#customized return gift bags

[vidilpaperbags]

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[coolindianjutebags-blog]

marrriage bag

[irisintheafterglow]

the long-awaited part 2 to this drabble

"can i get an extra large of the black shirt?"

"of course, give me one moment. i'll be right with you," you reply with robotic politeness over your shoulder as you shove a cardboard box of collectible hats behind the tablecloth. foot traffic has significantly slowed, allowing you to take care of some inventory tasks that were hard to complete when you were bombarded with requests for the limited-edition holographic poster boasting the olympics' host city. you stand from your crouching position, grab an extra-large from the crumpled pile, and finally turn to face your customer.

the customer wearing a surgical mask with two black moles above his eyebrow. you suspect his jacket is the same one that stopped everyone in their tracks earlier in the day, when you obliviously asked him to walk you past a creep.

men's volleyball team - sakusa kiyoomi.

"well?" sakusa asks after a long moment of awkward silence, the slightest hint of amusement in his voice at your shock. "are you gonna hand me the shirt or do i need to grab it myself?"

"you...you!" your senses come slamming back into you like a freight train and you're suddenly overcome with a mix of embarrassment and indignance. "why didn't you tell me who you were?"

"you never asked," he says with a shrug and a teasing glint in his eyes. the shirt stays tight in your grasp, if only because the feel of the fabric is the one thing reassuring you that this interaction was truly happening. "plus, you seemed a little preoccupied with other things." you nod dumbly in lieu of answering and fish a paper bag from below the table.

"my boss just about had a heart attack over your damn back," you inform him while you drop the shirt into the bag. you don't bother charging him for it, seeing as he's one of the athletes and all, and you'd prefer for him to forget you exist as quickly as possible.

"i don't know what the big deal is. it's just a jacket."

"'just a jacket,' sure," you scoff, "and you're just some guy throwing a ball around." the small printer next to the register makes a whirring noise as it attempts to dispense a receipt, only for it to jam and print incomprehensible blots of ink. you curse your shitty luck under your breath.

"everything okay?"

"apparently my brain isn't the only thing that's broken right now," you mutter, and you're surprised when he breathes a quiet laugh. "don't bask in my suffering."

"i'll bask in whatever i find funny, thanks," he shoots back and you glare in spite of your furiously warm face. "what happened?"

"the printer broke. it's been on its last legs all day," you frown. you're too busy trying to remember how to replace the paper roll to notice how he glances around before deciding to remove his mask and tuck it into his pocket. when you look up next, your face goes from warm to burning. who knew your one-time bodyguard was also the prettiest man you'd ever laid eyes upon? "you know what? you can just take the bag, i wasn't going to charge you anyway."

"why would i do that? you're not doing your job very well if you just let me steal a shirt." oh, so he thinks he's funny. from what you'd watched in brief clips of his interviews, sakusa seemed too stoic to have any ounce of humor in his body; yet, here you were, getting teased by a god-tier athlete about breaking the register at your summer job.

"it's not stealing, it's...gifting," you correct slowly. "i made you a promise, remember? you made sure i didn't get kidnapped in broad daylight, and i give you a shirt in return. simple."

"but i need a receipt," he retorts dryly.

"why? just take the bag, please," you say a little forcefully, expecting him to take the hint and leave. your first mistake, however, was challenging an olympic volleyball player to a competition of wits and patience.

"no, i don't think i will," he replies, pushing the bag back across the table to you. "a receipt, one more thing, and i'll go."

"well, you're gonna be here for a little bit because i don't know how i'm supposed to get you a receipt when the printer is broken," you surrender with no idea what he was trying to do. "i won't apologize, though, because you could just take the bag and go."

"allowing me to steal and refusing to apologize. gold star customer service." his sarcasm pulls a sudden, ugly bark of laughter that seems to increase the temperature of your face even more. "hmm. cute."

"what?"

"nothing. no receipt, then?"

"like i said, unless you wanna wait until my manager comes down from the balcony level merch stand and fixes the printer, you can just take the shirt and go. i appreciate you walking me earlier, really, so it's no hassle for me if one measly shirt goes missing."

sakusa opens his mouth like he's about to say something, but suddenly snaps his head to the side in the direction of a bright camera flash. one flash turns to four, and he hastily pulls his mask back over his face, cursing under his breath. you watch, perplexed, as his cocky bravado retreats just in time for a half-dozen journalists to cut around the nearest security guard and surround him. in a blink, microphones and cameras are forced into his face and questions in six different languages are hurriedly spewed at him. if you weren't already reaching across to put some distance between him and the tabloid writers, you wouldn't hear him mutter---

please get them away.

"alright, we're done here," you announce to no one in particular. your voice is more commanding than you expected it to be, enough to make the reporters pause and give you an opening to grab the crook of sakusa's elbow, beelining for the staff-only door. the guard posted there is quick to open the door for you and shut it, effectively cutting off the growing horde of journalists. "are you okay?" you ask as you continue to lead him toward what you remember as the nearest quiet break room. you don't have time to think about the flex of his arm under your hand or how he follows you with absolute trust.

"yeah," he answers curtly, his irritation obvious but seeming to diminish the longer you're holding his arm. you reach the empty linoleum-lined room and unlatch your fingers from him to shut the door, feeling a void-like sensation that you can't figure out. "sorry about that," he says to fill the tense silence after you're no longer shoulder-to-shoulder.

"don't worry about it. we're even now," you reassure him and that makes his shoulders relax a little bit. "you need water? a snack? day-old coffee that could probably burn through metal?"

"no, just some peace," he sighs, exasperatedly collapsing into the nearest uncomfortable chair.

"i see." you blink and suddenly feel like you're intruding on his space, fitting in like an elephant in a shoebox. "uh, i'll leave you here and make sure no one else comes--"

"i'd prefer if you stayed," he cuts in and you pause, your hand hovering above the door handle. "if you're able."

"are you sure?"

"only if you can," he says too quickly to be normal, avoiding your eyes. "you don't need to if you don't want to." you want to laugh at your situation, being stuck in an empty room with the hottest man you've ever laid eyes upon, and your nerves are more heightened than a deer in headlights. (you don't know that he's ridiculously embarrassed that the one time he talks to someone he's interested in, it's interrupted by cameras)

"i can stay, yeah," you manage and he's visibly relieved at your answer, at ease enough to again peel off his mask. his annoyance seemed to dissipate in the course of your short conversation, and an odd expression of contentment is its replacement. "you'll have to explain to my manager why i had to take off early, though."

"breaking the printer, refusing to apologize, and abandoning your shift. you cause a lot of problems, evidently," he teases when you settle into a metal chair beside him.

"only around you, evidently," you quip and are rewarded by the tiniest pull at the corner of his mouth. "i'm sorry i wasn't able to get you that shirt, though...and your precious receipt." he shrugs.

"don't really need either anymore."

"how so?"

"hunting down the shirt was just a way to talk to you again," he declares like he didn't even notice how his statement made your face heat once more. he notices, just like he noticed how you stuttered every time he started a conversation with you, how you smile and laugh like an idiot when he says something that catches you off guard, how your fingers felt electric at every point where you held his elbow. "and the receipt was to ask you to write your number, but i guess i can just ask now if you wanna grab dinner."

when you say yes, he hopes you can't tell just how much he already likes you.

[ozzgin]

Request/Idea-

Male Yandere Lawyer x Female Embroider Reader (a lady who works as a tailor is fine too)

Imagine a man falling head over heels for that newly employed lady who hand embroiders beautiful handkerchiefs in a luxury shop he visits to get his custom suits! And he just trying to coax her into dating him, marrying him, and becoming his stay at home wife (and mother of his children eventually) 🥰🤭

Age difference? I need some DILF Daddy energy more in my life (but don’t make him an actual father…yet)

P.S. I adore your OCs and writing. And your artwork is way too fucking good! You’re art is just *chef’s kiss* infuckingcredible

-👘

Yandere!Lawyer x Embroiderer!Reader Headcanons

Ooh, you know what this reminds me of? I have a yaoi volume from Scarlet Beriko, “Queen and the tailor”, about an interior designer that visits a legendary tailor whose suits will supposedly help you achieve success. The tailor turns out to be a scary looking, blunt man but nonetheless extremely talented. I liked the premise a lot, so it’s definitely interesting to try out a different perspective. In this case I have the image of a patient, soft-spoken reader and a hurried, short tempered lawyer. Comically different but in a way that eventually works out, you know? Also thank you for the kind words! Featuring a Reader that is blissfully unaware the lawyer she just stared dating has their entire life together already sorted out. Content: female reader, age gap, older yandere, obsessive behavior

Your eyes begin to hurt mildly, so you look out the window and blink repeatedly, trying to refresh your poor sight. Such detailed works always strain you terribly, but you love seeing the finished result. Others must, too, given your handkerchiefs are often sold out the very same day. Right before your needle pierces the silk canvas anew, the door opens with a burst and you jolt. An older man in a suit, arguing loudly over the phone. He’s drumming his fingers over the counter, eyes darting around in search for an attendant. You know the type quite well, so you hurry over with the hoop still in your hand. “Might I help you with anything?” You mouth discreetly. He turns to you, stares for a couple of seconds, and promptly ends his call.

Out of all the places, he certainly didn’t expect regretting his rusty, unpolished flirting skills in a luxury tailor shop. Yet here he is now, clumsily mumbling something about his new suit he’s come to pick up and wondering how to connect that with your number. The name’s the easy part, as it’s neatly and conveniently printed out on the little badge pinned to your collar. Everything else, not so much. You excuse yourself and return moments later with his order. Shit. You tilt your head, confused by the delayed response, worrying whether you forgot something. Next time. He’ll figure it out for sure next time he comes here.

If there’s one good thing about his career, it’s that his eyes have been trained to spot every detail. For example the embroidery hoop you gently held while speaking to him, so he knows exactly what his next custom order will be. Truth be told, he didn’t anticipate your popularity and long waiting times, but a calculated raised tone with a sprinkle of intimidation has convinced the employee to assign him to you as earliest priority. Whether he can flirt remains to be seen, but arguing with others? Child’s play.

“Thank you for coming again today.” You bow slightly and extend the gift bag. “Although, I must say…I’ve never seen you using these before. What has caused your sudden interest in handkerchiefs?” Rather bold of you to begin such conversations, but your curiosity is too great. No matter how hard you try, you can’t imagine why a blunt, nonchalant man like him would abruptly become passionate about embroidery. A lover? You smile faintly at the idea. Whoever it is, they’ve taken quite the challenge upon themselves. The lawyer frowns at the inquiry. It seems you’re just as observant as him. Maybe this shall be the pretext he can finally cling onto. So he presents it in the factual truth you’d hear in a courthouse: it’s his excuse to see you. You raise your eyebrows in surprise. Well now, isn’t it just silly? He could’ve simply asked. Buying countless expensive handmade items instead of plainly confessing his intentions…He stumbles, flustered. The same man whose ruthless reputation has even reached your humble ears is anxiously awaiting your response with a deep blush on his face.

The childlike innocence doesn’t last long. You’ve agreed to date him and that’s great, but he’s a man with little time that has known exactly what he wants for many years. When he laid his eyes on you he didn’t imagine cheesy coffee dates as you discuss your favorite color and cautiously breach the topic of intimacy. What’s the point? He’s already certain he’ll spend the rest of his life with you. Skip the unnecessary steps. On the other hand, you’re not as cooperative as he’d wish. Truly, the tangible proof that opposites attract. You’re always calm and take your time with everything. It’s almost frustrating how easygoing you are. When asked when you’re moving in with him, you just smiled and wondered out loud what could be wrong with your small studio above the shop. Marriage? Good question, you never thought about it.

Oh, the irony. Last time a client was being particularly difficult, your lawyer boyfriend pulled him out by the collar under the mortified stares of the other attendants and shoppers. The exact attitude he himself would’ve shown before, yet this time it’s different. Of course it is, it involves you. His thin patience runs out if it’s you. That’s all there is to it. Can you blame a man for following his heart? They say you should always chase your dreams; he prefers hunting them down efficiently, and the shotgun is pointed in your direction. His sweet, exquisite prey he can never get enough of.

Finally you agree to move in with him. Your hesitation was maddening and he’d started coming up with downright psychotic alternatives to convince you, such as your studio burning down after a vicious attack of some unknown hooligans. So it was rather wise of you not to push someone that knows the law like the back of his hand, even if you aren’t aware of it yet. He enthusiastically guides you around your new forever home, omitting unimportant details. The spare office he emptied for a future nursery? You’ll get to that later.

He can’t wait to spoil you. See, that’s the advantage of dating an older man. He’s gotten his life sorted out a long time ago. All that was left was finding you. You just need to be a darling and behave. He knows you will. After all, you’re his talented little embroideress that won’t have to worry about anything else ever again.

[thragedys]

Midnight Visitor

Sol x Reader

Synopsis: Thanks to the takeout you ate last night, the effects of food poisoning from poor catering have finally kicked in, hitting you when you least expected it. To ensure you’re properly cared for, Sol takes the duty of watching over you.

Word count: 1.8k

Includes: Gender neutral reader, sick reader, Sol being soft, affection, trespassing, jealous Sol (+ more!)

After undergoing a series of nausea and intense dizziness, Sol insisted on walking you home despite being out in the city with him and Hyugo. It was as though all life was drained from your face, the only support you had while walking was Sol’s arms holding you upright. 

Food poisoning… Should’ve never eaten from that takeout place with less than three stars in their reviews.

Grabbing the key from your bag, he unlocks the door and escorts you inside, directing you to your bedroom while you whine and hold your face in your hands. Even the slightest tilt of your head would send you spiralling sideways, a recipe for disaster as your stomach decides to conjure its own storm.

Inside the kitchen, Sol spots a paper bag. The logo of the company which made you unwell is there, presented in a large font. Retrieving his phone, he snaps a picture of the logo, alongside the contact details printed on the back. He’ll deal with that later. Currently, he has more important things to tend to. You.

Rummaging through your cupboards, he successfully finds some medication that will ease the aches in your stomach. As for your dizzy head, the best thing he can do for you is close your curtains and encourage you to get rest. Fluid intake is also vital, it’ll aid dehydration. Returning to your side with a glass of water and some pills, Sol places them on your bedside table and sits on the edge of your bed.

“Are you okay? Let me feel your head.” Sol sighs, placing his palm flat on your forehead.

“Sol…” You whine, one hand remaining on your stomach and the other clutching his free hand.

“You’re not that hot, yet. Leave your window open—”

“No! No, I can’t! You’ve seen the news…”

“You will be fine, I promise. Fresh air will make you feel a lot better.” 

“I’m sorry for burdening you with this…”

“Don’t be. I’d rather it be me taking care of you than anyone else.”

“I’ll buy you a—”

“No. Sit down.”

“Ugh, Sol—”

“Rest.”

“I’ll buy you a thank-you gift when I’m better…” You mumble, pouting at him as he leans against the doorframe.

“Send me a text or call me if you need me. Doesn’t matter what time it is.”

“Text… Call… Yeah.” You repeat, rubbing your eyes while burying your head into the pillow.

“Don’t forget, take your medicine.”

“I’m gonna take it… Now.” You reach over and drop the pills into your mouth, then take a small sip of the drink to wash them down.

“Goodnight. I hope you feel better soon.”

Before leaving, he waited until he heard your breathing pattern change, signifying that you were asleep. Alongside the medication, he slipped in a sleeping pill, its dosage strong enough to keep you out for the correct amount of time. 

As if he would leave you alone so easily while you’re sick.

Right now, however, his main concern is dealing with the business that made his soulmate ill, after all, what good is a company in operation if its only achievement is casting a vast majority of its customers extremely unwell upon eating their cheaply sourced food?

Upon arriving back at his apartment, he stripped from his usual attire and threw on a set of his darkest clothes, a matching surgical mask to cover what remained exposed on his face. A complaint wouldn’t be enough, they clearly racked up enough of them online but did not change a singular thing about their selfish ways.

It was just after midnight when the streets were soundless and the civilians were tucked away inside of the safety of their homes. Strolling down the deserted sidewalk, Sol stops outside of a building, comparing the logo to the one saved in his photo album. A perfect match. 

Subtly, Sol explored the perimeter, tracing the outline of the building before returning to the front. It’s no wonder why all of their customers become unwell, the amount of trash that remains behind the building is piled up, much taller than him. 

There is no point in teaching those who do not wish to learn. An ignorant mind reflects an ignorant heart. Only the careless would profit from neglect like this.

Flicking his lighter on, he tosses it to the ground before walking away, the flicker of flames igniting in the distance as he glances back. It won’t be long before a passerby calls the fire department, but that’s no concern to him. When the authorities see the state the building was in previously, they could rule it out as the impact of an unkempt business.

His feet led him back to your apartment, the open window a much easier entrance for him as he climbed up. After all those locks you’ve bought in the past, he’s surprised you never gave up your safety protocols. Securing his footing, he creeps back into your bedroom, kneeling beside you as you rest peacefully in your slumber.

You are so beautiful. Every feature of your face was crafted with tender hands. He traces over your lips with his index finger, slowly drawing his hand back.

“Hi, Pumpkin.” He whispers, leaning in to press his lips against your cheek. “I’m going to check your temperature again.”

This time, Sol uses the back of his hand. Thankfully, he would say you are around average, partially a slight bit higher than usual.

“Good… You’re going to be okay. You might be sick tomorrow but I’ll come over to make sure you aren’t alone.”

“You like having me here, don’t you? You feel so safe, so loved.” He strokes your hair similar to how you would pet a fragile animal. As his hand ventures under the blanket, he comes in contact with something.

“You still sleep with the plushie I bought for you? You…” Sol’s smile expands, his cheeks lighting a subtle shade of pink. “You must love it. Or me. I hope it’s me.”

In your sleep, you moan, your body beginning to shift. He strokes the side of your arm, calming you down as you endure whatever dream is unfolding. After a while, your body stops with its relentless motions and goes still again.

“This is our special time together. It’s my favourite part of the day.” Sol’s lips curve up, his eyes filled with adoration as he clutches your plushie close to his chest. “I’ll make it smell like me again, don’t worry.”

“Mph…” Your lips moved, but he couldn’t decipher the sound that left them.

“Hm?” Sol pinches your cheek, a procedure to test if you’re awake or not. 

You must be mumbling to yourself since you didn’t respond to his touch.

“I’m guessing you missed smelling me then. That’s cute.” When he finished rubbing the plushie against his flesh and clothing, he tucked it under your chin. “You’re cute.”

“He doesn’t deserve you, you know?” Sol mumbles, sinking onto the bed beside you, fingers toying with your hair.

“He would never do the things I have done for you.”

“I know you prefer me. It’s okay if you don’t want to admit it right now. I can wait.” He rolls onto his side, your face now in view. 

“You make it hard for me to leave every single time…” His pitch was low, an almost pouty tone as he nuzzled his head against your chest. Lifting your limbs, he wraps them around himself, drawing the blanket over both of your bodies this time.

“I’ll just stay like this for a few more minutes… Then I have to go.” Sol closes his eyes, the therapeutic beats of your heart are a soothing melody to his ears.

…

Sunlight filters in through the curtains, a bitter breeze hitting your clammy skin. Compared to yesterday, you’re feeling a lot better, the only thing remaining is the dull ache in your stomach. Rubbing your eyes, you squeeze your plushie, only to hear a strange noise. 

Last time you checked, this plushie shouldn’t be able to communicate. Shooting your eyes open, you find a mess of green hair sprawled out on top of you. 

“Sol?” You rub your eyes again, unsure if what is in front of you is reality or a fever dream.

“Yeah…?” Sol mumbles in response, his body shifting. Then he goes still, springing up from his previous position. Shit.

“I thought you left last night.” 

“After you took your medicine, you asked me to stay. You went out like a light but I made sure that you were okay.”

“Did you have this on yesterday?” You tug at his hoodie. “I’ve never seen you wear clothes like this before.”

“These are my comfy clothes, that’s why. I keep the hoodie in my backpack.”

“Oh…” That food poisoning must have hit you hard to leave you so delirious. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“…?” Sol flutters his eyelashes while your hands cup his cheeks, drawing him near. Your lips plant a peck on his forehead, a suiting reward since he went out of his way for you.

“Ah… You shouldn’t have to thank me… It’s what anyone would do.” Sol rubs the back of his neck, a flush spreading over his face.

“I feel sick. Like I’m going to throw up.”

“I’m not surprised. Let’s get you to the bathroom. Get all of that food out of your system for good.” Sol stands first, offering his hand to assist you to your feet.

“I don’t like vomiting.” You mope, refusing to move despite your stomach cramping further.

“But it has to come out. You’ll be okay, I’m right here.” He grabs your hand, squeezing it gently.

The only option is to get up if you don’t want to clean your bedsheets. Swiftly shuffling between rooms, you kneel before the toilet and allow your body to regulate itself, removing the foreign pathogens that invaded your meal. Sol rubbed your back, making the process easier. There wasn’t a lot of retching, but you still felt that familiar burn in your throat when you were finished.

“Any more?” Sol pats your upper back and you shake your head.

“I’ll cook for you this time. No more buying from trashy food places.”

“But they’re cheap…” You puff air into your cheeks, taking your toothbrush which he handed you to remove the bitter taste from your mouth.

“My meals are free. Don’t be ashamed to ask.” Sol takes a final glance at you before heading back to your kitchen, scouring the cupboards in search of something to work with.

For you, he would do anything. Make anything. Even if it’s from scratch. No matter the simplicity or complication of a request you have, he will ensure that you get what you ask for. You don’t deserve anything less. If only you were aware of the lengths he has gone and is still willing to go for you.

[novthirty]

SENTIMENTAL ׂ| lnds men x sentimental! mc who likes to journal & scrapbook

ੈ synopsis: in their high-paced life, it’s a treasure to see you place such fondness and care for every small moment. ੈ characters: sylus, caleb ੈ warnings: slight yandere! caleb

ao3 | masterlist | requests are open!

SYLUS

His love language of giftgiving goes into overdrive the moment he finds out about this hobby of yours.

Moleskine? Ha, why would he get you such a peasant brand of stationary? He’s getting you the best of the best— paper made from the finest cottons that can withstand the tests of Astra (and with gilded edges to boot), and a leather cover that won’t decay even before your next lives.

(You look up the brand and its prices and immediately close the tab. Better to live in willful ignorance when it comes to this man’s spending habits.)

He indulges you in lots of stationary from the fancy brand name ones that only high level executives or socialites use, to the cute ones you see online from local artists shops.

For your birthday he gets you a custom set of stationary with your name, information, and everything— and you jump him, making out for good five minutes with how happy you are (and promises of more later 😉).

(After which, he jots down more gift ideas because if thats the reaction he gets every time? He’ll give you the whole world.)

He sets aside a whole room in the base to be your craft room. When you’re not home, he loves looking through your scrapbooks (only the ones you’ve given him permission to view, of course), looking back on the times you’ve spent together— from silly photobooth pictures, the tags of the plushies he got for you at the crane machine, stickers and washi tape decorating the pages.

(He may or may not steals a few of your scrapbooks to bring to his office, to occasionally look at while he’s working.)

(Also hides his irritation at the fact that Mephisto has more dedicated pages than he does :<)

For his birthday, you gift him his own scrapbook filled with photos you secretly took of him working, talking with Luke and Kieran, taking care of Mephisto; and of course, pictures of just the two of you together. Each page is covered with memories, and writings of all the little things you love about him.

(He makes slow love to you that night as you whisper those same little things into his ear.)

He vows to start returning your love in similar gestures. Both of your love languages are gift giving; with him spending exorbitant amounts of money on whatever you could possibly want or need, and with you making handmade and deeply thought out gifts.

He feels his pales in comparison so he begins to write letters to you for whenever you’re separated— whether it’s due to him being away on business, or you being on a long mission.

(Over time, you’re able to fill up a whole box of them, which you look through whenever you’re down.)

He loves the way you treasure memories so deeply, and wants to be part of every page of your life here on out.

CALEB

You’ve always had a love for cute stationary and journalling since you were children— from a daily diary to photo albums covered in all sorts of ephemera, stickers, and washi tape. (Yes, that includes the grudge ledger; your angriest ramblings were written in pink glitter pen.)

Caleb has always indulged this hobby of yours, winning you cute pens at the arcade and getting you the Twinkle Toys collaboration stationary at the bookstore. Every summer he comes back from flight school or when he comes back from a trip, he always comes back with a paper bag of stationary and other cute things, just for you.

When you’re out of the house or asleep; yes, he does read your journal (and definitely knew about the grudge ledger you kept when you were kids 😭). He reads every word from the mundane details of a simple day, to your deepest thoughts spilled in ink across the page. He uses it to attune to whatever mood you’re in, always having the best timing for whatever you need emotionally or otherwise.

Every time you write about another boy, he immediately starts being a third wheel, never letting you have a moment alone with him. You guys are hanging out at the park? Oh, grandma needs you to help out with the groceries. You have a date planned two weeks ahead with him at Linkonland? Caleb surprises you with tickets for the movie you’ve been wanting to see for a while, on the exact day of your date. Even at school, it seemed you could never get a moment alone without Caleb hovering over the two of you.

For a while, you’re suspicious, but your journal is always untouched, always in the exact last place you left it (he’s meticulous like that). So you shrug it off, having enough trust in him not to violate your privacy.

He always gives you little notes folded into little airplanes, using his evol to make it fly and hit your head. The annoyance on your face always melts into a smile as you unfold whatever corny note he chose to write that day. Whether it’s a reminder that “You got this!!!” during your exam week, or a note that says “Dinner’s ready!! Its your favorite :))” you paste them on your journal. Looking back, you see there’s one for almost every day.

He takes lots of pictures with you and gives you all sorts of ephemera, so he’s documented in every part of your life. After movie screenings he gives you his ticket copy for your journal, drags you to photobooths before you ask, and gets you a polaroid camera for one of your birthdays. As he flips through your journal, he’s satisfied at how much you make use of it, how many of the pictures are of you and him.

He wants to take up every page of your life, to have it so you could never forget him (never again).

In college, you make a commemorative photo album for your old friends from high school, and he’s upset to see barely any of himself in the pages documenting such an important part of your life.

But then he sees you have a separate one for him and one for grandma 🥺 You explain, “I don’t want to share these photos with others. I want to keep them forever, so we can always look back on these times.”

Overall, you’re very sentimental about every little thing and he loves it— until it hurts you.

After reuniting, he visits your house for the first time after his “death” and sees a closet full of all your mementos, tucked away in the basement. From scrapbooks and photo albums, to his things that the DAA must have sent you after his death. You kept everything— his old uniforms, school trophies, pictures, even old trinkets and (lowkey) trash he forgot even existed; you’d think he lived there, with how much of his things occupied your home.

It hurts him to see such traces of grief coloring your world, how even your sentimental nature couldn’t bear to see reminders of him day by day.

To catch up with your life, he secretly reads your journal again, this time going over a year’s worth of entries. His heart aches at the lifeless pages, the entries devoid of the color and whimsy you once put into every page, instead words upon words of the grief and loneliness you carried after the explosion.

His heart aches at every trial you encountered, his fists balling at every mention of another man. He vows to make sure things go back to the way it used to be; just you and him, against the world.

He never wants anything to dim your love and care for the small moments in life ever again.

have had these collecting dust in my notes for a while, will post one sometime with rafayel, xavier, and zayne! i don’t main these three so the hcs are coming a bit slow with them 😔 this is one of the most self-indulgent things i’ve written but hope y’all like/reblog if you enjoyed!

[cherimoyatea]

The LaDs Men healing your inner child...

...they accidentally evoke your insecurities and comfort you.

❧ Part IV - Sylus - Tight Threads

Pairing: Sylus x You Synopsis: An ill-fitting dress triggers a panic attack during a date with Sylus. Word count: 963 Tags: sylus being a suggestive little tease, panic attack, body image issue, romance, fluff, comfort Side notes: Welcome to the last part of the mini-series! Fun fact: The plot (some parts at least) is based on true events, but unfortunately, there was no Sylus to comfort me back then 🫠 I refrained from going into details about MC's body type so that anyone can envision themselves in the role. A tight dress can be uncomfortable no matter the size and shape. However. Sylus loves you just the way you are! And with that, this series comes to an end. Thank you for reading 🩷 Part I - Xavier ❧ Part II - Rafayel ❧ Part III - Zayne

Ruby-red eyes gaze at you intently from across the round table as you nervously fidget with your dress. The restaurant he chose is even more lavish than you imagined and your nerves are on edge. In this dress that's way too tight and short, you feel as if you can't breathe, and you can't shake the impression that all the other guests are focused on your insecurities.

''Is everything okay, Kitten? You seem... tense.'' Sylus swirls his glass of red wine between his long fingers while you nervously shift in your chair. You blush as you suddenly feel his gaze on you and adjust your dress again. ''Sylus, I appreciate your invitation, but you didn't need to go this far.''

Maybe you should have mentioned that the custom-made dress didn't fit properly when he handed you the pink paper bag with it earlier. You remember standing in your bathroom, holding it up against your body and squeezing yourself into it while he waited in your living room—hoping he wouldn't hear you curse as you struggled to pull the zipper up at the back.

There was likely a mistake by the seamstress, but you still insisted on wearing it to honor his gift.

The silver-haired man takes a sip from his glass and leans back to make room for the waiter as he approaches your table with your orders. For him, it's just another evening in a high-end restaurant, but he has noticed that you're uncomfortable. ''If you'd prefer, we can move our date somewhere else. Would you like to leave?''

You shake your head as the waiter sets your plate down, unwilling to shift the date elsewhere. After all it's not his fault that the dress was poorly tailored, accentuating all the parts of you that you are self-conscious about. You grab your own glass nervously, hoping a sip of your drink will help calm your nerves. But instead, you both startle as you accidentally tip it over, sending it crashing to the floor.

"Oh dear, how clumsy." You hear whispers from a nearby table, accompanied by giggles, as the waiter gathers the shards from the floor. You can't help but feel sick as you cautiously look around, realizing everyone is staring at you.

Sylus's head immediately swivels toward the table of giggling women, and his serious glare silences them instantly. They sheepishly return their focus to their plates, poking at their food, and you could swear you saw a brief flash of red in his left eye.

But right now, you have other worries.

"Excuse me!" You quickly stand up from the table and hurry through the restaurant, heading to the restroom to escape. Your heart races as you crouch by the luxurious sinks, resting your head on your knees in an attempt to calm your quickening breath. A panic attack, of all times!

Just a few moments later, you hear the door to the restroom open, and someone approaches you slowly, crouching down beside you. Without looking up, you know immediately that Sylus has followed you. He lowers his head with a concerned expression and gently takes your hand. ''I'm here for you. What do you need?''

''T-The… the zipper…'' You stutter as you continue gasping for air, futilely reaching with your free hand for the zipper pull between your shoulder blades. Sylus follows your movement with his eyes and then yanks the zipper down your back in one swift motion. ''Calm, deep breaths, Sweetie. It'll get better soon.''

His rough, calm voice is soothing as he gently strokes your trembling back, careful not to overwhelm you with his presence. And finally, you feel the tension slowly lift from your body for the first time that evening as you take a deep breathe.

Sylus waits patiently beside you, continuing to stroke your back, and after a while, your breathing steadies. ''I'm so sorry… I've ruined the evening.'' You whisper weakly as he gently helps you stand up from the cold marble floor.

''Take off your dress, Kitten.''

Sylus doesn't answer immediately, giving you a moment to steady yourself before he moves closer with a charming grin.

Your eyes widen in surprise at his request, completely caught off guard by his sudden change in demeanor as you look at him in disbelief. ''W-What?!''

Your heels scrape against the marble floor as you step back, feeling the sink behind you. This time it wasn't a panic attack that caused your heart to race in your chest! ''Here!? Now?? Are you serious!?''

''Dead serious.'' The attractive giant replies as he almost towers over you. It's only when he grabs a familiar-looking pink paper bag from the floor that his words make sense. Until now, you had been so focused on managing your panic attack that you didn't notice him bringing it into the restroom. He takes out your favorite jeans and a sweater, and hands them to you with a smug grin. ''I took the liberty of borrowing a few things from your closet before we left. I hope you don't mind.''

Surprised by his thoughtful gesture, you take the clothes and press them against your chest. He must have overheard you earlier in your apartment and snuck into your bedroom to get the clothes and empty paper bag while you were busy getting ready. ''But... what about the dress? This casual outfit would be completely inappropriate for a venue as expensive as this.''

You shift your gaze down to the dress, now hanging loosely from your shoulders. The zipper torn at the back. But Sylus shakes his head as he gently lifts your chin with his fingers so his gleaming eyes meet yours again.

''I don't care about that damn dress, Sweetie. You're the only expensive thing in this inappropriate venue. Remember that.''

Thank you for reading!

Cheri 🍒

[telamonisms]

✦PEBBLING✦

You had no idea on how or why it had started, one day you're working your 9 to 5 job as a cashier at quite possibly the most normal store there is, the next the God of War and Wrath himself walks in like it's just another Tuesday and makes his way to the frozen chicken nuggets, you staring in shock and confusion the whole time, only being snapped out of it by the sound of several bags dropping in front of you, ready to be scanned as Telamon simply stared with his everpresent unnerving smile.

You, determined to follow good customer service practice, scan every bag before giving him the total with a smile of your own and spewing out the automated corporate line about thanking the customer and telling them to come back as the Deity made his way out.

You expected not to see him again, thinking that the literal descent of a God to your humble work place just to grab some chicken nuggies was a one time only thing. On your part, you were content that you probably had an entirely original experience, which made his visit next day all the more puzzling.

He did just the same as the day before, though this time as you scanned the nuggets, he kept his head curiously tilted to the side.

The day after he came back, it was all the same except with the added of little chirps and general bird noises that you thought sounded like he was curious.

Later that day, after your shift was over and you left, ready to walk your way home, Telamon drops down from a tree and begins to make casual conversation with you.

You were surprised and confused but ended up going along with him, unsure of what else to do.

Over the next few weeks you'd somehow managed to become friends with Telamon and a little bit longer after that he'd started bringing you things.

A fruit, a "cool" stick, some pleasantly smooth pebbles, someone's stolen sandwich, one time he brought you someone's pet dog, you then had to explain to him that you couldn't accept someone's pet and eventually he begrudgingly returned it.

A coulple of months into this new oh so confusing behavour, just before he had to leave to HQ for work, he pulled you asides and under the shade of a flowering tree, Telamon plucked a singular feather of one of his wings and, with a smile far too gentle to belong to the very God of War and Wrath, he placed the feather behind your ear, making sure it sat nicely and visible before resting his taloned hand on your cheek, softly cupping your face as he looked you in the eyes.

"He gifts you one of his feathers, isn't Telamon's kindness ever so boundless?"

You were rendered speechless by the softness of the moment and just as you managed to recover, he spread his wings and took to the skies, making his way to the very top floor of the Roblox HQ.

You think you now know what all of thouse random gifts were.

Maybe you should get a book on bird courting...

✦Short and sweet. Nobody asked for this one, but I do love to indulge myself. Hopefully you all find this read enjoyable as well.

[gf2bellamy]

awkward — jonah simms

pairing: jonah simms x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: a customer thinks you are dating jonah content warnings: a customer hitting on reader , jonah being jealous

You stifled a yawn, blinking away the drowsiness that clung to you. It had been a long shift and the lack of coffee wasn’t helping.

Still, you forced a smile as the next customer stepped forward, pushing a cart filled with what could only be described as a sea of small teddy bears.

Twenty, to be exact. 

Jonah stood beside you at the bagging station, his hands already moving to sort the plush mountain into Cloud 9’s flimsy blue bags. You shot him a quick look, eyebrows raised in disbelief. He returned the expression, his lips twitching in suppressed amusement. 

You both knew better than to laugh outright, but it was hard to resist. Who needed this many teddy bears? Was it a gift? A prank? Some kind of bizarre hobby? 

Keeping your curiosity at bay, you turned your attention back to scanning.

“That’ll be forty dollars and twenty cents,” you said, your voice polite still surpressing a laugh. 

The customer, a young man in a wrinkled hoodie, leaned casually against the counter. “You new here?” he asked, his tone a little too familiar. 

Your hands froze mid-scan as you glanced up at him. “No,” you replied flatly. 

He grinned, undeterred by your lack of enthusiasm. “Haven’t seen you here before.” 

You gave a tight smile, noting the elderly woman in line behind him who was now eyeing her watch with growing impatience.

“Okay,” you said, your fingers tapping against the counter as you waited for him to insert his card into the reader. 

Jonah, who had been silently bagging, suddenly slowed his movements. His gaze darted between you and the customer, his usually bright demeanor dimmed by a flicker of something… darker. Was that jealousy? 

The guy leaned in closer, his grin widening. “So, uh, do you work all the time, or do you ever get out of here?” 

Your patience was wearing thin. “Just the forty-twenty,” you said pointedly, offering a polite but firm smile. 

Jonah cleared his throat, stepping closer under the guise of adjusting the bags. “Hey, man,” he said. “You might want to hurry up. There’s a line forming.” 

The guy glanced at Jonah, seemingly noticing him for the first time. “Relax, dude. Just trying to make conversation.” 

Jonah smiled back, but there was a tightness to it that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sure. Conversation’s great. But maybe you can have it after you pay?” 

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. Jonah’s tone was so uncharacteristically firm, and you couldn’t help but find it endearing. 

The guy finally swiped his card, muttering something under his breath, and took his bags. He gave you one last lingering look before heading out. “See you around,” he called over his shoulder. 

Jonah exhaled loudly the moment the guy was gone. “What was that about?” he asked, his voice tinged with exasperation. 

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence as you started scanning the next order. 

“That guy.” Jonah gestured vaguely toward the exit. “He was, like, this close to asking for your number.” 

You shrugged, trying to hide the heat creeping into your cheeks. “So what if he was?” 

Jonah paused, his mouth opening and closing like he was searching for the right words. Finally, he settled on, “It was just... unprofessional.” 

“Unprofessional?” You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “He wasn’t that bad.” 

Jonah’s expression shifted. It was subtle, but it was there, the slight furrow in his brow, the way his lips pressed together. “He was hitting on you. At your workplace. That’s not cool.” 

“And you care because…?” you asked, your tone curious, though your heart gave a small, unexpected flutter. 

Before Jonah could answer, the older woman behind the teddy bear guy stepped up to the counter. You smiled apologetically at her. “Sorry for the wait.” 

The woman returned your smile, waving off your concern as she began rummaging through her purse. “No worries, young lady. I remember what it was like.” 

You tilted your head, intrigued. “Remember what was like?” 

The woman chuckled knowingly, pausing her search to glance up at Jonah, then back at you. “Having a wonderful boyfriend like this one—so protective of me.” 

You froze, caught completely off guard by the assumption. Your gaze darted to Jonah, whose wide eyes and rapidly reddening face mirrored your own shock. 

Jonah opened his mouth to clarify. “Oh, uh—no, we’re not—we’re not dating,” he stuttered, his voice cracking slightly. He let out an awkward laugh, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “We’re just... coworkers. Friends. Not... you know, together-together.” 

The older woman arched an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Oh, really?” She gave you both a knowing smile. “Well, could’ve fooled me. The way he stepped in earlier? That’s the kind of thing my late husband would’ve done when we were young.” 

You exchanged a quick glance with Jonah, whose face had turned an impressive shade of pink. His eyes darted anywhere but at you, and you had to bite back a laugh at his obvious discomfort. 

“Well, he’s just a good friend,” you said gently, handing the woman her change.

“Mm-hmm,” the woman said, her tone laced with skepticism as she took her receipt and nodded at Jonah. “Well, don’t wait too long to figure it out, son. Someone else might see what you’ve got here.” She winked at you before turning and walking away, leaving the two of you in stunned silence. 

Jonah rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a nervous laugh. “Well, that was... something.” 

You couldn’t help but grin as you turned to him. “You handled that well.” 

“Oh, sure,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Because stammering like a teenager is totally handling it.” 

Well, since I’m not your girlfriend,” you teased, “you can at least buy me lunch sometime to make up for it.” 

Jonah looked up, startled by your suggestion, but then his expression softened, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“That I can do.”  

[starcrossed-lov3rz]

The Vow Spoken Through Time - Part 13

Daemon x Rhaenyra x Wife!Reader

Series: Series Masterlist

Warnings: MDNI, suggestive content

Tags: marriage, poly relationship, Daemon being hopelessly in love with his wives, Queen!Rhaenyra

Words: 700

Description: Y/N is having a rough morning. She's fired. She's hungover. She's in a stranger's bed. She's waking up in a new world? She's married?!

Rhaenyra and Daemon's day started normal. Waking up next to their darling wife before tending to their duties. The difference? Their wife is speaking in riddles and has no memories of them.

Check out more works in my Masterlist!

“How many bags must you bring?” Daemon sighed as he looked at the several suitcases you packed. 

“Everytime you ask me that, I will be adding another,” you huff. “I want some comforts of home with me! I want to bring toys for our children, and things for Nyra.”

“My love, we have more wealth than we could spend in our lifetime. Your children are spoiled with anything they could possibly want from the seven kingdoms. They can survive without these…..blocks.” Daemon picked up a Lego set from your pile of gifts for the kids.

“Nope, Legos are a necessity for every growing kid. Toy lightsabers wouldn’t be impressive to children who get a custom sword every birthday. But Legos? Every kid loves Legos.”

“Lightsabers?” Daemon’s eyebrows shot up.

“Yeah, it’s like the weapon from Star Wars,” you go to explain before remembering that Daemon wouldn’t know Star Wars either. “We can watch one of the Star Wars before we leave. You might actually enjoy the storyline.”

Daemon grunted in agreement. Walking over to your suitcases to pack away the Lego sets. You might have gone a little overboard with the gifts and trinkets from your time, but you didn’t know if you’d be able to come back to Earth if you returned to Nyra. Even if it was a possibility, you couldn’t see yourself abandoning your family. You chuckle to yourself, maybe you could bring Nyra back for a vacation. Lord knows she could use a hot tub and a massage. 

“Is something funny?” Daemon teased, sliding behind you to wind his arms around you. His body presses into yours, warm and sturdy. You lean back into the warmth, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Nothing at all,” you smile. “Just thinking about how much Nyra would like a vacation here.”

Daemon grins wickedly, turning you around before lifting you up effortlessly. Your legs instinctively wrap around him, arms draping over his shoulders. “I can think of a few things Nyra would like to do here.”

You snort a laugh, kissing Daemon briefly. “You promised you wouldn’t distract me from packing. This is definitely not a distraction free environment.”

“Would you prefer I leave you alone?” Daemon asks. From the tone in his voice, you can tell there is no chance you’re actually being left to your task.

“I would like to finish packing-”

Daemon gently sets you back on the ground, backing away to sit on your couch. He leans back, legs spread. You shameless ogle your husband. The sweatpants you bought him hang loose on his hips and his tshirt is just tight enough. It’s almost unfair that someone can look this good in sweats. Maybe you could put off packing for an hour. You stalk towards him, sliding your pajama shorts off, and kicking them away. You move to sit in his lap, but Daemon’s hands shoot out to your hips, stopping you.

“No,” he grins. “You wanted me to leave you alone.”

“That’s not what I-”

“You asked me to not distract you,” Daemon said. “I am not distracting you. If you want something, you are going to get it yourself.”

“You’re evil,” you sigh. You shimmy out of your panties, and pull your shirt off, dropping it to the floor. Daemon’s eyes graze across your body and you can practically feel them. You walk to your room, grabbing a vibrator out of your nightstand. If Daemon was determined not to touch you, you could come up with a few ideas yourself.

You come back into the living room, grinning. Daemon wasn’t going to know what hit him.

NOTE: Still alive (finally finished school). Here's a mini chapter to hold ya'll over while I write this absolute FILTH *wink* for chapter 14. ~ Lacie <3

Taglist: @syraxnyra, @avalyaaa, @angeliccss , @clocksonthewall79 , @sia2raw , @forma-lina , @lorarri , @imoonkiss , @ba6ysworld , @abaker74 , @different-tale-student , @beca2468 , @hnm-mika , @pendejalian , @lexasaurs634 , @jaydemon99 , @lovelyy-moonlight , @waitaminuteashh , @winterrnight , @malfoycassimalfoy , @ghostlyvoidydragon , @spacexdrago , @asgardian1023 , @madamevirgo , @ahyespubes , @cowboybaby2 , @sm3156 , @ashlatano7567 , @cheat2tea , @kmatrixx1130 , @jubilee40 , @dimue , @coolmantha921, @ynbutbetter , @macaulaytwins , @idk-idk-idk-idk23 , @lavender2ari, @the-brainr0tt , @kamarimartell , @bluecloudsworld , @anonymous989, @uniquecutie-puffs , @mimitoupe01, @ace-spades-1 , @urmomsgirlfriend1 , @insufferablelust , @lilsyl , @spacexdrago , @ella-rose45 , @essiexxz , @apollonshootafar , @myheartfollower, @baybaybear1 , @povofjustme , @ninasully, @snapedog ,

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[coolindianjutebags-blog]

marriage gift bag

[fluentmoviequoter]

We've Got Time

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!French/American!reader

Summary: You return to Los Angeles from France to visit your childhood friend Lucy Chen and find everything your heart has needed.

Warnings: fluff, r makes Tim a little nervous

Word Count: 1.6k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Come on!” Lucy groans. “I told you not to eat macarons when you can’t share.”

You smile guiltily and set the pastel pink macaron back on the hand-painted dish beside your phone. “Sorry, Luce.”

Lucy sighs, and a pang in your heart reminds you how much you miss her. She became your best friend during summers in America as a kid, but you haven’t had a chance to visit the States in too long.

“How’s policing going?” you inquire.

“As good as it can, I guess. Tim is still grumpy and finds something wrong with most of my decisions, but I’m learning.”

“You’re good at everything you decide to put your mind to, Lucy, and no matter what this Tim guy says, you’re going to be a great cop.”

“I think an éclair would make me a better cop,” Lucy replies with a dramatic pout.

“Éclairs au chocolate make everything better.”

“Boot!” someone yells in the background, causing Lucy to roll her eyes.

“Bye, Lucy,” you say. “Je t’aime.”

“If you really loved me, you wouldn’t tease me with macarons and French countryside on all of our calls. But… I love you, too.”

Your phone screen changes as Lucy ends the call, and as you trace the paint on your plate with your eyes, you decide what to do. It’s time to visit your best friend.

You straighten your jacket as the U.S. customs officer looks through your bag. Your French and American passports sit on the metal desk as he lifts a wrapped Saint Laurent box.

“Uhm,” the man begins before mouthing a few words. “Contenu de cette…”

“I speak English,” you offer with a smile. “It’s a purse, gift for a friend.”

He nods and returns the box to your suitcase before he leans forward to zip it. “You’re free to go. Welcome to Los Angeles.”

“Thank you.”

As you pull your suitcases through Los Angeles International Airport, you smile. Your excitement to surprise Lucy increases as you near her police station, hoping to brighten her day.

“You’re  looking for Chen?” someone asks.

You look up from your phone and across the police station lobby. The officer is handsome - stern but attractive, which tells you he’s…

“Officer Bradford, I presume,” you reply as you stand. “I am. I understand if she’s busy, though. I can surprise her later.”

“Surprise? Oh, you’re the friend that lives in France.”

Your eyes widen in surprise that he’d remember that. When you nod, he turns and walks away. Left to stare after him, you shrug and pick up your bag. You have Lucy’s address, so you’ll wait for her at her apartment.

“Yes, sir,” Lucy says.

You stop and watch the doorway where Tim went, and when Lucy steps through, she freezes.

“No more French countryside in the background, as requested,” you joke.

Lucy gasps as she runs toward you, and you’re wrapped in a signature Lucy hug. You tighten your arms around her as she whispers how much she missed you.

“Napa’s not close enough to the French riviera for you, Chen?” Tim asks as she steps out of your arms.

“Oh,” you tut, shaking your head at him. “There’s no comparison, mon chéri.”

Tim’s lips quirk up as he tilts his head to the side. You ignore Lucy’s questioning look or her growing smile following your pet name.

“I know you’re at work,” you tell Lucy, “but I just had to let you know I was here.”

“Thank you! I’ll give you a key to my apartment and you can stay with me, okay?”

“Lucy, I can’t impose-“

“Forget I asked, I’ll get the key.”

Lucy rushes away before you can argue further, and you’re left alone with Tim again.

“Thank you for letting me see her,” you say. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I just didn’t want to hear her complain about missing you for another hour of patrol.”

You smile and agree, “Sure.”

“Uh, so, how long are you in town?”

“I’m not sure yet,” you answer with a shrug. “I came in on a one-way ticket.”

Tim nods, his fingers fidgeting along his belt. “Chen’s taking a while.”

“She is.”

After an awkward pause, Tim sighs and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Yes?” you encourage.

“If you need anything while you’re here, I could- could help you out. If you want.”

“And how would I be able to ask for your help?”

“I could give you my number.”

“What would Lucy think?” you ask quietly, smiling so Tim knows you aren’t saying no.

“Probably a lot.”

You laugh as you pass your unlocked phone to Tim. He types his information in quickly, then sends himself a text before he returns your phone, his fingers brushing yours.

“Here you go!” Lucy announces as she returns. “Make yourself at home, and I’ll be back around 7, after my shift ends.”

“Merci, amie.”

As you hug Lucy, you wink at Tim over her shoulder. A trip to Los Angeles was the right choice for more reasons than you thought.

“What’s mon chéri mean?” Tim asks as he and Lucy leave the station after their shift.

“I think that’s a question for the one who called you that, Tim,” Lucy replies. “Maybe you should take her out to dinner and ask all about it.”

“But we-“

“You’re terrible at hiding your vast emotional range, Tim. Call her.”

The next night, you meet Tim outside a restaurant of his choosing. After you gifted Lucy the YSL bag and a vintage band t-shirt, she repaid your kindness by letting you borrow a dress and helping you prepare for your date with Tim Bradford. Now, you laugh to yourself as Tim walks to greet you.

“Petit Trois,” you murmur. “You do know that taking a French girl to an American French restaurant is probably a terrible idea, right?”

“Probably. But the chef is French, and you’re the only person I know that can tell me if this is authentic cuisine,” Tim answers. “Unless you’re in the mood for American, in which case, there’s a McDonald’s down the street.”

“No, let’s try little three. If they don’t have éclairs au chocolate, though, you owe me a Frosty.”

Tim offers his arm, and you loop your arm through his as he leads you inside. The conversation comes easily, and between Tim, Lucy, and all of the good memories you have here, you’re beginning to wonder if you even want to return to France anytime soon.

“You met Lucy when you were kids?” Tim inquires after you order.

“I did. My dad’s American, and we spent summers in California when I was young. Lucy was the best friend I ever had, and we stayed close. Even after I moved back to France full-time.”

“What’s your favorite thing about France? Besides the pastries, of course.”

“The scenery, the slow and easy pace. It’s so different from America, but it’s beautiful.”

“It sounds amazing.”

“What about you? What makes California home?”

“The Dodgers.” You shake your head, and Tim offers, “Everything I love is here. It’s all I’ve ever known, and I feel most like me in Los Angeles, I guess.”

“That’s beautiful, mon chéri.”

Tim still doesn’t know what it means exactly, but he falls for you when you take his hand and call him yours. Everything that you love about France, what makes it beautiful and special to you, he sees it in you: your beauty, kindness, and grace. Lucy seemed to think something would happen between you and Tim, and, for once, he wouldn’t mind if she was right.

A week after arriving in Los Angeles, you’ve settled into Lucy’s guest room and have made no plans to leave. You’ve gone out with Tim, caught up with Lucy, and remembered why you loved summers in Los Angeles.

“Lucy,” you begin as you bake macarons together. “Can I ask you something?”

“About Tim?” she guesses.

“Not just Tim. I… I’ve been thinking a lot and I’m not sure I want to go back to France. Not for a while, at least.”

“Are you serious?” Lucy asks excitedly, dropping her spoon onto the counter. “Don’t say stuff like that if you don’t mean it.”

“So, you’d be okay with it? Me staying? I could get my own place or pay rent, whatever, but…”

“Of course, I’d love to have you here!”

“Do you think Tim will want to keep seeing me if I stay?” you ask softly.

Lucy lays her hands on your shoulders and smiles. “Tim feels exactly the same. He wants you to stay because he likes spend time with you. Maybe even more than that.”

“But, he-“

“No,” Lucy interrupts. “Trust me on this. You have to follow your heart. You taught me that when we were kids, remember? My heart couldn’t buy me a plane to France, but it was still good advice.”

You nod and lean forward to hug Lucy. “Merci,” you say against her shoulder. “I’ll follow my heart.”

Lucy pushes you back and points to the door. “Do it now.”

“The macarons,” you argue.

“I can finish them!” she replies. Then, she purses her lips and admits, “I can do my best.”

You assure her they’ll be perfect before you grab your bag and rush out the door. Your outfit feels incomplete without the jacket you like to wear over your tied shirt, but it’s the least of your concerns as you follow your heart straight to Tim Bradford.

“Hey,” he greets as he opens the door. “Did we have plans? I was just-“

“Je t’aime,” you interrupt breathlessly. “I love you, Tim. And I’m staying in the States because all that my heart wants is here.”

“Don’t stay just for me or Lucy, okay?” he says, stepping toward you. “Whatever you want-“

“It’s all here. I want to stay.”

Tim smiles and says, “Well, with all this time, maybe you can teach me how to make your first love.”

“Éclairs au chocolat?” you fill in. “Anytime, mon amour.”

“What are you calling me?” he inquires.

You lay your hand against his cheek and promise, “We’ve got time for you to learn.”

[kirbysdreamlandd]

Hamzah takes you christmas shopping

Hamzah X Y/N (FEM),

Fluff, SFW, One-shot

Hamzah comes home on Christmas Day with a surprise—A whole day of shopping just for you.

Oof, I rushed to post this since it’s already New Year’s! Hope you all have a fantastic year ahead and enjoy this unproofread, late fic!

You were comfortably sat on your bed, fingers tapping on the keyboard of your laptop while your lilac Apple AirPods Max—so kindly gifted to you by Freddie Dredd—rested snugly over your ears, drowning out the world with a soothing mix of your favorite jazz songs.

In your hands was your “Out of Character” mug, its handle cracked and glued back together—a casualty of Hamzah’s infamous lack of attentiveness. The poor mug had met its fate during one of your kitchen debates over what to DoorDash, a conversation that had somehow spiraled into a messy, laughter-filled makeout session right there by the countertop.

Every time you held the mug, you couldn’t help but recall that memory: Hamzah half-apologizing between kisses, both of you too caught up in the moment to care about the loud crash behind you, and the mug shattering to pieces on the floor.

Hamzah had insisted on replacing it a with another. “We have millions of others in the warehouse.” But for you, this wasn’t just any mug. It was the one that had seen you through everything. From your first awkward visit to his apartment after a Hinge date, all the way to the day you packed up your tiny studio and moved into his house.

You both had ended up buying so many other mugs over time; ones with stupid sayings like “Mama Needs a Coffee” to match your equally ridiculous “Mama Needs a Blunt” shirts.

But no matter how many novelty mugs came and went, it was always that one “Out of Character” mug that ended up in your hands.

That piece of history was now filled with the hot chocolate you and Hamzah had lovingly prepared together that morning, the steam rising in soft spirals before meeting your lips.

That morning had been full of festive joy. You and Hamzah had spent hours decorating the Christmas tree, hanging each ornament turning into a competition for who had found the most ridiculous cringeworthy decoration at Walmart.

The free time after finishing up the Christmas decorating quickly became Hamzah’s excuse to pull off your matching set of pajamas. “What? I’m unwrapping my Christmas present.”

You smiled softly to the screen of your laptop, recalling Hamzah telling you at some point that this was the best Christmas he’d ever had. “I actually feel like I’m part of a family.” he had said. It wasn’t just about you two, it was about everyone: Mandy, Martin, and all the others who had made this Christmas feel complete for him.

You were so absorbed in your memories and hypnotized by the soft voice of Kali Uchis humming in your ears that you didn’t notice Hamzah returning from his trip to the store.

He started calling your name, the third time being when you finally heard the faint sound of his voice through your headphones. You quickly got up, pulling them off as you heard him make his way to the bedroom, still calling your name.

“Babe?”You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you greeted him. “Hey, what’s all this?” you asked, nodding toward the bags.

Hamzah grinned, shifting the bags around in his arms. “Christmas presents for the kids. Got a little carried away when I encountered the toy isle.” He paused, setting the bags down making a heavy clunk.

You peeked into the bag, spotting a huge Lego set that seemed to be Spider-Man related.

“D’you think Martin’s gonna like it?” he asked, catching you eyeing the purchase. “Bought a similar one for Freddie.”

“Oh, I checked out that Kawasaki we saw the other day,” Hamzah continued, his voice a mix of excitement and hesitation. “The owner said it’s a custom motorcycle, so it’ll probably cost a fortune. It’s not worth it, man.”

After setting down the other bag, Hamzah walked over and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you tight into him. “I got a present for you, too.”

You tilted your head back to make eye contact, and for a moment you saw that usual smug expression on his face soften with sweetness.

“Hm? What is it?” you asked, your arms swinging around his hips. You couldn’t resist giving his butt a playful squeeze, but he immediately dodged it with a playful chuckle.

He grabbed your hand gently and placed it over his chest. “Me. I’m the present.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the playful scoff that slipped from your lips. His grin widened, and he giggled softly, still holding your hand, his fingers nearly intertwining with yours.

“I’m joking.” he added quickly and slowly pulling your hand from his chest, his grip firm as he moved it to the side.

You glanced down and noticed he was still wearing the pajama pants you’d bought him, the ones covered in little Santa Claus prints. The soft fabric clung to his legs, highlighting the shape of his thighs and emphasizing the curve on his crotch area.

“I know you wanna take these off me, girl.” he blurted. Your head snapped up caught in a guilty expression. “I’m sorry, but we’ve got things to do.” he said, his voice light and teasing, until his gaze flicked down to your outfit. He paused, his expression unreadable for a moment, and you suddenly felt a wave of self-consciousness.

Hamzah wasn’t usually one to critique your outfit choices. If anything, he always found a way to compliment your carefully chosen looks, especially if they incorporated his own clothes.

“You might wanna dress up.” he stated, his voice low, but his eyes betrayed the sharp flicker of desire as they lingered on the flushed mark on your collarbone and neck, a reminder of that morning’s passionate need for each other.

You couldn’t help but flash a flustered smirk, but quickly snapped back, wondering what in God’s name he meant by “You might wanna dress up.”

You watched as he pulled away to carry the bags away, completely unbothered by your utter confusion.

“What the fuck does that mean, Hamzah?”you asked, crossing your arms as his head shot up. “Where are we going?”

He smiled, giving a smug yet amused look. With his hands now free, he fished his wallet out of the pocket of his hoodie.

“I’m splurging on you, babe.” he said casually, flipping his wallet open. Neatly stacked credit cards glinted under the light, and a Polaroid of the two of you awkwardly touching tongue tips in a photo booth peeked out from the folds.

You continued to stare at him, waiting for the punchline, unsure if this was still part of his joke. But his expression remained genuine, his smile softening into that familiar playful look Hamzah wore when he was truly happy.

“Come on, I’m taking you to wherever you want.” he said, walking toward you with a playful grin. “I know you like the matching PJs, but you’ve got to wear a lot more than that. It’s below freezing out.”

As he veered off to greet the cats with an exaggerated, high-pitched voice in response to their meows, you stood in the hallway for a moment before retreating to the bedroom. Your laptop still displayed the test you’d been taking. You closed it with a soft click, unknowingly letting out a relieved sigh.

Rummaging through your closet, you pulled out a long-sleeved black top and a comfy black silk skirt, simple but elegant. To keep warm, you layered on a fuzzy coat and wrapped a red scarf snugly around your neck.

For the final touch, your hand hesitated for a moment before reaching for the red lacey tights—the ones Hamzah always said made you look “like a sexy office siren��. A small smirk tugged at your lips as you slipped them on, pairing them with sleek black heels that completed the look.

You gave yourself a look in the mirror. The outfit was bold, a little outside your usual comfort zone, but that was part of the fun. You loved dressing up for dates; not just for the way it made you feel, but for Hamzah’s inevitable amazed reaction and silly comments every time you jokingly runway model-walked to him.

When you walked back into the hallway, his reaction was immediate. He paused mid-sentence, one hand still extended toward a cat that had been nuzzling him, and his eyes widened slightly before a lopsided grin spread across his face.

“Damn.” He said adjusting his beanie while attentively scanning your whole body. His gaze darted quickly, from your face to your chest, down to your legs, and back to your face before lingering there, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say more was left speechless.

“Blue got your tongue?” you teased, twirling around playfully, letting the silky skirt flare out slightly.

His only response was a breathless laugh, shaking his head as if to snap himself out of it, but his dark widened eyes were still glued to you.

You sauntered over, the click of your heels echoing in the hallway, and leaned in close. Pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, leaving behind a faint red lipstick mark.

“Girl, I want you to get my tongue.”He teased, laughing softly, before his hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer just as you tried to pull away. Your faces were inches apart now. His eyes flicked down to your lips, a hungry look quickly growing in his pupils, as if the red lipstick unlocked a new craving in him.

But before he could lean in for the kiss, you broke away, giggling, leaving him standing there with his lips slightly parted. You grabbed your bag, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips as you made your way toward the door.

-

The mall was alive with the chatter of couples picking out Christmas gifts, the soft clinking of cash registers blending with the festive music playing. Despite the cold air that that clung to your fuzzy coat when you’d stepped inside, the warmth of the mall enveloped you, Hamzah’s presence beside you only adding to the coziness.

You couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze would occasionally flicker to your outfit. How his lips curled into that knowing smile, along with the same teasing glint in his eyes.

Hamzah inisisted on getting you the chocolate-covered strawberries you’d been eyeing every time you passed the food stalls. The vendor, grinning at Hamzah’s excitement, threw in a jar of pistachio cream and even offered a Christmas-themed spoon for free, saying that Hamzah was “doing the right thing by spoiling his lady”.

Your next stop was a cute pink store filled with Hello Kitty and other Sanrio gadgets. You picked out a few skincare products, making sure to grab some that could be shared between you two. Hamzah had a habit of stealing your moisturizers anyway, so it only made sense. When he showed you the cherry-scented lip balm, bejeweled with tiny Hello Kitty figures, you couldn’t help but tease him. “Yeah, you could use some of that too.” Then you found yourself rummaging through Hello Kitty blind boxes, your hands practically trembling with excitement. You had to complete the collection, and Hamzah simply shook his head as you grabbed a handful of them.

“It’s an obsession” he muttered, the familiar reference slipping from his lips before he sighed dramatically. “I miss Martin.” he added, the usual remark he weaponized to draw your attention back to him.

The next stop was a high-end boutique, the kind brimming with luxurious fabrics and well-dressed staff who hovered nearby, ready to pounce on you the moment your gaze lingered on anything, ready to recommend the priciest item in the store.

Though your first reaction was to scoff at the price tags, Hamzah was relentless, insisting you try on a couple of dresses. You hesitated at first, but once you stepped out of the fitting room, you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes widened along with a bright smile.

You ended up buying two dresses, each one serving a different vibe but equally gorgeous to you.

The first dress was a chic, long-sleeved design, its soft fabric and delicate details perfect for the cottagecore look you liked. The way it hugged your figure and complimented your features made you feel like you were stepping out of a Pinterest board. As you twirled in front of the mirror, the airy fabric flowing around you, Hamzah’s voice cut through the fantasy you were immersing yourself in.

“Nara Smith can move over,” he said, his eyes wide, pointing at you and pretending to talk to an imaginary audience. “This is the perfect trad wife.”

Then came the second dress, a complete contrast. It was a lacy, see-through, short dress that had you questioning how you’d even find the occasion to wear it. It clung in all the right places and left little to the imagination, with a daring open back framed by pearly curtains. The moment you walked out, Hamzah’s face shifted from playful to serious as he quickly stood up, his hand instinctively reaching to shield you as you turned.

As you passed the sneaker store, a couple of pairs caught your eye. Shoes that matched some of the items on Hamzah’s wishlist. The temptation was too strong, so you subtly steered him inside. He hesitated, but you were persistent, convincing him to try on a few pairs making him walk around the aisles a few times.

“Are you sure they fit well?” You asked worried, follwing Hamzah with your eyes as he awkwardly paced up and down the store aisle.

“Yes, mom.” He plopped back on the chair with an exaggerated sigh, while you leaned down to press on the tip of the shoe, making sure that there was enough space for his toes.

After much deliberation, he finally settled on a pair of black metallic shoes, admiring them with a satisfied look on his face. As you both approached the cashier, he fumbled for his wallet. You quietly handed over your card as the cashier processed the purchase, a small smile exchanged between you and the employee behind the desk while Hamzah continued make small talk, oblivious to the transaction happening right in front of him.

Once the bag was handed to him, you made your way out of the store, giggling to yourself about the little secret you held from him.

The mall had completely drained both of you, the energy spent on shopping, teasing, and trying on clothes leaving you feeling more tired than you’d expected. You both ordered two caramel macchiatos at the Christmas-y looking coffe shop and made your way back to the parking lot.

Hamzah’s tired smile, the smell of coffee, and the undeniable Christmas spirit that seemed to be everywhere around you ignited in you a calming serenity.

The warm AC hummed through the car as Hamzah turned the key, the motor rumbling to life. The car’s screen lit up, and the soft, jazzy tones of “Santa Baby” by Laufey spilled through the speakers.

“Oh my god, the spirit of the Christmas is here, literally.” Hamzah said, faking a surprised expression while extending a hand towards the screen.

“Santa, if you’re hearing me, please bring Hamzah that Kawasaki he’s always wanted.” you said, glancing at him with a playful smirk as he chuckled, steering the wheel with one hand.

Little did he know, his beloved motorcycle was waiting for him in the garage, tied up with an exaggeratedly big red bow and a red lipstick-stained note resting on top of it.

[irisintheafterglow]

a snowball collides with the glass doors leading to the backyard of the rental house, a dull thunk the only disturbance to your afternoon peace. you hear an apologetic sorry, babe! from a familiar figure bundled in a black coat, gloves, and red hat.

"was that a snowball or a bear?" tsukki grumbles from the other side of the huge L-shaped couch. his forearm is thrown over his eyes, glasses abandoned on the nearest side table. until a minute ago, he was actually able to get a little bit of rest after the boys in his room were talking nonsense until three in the morning.

"snowball, though it might as well been thrown by a bear. volleyball players and your arms and such," you reply without looking up from your book. tsukki grunts in assent and you fall back into a comfortable silence.

besides the occasional screams of triumph from the boys brawling with snowballs outside, your surroundings are serenely calm. since you woke up, a continuous powdering of snow fell on the trees, the roof, and the outside deck. with the more energetic boys declaring war on each other via snowballs, you and the calmer holiday-goers decided to make hot chocolate and watch the time creep by.

"i finally found it," akaashi announces as he returns to the living room, holding up the book he'd been digging around his bag for. "it was buried under bokuto's ungodly amount of socks."

"you sure it wasn't a few of your socks as well, considering how you've begun sharing clothing?" your eyebrows raise in amusement at the hoodie that was definitely not his, loudly printed with a huge owl with glowing yellow eyes. akaashi tended to wear more subdued clothing (and never such a large print), so there was only one other inhabitant of the house that could own the sweater...

"look at the pot calling the kettle black. at least mine doesn't have his name labeled on the sleeve," he fires back teasingly. you concede the battle with a defeated shake of your head. you're indeed wearing a crewneck that isn't yours, curled up in your cushioned corner and surrounded by a heinous amount of throw pillows. the sweatshirt is a washed out crimson, adorned with a single silhouette of a black cat and a label on the back that reads 'property of nekoma volleyball club.' the captain's name and number is embroidered on the right sleeve, a customized early christmas present that ended up being a gift for yourself. "it even says you're nekoma property on the back."

"i am no one's property, and he'll be the first to tell you that," you correct and akaashi shrugs before settling next to you on the couch. "trade me that when you're done with it?" you ask, nodding to the book in his hands, a stray fast food receipt barely marking a tenth of the way in.

"if i get done with it," he scowls. "the main characters are burning so slow, i'm gonna be fifty by the time they hold hands."

"and i will be decaying in a casket by the time i achieve peace and quiet." tsukki's voice comes out as a deadpanned grumble and you share a guilty look with akaashi, poorly hiding your smiles. "finally some quiet..."

his declaration of serenity is cut short by the sliding door abruptly being thrown open, and the participants in the snowball war piling back inside.

"guess who won the greatest fight since the trash battle!" the third year setter from karasuno, sugawara, stomps into the cabin while the rest of his teammates cheer and boast of their victory. they overrun the kitchen and fight over the last mugs of hot chocolate, scavenging for fistfuls of mini marshmallows.

"totally unfair, bokuto kept switching sides," lev grumbled while shaking the snow from his boots. "he was playing for us and then jumped ship."

"it's not my fault they were getting beaten so badly in the beginning," bokuto shrugs with his palms up in surrender. "i consider my presence an attempt to fix the playing field, not an advantage." you scooch closer to the armrest as bokuto joins akaashi on the couch, draping an arm around his shoulders with practiced ease.

"it's barely an advantage when you and hinata alone could have been your own team," konoha points out. you tune out the rest of the boys' bickering, a grin growing on your face once the very last volleyball player re-enters the cabin. he tosses his hair from side to side and particles of snow fly off like cat hair before finding you.

"hey beautiful," tetsurou murmurs, leaning over the side of the couch to plant a kiss on your cheek. his face is freezing in stark contrast to the warmth radiating from the fire. "miss me?"

"terribly," you reply, nudging your nose against his. there were still tiny snowflakes on his nose bridge and you brush them off with your sleeve. "heard you got your ass kicked in a snowball fight."

"it was a draw," he dodges and you chuckle. "i like that sweater on you."

"yeah, my boyfriend's a captain," you not-so-humbly brag and his smile grows wider. you'd never seen someone's eyes sparkle before you met him. "he's pretty hot, too. even after spending an hour in the snow."

"he sounds like a pretty great guy." he leans in to kiss you properly but is suddenly yanked away by another resident of the house.

"stop being cute, i wanna play uno!" bokuto booms, dragging your boyfriend to the game cabinet so he can reach the top-most shelf.

"can we put stakes on it? makes it more fun." noya practically bounces off the leather couch ottoman, a mug of hot chocolate steaming in his hand.

"losers have to cold-plunge in the lake," tsukki suggests, unblinking, with an evil glint in his eye.

"shoyo would probably die, i think," a mortified yamaguchi responds. that's the point, tsukki's face explains wordlessly.

"what about losers have to make dinner?"

"well that's not fair, because crows would be making dinner two nights in a row," akaashi innocently points out, but the jab is not lost on any of you. "yeah, i do think i can beat daichi--"

"this game seems a little too aggressive for me," asahi mutters. "can i team with the other third-years?"

"that's not how uno works, my friend. no mercy for anyone," sugawara says, patting his fellow crow sympathetically on the shoulder. "not even kageyama, who i don't think has ever played this game."

"who the hell said i needed mercy?"

"winning players get the master suite," your boyfriend decides with an expression that the others didn't dare contest. "for the rest of the trip." that sends a noticeable ripple of excitement through the players, the raised stakes pinning the bullseye on their competitive natures. you raise your eyebrows in amusement and tetsurou's eyes darken in a look that you know all too well.

he desired total victory, and he didn't play when it came to you.