texted you ten minutes ago that she was going out on a call — she always does, so you know what’s happening and can work through your anxiety without spiraling into a panic attack — and vander is picking up some new stools for the bar two towns over. the voices start immediately, partially because you’re in pain and partially because you’re really starting to panic: your arm is going to be fine, probably, but the cut was deep and messy, a clumsy slip in the lab; you spent a lot of years trying your best not to take care of yourself, but you know that’s not what you should do now.

you’re a burden, you hear, flashes of ugly images following. you close your eyes tight, as tight as you can, and shake your head. you’re still not used to not having your braids, but vi fixed it as much as possible and told you that you look badass; you look like your big sister more now, and she’s the most badass person you know, so it’s fine. it’s okay, you tell yourself, even though you don’t deserve care runs through your mind, so loudly, in a voice that isn’t yours. you know what to do now, though: you breathe into the bottom of your spine, just like you practice with your therapist all the time. you sniffle and blink away some tears and say some affirmations to yourself, ones that vi and vander and ekko and even caitlyn tell you all the time, big and small compliments and reassurances all the same.

it’s hard, though: you’ll only annoy her, you think, the second you remember what vi had told you a few weeks ago — caitlyn wanted to make sure you know that you can text het whenever you need. caitlyn will be mad at you; she’ll break up with vi and then vi will be mad at you, or vi will choose caitlyn over you, and either way she won’t want to live with you anymore, and you’ll be back on the street, and you won’t be able to stay on your medications, not without vi’s help, and ekko won’t want to spend any time with you when you’re like that, and—

‘no,’ you say out loud, ‘that’s not true.’ you take a deep breath. ‘none of that is going to happen.’

it feels like a miracle, even still, every time you’re able to come back to reality without hours of spiraling, and especially when you’re able to do it on your own. you still feel like you’re itching just under your skin, like everything is a little off-kilter, too fast and too bright, but you’re able to take one more deep breath and then find your phone.

your hand shakes as you press on the contact info and then call, and you put it on speaker and place it down on your work table before you put pressure back onto the towel over your cut. after only one and a half rings, caitlyn’s very proper accent comes through with a friendly, ‘hello, jinx.’

‘hi,’ you say, try your best to not sound as stressed and near tears and a little bit crazy as you feel.

when you can’t bring yourself to say anything else, after a few seconds she asks, ‘can i help you with anything?’

‘you’re probably busy,’ you say. ‘you’re at work, and i really shouldn’t be bothering you.’

you can almost see her shaking her head as you hear a little tisk. ‘i’m between meetings,’ she assures, ‘but, even if i wasn’t, if i can do something, i’d like to.’

there’s flashes of intrusive voices and images and thoughts, but you count to five and then nod. ‘okay.’

‘great. what can i help you with, then?’

‘well, i was being safe, i swear, and i would’ve asked vi, but she’s out on a call, and ekko and vander aren’t in town, and —‘

‘— jinx,’ caitlyn says, gentle enough you would cry if you weren’t as tough. ‘i’m happy to help, especially if you’re hurt.’

‘it’s just a cut on my arm.’

‘okay.’ she sounds unfazed, not angry, just concerned. ‘do you think you need stitches?’ i’m not too far; i can come pick you up and bring you to the hospital.’

‘are you —‘

‘yes,’ she says. ‘i am sure. i actually have a meeting there this afternoon anyway.’

‘well, okay. i guess.’

she laughs. ‘keep pressure on the wound, and i’ll see you in fifteen minutes. i can come up if you need.’

‘no, that’s okay.’

‘i’ll text you when i’m here, then.’

‘yeah. okay. and, like, thanks, i guess.’

you hear the fondness in her voice when she says, ’of course.’

/

it’s been eight months and you’re still kind of blown away by how neat caitlyn is: her new car that’s always clean, no matter how dirty you get it on your climbing trips; she irons all of her work clothes, which you only know because vi teased her the pleats in her slacks a few weeks ago; her hair is always perfectly sleek, not a strand out of place. it would be kind of scary if you haven’t also spent the last eight months watching her trip over herself to impress your idiot sister, and wear vi’s hoodies, and make truly shitty coffee when she stays the night at your apartment.

still, you’re a little scared to get blood on the pristine leather seat, but caitlyn gets out of the car when you get out of your building after she texts you and looks at your arm. she frowns — less in concern than, like, compassion or something — before she pulls you into a side-hug, making sure to not jostle your bad arm, and then opens the passenger door and makes sure you get in safely.

she’s in a neat dark turtleneck and slacks, a white coat actually hanging up on the hook in the back, which is comforting; the voices are quiet because your own is so loud wanting to scoff and tease her. but she turns on music she knows you like, and she doesn’t bother with trying to get you to make small talk. caitlyn drives carefully, she always does, and you rest your head against the window, the pain finally catching up to you.

‘i let vi know,’ caitlyn tells you as she pulls into a spot with her own name on it in the parking garage at the hospital.

you thank her quietly, feeling relieved that you don’t have to, even though she’ll definitely make you explain later how, even with all the new safety equipment jayce had given you, this could happen. still, the voices calm more and more as you walk in. caitlyn shrugs on her white coat, and she tells you to sit in a chair in the ER waiting room while she checks how busy it is.

‘dr. kiramman,’ you hear a nurse happily greet her. you lean your head back and close your eyes — the pain finally hitting you fully as your adrenaline has worn off — and grumble, ‘so fancy,’ just for posterity.

soon enough, though, only a few minutes, she gently says your name. ‘we’ll get you settled in the back,’ she explains. ‘it’s a little busy, but there’s a bed, and we can get you some pain medicine while you wait. it’ll be much more comfortable.’

you nod and she helps you up and then wraps a gentle hand around your shoulder, guiding you comfortingly. a nurse comes in and takes your vitals, which are normal enough, and then bustles out to get pain meds and a suture kit.

‘i — i can’t have opioids,’ you tell caitlyn, quietly. vi is always the best at leaving the details of what you’ve gone through up to you to tell people, but you’re still surprised when caitlyn doesn’t know things.

she just nods, though, unfazed. ‘i put in an order for local anesthetic, which should be the most helpful. otherwise, we can have you take tylenol and then see how your pain is; there are stronger options we can explore if you end up needing it.’

you kind of want to cry, but you don’t because you’re big and tough and strong and crying is for babies, obviously. you look around at how nice everything is, how shiny and new, and you take a second to really see her. caitlyn sits calmly in the chair next to your bed, perfect posture and slightly tired eyes; you know how strong she is since you climb together often, and you also know how kind she is.

‘this is a way nicer hospital than the ones i’ve been in before.’

her smile is a little hesitant but pleased all the same. ‘i’ve been working on improving all of them in the region.’

‘even the psych wards?’

her smile grows a little, genuine, and just for you. ‘especially the psych wards.’

it’s impossible not to return it. ‘really?’

‘compassionate and comprehensive mental health care has always been a priority of mine,’ she says, completely serious. ‘it’s part of the reason i went into public health policy, rather than just practicing.’ you’ve tuned out whenever she and vi have talked about caitlyn’s multiple degrees, because usually you’re climbing or someone has just brought you food, both of which are much more interesting than, like, seven million years of fancy school or whatever, but maybe it’s less dull than you thought. ‘i’ve grown to care about it even more in the past year, though.’

it takes you a second, but then you understand. ‘oh. huh.’ it seems impossible, but she’s not joking. ‘because of me?’

‘yes,’ caitlyn says. ‘we don’t have to talk about anything that makes you uncomfortable, but i’ve noticed how hard you work, and i know how much vi helps coordinate your care.’

for a second, you want to argue, or yell, or storm out and crash a car or fall into a hole or something, because you are a burden and vi does do so much to help you stay as stable as you can.

‘i’m in awe of you both, really, for navigating it all, even now,’ caitlyn continues, though, and the storm of your bad thoughts fades. ‘however, it should have never required the effort it did to get your care and social supports at first, and it still should be easier to coordinate presently. and,’ she continues; you have to fight a smile because, sometimes, it is fun when she really gets going; caitlyn can be terrifying when she wants to be, ‘if you or anyone else needs inpatient care, you should get to be in fully fundedfacilities that promote healing, grounding, and stability — mentally, but also physically. we know scientifically that aesthetics play a role.’

‘well,’ you say, your voice a little thick, ‘can’t argue with that, can i?’

she laughs, and then the nurse comes back in with a man in a white coat trailing behind her; he has a greying beard but is otherwise tall and stately, with a gentle eyes and a smile that is exactly the same as caitlyn’s. she smiles and hugs him tight, which he returns happily; you don’t wonder where caitlyn got her easy affection from.

‘jinx,’ she says, ‘my dad will be able to give you stitches today. i do have a meeting in about five minutes, but if can push it back if you’d like me to stay.’

‘what’s the meeting for?’ you ask, mostly to be annoying, but also because you’re lowkey curious.

unfortunately, by now caitlyn is unfazed. ‘a plan for the improvement and expansion of our regional gender affirming healthcare program.’

you almost groan; you can’t believe you’re going to have to suffer through your sister — world’s number one Good Person™️, as far as you’re concerned — and caitlyn — another Good Person™️ — for the rest of your life, if things go the way they have been. it’s kind of a big thought, but you find it makes you happy. ‘well, can’t postpone that.’

she smiles. ‘vi texted and should be on her way soon to drive you home when you’re done. i already put in your prescriptions at the pharmacy, so you can just pick those up on your way out. i’ll stop by later with some dinner.’

‘you don’t have to —‘ you catch yourself and take a deep breath — ‘thank you, caitlyn.’

she hums, squeezes your shoulder, and then gives a little wave on her way out, perfectly pressed coat and all.

‘dr. kiramman, the original,’ you say as caitlyn’s dad pulls up a stool and sterile tray next to your bed.

‘tobias, please,’ he says, easy warmth to his voice. ‘caitlyn and vi have both told me so much about you.’

‘terrifying.’

he laughs as he readies a syringe. ‘this is just local numbing agent. you’ll feel a little pinch, but it shouldn’t hurt any significant degree.’

he waits for you to nod before he starts, and it stings but not bad.

‘and only good things,’ he assures you, finishing up. ‘mostly about your school, and how much they both enjoy climbing with you.’

‘oh.’

he nods, and then quickly and clearly explains the process for stitches. again, he waits for your consent before he starts.

‘you and mrs. kiramman like my sister?’

he expertly ties off a suture. ‘i loved vi right away. cassandra is, well —‘ he rolls his eyes, like you for sure know and are in on it, and, like, vi is still kind of scared shitless of caitlyn’s mom, so you can figure it out.

‘intense?’

he laughs. ‘i don’t think anyone caitlyn would’ve grown serious about would’ve impressed her at first, no matter what.’

maybe it’s because you’re in pain, or because the routine of your day has gone to shit, or because everyone is being nice to you and it’s kind of overwhelming, but you feel a little defensive. vi’s, like, the best person in the world though. she knows that, right?’

‘she does.’ tobias is serious and gentle. ‘she’s actually been pestering the girls to have you and your father over for dinner soon.’

‘really?’

‘i think they’re both just working up to having to endure hours of embarrassing childhood stories at their expense, to be honest.’

you perk up; tobias has to remind you to stay still through a fond chuckle. ‘i’ve got some really good ones.’

‘i’m sure you do.’

and the rest is easy: tobias asks thoughtful, genuine questions about your senior thesis project, about your work with jayce and viktor, even about ekko when you mention him. it’s, well, easy, and you know when you share all of this with your therapist they’re going to go on and on about how good this experience will be for your continued work of remapping your thought patterns, helping you through trauma responses the more good things happen, blah blah, even if they’re right and it has helped a lot. he places a bandage gently and explains what you should do the next few days; vi has had more stitches than you can even count, with her younger propensity to fight anyone and her current propensity to run into burning buildings, but you listen closely anyway.

vi comes rushing in, a little out of breath and flushed in a fire department crew neck sweater and her uniform pants and boots, a smudge of soot still on her cheek, one of caitlyn’s nice patagonia tote bags you’re pretty sure vi has stolen at this point slung over her shoulder. when she sees you, intact and fine, and then tobias, she deflates in relief as she skids to a stop.

‘all fixed up,’ tobias says, and gives her a hug that strikes you as familiar; your chest aches a little, but it’s a good ache.

you can tell vi is still resisting the urge to take your face in her hands and check over every inch of you, so you roll your eyes. ‘i’m fine, vi.’

it seems to appease her for now, and she listens so intently when tobias explains everything to her, and then gives her directions to the pharmacy. ‘and bring jinx and vander for dinner soon, please.’ it’s accompanied with an expression that is so caitlyn — generous but demanding; there’s nothing vi can do to argue — you have to laugh.

when tobias leaves, vi hugs you tightly. ‘i’m glad you’re okay.’

you really don’t want to suddenly start crying, so you shove her back after a few seconds. ‘no big deal, sis.’

she looks at you carefully, now that it’s just the two of you, to make sure you’re not putting on a brave face.

‘i will say, it’s pretty sweet to have an in with the head of public health and her dad.’

vi smiles. ‘now you know why i’ve paid attention when she talks about her job.’

‘it’s still boring to hear,’ you insist. you realize, belatedly, as vi gets out one of your comfortable jackets from the tote bag, that you’re just in an old ratty tank that you wear when you tinker around; you let her help you into the jacket, taking comfort in the gesture even if you don’t want to acknowledge it aloud. ‘it’s cool in practice, though, gotta give her that.’

vi hums happily and then pulls a beanie over your head.

you roll your eyes. ‘i can do that on my own. plus, i don’t even need that.’

‘it’s starting to snow outside.’

you humph, just because you can. sometimes it’s grounding to be stubborn.

‘plus, take it from me, your head will be cold now if you don’t wear a hat.’

she has a point, maybe,so, ‘where’s your hat, then?’

she produces another beanie from the tote, a very nice arcteryx one that you’re sure belonged to cait a few months ago.

you roll your eyes and shove off her help when you get up from the bed, and she rolls her eyes. still, she walks close to you as you head out, and she gets your prescriptions for you when you don’t feel like going to the counter and talking, and she drives home safely in the snow. you doze on and off on the couch under your favorite fleece blanket after you change into one of vi’s softest hoodies and shorts and the best fuzzy socks, and you wake up drearily — the disruption of your routine and the adrenaline wearing off catching up to you — when cait lets herself in after it’s gotten dark. she brushes snow from her coat and takes her boots off on the welcome mat and racks them neatly next to vi’s, and then kisses her hello.

‘is that pizza for me?’

she laughs at the way you’ve perked up, your head just peeking over the back of the couch. ‘you’re feeling hungry? that’s a great sign.’

you get up and wave both of them off when they try to help you get a plate; you take a slice straight from the box and go back to your little nest. vi brings you a plate anyway, and, after caitlyn changes into comfortable clothes — hers, left here consistently in a drawer or two in vi’s dresser — they cuddle up on the far end of the couch with their own slices.

‘since i faced a life-threatening medical emergency today,’ you say, ‘i get to pick the movie.’

they both groan in protest, but vi hands you the remote anyway. you take pity on them — and maybe a little bit of gratefulness — and pick something all three of you had wanted to watch anyway, which vi seems especially pleased by. she’d told you on the way home about her shift, how she’d basically worked through the night and then had another call this morning, both pretty intense burns. she has a beer and cait has a glass of wine, and, unsurprisingly, vi falls asleep on cait’s shoulder about halfway through the movie, after she’d put away the leftover pizza in the fridge and done her nightly routine of checking all the locks on the windows and doors, a habit that you don’t think she’ll ever break.

you smile at the two of them, and unfortunately caitlyn catches you out of the corner of her eye. you wrinkle your nose at her and she laughs softly.

‘hey,’ you say, ‘thanks for today.’

‘of course.’

‘and, like, for your work, i guess. or whatever.’

she pats your hand, then squeezes once as you get up.

you wrap yourself in a little blanket cape, hooded over the top of your head, so just your face sticks out. you debate telling her to be sure to be quiet if they have sex tonight, or to please not bother making coffee tomorrow morning, but you’ve learned that there are lots of ways to say that you care about — and even love — a person.

‘sleep well, caitlyn.’

she smiles. ‘goodnight, jinx.’

[cupidbedsy]

worth the risk ; walking on sunshine

➪ summary: luke wants to ice skate with phi for christmas, but she's nervous about getting an injury

➪ warnings: none... i think !

➪ word count: 0.7k

➪ file type: 12 days of au's: christmas edition (walking on sunshine) blurb

➪ cupid's notes: no notes! simply enjoy :)

© cupidbedsy ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

“Lu, I’m not so sure about this.”

“C’mon, sunshine. This has been on my bucket list since I found out I was getting called up.”

“Skating with me? Baby we’ve skated together before.” Ophelia looked down at Luke, who was kneeling in front of her, tying skates onto her feet.

“Not just skating, you idiot. Skating here, in front of the Tree.”

Ophelia’s gaze wandered over to where the Rockefeller Tree sat, in all 74 feet of its glory. Her eyes seemed to focus on every single light it was adorning before she looked back down at her boyfriend, “M’just nervous. You know what coach would say if she found out.”

“Well, it’s a good thing she won’t.” He patted her thigh, standing up and holding his hands out for her. She slid her hands into his, using them as she got up from the bench, leaning her head against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her, one hand playing with her hair and the other across the small of her back. He kissed her temple, murmuring against her hair, “I would never let you fall, you know that.”

She blushed and nodded, grateful for the cold that surrounded them which already made her cheeks pinkier than normal. She used Luke’s hand as a guide as they stepped onto the ice, mind racing with thoughts about how horrible this idea was. Coach would surely kill her if she found out that she got injured going ice skating, especially if she knew that she had thought it was a bad idea and did it anyway. 

The thought scared her more than she liked to admit, tightening her grip on his hand even as she fell into the rhythm of skating. Luke looked at her, pride shining in his eyes as she was skating on her own, barely needing him as support. 

They skated around the outside of the rink, Luke playfully shoving her in the slightest bit, sending shockwaves of fear through her before she shoved him back, which only resulted in him laughing. 

“You know, you’d be a shit hockey player.”

“And you’d be a shit softball player, I think we can call this argument even.”

He grinned, simply spinning her into his arms as they came to stop just short of the exit. Ophelia’s cheeks were still just as flushed as they were before, pink dusting her cheeks and her nose turning red. He wrapped his hand around both of hers, letting them rest between their chests. 

She took a deep breath, staring up at him, unable to look away. This would mark their first Christmas as a couple. Sure they had spent plenty of Christmases together since they first met, but this was different, of course it was. She wasn’t sure what he had in store for the two of them when she first flew out to New Jersey, but it certainly wasn’t this. 

Luke leaned in, kissing her softly, as they were passed by by a multitude of people who were for sure giving them looks for just stopping in the way of their paths, but neither of them could find it in them to care. She thought this was worth the risk of her injury, if it meant staying like this with him for a little while longer. 

When Ophelia pulled away, her forehead rested against his, a shy grin making its way onto her face as she noticed the tips of Luke’s ears turning pink from the cold. Luke smiled back at her, pulling her along to the exit and sitting her down on the bench, repeating his actions that he did before; bending down and untying her skates, placing them beside her as he did the same with his own. 

“What’s next on your itinerary, Luke Warren Hughes.”

She giggled at his groan, walking down the street as she cuddled closely into his side. He gave her a soft glare, “What’s with the middle name?”

“Nothing, just like to annoy you.”

“Well in that case, I guess you won’t be getting any hot chocolate.”

“What-” She was quick to pout at his word, protesting softly, “Noooo. I want hot chocolate.”

“Gotta make it up to me sunshine,” he tapped his cheek, looking down at her expectantly.

“Ass.” She muttered, but leaned up to kiss his cheek anyway.

꒰ WALKING ON SUNSHINE TAGLIST ꒱

@winterbarnesblog @kei943 @digitalhughes-jpg @rowdyluv @bunbunbl0gs @hughesfilm @fantillisgirl

WALKING ON SUNSHINE MASTERLIST ; AU'S ; 12 DAYS OF AU'S

TAGLIST ; NHL MASTERLIST ; NAVIGATION

[prince-liest]

What kind of murderer do you fancy Alastor as back on earth? (Forgive me this is a bit long, I started to ramble dkdkgk)

I tend to see it get handwaved once we're in hell, since anyone Alastor tenderizes just comes back later anyways, but there's a couple of different Flavors I'll see people give Alastor specifically for his serial killing back on earth.

The one I see most often is people giving him a moral code he uses to conduct Wholesome™ murders back on earth. Abusers, racists, door-to-door salesmen. If the law wasn't doing its job (or more accurately, working as intended), then Alastor provided REAL justice. This flavor tends to frame it less as Alastor killing cuz he wants to and more like a hero using the power of incredible violence out of necessity. Though sometimes I'll see him killing as a hobby, he just keeps to this strict moral code about it

Just as common, though slightly less I think, he's definitely killing for funsies, but has a moral code telling him who's off limits. He avoids women and children, and hilariously good people are often safe, but everyone else is fair game. If you're a regular dude who's like, fine I guess, you are DEFINITELY still on the menu

Least common flavor is the "if you're in reach of a sticky hand and I can get away with it, you're on the hit list." This I've observed tends to be saved for fics where Alastor's the antagonist or we're going full villain-mode and reveling in the moral bankruptcy XD

There's definitely all sorts of in-between flavors, but these are the ones I see pop up most often lol. SO! I was curious if you had any headcanons or preferences over what kind of serial killing Alastor did topside :3

I can definitely understand the appeal of the vigilante justice route, but I absolutely have an affinity for an Alastor who killed for shits and giggles and wasn't TOO concerned with who's on the other side of that knife. Love me a bitch who's done some unethical shit for absolutely no reason (⁠人⁠ ⁠•‌⁠ᴗ⁠•‌⁠) adds SPICE, y'know XD

I like to go for a fourth option! >:D I like to think that Alastor does have a moral code for killing, but that it basically amounts to "people I don't like."

There are so many stories out there of serial killers targeting women who look like their mom because they have mommy issues; I think Alastor should get to have the opposite. He kills wealthy, powerful, probably-white men because he has daddy issues and as a result that is the exact kind of man that, just, pisses him off to a murderous extent. He would never hurt a lady! Not because women can do no wrong in his eyes, but because he has a particular image of himself and that would be ungentlemanly. Any Vox-alike, however...

At the same time, I don't think he in any way acted with the intent of being a vigilante for any true justice. Like, maybe he does go out of his way sometimes to find a particularly heinous individual, but that's not really for the greater good. It's an excuse to satisfy his desire to put a wealthy man in his place - on the wrong side of the grass. And if it's a week when he sees that someone was being a little sleazy around Mimzy, or an obnoxious guest on his radio show spoke to him with that particular tone... you don't have to be a rapist to be worthy of Alastor blowing off some steam.

Anyway, tl;dr, I like to think murder was his tension release and so he generally went for people he found annoying (aka. people like his father) under a thin veil of "the world is better off without them anyway." He probably had a lot of revenge fantasies about his dad and the next closest thing was grabbing a shotgun and chasing some sleazy suit-and-tie through the woods barefoot.

[allthingsfangirl101]

Bother Me – Glen Powell

I knocked on his door and nervously waited. I shook my head when I realized I was always doing this. Whenever something goes wrong or needs fixing in my apartment, I go to my neighbor, Glen Powell.

Back when I first moved in next door to Glen, he wasn't a big actor yet. He'd had smaller roles but nothing that made him noticed. We became friends in the laundry room when I asked to borrow one of his dryer sheets. We ran into each other a week later and I gave him a dryer sheet to pay him back. We quickly found that we always do laundry on the same night.

"Hey, Y/N," Glen smiled as he opened his door. "What's up?"

"Sorry to bother you," I sighed, "but I was wondering if you could help me with something."

"Anything."

"One of the light bulbs in my fan is out and I can't get the cover off," I explained.

"Easy," he smiled. He left his apartment and followed me back to my apartment. I showed him what fan I was talking about and watched as he removed the cover, changed the light bulb, and put the cover back on.

"Thanks for doing this, Glen," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "I swear I'm not as helpless as I come off."

"You're not helpless," he said gently as he climbed down the ladder.

"I come to you all the time for stupid little things," I shrugged. "I bet it's annoying."

"It's not," he said gently. "I really don't mind coming over to help you."

"If it ever gets annoying, please let me know."

I gasped when he leaned in and kissed my cheek. "I will never have to because it will never get annoying."

* * * * *

Even though Glen tried to reassure me that my always asking him for help wasn't annoying, I was still insecure about it. So, I refused to ask him for help. It lasted a week before I eventually did need his help.

I searched through my bag, saying several swear words under my breath as I tried to remember where I put my keys.

"Everything okay, Y/N?" I jumped, instantly making Glen feel bad. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's not you," I sighed. "It's just. . . It's been a day and I'm pretty sure I either left my keys in my desk at work or on the table right on the other side of this door."

"Well," he smiled, "good news is that you gave me your spare key last year. Give me one second to pop into my place and I'll grab it."

As we ran into his apartment, I wrapped my arms around myself. He quickly came back and smiled at me before unlocking my door.

"Your home, madam," he said, jokingly opening the door for me.

"Thank you," I sighed. "Seriously, Glen. Thank you."

I walked into my apartment and instantly found my keys right on the small table I have by the door.

"And here they are. Right by the door," I sighed as I grabbed them. I turned back toward Glen, my face burning. "I'm really sorry, Glen. I don't know why I'm so helpless."

"It's okay," he smiled. I swear, this guy is always smiling. "I already told you; I don't mind."

"But I do," I mumbled. I looked up to see him studying me. I cleared my throat before saying, "Thanks again, Glen. I won't keep you from your Friday night plans."

I sent him a smile before closing the door. Right as I closed the door, I heard him mumble, "I didn't have any plans."

* * * * *

A few hours later, I started making cookies for my book club tomorrow night but I didn't check if I had all my ingredients. When I grabbed the salt, I instantly groaned. My first thought should've been to run to the small grocery store around the corner but it wasn't. My first thought was to ask Glen.

I couldn't help but fix my shirt before leaving my apartment and heading to Glen's. I held my breath as I waited for him to open the door.

"Hey, Y/N," he smiled instantly.

"Sorry to bother you. . . Again, but I was wondering if. . ."

"Bother me."

"What?"

"Bother me," he repeated. "I love it when you bother me. It never bothers me."

I smiled when he cringed at how cheezy that sounded. But I loved it.

"I just mean," he tried to save himself, "that I like that you need me. It's been a while since someone has needed me."

"It's been a while since I've trusted someone enough to need them," I said, my voice soft. Glen smiled as he grabbed my hand and pulled me into his chest.

"Do you trust me?" He asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"I do," I whispered back. He leaned in and pressed his lips gently to mine. As I kissed him back, I wrapped my arms around his neck. He instantly wrapped his arms around my waist.

"You needed something," Glen said, breaking the kiss.

"Oh," I said, my voice still soft. "Right. Um, I was going to see if you had any salt."

"I do," he chuckled. "What are you making?"

"Cookies for my book club," I explained, my face turning slightly pink.

"That's fun," he said, reaching up and moving some hair out of my face. "You need an extra pair of hands?"

"I could use some help," I shrugged. I grabbed his hand and started pulling him to my apartment. He pulled back, turning me around. I started to ask what was wrong but his smile reassured me.

"We forgot the salt," he chuckled. He gave me a quick kiss before jogging back into his apartment.

I took a shaky breath as I waited. My mind went all over the place as I thought about what this could mean for us. We officially weren't just neighbors anymore. . . Right?

"You okay?"

I hadn't noticed him come back. "Yeah," I said, clearing my throat. "Just. . . overthinking."

"Overthinking?" He asked, his smile dropping. "About what, gorgeous?"

"Us?"

As soon as that word left my lips, I was worried about his reaction. Instead of getting angry or hurt, Glen took a step closer to me. He leaned in and gave me a slow and soft kiss. We broke the kiss, both of us out of breath. He leaned his forehead against mine as I anxiously waited for him to say something.

"There is nothing to overthink about us, Y/N," he whispered. "I have been obsessed with you since we first met. I want to give this a try."

"Really?" I asked as I leaned back.

"Really," he smiled. He chuckled before adding, "I should be honest with you. I only did my laundry on Thursdays that first night we met. I went back the next week, hoping to run into you again. When you told me you do laundry every Thursday night, I started doing mine every Thursday. And not that I've said that out loud, I realize how creepy and stalkerish that is."

"No, it's not," I smiled. "It's extremely sweet."

I wrapped my arms around his neck, stood on my toes, and kissed him. He smiled against my lips as he held me close to him. We broke apart with small giggles when we heard the oven in my apartment beep.

"Sorry to bother you," I said softly, "but any chance you can help me make cookies for my book club?"

[choccy-zefirka]

They have been doing so well. Attacking the undead dragon from all quarters.

Emmrich — poised as a dancer, even when his ballroom is a wretched corpse-strewn pit, a solitary cell for an ancient demon in a carcass of wing and claw — has been twisting long shimmery green strands of magic around the creature's ankles... Can you describe dragons, or their possessed corpses, as having ankles? That is Taash's expertise, but Taash hates coming down to the Necropolis, so Hjördis has no-one to ask.

Davrin, always the daring monster hunter, has been throwing the full force of his blade arm against the hardened dark scales whenever the necromancer's spells pull the great beast to the ground. Assan has, of course, been helping him — the very best boy, tiny as a gnat against the dragon's massive snout, yet relentless as a gnat as well, pecking and clawing at its nostrils with gleeful little squawks.

"You won't do much damage like that, boy!" Davrin cries out from behind his raised shield, as a swirl of biting purple light begins bubbling within the dragon's throat. "It doesn't need to breathe! Go get the eyes!"

But Hjördis thinks he's being too hard on the fluffy little fellow.

She has been pulling her weight too. Doing what she always does best: staring straight at the snarling, writhing abomination before her, feeling her brain's annoying roommate — fear, the same damn fear every time — swell into existence like a blight pustule... And ignoring it. A Lord of Fortune — one raised by Captain Isabela and her heroic lovers, no less — is not supposed to cower and snivel over trivial, everyday things like fighting a demon.

Sure, it's a huge, multidimensional demon older than time, with powers beyond her comprehension or whatever... But her Lords crew once dealt with a colossus of Pride that was drawn to a foolhardy Armada captain, and ended up smashing his ship and fusing with it, chunks of wood and coils of rope and ragged sails and all. That thing shambled about ankle-deep in the frothing waves, with rigging flying in the wind like tangled hair and a crown of broken masts sitting atop its head. She was terrified to her bone marrow back then, too — but she made it out. And she will make it out today, too.

It's easy. It's nothing new.

Just duck and roll out of the way when the undead dragon's breath ploughs a smoking, charred trench across the ground. Leap back up, summon an orb of magic, toss it straight into the void between its jaws. Slide forward when it chokes, dagger at the ready, toss yourself under its belly like you are repairing a carriage, and strike, strike, strike at the weak spot between its ribs. Repeat again and again, your friends by your side, best boy Assan swooping from above. Not so bad, is it?

They have been doing so well. One moment, it seems that they almost have the demon... And then the tattered dead wings flap, and suddenly, darkness falls.

The thing must have used some kind of spell, a trick of the Fade — it doesn't matter. Hjördis can't think about it too long. She can't think of anything at all, in this endless, bottomless well of ink, where there's only her and, across a distance she cannot even measure, two floating, hungry embers, with a waiting maw below — a slit of billowing glow crossed by silhouettes of teeth.

She can still hear Emmrich and Davrin, stumbling about in the void, calling out to her; and Assan, crying in a shrill little voice, almost like an abandoned baby, somewhere in an alien plane that is supposed to be... up? If she moves off the spot she's glued to, if she wills her frozen arms to search the dark, she might stumble into them... But she can't. She is too afraid.

The blight pustule has grown, and sprouted squirming, squelching tentacles that fill her belly from within, and bind her in place. Her eyes forget to blink, scorching torrents streaming down her cheeks, as she stares and stares and stares into the demon's eyes. A rabbit before a snake.

The embers hover on the same spot for a moment, also unblinking... Until they don't.

The demon lurches forward, its jaws clamping into a metal trap around its prey. One long, slightly serrated tooth digs into Hjördis' shoulder, another ruptures the flesh of her thigh. She is swept upwards like she is in a crow's nest. Her stomach would have jolted with that familiar sensation, as her limbs cut through empty air... But the pain takes over, and swallows everything else. Several broiling geysers pulsate through her body; the black pall falls back from her eyes, replaced with a heavy curtain of crimson, and then with a blinding white light... She cannot tell if it's her agony coloring her vision, or if the demon's spell has truly waned.

Then, comes Assan's squawk again, and the sound of tiny claws and beak feasting on the great beast's throat. It all comes off muffled, distorted, as if she were underwater... plummeting down, down, deep into the sea...

Has the dragon collapsed at last? Have Darvin and Assan taken it down, acting together…? Turlum, turlum is the word, short like the drum beats of blood in her ears...

The last thing she hears, as distant echoes that layer through the dull pounding in her head, are her friends' voices.

Rook? Rook! Oh, no, no, no... She isn't... She can't...

She's still alive! I've got her! But I am not the mage here! Pull yourself together and help me stop the bleeding!

Yes, of course, Davrin, I am sorry! I —

"You are cute," Hjördis wants to say to Emmrich, falling right into her old habit of teasing him. She is absolutely certain he is cute, even if his face is a greyish oblong blur right now, melting into the white, aching light that sears her eyes and makes her temples pulse.

“You are cute,” she thinks at him weakly, swimming in pain. And she absolutely means it.

Once, when she stared up and down his lanky form, hands resting on her hips, and tossed around words like "dapper" and "good-looking", and asked him with a sly grin whatever he did with those long, nimble fingers of his — once, her main goal was to coax a startled look onto his face, to have a good giggle when his eyebrows crawled up and he froze in the middle of turning towards her. Once, but not any more. Not now.

Her heavy, clumsy tongue manages to battle through the numbness and the twang of copper at the back of her mouth, and shape the first croaky syllable... Then, she drowns at last, and when she re-emerges to choke out the rest of "You are cute", her surroundings are completely different.

She is tucked cozily into a large bed with dark-green covers and cheery mahogany skeletons at all four corners, holding up a velvet canopy. The rest of the room is hazy, but through patina-like mist, she can make out more carvings of skulls, skinless hands clasped around a blur of light — a lamp of some sort? — and maybe the feet of one of those sky-high skeleton statues. Maybe. The pain is gone, but her eyes can't seem to see straight, and she feels a huge giant cotton cloud filling the space between her head and the rest of her (apparently, heavily bandaged) body. Good old elfroot, huh.

A couple slow blinks later, she processes that her hoarse, half-slurred compliment was, in fact, addressed to more than just the skeletal four-poster. Emmrich is here. Right here. By her bedside.

She squints to bring his face into focus, and a sobering realization hits her. He looks far too pale for it to just be the green-tinged lighting, with puffy half-moons under his bloodshot eyes. Like he is the one in need of some calming elfroot, not her.

Startled by the sound of her voice, he gapes back at her... Until some crumbling wall within him falls to pieces, releasing a stream of jumbled words.

"Rook! Oh, Rook, I was so worried! I couldn't see you in that dark cloud, only... only hear your screams... For a moment, I was back in my childhood home, trapped under our fallen ceiling... Listening to my family die within arm's reach... And when the Formless One fell, and Davrin pried you from its jaws, I thought... It looked like... There was so much blood... And you — you were..."

He inhales shakily, cutting himself off, and presses his index finger and thumb at the corners of his eyes.

"Forgive me, Rook. I have not slept much."

"Well. This bed is big enough for both of us."

It has to come off as something dirty, outrageous, her usual cheek... But all she thinks of in that moment, when the words rush unbidden from her lips, is that trapped little boy. Plunged in darkness, face to face with the greatest fear of his life. Needing to be warm, to be held, to never, ever be alone again.

At least he does not look... too scandalized when his darkened, feverish eyes meet hers. Instead, he seems concerned — for her. So Emmrich, really!

"Rook, you are still healing! I might disturb your bandages!"

"I don't mind. Come on. It's incredibly soft... Whose room am I in anyway?"

The weight of all his sleepless hours proves too strong, and Emmrich caves — not giving her an answer until he is curled up by her side, his long limbs and spine folded to resemble one of those huge shrimps the street vendors shove in your face on toothpick skewers along the Llomerryn waterfront. He keeps a respectful half an inch between them, but she pushes her stiff cocoon of a body closer, offering the crook of her shoulder for him to hide his face in. Like two puzzle pieces being shifted across a game table. Meant to perfectly fit.

"It's one of the Mourn Watch's guest chambers," he explains in a lazy murmur, melting into a blissful sigh. "Davrin went off to help with the aftermath of vanquishing the Formless One, and I... I carried you here. And stayed behind. I would not really be good for anything else, in my... my state."

When confronted, by some future judge of character, about the shrill giggle she makes in that moment, she is going to blame the elfroot.

"You carried me? All my countless pounds of perfect rope-hauling muscle? In your delicate mage arms?"

"I will have you know I have a very exacting morning exercise routine!" Emmrich protests, in an overplayed distress that makes Hjördis giggle again. "And you are a mage yourself!"

At this moment, Hjördis' mind decides to stun her with a rapid-fire succession of memories from her and Emmrich's magic sparring sessions. Oh, how excited he got over comparing their techniques: a meticulously educated academic versus a wild hedge witchling that grew up first in the slums of Thedas' least mage-friendly city, and then aboard countless ships on Rivain's azure waters. How thrilled he was to learn from her, gasping in sincere amazement as, with an effortless flourish, she made magical foci out of the most mundane objects (including Lucanis' favorite spoon; he is still entitled to compensation for that). How generously he lavished her with "Absolutely astounding, Rook!" and "I never thought of that, Rook!". How he... How he...

Sensing most treacherous warmth spill all over her cheeks, she hurries to retort, as nonchalantly as possible,

"Well, you know I am more of an apostate rogue. Apostirogue if you will."

Emmrich snorts with laugher... But as the sound — the most beautiful sound in the whole world, Hjördis' elfroot-tickled mind tells her — fades, he grows pensive. Lifting himself up on his elbow, he takes a long, wistful look at her.

"Rook..." he says, voice quiet and somber. "I am so grateful to be here, with you... To see you back to your playful self again. Foolish as it may sound."

"Nothing you say is foolish," she tells him, and he frowns in response, an objection unspoken on his lips. He is thinking back to their recent visit to the Memorial Gardens, isn't he? When he laid bare his fear of death, looking so distraught and apologetic all the while. Oh, poor soul; he must have counted down every second of her silence, waiting for her to laugh, as the brave laugh at the cowardly. She is meant to be brave, after all — the dashing apostirogue, the dauntless leader of the Veilguard, the hero Varric found most worthy of following in his footsteps...

Well. Maybe now, while her inhibitions are lulled into blissful drowsiness by whatever pain-killing potion she was given — maybe now is the best time for a revelation of her own.

"Remember how we talked in the Gardens, about your fear?" she speaks in the same subdued, earnest tone as he just did, holding his gaze and not even noticing that their hands met and clasped together over the covers quite a bit ago.

"I don't think I could have admired you any more than I did back then."

"Admired me?" he mouths back at her, perplexed.

"Yes. To name your fear like that, to study it, to talk about it in the open — I could never do something so... so incredible. And I..."

Oh, here it comes. The pustule is about to burst.

"I am afraid of so many things, Emmrich. The dark. Heights. The deep sea. Monsters. Even particularly large dogs. Oh, my all of mothers' mabari have been absolute pumpkin pies, and I still died a little on the inside whenever they came bounding at me for puppy kisses!"

"Rook..." he mouths, brows arching, while his hand squeezes hers. "I had no idea..."

"No-one does. Not even my family. I always hid that part of myself from them; I... I thought it made me less than. But then I met you, a brilliant, kind, wonderful man whose worth was... was not diminished by his fear... And I..."

Her thoughts crumple into a soft mush. And lost for words, she kisses him.

They will not remember this: the softness of their mouths touching, the needy strokes of her tongue against his, the whimper at the back of his throat. He is too sleep-deprived; she is still recovering from her wounds, woozy from all the elfroot. When Davrin finds them, cuddling innocently in the huge Mourn Watch bed, they will wake up thinking it was just a dream. A figment of their exhausted minds. Or a trick of a passing wisp that wants to be a desire demon when it grows up.

The Veil is terribly thin these days, especially in the Necropolis.